Archive of Our Own ^beta

His hand ached. If he could not dislocate another finger in the future, that’d be great.

Like a sailor adrift at sea, Tsukishima had become somewhat attuned to the darkening of clouds, the taste of pending petrichor on his tongue, all due to an old injury in his hand. Who would have thought disjointed bone and torn muscle would affect him so—it wasn’t that serious of an injury, really. Tsukishima would never admit it aloud, but when others turned their face to the sun, he could look down at his hand and know the clouds were pending a shift. Pain which came from a change in barometric pressure, Tsukishima would remind himself, nothing more. Yamaguchi joked it could be a party trick which thank god because he was really looking for another thing to not care about.

Tsukishima was now accustomed to taping his right pinky and ring fingers together for stability. Jammed fingers hurt no matter what, but he quickly found that even after he healed, force against the side of his hand rattled down his wrist. So while his teammates chatted, bending to stretch tight hamstrings or pull at triceps, Tsukishima took a moment to tape his fingers. A ritual. Even with practice, it was irksome to tightly bind with his nondominant hand. When he lifted his left hand to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he noted the lingering, rubbery smell of adhesive. Yamaguchi had offered time and again to assist with a plaintive Tsukiii, but Tsukishima could be proud about unnecessary things. It was ironic that he would spend time needling someone like Kageyama about trimming his nails to perfect his setting when he paid equal attention to his own fingers. And honestly, the more Tsukishima embraced middle blocking, the more often he wrapped his fingers, sometimes proactively.

Most of his teammates paid him no mind whilst taping even though they often didn’t bother with it themselves when just practicing. Oddly enough, other than Yamaguchi and occasionally Yachi, the one teammate Tsukishima noticed watching him taping was Kageyama. After studiously binding his fingers, Tsukishima would look up and see blue eyes staring back, face inscrutable. He assumed it was because he was doing a poor job, which further rankled him. Everything volleyball-related he did was surely considered subpar. When Tsukishima would notice Kageyama glancing at him after taping, Tsukishima would give him a mocking grin, which served its intended purpose—causing Kageyama to scowl and huff away.

Kageyama observing him made him uncomfortable.

Per Ukai’s barked instructions, the team fell into the comfortable rhythm of exercise and practice—spiking, receiving, diving, et cetera. Squeaking sneakers and breathless pants of exertion. They moved to a round of blocking. Tsukishima would deny this with his dying breath, but working alongside such vibrant players—not just the ebullient Hinata’s and Nishinoya’s of the world, but also the reliably steadfast Yamaguchi’s—spurred him into greater action. Even if Tsukishima told himself he didn’t care about something, he hated being mediocre at it. So when half the team practiced spiking and the middle blockers took their corresponding queue, Tsukishima perhaps jumped a bit higher, strained his fingers harder, and worked to improve midair-reading to adjust his arms accordingly. He was no Kuroo or Aone, but damned if he wouldn’t get there. He didn’t play this hard for the sake of being noticed, but part of him wanted to be seen all the same, that when people spoke in whispers of Karasuno’s monsters, they also feared its mortal men.

On the other side of the net stood Kageyama, eyeing blockers running to the net, doing his best to find that sweet spot for spikers. Dark eyes always watching, always calculating. As Tanaka began his run, Tsukishima skidded shy of the net, poised on the tip of his toes to pivot where Kageyama flicked the ball. Left and Tsukishima was off like a shot, bending and shooting from the knees to raise his arms to an impressive height. He made a point to catch Tanaka’s eyes, to cast an air of not here. Tanaka’s eyes darted past him and he slammed the ball, but this time it was futile. Tsukishima jerked his arms and with a sharp crack the ball careened toward the other side of the net like a leaden weight. He felt the force bruise his forearm, knocking it back in recoil like a shot rifle. Instead of any derision, Tanaka’s face glowed with challenge.

“I’m watching you, kid,” Tanaka shook his finger at him like a grandfather, “I’m just letting you build your confidence like the good senpai I am.”

Tsukishima heard Nishinoya laugh nearby; he bowed lightly, teasingly, and moved to jog away. His eye caught Kageyama’s, who was frowning in consideration.

“What?” Tsukishima bit out, wondering what he possibly could have done wrong this time.

“You’re not trying hard enough,” Kageyama announced, unperturbed, “Your arms shouldn’t be so weak when you block.”

Tsukishima stopped and turned to look at him directly through the netting. "Excuse me, what?” He rose to his fullest height, not that it made much difference here.

Oh for fuck’s sake, Tsukishima heard behind him, but his attention was on Kageyama.

“Don’t hold back on my account, Your Highness, please tell me how shitty I’m playing.” Tsukishima felt defensive, unsure where the slight was coming from, and he wanted Kageyama to feel it.

But Kageyama tilted his head, eyebrows minutely raised in what looked like genuine surprise.

“You’re not shitty, it’s just that your blocking could be better. You need more muscle in your arms and shoulders if you don’t want to get knocked back so much. Well, that and stamina overall are important, too.”

This is just a club, this is just a club, Tsukishima told himself, but the mantra rang increasingly hollow. He knew the voice became fainter with time but would otherwise persist because if he failed at blocking, he could tell himself that he didn’t care in the first place, which made the pain bearable.

