Archive of Our Own ^beta

Łódź, Poland, 19:26 CEST, May 18, 2025.

The night before the CEV Champions League finals in Łódź, Simone Giannelli thought he had a good grasp of the usual pre-match rituals. Team dinner, scouting, quiet conversations with Selly over the phone to calm his nerves, maybe a quick walk around the hotel lobby to stretch his legs. Nothing out of the ordinary.

So when he walked into the hotel lobby and spotted a familiar head of brown hair sticking out under a cap, he blinked twice, unsure if fatigue or imagination was at play.

“…Takahashi?” Simone muttered under his breath, slowing his steps, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. His voice was barely audible over the low hum of conversation from people, luggage wheels rolling across polished tile, and the weak strains of elevator music.

Ran Takahashi looked up from his phone, eyes curving into that mischievous, familiar smile Simone remembered well from Italy. There was that same spark—the one that made it impossible not to be pulled into his energy.

“Ciao, Giannelli-san,” Ran said brightly, standing up to give him a casual hug. His Japanese accent clung to the Italian greeting in a way that made Simone chuckle.

“Ran Takahashi? Che ci fai qui?” Simone’s brows furrowed. “Don’t tell me you just—flew all the way from Japan?”

Ran grinned, the jingle of keys and wallet audible as he moved. “Surprise, right? I had a couple of days. Figured I’d come see Yuki-san.”

Of course. Yuki. Simone pressed his lips together, the realization slotting into place with the ease of a puzzle piece. For the past four hours, he’d been asking around the hotel, wondering why Yuki was nowhere to be found. Not in the lounge, not at the meal, not even in his room when Simone knocked. Now it all made sense.

“You mean to tell me you’ve been here… waiting? Or… no, aspetta,” Simone tilted his head. “You’ve been with him, sì?” Ran just scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, a faint blush brushing across his cheek. “We grabbed coffee… walked around the city. Nothing big.” 

“Nothing big, he says,” Simone repeated, half to himself. He should have expected this. He knew the two were close—molto vicini—from the way Yuki spoke of Ran back when he joined Perugia. Sometimes after practice, Yuki would drop his name so casually.

Back then, Simone had thought, wow, che amicizia, they’re really close friends. But watching Ran standing here now, tired from a long flight, eyes shining like he was recharged just by being near Yuki, Simone started thinking maybe close friends was too weak a phrase.

—

Later that evening, the whole team went down for dinner, and somehow, Ran ended up joining them. Simone didn’t mind—it was kind of refreshing having him around again. The lobby’s glass doors rattled as the team filtered out, the chilly Polish evening air brushing against Simone’s face before they stepped into the warmth of the restaurant.

The restaurant buzzed with Italian, Polish, and English colliding in the air, the usual mix when international volleyball people gathered. The scent of garlic and simmering tomato sauce drifted from the kitchen, mingling with the aroma of fresh bread and espresso. Ran fit in naturally, joking in Japanese with Yuki, switching to English with Oleh, and broken Spanish with Agus.

“Tra il dire e il fare c’è di mezzo il mare. You still remember this?” Simone asked as Ran started explaining the preposition usage and verb structure of the phrase. That was impressive. 

Ran puffed the chest out like he’d just aced an exam. “Of course. Yuki-san made me practice back then. I’m a good student.”

“Hmm, bravo,” Simone laughed, clapping him on the shoulder, a warm camaraderie settling in despite the underlying tension of competition tomorrow.

But then, in between jest and bites of pasta, Simone’s attention snagged on a small detail he almost missed.

Yuki’s hand. Resting casually, like it had every right, on Ran’s waist under the table. At first, Simone thought maybe it was accidental—chairs too close, limbs brushing. However, Yuki’s hand settled there. Intentional. And Ran didn’t seem bothered. In fact, he leaned closer, like he was used to it, like this was routine.

Simone blinked, fork halfway to his mouth.

He glanced around. None of the others seemed to notice. Maybe they did and just didn’t care. But Simone, sitting close enough to catch the tilt of Ran’s head toward Yuki, saw everything. Even the imperceptible sigh of comfort that passed between them.

