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Chan’s shoes thump on the sandy beach as he runs, the sun almost fully up over the horizon and bathing everything in an orange haze. He’s on his last few hundred meters. His lungs burn, and the ankle he twisted when he was 15 is starting to sting, but he fights through it, even accelerating a little. The music in his earbuds is loud and angry in an attempt to drown out his thoughts, though it’s just as ineffective as it always is. He huffs and picks up his pace. (A flash of Brian’s face, contorted in pain as he lays on the court) . His car comes into view, and he breaks into a sprint. (Brian landing after his hit, the weird, wrong angle of his knee when his foot meets the ground) . He progressively slows down when he gets to his destination, panting, sweat dripping down his chest. (The sounds that leave Brian as he falls; broken, something close to agony). Chan paces slowly in front of his car, hands on his hips as he catches his breath. In the distance, seagulls and a variety of other birds sing to each other, and he can see a few crabs racing each other closer to the water. He briefly considers going for a dip in the ocean to cool himself, spending a few minutes floating in the waves, but ultimately decides against it. He’s already wet enough as it is, he’s not sure his sweat will have dried before he reaches the gym. No need to add to the whole situation. Chan can’t help the displeased noise that escapes him when he enters his car. The sun has been up for barely ten minutes, yet it feels like he just entered a furnace. He’s glad his car has fabric seats, otherwise his thighs would be suffering first degree burns from sitting on hot leather. Still, once he’s closed the door he makes no move to start the car and crank up the AC. He sits, staring into the distance, getting lost into the movement of the waves in front of him, their sound still audible through the windows. He lets out a deep sigh. In a very rare occurrence in almost two decades of playing volleyball, Chan really, really does not want to go to practice. He’d rather sit in his overheated car forever than face the reality of his situation. Today, he meets the man that replaces Brian as his beach volleyball partner. His coach has given him very little information on his new partner. He knows that his name is Felix, that he’s younger than him by three years and that he’s been on the indoors national team since he finished high school. Chan could’ve found out more by himself if he really wanted to (Felix does have an information page on the national team’s website). But that would mean accepting that he is his new partner, and that he’s going to continue this round of Olympic qualifiers without Brian. It sucks. It hurts, mostly. He’s had a few weeks to come to terms with it, but it still hurts just as much. Every time he visited Brian, first in the hospital and then in his apartment, Chan felt his pain like it was his own. Having to go to practice without him, going through the drills and the exercises with the assistant coach instead of his partner, felt pointless, disorganised, like Chan was missing a limb. He’s been rotating between profound sadness, devastating guilt and ravaging anger this whole time. It’s been a hard month. Chan’s not sure if it’s about to finally get better or get much, much worse. With one last shake of his head, Chan turns on the engine and reverses out of his parking spot.
In another unprecedented occurrence in his volleyball career, Chan is the last one to make it to the gym. The locker rooms are blessedly empty when he enters, so he has some time to compose himself as he changes, slips on his ankle brace, splashes some water on his face. He’s glad he’s not meeting his new partner here, between the slightly rickety bench and the smell of sweaty clothes barely concealed by the closed locker doors. He walks onto the sand of the indoor court with his water bottle in hand right as the clock strikes the start of practice. Everyone is waiting for him, and five pairs of eyes turn to him when they hear the door closing behind him. Four of them are familiar. The last one is new and makes Chan feel like he might be sick. The first thing Chan notices about Felix is that he has a really great smile. The second thing he notices is that they are the same height. Instantly his mind races. Who made the final call to bring him and Chan together and did they forget to check his statistics? How is this guy supposed to be his new blocker? How long is it going to take just to develop a game strategy that allows them to progress at least through the first round of qualifiers? He feels a little insane. He hears Felix introduce himself, holding out his hand for Chan to take. His voice is deep, and he keeps smiling at Chan, the freckles on his cheeks bunched up from it, and Chan barely registers what’s being said. Why would they do this? Losing Brian as his partner has already been painful enough. Now he’s stuck with a stranger who would’ve been his last choice if he’d had any say in the process. He can feel his Olympic dream floating farther and farther away with each lap he jogs around the court, with every stretch, with every set and every bump he sends to Felix as they pepper together. He knows he should wait until after practice, at the very least until he’s certain Felix is out of earshot to comment. Instead, during the water break right after their warmup, Chan walks over to Coach Yu and, barely remembering to lower his voice, asks: “Is this really the best pairing the association could come up with?” Coach Yu’s eyes widen, throwing a look at Felix a few feet away. “Are you serious, Chris?” “Are you? Have you seen the two of us standing next to each other? I think they forgot to look at his statistics before choosing him, coach. That or they wanted to be sure we wouldn’t make it past the first round of qualifiers.” “I get that it’s not the most typical pairing, but you have to give him a chance. He’s good, and he’s motivated, and I think that with the right strategy you guys have the potential to be really good together.” “I’m not so sure about that,” Chan grumbles, taking another swig from his water bottle. When he brings it back down, his gaze meets Felix’s, and Chan knows that he definitely heard his last comment if the sad frown on his face is anything to go by. Shit. Chan was raised very well. He normally has great manners, amazing at keeping up face even when he’s uncomfortable or angry, at being diplomatic whether it be with a coach or a referee. He’s just… Well, let’s just say this is a little step above what he can handle in his current state. He ignores the tension in the air, putting his bottle down on the bench and walking back to the court, waiting for the first drill to start.