But damn if he didn’t hurt.

“Oh fuck off,” Tsukishima muttered, turning around and trotting to the back of the blocking line. Hinata eyed him anxiously but looked away when he glared in his general direction.

Hinata rocked slightly back on his heels, doing a poor job of appearing nonchalant. “You, uh, ok there?”

Tsukishima felt the urge to snap, to push people away when he felt guarded, but he just wasn’t feeling it. He just raised an eyebrow at him.

Hinata hummed. “Kageyama’s a good guy, but he can be a real dick.”

Tsukishima choked on an aborted laugh.

“But don’t mind him,” Hinata continued sagely, “He’s a straight-up guy so at least you know where he’s coming from.”

“Yeah, I figured as much,” Tsukishima groused, now unable to look away from Kageyama. Kageyama didn’t look back.

Look at me, he wanted to yell, but he didn’t know why.

___

Tsukishima didn’t consider himself salty by nature. Well, at least when he was younger. As a kid, he desperately admired Akiteru, thought he was the epitome of everything—his height, his kindness, his delightfully affable nature, and especially how badass of a volleyball player he was. Tsukishima tried to play it off as cool, tried to emulate his mature older brother to become even a fraction of what he was. His parents thought Akiteru was their golden child, and how could they not? Tsukishima could only hope that one day he would be just as amazing and people would look to him as the one worth noticing.

Until. Until.

It was his fault, really, that he pinned so many hopes and aspirations onto Akiteru. He could recognize in retrospect the sheer amount of pressure he unwittingly placed on him. To be so doggedly put on a pedestal that Akiteru was afraid of ever looking anything less than the dream Tsukishima pictured. Akiteru loved Tsukishima as fiercely as Tsukishima loved him. He could understand this rationally.

Irrationally, the betrayal hurt so badly that the day he discovered Akiteru’s lie, Tsukishima crawled into his bed and cried, face pressed against a pillow to muffle his wracking sobs. It was the first time Tsukishima ever experienced heartbreak. Tsukishima cared so ardently that the crash was nearly unbearable. To him, such passion for and hard work to master volleyball now lead to pain and fatigue. For the most part, it didn’t feel worth it.

Why try so hard if it didn’t really matter?

And yet there he was, a young Tsukishima staying in the youth volleyball league with Yamaguchi, going through the motions, skating through the bare minimum by height and cunning alone. It was still the most social interaction he got outside of his family, spending his days with his best friend. It kept him active, it made his parents happy. But perhaps most importantly, it seemed to ease the haunted look in Akiteru’s eyes when he could eventually deign to look at him again. For a while, Akiteru was a mere shell of a person, so utterly devastated by the knowledge that he tarnished his little brother’s hero worship. As a high schooler, sometimes Tsukishima still felt a pang of bitterness by what had happened. But Akiteru had made such a concerted effort to change, to come to terms with his own self and his relationship with him that even Tsukishima himself could tentatively start to grasp that olive branch. They could never resume the relationship they had when younger, back when Tsukishima was starry-eyed and Akiteru was bolstering his own self-esteem as best he could. Ultimately, however, they were both the better for it. Their youth was built on well-intentioned deception and a lack of grace for one’s failings. As burgeoning adults, they stumbled onto new footing, something deeper and more genuine.

It figures it would still all come back to volleyball.

___

“—Ok, so then you’d think they’d be out but wham he nailed it and then pwow the libero just caught it and—”

Hinata could go on and on and he swears nine times out of ten he’d be invested, but Kageyama lately had found his attention wandering more these days. Wandering toward someone these days.

For a very long time, Kageyama lasered pinpoint focus solely onto volleyball. From the first time a volleyball fwipped out of his hands as a kid, he was hooked. Everything that made volleyball perfect coalesced into one sensory experience he never wanted to end. Loud commentary from professional recordings he watched in his bedroom, clutching a pillow to his chest, mesmerized. The smell of wax and wood cleaner used to repair and maintain hardwood courts. The roughened texture of the ball. Everything.

Kageyama liked to believe that even if he weren’t so naturally inclined towards volleyball, he would still be as addicted. There was never an excuse for not trying your hardest, regardless of what you brought to the game. That said, being talented made the game all the sweeter because wasn’t it more enjoyable to be good at something you so dearly loved?

The more control and experience he gained, the more he came to realize just how much he alone could do on the court to win. Poor receive? No problem, he could recover that. A service ace? Why, yes, he would practice his serving until his thighs cramped. The killer strike? Yes, he could help make that happen, he could serve fast enough, faster, get there, hit this and you’ll get past blockers why can’t you hit that I’ll just have to go faster or the team will lose and—

Kageyama could honestly say that he didn’t anticipate his current teammates abandoning him. Sometimes the bitterness could strike in such still moments that he would forget how to breathe. Everything he had done had been for volleyball and if he wanted to play, he had to win. And if he wanted to win as a setter, he had to make sure his teammates could spike. If he could shoulder as much of the burden as possible, wasn’t that to everyone’s benefit? Why couldn’t anyone see that?