And more than that—it was the look Yuki gave Ran when he laughed. Simone recognized it instantly. Because it was the way he looked at Selly.

“Hmm,” Simone hummed under his breath, pretending to sip his wine.

Ran offered him some pierogi. “Scusa, hai detto qualcosa?”

“Niente,” Simone smiled innocently, though his mind was buzzing with quiet amusement.

The dinner went on, voices overlapped, stories exchanged, the clinking of glasses, and teasing remarks. But when it ended, Ran had to leave—flight back to Japan, commitments waiting. “Perché non rimani per la partita domani?” Simone asked but Ran just shook his head apologetically. “Can’t. Flight’s tonight. Back to Japan.”

“Japan can wait,” Agus teased, dragging it out like he wanted to stall him just a little longer. They’d only just discovered their common hobby—scrolling through Yuki’s most ridiculous photos—and Agus wasn't ready to give it up just yet. “È la finale, dai! Stay, watch us win.”

Ran scratched the back of his neck, caught in guilt. Before he could answer, Yuki finally spoke. “He only came for today. That’s already more than enough.”

As Ran hugged Yuki goodbye, Simone caught the smile on Yuki’s face. A smile brighter, looser, more genuine than he’d seen in weeks of grueling training and pressure. The way Yuki’s hand lingered slightly longer on Ran’s back, the soft murmur of a goodbye, the way his shoulders relaxed only when Ran was near—it all spoke volumes.

And Simone thought, chi fa una cosa del genere per un semplice compagno di squadra? Certainly not just anyone.

Simone, being Simone, didn’t really care what their label was. Friends, more than friends—it didn’t matter. All he wanted was for them to hold onto that kind of happiness. In this demanding world of volleyball, where you never stop running, diving, chasing a ball, having someone look at you like that might just be the most important victory of all.

Kagoshima, Japan, 12:14 JST, August 12, 2025.

It wasn’t news to anyone on the Japan Men’s Volleyball National Team that Ran Takahashi and Yuki Ishikawa were close.

Ran himself used to be Yuki’s fan long before he ever wore the national jersey. That wasn’t a secret; people had seen the old interviews, the wide-eyed way Ran once spoke about Yuki, the way his voice rose when he recalled a match Yuki had played or a practice tip he had given. Ran relied on Yuki. He followed him around like a shadow at first, asked questions about training, about routines, or how to get the best timing in service practice.

Yuki had been there. Every single time. Even when Ran flew overseas for Padova and then Monza, Yuki was always just one call away, a patience that was unmistakably steady for Ran.

Sure, Ran was clingy with the others too—forever poking, joking, throwing an arm around whoever was closest—but there was something different about him and Yuki. It wasn’t just friendship, not in the casual sense; it was almost gravitational when you paid attention long enough.

Otsuka Tatsunori had noticed.

Maybe it was because he was Ran’s best friend—his partner-in-crime since they both entered the national team at the same time, close enough in age to understand each other’s rhythms. Tatsu had spent countless hours observing Ran’s growth and the drive behind it wasn’t just his own talent or ambition. Tatsu knew that much. A part of it was Yuki.

—

The afternoon sun at Satsumasendai was hot, the kind that made sweat stick to your skin even when you weren’t moving. It made the edges of your vision blur ever so slightly and the air hum with the distant scent of baked asphalt and pine from nearby groves. The team had just come out of an exhausting morning practice, muscles tight, shirts soaked, hair damp with sweat. Now they crowded into the mess hall for lunch, the chatter of voices blending with the clatter of trays and cutlery.

Tatsu found himself wedged between Yuki and Ran with Shoma beside him. God forbid a peaceful meal. The eel dish was what ignited it.

“Is it famous in Nagoya?” Ran asked, chopsticks already halfway to his mouth.

Yuki didn’t even look up at first. “Nagoya-style rice bowl is famous.”

"Did you have many chances to eat it?" Tatsu drank his water in silence, watching the conversation unfold in front of him.

"But I'm not from there." Yuki's tone was flat.

Ran grinned, teeth flashing. “Yeah, I know you’re from Okazaki.”

Shoma, always quick on the draw, leaned forward, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You guys are like couple on the verge of breaking up.”

