sky 🐌

new mini chapters will be out tonight yippee

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I’ll continue tomorrow! hope you’re liking it so far!
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"i’m scared,” he admitted, voice barely there.

“i know,” asahi whispered. “we’ll be scared together.” and for the first time since the diagnosis, noya let someone hold that fear with him.

the popsicle dripped down Noya’s wrist. asahi reached out and gently wiped it with his sleeve.

“you’re still you,” he said. noya swallowed hard.

noya didn’t look at him, but he took it. they sat in silence while the fan whirred and the sun dipped behind the clouds, and all the noise of the world shrank down to the space between them.

his shoulders shook with a quietness that scared them both. not loud sobs, not dramatic weeping, just small, sharp breaths, like a match burning down too fast. asahi sat down next to him, said nothing. just peeled the orange popsicle slowly and handed it to him like it was sacred.

“i have to pretend.” his voice rose again, desperate. “if i don’t, i’ll fall apart. i’ll fall apart and i won’t stop.” and then he did fall apart. right there in front of asahi, nishinoya’s knees buckled, and he sat down hard on the floor.

asahi crossed the room, stopped right in front of him. his voice dropped to something softer, lower, like prayer.

“you don’t have to pretend it’s not real.”

“like what?”

“like I’m already dead.”

“i’m not-”

“you are,” noya said, standing, fists trembling. “right now. right now, your face is saying goodbye. i’m still here, asahi. i’m still me.”

“they said… it’s something in my blood,” he murmured. “it’s eating away at me. fast.” asahi stared. “i didn’t tell you,” noya said, voice cracking, “because I didn’t want you to look at me like that.”

“this is-” asahi cut off. “this isn’t nothing. this is chemotherapy medication. what the hell’s going on?” noya hated how quiet the apartment felt all of a sudden, like even the walls were holding their breath.

he looked up. the silence was deep and wrong and full of thunder.

“yū…” noya sat up, fast. his vision swam for a second.

“it’s nothing.”

“what’s this?” noya’s eyes snapped open.

“don’t- hey, just give me that.” asahi turned the label slowly in his hand. read it once. then again.

'chemotherapy medication.
morning and evening. daily.
yū nishinoya.'

noya stretched, letting himself collapse back on the tatami mat, chest rising and falling too quickly for how still he was. that’s when it happened. a small white bottle rolled out of his duffel bag. asahi bent down to pick it up.

“don’t hate me ‘cause i’m talented.” asahi got up to grab the popsicles from the freezer, orange ones, because noya had a thing about orange lately. said it made him feel "sunny, or something."

“i win again!” noya shouted, slamming a red draw four onto the carpet like it was an olympic medal. asahi groaned, collapsing backward with a grunt.

“you’re cheating somehow. i know it.”

just old-school sleepover vibes: video games, junk food, trash talk. they were deep into their third round of UNO, sitting cross-legged on the floor of noya’s apartment, when it happened.

but then came tuesday. the sky was flat and gray, the kind that didn’t bother raining, just hovered like it wanted to. asahi had invited noya over to hang out. nothing fancy.

9. he didn’t tell anyone, for twenty-five days. he counted. it was easier not to say it out loud. if he told tanaka, tanaka would cry. if he told daichi, daichi would offer to carry the weight. if he told asahi… he didn’t even know, he didn’t want to find out.

he wanted noise, he wanted fire, he wanted to keep burning. but even fire needs oxygen. and lately, it was getting harder to breathe.

'if i tell him, he’ll never let me go back to pretending. he’ll be kind. he’ll be soft. he’ll start grieving before I’m even gone.' noya didn’t want kindness.

he thought about his bucket list, he thought about the secret growing in his chest, like roots curling up from the inside. and most of all, he thought about asahi.

8. that night, back home, after everyone had gone and the gym lights were off, noya couldn’t sleep. he was laying on his back with a pillow over his chest, trying to push the weight down.

“i don’t want to be different,” he muttered.

“you’re not,” asahi said, and meant it. but noya didn’t believe it. not yet.

“you were amazing,” asahi said quietly.
noya didn’t look at him.

“i was loud.”

“you were you.” noya’s hand curled tighter around the bottle.

daichi chuckled. “it’s like riding a bike. one that throws you into a wall.” asahi leaned back against the wall beside noya, who sat silently, sipping water like his life depended on it, because it did.

7. after the match, everyone lay on the floor, drenched in sweat, too tired to move. tanaka sprawled out with his arms over his face. “i forgot how much volleyball hurts.”

“last point!” tanaka shouted. “winner takes the last melon soda!”

“hell yeah!” noya called back, voice raw. they played. he smiled. he was shaking.

for five minutes, he was the old noya. flashy. loud. unbreakable. and then, like a blown fuse, his knees buckled mid-shift. the world tipped sideways. a sharp ringing filled his ears. he barely caught himself and pretended to tie his shoe.

this time, noya called every ball, screamed from the backline, set impossible dives, even landed a serve receive that made daichi whistle. he grinned, chest heaving asahi gave him a tired high five.