Hinata was a constant presence at his side these days, a real kindred spirit in many ways. Kageyama bristled at being labeled a “volleyball idiot,” but at least he wasn’t the only one lumped into that group anymore. Hinata was certainly lacking in a number of ways, but his ability to evolve was exhilarating and admirable and monstrous. That, coupled with a bizarre willingness to put up with Kageyama’s moods, made him a worthy rival and ally alike. But something Hinata had that Kageyama did not, something that Kageyama would never admit to out loud, was that he was infectiously sociable.

There was not a volleyball player alive who couldn’t be Hinata’s friend if they were willing. He picked up friends and rivals as if it were as much his life’s pursuit as volleyball. Hinata had the ability to instill loyalty and begrudging respect just simply by being himself: friendly, relentless, and hungry as hell. It most likely explained how he and Hinata had become such companions. Hinata was always looking to the stars and was happy to drag anyone willing in his wake.

Kageyama wanted to sail just as far, but while Hinata felt bogged down by only himself, Kageyama had to start with Oikawa. Oikawa excelled in most everything he put his mind to. What he lacked in Kageyama’s natural skill, he more than made up for through sheer willpower and practice. Oikawa was everything he wasn’t: a setter who brought the best out of everyone, a great student, wildly charming, wildly attractive. He had rightfully earned his status as the best setter in their region. Kageyama couldn’t help the latter two, but if he could at least give all of himself to volleyball, he could be someone. He could be enough. He would be.

Kageyama had raw talent and sharp intellect for athleticism in spades. And while he could focus to the exclusion of everything, he struggled to apply it to school.

He was also so lonely sometimes he felt he could drown in it.

I’m not smart. I’m not good with people. If I don’t have volleyball, I don’t have anything—

“—which is when she started crying and c’mon, how was I supposed to know that Natsu wanted that specific bento wrap I mean, she’s got like three of those cat ones already, you know? Kageyama? Hello? Dude, you’re not even listening to me are you?” Hinata’s voice cut in.

Kageyama blinked. “Not really, no.”

”Rude!” hissed Hinata, but just as quickly he barreled past him into the gym, shouting You’re too slooow! as he bounded toward the other boys. Kageyama stopped at the gym doors, taking a deep breath. Rubber, wood polish, sweat, heat. He took a moment to just breathe in what he knew. Kageyama took a step to follow Hinata when another body caught his shoulder from behind.

“At least move out of the doorway to let us poor peons through, Your Worshipfulness,” muttered Tsukishima over his right shoulder, body brushing against him as he moved past. Kageyama looked up in surprise, just quickly enough to see a glint of amber side-eye before Tsukishima turned his head.

Tsukishima clicked his tongue, annoyed, but slowed down. “You look more dumbstruck than usual, you going to join us or just stare vacantly into the universe?”

“What does vacantly mean?” That wasn’t the retort Kageyama wanted to go with, but he was feeling a bit off-kilter.

“If you have to ask, you’re proving my point,” Tsukishima replied, rolling his eyes. He still hadn’t moved. “Seriously, get in here already, you’re being weird.”

“Shut up,” Kageyama muttered, shouldering past him in return.

“Ahh, now that’s the Kageyama we all know and tolerate,” Tsukishima called back.

But…what did “vacantly” mean? Was this vocabulary they learned and he already forgot? He had no time for school, not when he could improve his skills, but he also couldn’t forget how his last training camp started. What if it were so bad that next time he was prevented from going altogether? Kageyama stifled a beat of panic clawing up his throat.

Practice began, practice continued. Kageyama’s mind became blissfully blank. Here, there was no time for wallowing, no room for doubt. Every moment of focus was one more point of experience he could bank. At least, unlike a Kageyama of yore, today he could better appreciate that every skill earned was not just for his betterment, but for his teammates as well. His strength could be their strength.

Their strength could be his strength, too.

By virtue of being a setter, Kageyama arguably saw the most of his teammates in motion. He was not only playing his side of the court—where were his five teammates at a given time—but also felt the oppressive weight of his team blocking behind him. Kageyama had a solid grasp of his teammates’ strengths and weaknesses, both of which were equally important when setting. Weaknesses weren’t ideal, naturally, but they were a variable that sometimes couldn’t be changed and thus had to be accommodated. Sometimes, what was considered a weakness to others—say, lack of height—could be transmuted into something unexpected and powerful in its own way. So when Kageyama thought he saw something which could be improved in someone, he was more than happy to share it.

Well, he used to be, anyway. He knew his teammates weren’t always receptive to such suggestions.

Kageyama was at the center of the net, Kiyoko nearby with a basket of volleyballs. It was a routine drill: Kiyoko would toss to Kageyama, who would set for an incoming spiker, whose form was then immediately critiqued by Ukai while Yachi diligently wrote down his observations. Kageyama’s practice here was twofold. He not only honed his technical skills as a setter, but he also better learned the movement and idiosyncrasies of his teammates. Everyone was unique, Oikawa would note, and everyone could succeed if played to their strengths. It didn’t mean that everyone was equally enjoyable to work with, however.

