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14-14. The Men’s Olympic Volleyball Finals. Beloved/Rams, Great Britain, versus Blade/Innes, USA.
Each team needed two points to close the match, but the real game had only just begun.
Tommy clasped hands with Techno. It was a technical timeout, and they were using every second of the break they had.
“Either way,” Techno said quietly, and Tommy closed his eyes, “we get a medal. So let’s put every fuckin’ thing we have into this, kid.”
Tommy nodded, and Techno clapped his shoulder, grinning. Tommy could tell how nervous he was—how they both were. Ranboo and Tubbo on the other side of the court looked equally tense—both of the teams would be the youngest in Olympic volleyball history to get gold, no matter who won.
They had already gone up against each other in the pool play, so they were familiar with each others’ strategies. But Tommy knew that both of them had tricks up their sleeve—he’d seen serves from Tubbo that were wildly different than any other he’s done this tournament. If he was being honest with himself, Tommy hoped that Tubbo wouldn’t serve again for the rest of the match—he’d already fumbled at least three of his serves over the course of the game and wasn’t too keen on repeating the point. Especially now.
They walked back onto the court, and Tommy felt a little bit like a soldier preparing for war. He was intensely aware of every grain of sand under his feet, more so than he has the entire match. He took his position at the back of the court and waited for Techno start the point.
Techno lifted the ball in his hands. Tommy watched as he exhaled and threw it up into the sky.
Tubbo got the serve up, sending it to Ranboo, who took advantage of the good pass to swipe it down on the other side. Tommy lunged for the ball, managing to get a touch, but it was too far and it hit the ground meters away.
“Fuck,” he swore vehemently, getting to his feet and brushing the sand off. The commentator was shouting some nonsense, but Tommy zeroed in on Techno’s voice.
“Take a breath,” he said sharply. “Reset. It’s down to this, kid, you gotta breathe.”
Tommy inhaled, exhaled. “Okay. Okay. I’m good.”
“That’s it. Let’s go.”
Tubbo was the server. It was game point for Great Britain, and Tommy crouched lower. The serve came to Techno and it clipped his shoulder, flying wildly into the air. The Great Britain crowd was going mad with joy but Tommy wasn’t done yet—he leapt over the side blocks, reaching, reaching—
The ball flew back up into the air, and the crowd screamed wildly. Tommy scrambled back just in time to watch Techno absolutely slam it into the ground, and he cheered, jumping all around Techno.
“It’s your serve,” Techno said, sounding out of breath. “Go get ‘em, you little shit.”
Tommy grinned widely, absolutely buzzing with adrenaline. “We win these?”
“We fucking win these. Let’s go.”
Tommy stood behind the line, ball in hands. 15-15. Two points to win. He tossed the ball high, leapt into the air—
A dull smack. The ball hit the tape at the top of the net, and Tommy let out a shout. No fucking way.
The Great Britain crowd shrieked and Tommy could see Techno signaling for a time-out from the corner of his vision. He moved to the tent. Fuck. Fuck.
“Drink some water,” Techno said softly.
Tommy fell down into the chair, gulping from his bottle. “Tech, I fucking—“
“Point’s over,” Techno said, and he crouched down next to Tommy. “Tommy. We’re right here. We’re about to do this, for real, and I need you here with me. Full strength.“
“Full hearts,” Tommy quipped weakly, and Techno put a hand on his knee.
“We’re so fuckin’ close,” Techno said quietly. “Don’t end it now.”
Tommy took one final swig of his water and got to his feet, steeling. “Let’s go.”
Techno got up, looking pleased. They were back on the court, and Tommy inhaled slowly as Ranboo prepared to serve.
Let’s go.
He sent an easy pass up to Techno, who set it back to him, and he leapt into the air, arm back, coiled like a spring and ready to hit. He swung.
The ball was deflected sharply by Ranboo’s block, and Tommy reacted instinctively, setting it wildly, praying that Techno was there to bump it back up again. He was, and Tommy prepared for another attack chance, ready to try something different. He jumped—
He tipped the ball with his left hand, and it hit the sand directly in front of the net.
“Point to Team USA!” the announcer yelled as Tommy screeched and Techno slapped his back, beaming. “Tommy Innes, youngest Olympic beach volleyball player in eighteen years, takes the kill, leaving Team USA tied with Great Britain at 16-16!”
It was Techno’s serve, and Tommy exhaled with relief as the ball flew cleanly over the net. It was passed up by Ranboo, but the ball soared a little too close to the net and Tommy saw his opportunity. He leapt up, he swung, and the ball hit Tubbo’s shoulder and flew into the crowd. Cheering, screaming, shouting, it all faded away at Tommy met Techno in the middle of the the court.
”Nice one,” Techno grinned. It was his serve again, 17-16. Gold medal point.
As Techno moved to go to the back of the court to serve, Tommy caught him by the back of his neck and pressed their foreheads together.
“Nobody does it like the Blade,” he whispered, and Techno grinned fiercely.
“Nobody,” he promised. He went to the back of the court, spinning his ball in his hands, and that was the only reason Tommy could tell he was nervous. Tommy clenched his teeth together, tensing.
The whistle blew. The ball was thrown into the air, and there was a wild look on Techno’s face, and suddenly, Tommy knew what was about to happen before it did. Techno made contact with the ball with a loud smack, sending it shooting over the net, and it was fumbled by Tubbo, flying way out of bounds. The stadium was silent for one glorious moment before it absolutely erupted.
Tommy screamed, running at Techno. He jumped into him, clutching his shoulders as he yelled. “Let’s fucking go!”
Techno laughed, and his smile was from ear to ear as the crowd roared and cheered around them.
“And Team USA wins the gold medal!” the announcer yelled over the sound of the celebrating crowd. “The youngest beach team in Olympic history, what a game—“
Phil sprinted onto the sand, coach’s clipboard discarded and hat flying off his head.
“You did it!” He jumped up and down, and Tommy threw his arms around them. They did it. They fucking did it.
They shook hands with Ranboo and Tubbo, who were shocked but still congratulated them with beaming faces.
“Excellent fucking serve, Blade,” Tubbo said seriously to Techno. “Absolutely wicked.”
The crowd was still celebrating around them, and Tommy and Techno hugged, jumping up and down together. Techno’s hair was loose from its braid, and Tommy was sure his was full of sand, but it didn’t fucking matter, did it, because they had just won an Olympic Gold medal.
Yeah. Tommy was going to remember this day for a long, long time.