The table erupted into laughter, chopsticks clattering against bowls. The sound mingled with the soft scrape of chairs and the hum of the ventilation system. 

Even Keigo chimed in, smirking at their captain. “Yuki-san, how do you even talk to a girl?”

Yuki raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Something like this, probably.”

Ran immediately baited, “The girl would be like, how is it in Nagoya? Is it fun? And he’d be like, I don’t know, I’m not from there.”

The table roared. Keigo almost choked on his rice. Larry was red in the face from laughing too hard. Tatsu laughed too, but while everyone else was busy wiping tears of mirth from their eyes, he noticed something else. Yuki’s gaze on Ran a second longer than necessary.

That was interesting.

When lunch ended, the interest only deepened.

Ran was about to stand when Yuki reached over without a word, sliding Ran’s tray toward himself and standing to clear it away. Not just his own—Ran’s. He stacked the plates with care, gathered the chopsticks, and carried them to the return counter, shoulders relaxed but eyes briefly meeting Ran’s.

Ran blinked at him. “Uh—thanks?”

Yuki only shrugged, as if it was nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing. Tatsu had been teammates with Yuki long enough to know. Their captain wasn’t unkind, but he wasn’t exactly the “acts of service” type either. He didn’t just clear trays for people. Not even for Tatsu, and Tatsu considered himself pretty close to him too.

So why Ran?

—

After the meal, most of the guys wandered off. Some stretched, some went back to their rooms, and others fooled around on the courts. Tatsu ended up outside on a bench, enjoying a bit of gust when he spotted Ran, hunched over his phone. He was sitting on the edge of the bench, sneakers barely touching the ground, elbows on his knees.

The younger man was grinning like an idiot. What is he doing?!

Curiosity got the better of him, so Tatsu peaked over. On the screen wasn’t anything exciting—no messages, no memes, no videos. Just Ran’s alarm list. A bunch of them set for different times, each labeled meticulously with a emoji or note.

Tatsu hissed. “Is that even worth smiling for? You’re going crazy, aren’t you?”

Ran looked up and immediately scowled. “Mind your own business, Tat-chan.”

“Seriously. Alarms?” Tatsu pressed. “What’s next, you’ll laugh at your calculator app?”

Ran rolled his eyes, pushing damp strands of hair back from his forehead. “Shut up. It’s nothing.”

“Then why were you smiling like that?”

“Because—” Ran hesitated, then threw out casually, “Because the eel was so good, okay?”

Tatsu narrowed his eyes. “The eel.”

“Yes. The eel.” Ran nodded with mock seriousness. “Best eel I’ve ever had. Life-changing.”

“Uh-huh.”

They bickered for a bit longer, a chorus of cicadas lingered in the background, but Tatsu didn’t push. He knew his best friend well enough. If Ran wanted to talk, he would. And if he didn’t—well, no amount of prying would get it out of him.

Still, deep down, Tatsu was sure that smile hadn’t been about eel or alarms. It was about something else—someone else. And if he had to bet, he knew exactly who.

Ran would tell him when he was ready. That someone wasn’t going anywhere. As long as those two were smiling, the rest of the world could wait.

Okinawa, Japan, 14:12 JST, September 25, 2025.

The flight from Tokyo to Okinawa had been unusually serene for Ran. He wasn’t exactly sure why—maybe it was the low, steady hum of the plane engines, the subtle vibration through the seat, or the knowledge that the rest of the Suntory Sunbirds had already arrived, sprawled across the hotel or already exploring the nearby beaches. Ran didn’t mind being late. Not when he had someone waiting with him.

Yuki Ishikawa, sitting beside him in the plane’s aisle seat, had been scrolling through his phone, occasionally glancing out at the clouds drifting like cotton over the turquoise sky. When they finally landed, the Okinawa sun was generous, shallow in the afternoon sky, washing the tarmac in golden hues. Ran stretched his arms, he loved this. He loved being with Yuki.

A staff member from the car rental company handed the keys over to Yuki as soon as they stepped outside. “Did you plan this?”

“It’s Itoh-san. He called ahead when he found out you’d be coming later. Nothing fancy.”