Tsukishima was one such person. Kageyama was so frustrated with him sometimes he wanted to physically wipe the smirk from his face, shake his shoulders to settle sense into that stupidly big brain of his. How could someone with untapped talent let it just go to waste? His height was certainly enviable, sure, but he was so smart. In any other context, they were comparably night and day. But when they played volleyball together, Kageyama suspected they assessed others in a pretty similar fashion. Largely objective, strategizing a full set ahead, and striking chinks into armor until the opponent was bare and vulnerable. So what was Tsukishima doing here, making a halfhearted leap, a reasonable if unexciting height, and making a decent connection with the ball? He knew he could do better, so why wasn’t he? To be both a killer shield and spear was a skillset most of them could only dream of. If Tsukishima truly didn’t care about any of this, why the hell was he even here?

If Tsukishima were Hinata, Kageyama would point-blank call him out. He’d brook no room for argument, he’d get in his face and push and push and Hinata would splutter but take it in stride. With Tsukishima, Kageyama knew he wouldn’t be so well-received. He had a hard time speaking with Tsukishima on a good day as teammates, let alone as friends. They weren’t friends, he knew this. But.

But Kageyama wanted to beat Oikawa, wanted to go to Nationals, and if he felt he could shift those odds in his favor even just the slightest bit, he would try.

They’re cooling down now, stretching to ease acid in muscles before taking their respective routes home. His teammates were chattering around him but he felt removed, fully concentrating on his newest quandary. If he were Oikawa, he would insist, gently but firmly, on how they could work together to bring out his fullest potential. He’d throw a winning smile, a faux self-deprecating hand at the back of his head to ease any sting. Although to be fair, Kageyama knew that tactic was just as unlikely to work. Tsukishima was a being of logic, one who took his time assessing before making a move. He would sacrifice battles to win a war. He seemed generally most inclined to participate if he got something out of it but Kageyama wanted something in return so—

___

“Tutor me.”

Tsukishima looked up from his lunch, taking his headphones off. “Excuse me?”

“Tutor me. Please,” Kageyama said, his voice terse.

Tsukishima was eating lunch in his homeroom, sitting near the window where it was easy to gaze out and ignore any nonsense around him. Yamaguchi had left to use the restroom, so he thought he had a few moments of peace to pull up his latest playlist and pretend the view outside was his alone. A peace which was quickly burst by the unexpected intrusion of Kageyama, whose hands were clenched by his sides. Even for Kageyama, he looked particularly tense as if readying for battle.

“That sounds time-consuming, especially for someone like you,” he tacks on the end just to see Kageyama stiffen. Tsukishima felt slightly flat-footed, not expecting the request and especially not without Hinata around to take point. “What would I possibly get out of it?”

Kageyama squinted in consideration but held Tsukishima’s gaze. It still unnerved him a bit to be caught in such intense crosshairs.

“You want to get better, right? Maybe like Kuroo?”

Tsukishima felt his own shoulders draw up. “What are you—”

“What’s holding you back is your body, not your head,” Kageyama powered through as if uninterrupted. “You think a lot and you’ve got the height advantage, but you don’t use it the way you could.” He paused. “Hinata would kill for a body like yours and you just let it go to waste.”

“Fuck you,” he snapped automatically, stung. “If you’re asking for help, you’re doing a shit job of it.”

But Kageyama didn’t relent, either unperturbed or riding on momentum. “The only thing worse than studying is not being able to play volleyball, which I can’t do if I’m failing.” He allowed a frustrated huff. “That’s a fact. You finally want to give a shit about volleyball? Work harder. If you tutor me, I’ll train with you. Win-win.”

Kageyama roughly jammed his hands in his pockets, now sliding his eyes away to stare at something in the distance. Tsukishima felt something in his chest clench, then release. He loathed to admit that anything Kageyama said could ring true, especially when it was a detriment to himself. A breeze slipped by outside, skittering dried leaves across stone. Tsukishima reasoned he could probably teach himself what he needed to know about exercise and training—it wasn’t that hard in theory—but he also recognized that his motivation could be wanting without enough push. And nothing riled him up faster than people calling him on his bullshit. It would be so terribly easy to laugh in his face and pull his headphones back on, deliberately ignore him until he stormed away. He could do that. He should do that.

Why try so hard if it didn’t really matter?

“How often?”

Kageyama startled. “What?”

Tsukishima sighed heavily through his nose. “Tutoring. How often do you think you’d need it?”

“I don’t know,” Kageyama replied, seeming a bit surprised by his acquiescence. “How often do you think?”

“Depends,” Tsukishima said, shrugging. “We can start with one night after practice, get a feel for how you’re doing, go from there.”

Kageyama nodded. “Sure. Thursday?”

“Sure.” Tsukishima paused, waiting to see if Kageyama had follow-up, but the other just watched him. “So. How often?”

“You just said we’d start Thursday.”

“No,” Tsukishima pinched the bridge of his nose. “How often do we train together?”

“Oh. I go running in the mornings, alternating weight work after practice. Think you can handle that?”

“Every morning?” Tsukishima clarified, vaguely aghast.

“Yeah, every morning, what are you, a child? Get your shit together.”

“Fuck you,” he muttered, but it lacked bite.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Kageyama waved him off and somehow that was so much worse, we’re not friends.

We’re not friends.