“What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” On the screen, Minho’s eyebrows are set in a deep frown, his hand absentmindedly stroking Dori’s fur as the cat lounges in his lap. Next to them, Hyunjin is scrolling on his phone, the light of it not exactly flattering on his face, and he’s also frowning. “I don’t know, man,” Hyunjin replies, eyes still on his phone screen. “I’m looking at his information page and like… I know not everything in volleyball is about being tall, I’ve seen Haikyuu and shit, but… You guys are the exact same height. This is a weird pairing for sure.” Chan sighs, letting himself melt into his bed, his laptop wobbling from its position on his stomach. “I think Coach Yu and the association are trying to get back at me for getting Brian injured. They only want me to go to the Olympics if it’s with Brian, otherwise they’d rather I stay here.” “Hey.” Ah. So his self-deprecating joke didn’t exactly land. Minho sounds like he’s trying to comfort a lost puppy. “It’s not your fault that Younghyun-hyung got hurt, you know that. It’s a really shitty but normal part of sports. It could’ve been you, or it could’ve been Henry, or it could’ve been that Felix guy. You’re allowed to be sad and angry, but you can’t blame yourself for something that’s out of your control. And you know that your coach adores you, come on.” I wish it’d been me instead, Chan thinks but keeps to himself. He doesn’t really mean it, anyway. He is extremely grateful to do what he loves as a job. It’s just hard to see himself achieving his goals now. “I know,” he says to Minho, and even though his friend is still frowning at him he can see him relax slightly, scratching behind Dori’s ears with gentle hands. “How has practice been for you guys? I’ve been keeping up with your competitions, you guys are on a roll.” It doesn’t take more than that to launch Hyunjin into telling story after story from his last swim meets, how he’s still having one-sided beef with that one German guy and how he’s considering buzzing off all his hair because he’s sick of having to dry it after every practice. Chan finds himself laughing, always easily comforted by his friends’ presence, even through a screen. When Minho launches into stories of his own, Chan can almost believe that the dread and panic he felt earlier today never even existed.
