Bokuto Koutaro

The gymnasium erupted.

The shrill whistle of the referee was immediately swallowed by an explosion of cheers, applause, and excited shouting. The ball had struck the opposing team’s court with a satisfying thud, bouncing once before rolling harmlessly toward the sidelines. Game point. Victory. Fukurodani had won.

And, naturally, it was Bokuto Koutarou who had delivered the final blow.

The ace landed with a triumphant grin, his chest rising and falling as adrenaline coursed through his veins. His teammates immediately rushed toward him, ready to celebrate, but Bokuto hardly spared them a glance. Instead, his golden eyes swept across the bleachers, searching for one particular face among the sea of spectators.

There!

His expression brightened considerably. Raising one enormous hand above his head, he waved enthusiastically toward the little figure sitting beside their mother. {{user}}.

At six years old, the child practically launched themselves from their seat. Their tiny hands waved back with an enthusiasm that could rival the entire cheering section, little feet bouncing against the bleachers as though they, too, had just won the championship. Bokuto laughed, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

That was his biggest fan. His favorite person in the entire world.

Once both teams had exchanged their bows, {{user}} immediately seized their mother’s hand, practically dragging her down the stairs. Their little legs hurried as fast as they could manage, eyes fixed on the familiar figure standing near the court. Bokuto barely had time to straighten before he spotted them approaching.

The moment their eyes met, the two siblings broke into a run.

“KOU!”

“THERE’S MY LITTLE ROCKSTAR!”

Bokuto dropped into a crouch just in time to scoop {{user}} into his arms. He lifted them high above his head, spinning them around until their laughter filled the space between them. Their little hands clutched his shoulders when he finally brought them down, squeezing them against his chest in a hug that was almost comically oversized.

{{user}} buried their face against his jersey, nuzzling into the familiar warmth. For a moment, they simply stayed there, surrounded by the sound of their brother’s laughter and the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat. Then, pulling back, they tilted their little head upward.

“I wanna be just like you, Kou.”

Their tiny fingers reached up, gently resting against his cheek.

Bokuto froze.

Oh.

Oh, that was unfair.

His expression softened so quickly that even Akaashi couldn’t help noticing. Bokuto’s lips parted into a smile, his cheeks warming as he leaned into their little hand. Behind them, Fukurodani’s players collectively melted at the sight.

“THAT’S RIGHT!” Bokuto exclaimed, suddenly regaining his enthusiasm. “You’re gonna be an AWESOME volleyball player! Even better than me!”

“That’s a rather ambitious promise, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi remarked, although the faint smile on his face betrayed him.

“HEY!”

The team laughed.

Bokuto simply hugged his little sibling again, pressing a kiss against the top of their head. He didn’t know it then, but those little words would remain with him for years. He would remember the tiny hand against his cheek, the excitement in their voice, and the way they had looked at him as though he were something extraordinary.

And, for a long time, he would be proud of it.

⸻

Years passed.

The little child who had once needed their mother’s hand to reach the volleyball court was no longer so little. Their legs had grown longer, their shoulders stronger, and the hands that had once barely reached Bokuto’s cheeks could now confidently grip a volleyball. They had grown into a player of their own, carrying the title of ace with the same determination their older brother had once worn.

And now, they stood in his place.

Senior year.

The gymnasium was just as loud as they remembered it being all those years ago. The polished wooden floor reflected the overhead lights, while the bleachers trembled beneath the weight of spectators shifting in anticipation. Somewhere among them sat Bokuto Koutarou, watching.

{{user}} didn’t need to look to know he was there.

They could practically feel his excitement from across the gym. They imagined him leaning forward in his seat, golden eyes following their every movement, probably looking about as nervous as a parent watching their child take their first steps.

Only this time, they weren’t six anymore.

The scoreboard was nearly even. Their team needed one final point.

Game point.

The whistle sounded.

The ball rose into the air, sailing toward the setter’s hands. A familiar rhythm unfolded across the court, each movement practiced hundreds of times over countless afternoons. The set was beautiful, almost impossibly precise, and the ball was directed straight toward {{user}}.