___

To say Kageyama wasn’t looking forward to tutoring was an understatement. He didn’t understand how parsing through classic literature was a more valuable use of his time than, say, practicing his serves. Some parts of education seemed useful, others didn’t. Moreover, he had gone through this with Tsukishima before and it had been a hit-and-miss experience. Honestly, if it weren’t for Yachi’s introduction into their first-year fold, Kageyama might not have learned enough to get through what testing he had.

Yachi was unassuming in her brilliance, able to break down complex thought into bite-sized pieces that made him feel like he actually understood what he was reading. She was apt to praise, maintained immaculate notes, and instilled a sense of camaraderie via shared commiseration. Tsukishima, conversely, taught in a way that assumed others were already operating on his wavelength. He would tap-tap-tap his pen if Kageyama took too long to answer or clicked his tongue when he missed what was apparently an easy answer. Intentional or not, Tsukishima could easily make him feel particularly inept.

Kageyama also couldn’t deny that Tsukishima was really fucking smart.

Whether it was studying algebra or read-blocking, Tsukishima was clearly always thinking, always assessing next steps and best approaches. As a setter, Kageyama had to focus on a number of compounding factors before tossing: where was the spiker positioned, what was their level of fatigue, what was the path of least resistance for the ball, and so on. He would feel a blocker’s weight pressing against his back, an ever-present pressure to move faster and faster until muscle memory could overcome forethought. He could only imagine how daunting Tsukishima must be to setters during real matches, just too-tall, eyes all the harder to track when obscured by the glare of fluorescent light on his glasses. There was a reason why Tsukishima had the potential to be a truly formidable blocker and why he was in an advanced academic class: he was really fucking smart.

So here Kageyama was, drumming his fingers on a library table, idly scanning books lining the shelves. He halfheartedly picked at a chip of wood coming off the table corner, dark stain revealing a cheaper and paler base. He purposefully chose neutral territory after school because not only was the thought of going over to either of their homes somehow too much, but the library also forced its inhabitants into relative silence—surely Tsukishima couldn’t be too vocal in his disapproval. He felt a sneeze from dust motes tickle his nose and as his face scrunched, Tsukishima cleared the nearest shelf to find their tucked-away table.

“What is with that face, is that your default setting? We haven’t even started yet,” Tsukishima sneered. Kageyama sneezed.

“Shut up and sit down,” Kageyama said tersely, feeling self-conscious.

“Well now I’m invested in this, thank you for that.”

“Oh my god, shut up, can we just get started already,” Kageyama whispered, shuffling his papers as an excuse to not look at Tsukishima.

“Well ok then,” Tsukishima whispered back mockingly, “After you, Your Majesty.”

“You’re such a piece of—” Kageyama started and realized a second too late he was using his outdoor voice. An uncomfortable cough sounded nearby.

“You’re such a piece of shit,” Kageyama hissed, a hot moment away from calling this quits altogether.

“Yeah, what else is new,” Tsukishima crooked an eyebrow in annoyance. “Do you actually want to do this? Because I have other things I could be doing.”

Kageyama took a quick breath, wanting so desperately to let him leave and not come back. But if he did, Tsukishima would leave—and he really wouldn’t come back—and Kageyama would be left behind, stewing on this wooden chair feeling equal parts angry and defeated. He clenched his fist, knuckles whitening, and tried to say something, anything to get him to stay but the words tangled in his mouth, stuck on his teeth until he almost choked on them.

But Tsukishima was still there, forehead now furrowed. A beat of silence lasted too long, long enough that Kageyama was tempted to just escape whatever hellscape of frustration and musty-smelling paper he had fallen into. Tsukishima sighed heavily through his nose.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Tsukishima offered, his tone mild but not unkind. Kageyama let his eyes drift shut, finding it easier to talk when he didn’t have to look at anything. He worked to loosen his fingers.

“No, let’s just…get it over with already,” he replied, now just feeling tired and a little resigned.

Tsukishima clicked his tongue, but it seemed more of an acknowledgement than admonishment. The taller boy leaned over to grab his bag and pulled out a notebook, flipping through pages until he found what looked like a list. Spinning the notebook around, Tsukishima slid it toward Kageyama and handed him a pen. The list detailed the major areas of focus they studied, everything from math to history to English. One long finger tapped the top of the page.

“You didn’t sound sure of where to start so I thought this could help,” Tsukishima said, “You can mark the subjects you need help with the most.”

Kageyama scanned the sheet quickly, then again more slowly. Part of him wanted to say all of it but realistically he was only truly struggling with a couple subjects to the point of failing. Trying to keep his face impassive, Kageyama ticked off literature and math. He pushed the notebook away.

Tsukishima read it and made a small nod to himself. “Is that it?” he asked, looking up over the top of his glasses.

Kageyama felt his hackles raise. “Yeah, it is, I’m not so stupid that I need help with everything.” Tsukishima’s eyes narrowed.

“Is that what I said? That you’re stupid? No, so listen to what I’m actually telling you, god no wonder you listed language as one of your worst subjects.”

Kageyama pushed back from the table hard enough that the chair’s legs screeched against the floor. He found himself standing, staring down at Tsukishima, who startled at the sudden movement. Kageyama was trying to breathe, he was so close bolting this was such a mistake, this is bullshit but Tsukishima, instead of responding in kind, slowly lifted his hands a couple inches from the tabletop, a small placating gesture. Kageyama wondered what kind of face he must be making, but his jaw was so tight it felt wired shut. He was hyperaware of their surroundings, how raggedly he breathed, his ears straining to hear if someone would come by to check on the commotion.