The first two months of practice as Chan-and-Felix are… Something. Surprisingly, it would be a stretch to call it fully bad. Chan is a skilled player regardless of who’s with him on the court, and he has to admit that Felix can most definitely hold his own. Their serve receive is at a quality that Chan has rarely been able to achieve in his career, barely a single ball falling inside the court or going off into the walls. Felix remains unbelievably nice and courteous and polite, no matter how cold or unenthusiastic Chan is in return. The rest is still in the making, to say the least. Felix is objectively a very good player, and he jumps with a power Chan has only really seen in anime. He has amazing serves and clearly understands the game with both accuracy and passion. But the initial issue of height remains, giving Chan a less efficient blocker than he’s used to, harder to match in timing and leading to sets that are good but not quite the way Chan likes them. A personalized strategy needs to be developed, technique needs to be refined, movements need to be adapted, a rhythm needs to be created. More than just a game strategy, there’s trust that needs to be built between them, an understanding of each other’s strengths and weaknesses, of how the other needs to be reassured and kept in the game when things aren’t working out. They have to be partners, not just coworkers. In six weeks, no progress has been made in that area, at all, and it shows in how they play once they’re on the court. Chan can admit that a lot of it is his fault. He diverts from every attempt Felix makes at conversation before and after practice. He gives as little personal information as he possibly can when asked. He declines every offer for a meal or a drink that’s being made his way. He sticks to volleyball, the technical stuff, the strategies and the other duos they’ll play against during tournaments. Anything but himself, but them, but what they could be to each other beyond just two guys who have to play beach volleyball together professionally. It’s a tough routine for Chan to maintain, frankly. He’s a social creature, and usually his main objective when he meets new people is to be liked by them. But the mere idea of opening up to Felix somehow feels wrong, like becoming his friend would be much worse than whatever they have going on right now. So he ignores his basic instincts, keeps his head down and any hint of a smile off his face. He hopes that Felix will give up soon. Accept that Chan is the unfriendly, closed off and grumpy guy he’s been presenting himself as this whole time, and do what he can to perform in tournaments anyway. Chan can see that Felix is hurting because of him, and he’d rather not be feeling guilty about him and Brian at the same time.
Chan should’ve known that the day would come, but he’s still stunned and unprepared when Felix ambushes him as he’s gathering his things to shower after practice. “Hey, can we talk?” Chan feels his breath get caught in his throat, freezing in place with his arm buried into the depths of his locker in search of his towel. Talking with Felix is the last thing he wants to be doing, but still he sits next to him on the bench, the sounds of the high school practice that started after theirs muted by the concrete walls around them. Felix sighs. “I know you don't like me. I know you’d rather have anyone else as your partner. But playing at the Olympics is my dream. It’s yours too, or else you wouldn’t be here. I think we owe it to ourselves to at least try to make this… unusual partnership work out, despite how we feel about each other.” Chan lets the words linger in the locker room, a heavy silence falling over them. The guilt that’s been slowly growing in him for the past weeks comes to smack him in the face, and he can’t even meet Felix’s eyes when he speaks. “I don't dislike you. I'd have to know you to be able to dislike you, and I haven't allowed myself to do that. As you've probably noticed.” Felix chuckles, a little mean but also a little sad. “It’d be kinda hard not to. I just don’t understand why. We have the potential to be pretty great, Chris. We’re performing okay in tournaments, and that’s while having subpar chemistry. I know that you know that we could be good. Why won’t you give me a chance?” Now that he’s asked about it so plainly, Chan doesn’t really know how to answer. Felix is right. When he stops to think about it, ignores the part of his brain that’s so focused on numbers and strategy, he knows that his reluctance isn’t logical or even reasonable. They are performing well in tournaments, accumulating more wins than losses so far, and their game system is improving with each practice. Against all odds, the volleyball itself isn't the problem. “I think…” he starts, and it's hard to continue when it's something he still hasn't been brave enough to admit out loud. “I think that my brain convinced me that if this partnership works out, it means I'm betraying Brian. Like I'd be letting him down. And I still don't know how to live with that.” This time it's Felix who lets the words settle, and when Chan chances a look at him his frown is more pensive than angry. “Okay. I guess this makes some sense. Still, I'm… Changing partners is part of how the sport works. Sort of like how for indoors we split off into different pro teams around the world in between Olympic cycles. I know that you and Brian are friends, but I'm not sure I understand why you feel that following the normal process of our sport would mean betraying him.” It's so obvious that he's trying to be careful, to choose his words wisely. Chan doesn't see how he deserves this much kindness from him. Felix has deserved an explanation from the day they met, but it's even more evident now. “Brian is the reason I’m here at