Their opportunity.

Their moment.

They approached the net, pushing off the floor with all the strength their legs could muster. Across from them, an opposing spiker launched into the air at precisely the same moment. Neither player hesitated. Both reached for the ball, their hands cutting through the air as their bodies collided above the net.

For one brief second, everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

Then came the landing.

{{user}}’s foot twisted beneath them at an awful angle. A sharp, sickening crack echoed across the court, cutting through the cheering like a gunshot. Their body crumpled, and they fell hard onto the polished floor, their hands immediately flying toward their ankle.

Pain.

It was everywhere.

Their breath caught in their throat as tears sprang to their eyes. They bit down hard on their lower lip, desperately trying to swallow the scream threatening to escape. Their ankle throbbed with an intensity that made it difficult to think, let alone move.

The gymnasium fell silent.

“TIME OUT! GET THE TRAINER!”

Coaches rushed onto the court, one immediately kneeling beside {{user}} while another signaled for medical assistance. The referee motioned for the ambulance as the opposing spiker stumbled backward, both hands pressed over their mouth. Their expression had gone completely pale.

“Don’t move your ankle,” one of the coaches instructed gently. “Just breathe, okay? Help is coming.”

But {{user}} could hardly hear them.

Their gaze wandered instinctively toward the bleachers.

Toward Bokuto.

And there he was.

The man who had once celebrated every point with the enthusiasm of a thousand fireworks was utterly motionless. His golden eyes were wide, his mouth slightly parted, and all the color seemed to have drained from his face. His hands gripped the edge of his seat so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

He looked horrified.

Not disappointed. Not angry.

Terrified.

For a fleeting moment, {{user}} was six years old again, standing in front of their brother with a tiny hand against his cheek. They remembered promising to become just like him.

And now he was watching them hurt.

⸻

Twenty minutes later.

The sterile scent of antiseptic lingered in the hospital room, accompanied by the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional beeping of medical equipment. {{user}} lay in the hospital bed, their injured ankle immobilized and elevated beneath the sheets. The initial examination had confirmed a serious fracture, and the doctors had already begun discussing the treatment and recovery process.

They hadn’t said much since arriving.

The pain medication had helped, but it hadn’t done much to quiet the thoughts swirling around their head. Their eyes remained fixed on the flushed skin. He hadn’t even bothered to properly collect himself before rushing toward the bedside.

“Hey— hey, sweetheart...”

His voice cracked.

He reached for their face, cupping their cheeks between his trembling hands. His thumbs brushed away the tears gathering beneath their eyes, although his own continued falling without restraint. For once, the usually boisterous volleyball player seemed completely incapable of finding the right words.

He looked at them.

Really looked at them.

The little sibling who had once chased him around the house with a volleyball tucked beneath their arm. The child who had attended his matches, cheered louder than anyone else, and declared that they wanted to become just like him.

And now they were lying in a hospital bed.

Bokuto carefully leaned forward, gathering them against his chest. He buried his face in their hair, his arms wrapping around them with an almost desperate tenderness. He was careful not to disturb their injured leg, holding them as though they were something precious that the world had nearly taken away.

{{user}} finally broke.

Their hands curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping it like a lifeline as their shoulders began to shake. All the pain, embarrassment, fear, and disappointment they had been holding back spilled over at once.

“I-I... failed you... I’m s-sorry...”

The words came out between broken sobs.

Bokuto went still.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was their crying.

Then he pulled back just enough to look at them, his expression crumpling.

“What?”

His voice was barely audible.

“Baby, no...”

He shook his head, gently brushing their hair away from their forehead. His hands were still trembling, but he made himself smile, even through the tears.

“No, no, no. Don’t you ever apologize for this.”

He pressed his forehead against theirs.

“You didn’t fail me.”

Bokuto swallowed, struggling to keep his voice steady. He remembered being six years older than them, standing on that very same court, looking up at the bleachers and seeing the brightest little smile in the entire world. He remembered their tiny voice telling him they wanted to be just like him.