“I’m sorry.”

He blinked Tsukishima back into his vision.

“What?” Kageyama asked shortly, momentarily thrown off.

“I’m sorry,” Tsukishima reiterated, sounding as if the words pained him. “Just, sit back down, ok?”

Wondering if this was a trap—or worse, was this already a test—Kageyama gently moved the chair back in, sat down, and eyed Tsukishima warily.

Tsukishima knuckled his eye under his glasses, briefly skewing the frames. “If this is going to work, we have to stop assuming the worst of each other, alright? Like, if I’m asking if you understand something, I’m not implying you’re dumb, I’m literally checking to see if we’re on the same page or else this is pointless.” Tsukishima inhaled, continued, “I’ll try to not antagonize you, or I’ll at least antagonize you less, I can’t make any promises. And, if you make any faces that resemble sneezing in any fashion,” and here the corner of Tsukishima’s mouth ticked up, “I’ll try my best to not take it personally. Ok?”

“Yeah, fine,” Kageyama grumbled, but his chest loosened.

“Enough of that,” Tsukishima said, pushing his glasses up, “Tell me what you think troubles you the most about these subjects.”

Kageyama opened his mouth, then closed it. What did trouble him the most? Was it the content itself? The application? Was he, possibly, just too dense?

“They’re…hard,” Kageyama settled with, struggling to translate his own thoughts.

Tsukishima took a fortifying breath, looking as if he, too, were ready at any moment to bolt. “Ok. Hard. Ok, so you’re given a math worksheet to take home. It’s a list of algebra equations to solve, pretty straightforward. Are you able to get partway through and then feel stuck, or do you right away just get overwhelmed?”

Kageyama chewed on his lip, still unsure how to answer. “The equations aren’t…terrible. It’s more, the word problems? Where there’s a paragraph to read and you have to figure out things like distance or probability and whatever.”

But Tsukishima nodded as if that made sense. “Yeah, I could see that. It sort of goes with how reading passages in literature isn’t your best either, hm?” Tsukishima looked past Kageyama’s shoulder, eyes slightly unfocused as he tap-tap-tap’ed his index finger on the tabletop.

“Uh, what are you doing?” Kageyama asked

“Thinking, be quiet.”

“Thinking about…?”

“Be. Quiet. Give me a second,” Tsukishima muttered, darting his eyes to look at Kageyama and then off behind him again.

Kageyama felt his skin tighten with frustration. “Look, if you’re not gonna help me, I’m going.”

“God, fine. Pull out today’s math assignment, we’re just going to go through it.”

“That’s…it? We’re just ‘going through it’?”

For someone who had poor stamina, Tsukishima sure seemed to have no lack of breath for all the sighing he did. “Today we’re just going to start with what’s in front of us. I think there’s a bigger issue to deal with, but we’ll tackle that later, ok? The sooner we start this the sooner we can both go, yeah?”

Kageyama waited for the other shoe to drop, but Tsukishima was still there. He looked irritated per usual, but he was still there. He hadn’t left him. Yet.

“Where do we begin?”

___

At five in the morning, the sun had barely risen. It was amidst the barest glow that Tsukishima sat up groggily in bed, slumping in a seated position. Part of him genuinely considered just laying back down. Today was supposed to be the first of countless mornings where he would join Kageyama on his daily run.

Half of him wondered if Kageyama wasn’t actually serious about this—that Tsukishima would wait indeterminately like a fool—and the other half considered feigning sickness just to get him to go away if he arrived. Before he could commit to falling back asleep, he slowly slid out of bed onto the floor to start gently stretching. Worst case, he figured, he could convince himself he naturally awoke too early and was just making a languid attempt to finish homework from last night. Midway through stretching his left hamstring, his phone buzzed next to his hip.

>> Here

Tsukishima stared blankly at his phone, a squirm of indecision in his gut—this was his opportunity to say he had a sore throat or stayed up too late last night. The prospect of leaving his house suddenly seemed daunting. But he also imagined the face Kageyama might make if he flaked, dark eyes scornful. The former, more than anything, spurred him to grab his glasses from the bedside table and get dressed. Tsukishima could allow himself to give up on something but he sure as hell wouldn’t let someone else insinuate that he was failing in any way. He sighed.

<< Give me 5

He padded quietly down to the front door, toed his shoes on, and took a fortifying breath before going outside. True to his word, Kageyama was at his front gate, lightly bouncing in place to keep his legs warm. He was dressed in attire he had seen before, a hooded anorak and leggings under shorts. Kageyama’s breath puffed in the cold air. His cheeks were slightly flushed from chill and exertion, his face inscrutable.

“We going?” Kageyama asked. He typically was not one to talk at great length, but it seemed at this hour he was even less inclined. Tsukishima nodded begrudgingly but went to join him, shivering.