all,” Chan says, a smile on his lips despite himself. “He was a kind face at the sports booth during orientation on my very first day of high school, and that was enough to convince me to try out volleyball. I loved it, so I kept going, and Brian was always there a few years above me, taking me under his wing, helping me out with technique and strategy and believing in myself as a player. A few summers in he suggested we try out beach volleyball. It's when we stepped on the court together, burned our feet on the sand and won all of our games that I realized this is what I wanted to do with my life. “The Olympic dream has always been ours. It's something we've shared for over a decade. We’ve always pushed each other to work hard, to grow as athletes, so that we could compete together professionally one day. Brian and his previous partner were a few positions out of making it to the Olympics during the last cycle, so they decided to end their partnership. I’d just ended my previous partnership as well, so it was like our stars had finally aligned for us to train as partners for this cycle.” Chan takes a shaky breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Felix’s hand lift off his knee, then come back down, like he wants to comfort Chan but isn’t sure he’s allowed. It's sweet and genuine, and again Chan wonders how Felix can be so kind to him after months of cold shoulder. “It’d been going really, really well. We made an amazing team. We had the time of our lives being on the court together. We won a bunch of tournaments, on our way to being in the top four duos in Australia, and then… Our dream was over.” The day of Brian’s injury will probably haunt Chan for the rest of his life. Seeing his best friend go through such intense suffering, knowing that it might be the kind of injury that could cause him pain and discomfort for the rest of his life, realizing that they probably won’t ever be able to stand on the same court again… Saying he was crushed is much too small of a word to describe the devastation he felt, is still feeling in many ways. “The ultimate goal has always been of going to the Olympics. Working towards it with Brian felt like the most perfect, most rightful way it could possibly come to life. I thought I’d come to terms with the fact that it wouldn’t be happening this way, but clearly I was wrong.” When he finishes, it feels like a weight he never knew existed has been lifted off Chan’s shoulders. He’s never explained the full scope of his feelings to anyone, he realizes. He didn’t want to unload everything to Brian, not wanting to make him feel sad or guilty for his injury when it wasn’t really anyone’s fault at all and he was already suffering mentally and physically. Telling his friends felt like a lot of vaguely nonsensical complaining. It is a relief to finally get it completely out of his head, off his chest. Felix hums and nods absentmindedly, taking his time to process Chan’s story. Yells and laughs from the high school students stream under the door of the locker room along with the sounds of volleyballs bouncing off of arms and hands. Both of their gazes get lost in the tiles at their feet, and Chan waits anxiously to hear what Felix has to say now that all of Chan’s hurt is out in the open. A few minutes pass before Felix speaks. “Thank you for being honest with me. I can understand you a lot more now. Before all of this happened, I saw you guys on the circuit. I go to tournaments a lot, obviously because I’m a fan but also to learn, observe. You guys really were the duo to look out for. I was always so impressed at how good you were together, it was obvious that you cared for each other a lot beyond the game. I’m sorry it had to end like this.” When Chan looks up to meet Felix’s eyes, he finds them filled with admiration and a sincerity so strong Chan feels guilty all over again. Felix had been rooting for them, for him, and Chan thanked him by being the most unapproachable partner in the history of beach volleyball. What an asshole he has been. He sighs, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry, Felix. I could see that I was hurting you by pushing you away this whole time. I was too focused on my own hurt to want to do anything about it. You didn’t deserve any of that.” Felix smiles at him, and this time he does put a comforting hand on Chan’s shoulder. “I appreciate and accept your apology. I wish you’d told me all this when we started working together, so I could understand where you were coming from, but this is some vulnerable stuff to tell to pretty much a stranger, so I get why you didn’t. Especially considering the fact that you were grieving so many things at once.” For a beat, Chan just gapes at him, unable to respond. Then, he groans and lets his face fall into his hands. “God, how are you so fucking nice,” he mumbles, voice muffled by his palms. “I’ve been a dick to you since last June and yet you’re here trying to comfort me and validate my feelings. You don’t have to accept my apology just because you feel bad for me.” Felix laughs, full-bellied, clearly taken aback by Chan’s sudden despair. The hand that he still has on Chan’s shoulder gives a reassuring squeeze. “You have been a dick, and I have been sad about it, but staying mad at you won’t help us progress much more than you pushing me away did. You’re clearly sorry for the way you’ve acted, and now I can at least see what was behind it this whole time, so. I think our best move from now on is to get to know each other and to talk to each other if things aren’t going well, yeah?” Chan lifts his head from his hands to look back at Felix. “Definitely, yeah. Wow. Thank you. You’re really fucking kind, Felix.” “Don’t mention it,” Felix replies, and his smile hasn’t left his face. It’s still a really great smile.