“Nothing fancy, huh?” Ran whispered, leaning against the car, sunlight striking his hair just right. He squinted at Yuki, who already looked effortlessly composed. Somehow, just seeing Yuki standing there made Ran’s spine shiver in the best possible way.

Before heading to the training camp, they stopped at a small coffee shop tucked quietly between narrow streets. It wasn’t the kind of place you’d find unless you knew where to look, almost hidden, a spot that felt more like someone’s kitchen than a storefront. Ran ordered his iced latte to go, the rich scent of roasted beans and vanilla clinging to the paper cup in his hand as they stepped back into the car.

The Okinawa breeze carried the trace tang of salt and seaweed from the nearby coast. Yuki started the engine, the rumble blending with the hush of waves in the distance. But instead of turning toward the training camp, he steered slowly in the opposite direction, toward the beaches.

Ran’s eyes lit up. “The beaches?” Pure delight coloring his voice.

Yuki’s lips curved faintly, his gaze still on the road. “Thought it’d be good to see the ocean before practice.”

The car drifted down quiet roads, palm trees bending in tender sway, their shadows rippling like fleeting brushstrokes across the pavement. Soon they were parked overlooking the shoreline. The sand stretched white and endless. Seagulls wheeled in the distance, their cries carving bright arcs into the open sky.

Ran leaned back against the seat, letting the wind tousle his hair, the iced latte resting on his lap. “You know,” He said, tilting his head to look at Yuki, “I could just stay here forever.”

Yuki chuckled softly, the sun glinting off the water in a way that made the scene almost dreamlike. “You’d get sunburned before forever ended.”

Ran nudged Yuki’s shoulder lightly. “I don’t care. This… this is perfect.”

They stayed like that for a while, just sitting in the car, windows down, listening to the ocean. Yuki let his fingers ran through Ran’s hair, as though committing the texture to memory. It wasn’t something he needed to do, and yet the motion anchored him. Ran leaned ever so slightly into the touch, and Yuki felt his heart screaming again—that quiet reminder of how easily this boy had become part of his world, how natural it felt to hold a space just for him.

“We should head to the training center soon. You can’t be late, Captain.”

Ran pouted dramatically, though it was all in good fun. “Fine. But it was nice, okay?”

Yuki shook his head. “I’ll remember that. Now come on, let’s go. You’ve got a camp to lead.”

The last light of the afternoon sun glinting off the water behind them. The ride was filled with the kind of comfortable silence that only exists between people who had spent enough time together that conversation wasn’t always necessary. Ran tapped his fingers against the dashboard, eyes tracing the shifting colors of the sky, he really loved being with Yuki.

When they reached the training camp, Ran all but flung the car door open, excitement rushing through him so fast it made his chest feel feather-light. “Finally! I can’t wait to—”

“Wait.” Yuki’s hand stopped him at the frame, his palm against Ran’s own. The touch alone was enough to halt him, to make the world fall silent for a moment. Ran tilted his head back, and there it was—Yuki’s stare, carrying something that never failed to steal the oxygen from his lungs. “You’re forgetting something."

Ran’s lips quirked into a slow, mischievous smile. Without a word, he leaned back into the car, closing the distance until their breaths mingled. His hand rose and pressed his thumb gently against Yuki’s mouth. A barrier and a caress all at once. His lips grazed the back of his own hand, kissing the space where skin met skin, never quite closing the final distance. The kiss wasn’t really a kiss—and yet it was. 

Yuki’s eyes fluttered closed, and for the briefest moment, his lips twitched into a smile, so subtle it felt like a secret given only to Ran.

“I’ll see you soon, Yuki-san,” Ran whispered, as though offering the words only to him. Ran paused, exhale brushing against Yuki’s, before pulling back and stepping out of the car, his grin betraying the sweetness of the moment he carried with him.

“Hmm. Tornerò da te presto.” Yuki didn't mean to say it out loud. But Ran still heard the promise folded into every syllable.

Ran lingered just a heartbeat longer, caught in the spell, chest fluttering, before finally jogging toward the entrance of the training camp.

Vediamoci presto, amore mio.