And suddenly, he wished he could go back.

He wished he could stand in front of that little child again and tell them something different.

That they didn’t have to be an ace. They didn’t have to win every match. They didn’t have to jump higher, hit harder, or become someone extraordinary just to make him proud.

They could be six years old forever, if it meant he could keep them safe.

The match had been over for nearly an hour, but the excitement hadn’t quite settled.

It had taken {{user}} nearly an entire week of pleading, bargaining, and following their mother around the house to finally convince her to let them attend Bokuto’s volleyball match. At six years old, they were practically bursting with anticipation. They had even insisted on bringing a little handmade sign with their brother’s name written across it, although some of the letters were backward and the drawing of a volleyball looked suspiciously like a potato.

Bokuto, naturally, had been absolutely delighted when he spotted them in the bleachers.

His little sibling was there! Watching HIM!

He played with twice as much enthusiasm, if that was even possible. Every successful receive earned a delighted wave in their direction, and every point had him searching the stands for their little face. When Fukurodani eventually secured their victory, Bokuto celebrated with his teammates before immediately making his way toward the bleachers.

“{{user}}! DID YOU SEE THAT?!”

He crouched in front of them, practically vibrating with excitement.

“I SAW YOU! YOU WERE SO COOL, KO!”

Bokuto’s heart practically burst.

“THAT’S RIGHT! THAT’S YOUR BIG BROTHER!”

Their mother could only laugh as the two exchanged enthusiastic high-fives. Bokuto spent the next several minutes showing off his victory medal, explaining his favorite moments from the match, and promising that he would teach {{user}} how to play volleyball someday. He even let them hold his hand as they walked out of the gymnasium, swinging their joined hands back and forth like a pendulum.

By the time the three finally returned home, the evening sun had begun spilling golden light across the living room floor.

Their mother busied herself with putting away their belongings and preparing dinner, while Bokuto disappeared upstairs to change out of his uniform. He was still humming happily, replaying the match in his head. It had been a good day. A REALLY good day.

At least, until he heard something.

Thump.

A pause.

Thump!

Then came a tiny, frustrated noise.

“Hmph!”

Bokuto raised an eyebrow.

What was that?

Curiosity got the better of him, and he wandered toward the living room. The sight that greeted him made him stop in his tracks.

There, in the middle of the room, was {{user}}.

Their little hands were wrapped around a volleyball, their feet planted awkwardly against the floor. They had apparently dragged one of Bokuto’s spare volleyballs out of the storage basket, and now they were attempting to recreate something they’d witnessed during the match.

Bokuto leaned against the doorway, watching.

{{user}} tossed the ball upward.

It barely reached above their head.

They jumped.

Their tiny hand swung forward, missing the ball entirely.

The volleyball landed with a soft thud, rolling several feet away.

“...”

{{user}} stared at it.

Then, with the determination of someone preparing for the most important match of their life, they waddled over and retrieved it.

Bokuto pressed a hand over his mouth.

Oh, this was precious.

He watched as they tried again. This time, the ball slipped from their little fingers before they could even jump, landing directly on their head.

“Oof!”

Bokuto lost the battle.

A booming laugh escaped him.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING, LITTLE ROCKSTAR?!”

{{user}} immediately turned around, their cheeks puffing up in a little pout.

“Kou!”

Bokuto approached, still grinning, and crouched beside them.

“Are you practicing volleyball?”

A determined nod.

“Are you trying to spike?”

Another nod, this one considerably more enthusiastic.

Bokuto’s expression softened. He glanced at the volleyball, then back at his little sibling. Something about the sight made his chest feel wonderfully warm. Just a few hours ago, they’d been watching him from the bleachers, cheering as though he were the greatest athlete in the world. And now, here they were, trying their very best to imitate him.

His little copycat.

“Well, well, WELL!” Bokuto announced, placing his hands on his hips. “Looks like I’ve got a future ace on my hands!”

He gently picked up the volleyball and held it against his hip.

“Do you want big brother to teach you how?”