Without preamble, Kageyama turned and began jogging his way down the street. It took a second for Tsukishima to gather his thoughts before starting a steady lope until he reached Kageyama. They naturally fell into a rhythm side by side, all the easier due to their similar height. His body hadn’t warmed up enough to appreciate how crisp the morning breeze felt against his bare legs, but even he could admit the air tasted pleasantly different this early; the soft scent of dew-laden flowers, a waft of fresh bread from a bakery they passed, a hint of moisture from standing water. Tsukishima could faintly feel the heat radiating from Kageyama’s body. He loathed to break the silent bubble they had fallen into, but Tsukishima noticed Kageyama seemed hardly out of breath. This observation frustrated him.

“You’ve slowed down for me, haven’t you,” Tsukishima said. It wasn’t a question.

Kageyama barely glanced in his direction before kicking his pace up a notch. Tsukishima huffed but lengthened his stride, irked by Kageyama’s apparent indifference. Now, Tsukishima was starting to feel a slight burn in his lungs and his thighs, not as accustomed to running consistently at this pace. He tried to focus on evening his breath, on the road ahead, anything to distract him from admitting he was starting to flag. He was vaguely aware of distance they had covered by this point, but Kageyama maintained a steady clip like a machine. He was a quiet companion by his side, which somehow made it worse. He knew it was in his head, but Tsukishima felt it was almost condescending, like he was just tagging along with Kageyama and not actually working with him. Is this what their partnership would be like, a dark, silent specter looming by his side, not caring if Tsukishima was there? This wasn’t how Kageyama ran with Hinata and he immediately resented the self-made comparison, feeling particularly dour that this thought was coupled with fatigue.

As if sensing his thoughts, Kageyama picked up his speed even more and fuck this noise.

“Are you serious,” Tsukishima groaned, struggling to match this new pace. But Kageyama continued to pull away and that was even worse, that Tsukishima was now staring more at Kageyama’s hood than the path ahead.

At this Kageyama finally turned his head and looked at him, his voice low and barely winded.

“I’m not waiting for you.” Kageyama turned his sight back forward and never faltered in his step.

Tsukishima slowed before coming to a stop, watching Kageyama leave.

Oh there's that disappointment, literally being left behind, a lowly peon shrouded in a king’s shadow.

It took several long strides for Kageyama to look fully over his shoulder and stop, presumably when he couldn’t hear accompanying steps. They stared at each other, neither moving. Kageyama was backlit, tall and lean and every bit the monster people whispered to each other. This, this, was what Kageyama’s teammates must have once endured, a sharp shard of time when they realized how woefully inept they must stand in comparison to him. To his horror, Tsukishima felt his eyes burn and disappointment was useless this was useless I don’t need this. He used the sting of cold air in his lungs to focus, to straighten his shoulders and turn—

But Kageyama started jogging back to him. As he neared, the looming darkness faded until he returned to the same boy he had begun to know, a little surly and a lot intense and painfully earnest. The small rocks littering the street crunched under Kageyama’s sneakers as he stopped just a few feet away, close enough that he had to tilt his head up slightly to watch him. Blue eyes glanced down and back up to his face and Tsukishima thought he had given him a quick, clinical onceover.

“Why’d you stop, you got a cramp or something?” Kageyama asked gruffly, but Tsukishima suspected it came more from confusion than ire. Tsukishima weighed his options. It would be far easier to nod in assent, halfheartedly rub at his calf, and tell him to keep going so he could make his own way back.

But that’s not really the point of this, is it.

“If this is going to work,” Tsukishima started, gesturing between them, “then we have to do this together.” He paused, considering, then continued, “I’m not Hinata.”

Kageyama looked at him like he was stupid. “Obviously.”

Tsukishima pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Obviously,” he mocked. “What I mean is, whatever works between you and Hinata isn’t going to work for me. You can’t just run off and expect me to blindly follow. I work differently, this has to work differently.”

Kageyama just continued staring at him and in that moment, Tsukishima viciously shut down the urge to look away. He couldn’t tell what cogs were turning in Kageyama’s head.

A beat later, Kageyama slowly nodded in agreement, his fringe momentarily getting in his eyes.

“Ok. Sure. But you have to, you know, be clear about what you want, too.”

Kageyama broke his gaze and scuffed his toe into asphalt. “None of this, this bullshit,” he said, flapping a hand at him that was supposed to convey some sentiment, “Don’t shut down ‘cause then I can’t tell if you want to be here.” Tsukishima returned his nod.

“That’s fair,” he allowed, but then stalled there. This would have been an opportune time for a boisterous teammate to insert himself and segue into a mindless topic. Neither Tsukishima nor Kageyama were those types of teammates. Tsukishima forgot the chill in lieu of this thick, awkward blanket of silence. He clicked his tongue, annoyed more with himself than the situation.

“Well, it’s too fucking cold to stand around so I’m going to keep going,” Tsukishima muttered, willing to keep running if it meant they could get out of whatever silent loop they’d stumbled into. He took a couple steps forward and stopped, now the one to turn back to face Kageyama.

“You coming?” he asked.

And for the first time since Tsukishima had met him, Kageyama gave him the same determined nod he had given others and Tsukishima felt a frisson of excitement and oh, this is why you wanted to follow him.

___

Well fuck if it wasn’t brisk, Tsukishima thought, ducking out of a surprise downpour into the gym. He halfheartedly stubbed the toe of his sneakers at the entrance to shake off water. The blast of AC triggered a full body shiver; he could feel lingering dampness quickly seep into his bones. Tsukishima’s body, whether from height or stupid genetics, defaulted to “ice block,” leading to poorer circulation in his hands and feet. He’d be damned if anyone ever figured out that he wore socks to bed in the chillier months like some gnarled grandfather.

Yachi trotted over to greet him by the door, thrusting a towel in his direction.

“Here you go, Tsukishima! You can’t afford to catch a cold,” she exclaimed, wide-eyed and genuine. He took the towel with a small nod. She gave him a determined nod in return and whirled away, handing towels off to grateful teammates and one Yachi you’re a rockstar please never leave us! Even after all this time, she still looked a little skittish around so many tall boys but offered a tremulous thumbs up to Nishinoya in return. Tsukishima moved in the direction of Yamaguchi, who was amiably listening to whatever nonsense Hinata was surely trying to impart through wild gesticulation. He couldn’t help an eyeroll as he strolled over, rubbing his hands together for warmth. Yamaguchi caught his eye and offered a characteristic grin, the kind that crinkled the corner of his eyes.

Tsukishima was only a handful of strides away when Yachi stepped into his sight, moving in front of Yamaguchi to offer a towel from the bag slung over a slim shoulder. And Yamaguchi, veritably ensorcelled, immediately turned his attention to the girl before him, winsome grin giving way to a quick flush and some kind of nervous quirk to his mouth. Tsukishima worked to keep his face impassive because he was a jerk about many things, but Yamaguchi was generally off-limits. He could just hear Yachi’s voice float over to him, saying something about cloud formations, but she could as well have been talking about discovering Jupiter for the way Yamaguchi gazed at her awestruck.

He debated shifting gears to leave them in peace when Hinata inserted himself nearly between them out of sheer friendly enthusiasm, trying to rally with Hi Yachi wow what’s a nimbus cloud? Tsukishima could see Yamaguchi slightly deflate, equally put off by the intrusion and entranced with what he assumed was the glint Yachi got in her eyes when she waxed passionate to anyone willing to learn. Yamaguchi glanced up at his approach, offering a brief flash of despair, before returning attentively to Yachi, nodding gamely along with Hinata.

Tsukishima didn’t consider himself an especially good friend most days and most people who had met him would willingly agree. That someone like Yamaguchi considered him his closest friend was baffling. And also, perhaps, one of the single greatest things to happen to him. So let it be known that while Tsukishima was the human equivalent of a cactus, he could also reciprocate when needed.

“Hinata, come over here,” Tsukishima called.

“Why? What’s up?” Hinata peered around Yachi, understandably suspicious.

“Coach Ukai needs you,” he lied, deadpan.

“Ohh, what does he want?” Hinata asked, craning his head up to look at him. Tsukishima straightened his back to make it harder on him.

“I’ve already delivered the message,” Tsukishima lifted a shoulder in response, “If you want to keep Coach waiting on you, that’s your business.”

Hinata’s eyes narrowed, unsure if he could be trusted—which, to be fair, he really shouldn’t be—but just as quickly he bounced on his toes and said, “Ok, on it! Talk to you later!” to Yamaguchi and Yachi before bounding away. Yamaguchi looked from Hinata’s back and then to Tsukishima, squinting.

Tsukishima moved forward just enough to lean around Yachi’s shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt, Yachi, it looks like I cut Yamaguchi off from asking you a question.” Yamaguchi squeaked at him before coughing, looking caught between wanting to smack Tsukishima and devoting a hundred percent of his attention back on Yachi.

Tsukishima mouthed You’re welcome over her head before backing away.

Good deed accomplished. Now he could wait another year before his next one.

Tsukishima moved a few meters away, sliding his back down the wall until seated, bag at his side. Around him, the team was loud, forever and always, but it was a sound in which he found himself increasingly comfortable. Tsukishima wasn’t much one for crowds or boisterous activity, but despite his best efforts, he still found himself reeled into this hodgepodge of athletes. He figured it a kind of poetic justice that the group of people he finally found a place in would consist of degenerate crows, all cawing and hurried movements and an unerring ability to remember the face of everyone who ever wronged them.

He blindly dug around in his bag, feeling his way past extra socks and his glasses case before bumping into tape. He endeavored to start his routine of taping but was caught short when he couldn’t lift the edge of tape off the roll. His fingers were still clammy from the cold and couldn’t seem to catch on the tape’s end. He huffed in annoyance and tossed the roll on top of his bag, bringing his hands to his mouth to blow on them. His glasses fogged briefly.

He plunked his head back against the wall, momentarily frustrated. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking in how the metal gear clanked as the net was cinched into place, how Ennoshita sounded the epitome of patience in response to something Tanaka was saying, though they were just far enough away that the words were muddled. It was actually a bit soothing, though he’d never admit it aloud. There was comfort in the familiar and the more he came to enjoy volleyball, the more the sounds and smell associated with it became reassuring in their own right. He heard footsteps nearby but paid them no mind until someone stopped a foot away, paused, and then a body was sliding down next to his—presumably Yamaguchi, so his eyes remained shut. They were just breathing next to each other and Tsukishima was just about ready to tease him when an unexpectedly deep voice asked, “Got a problem?”

Tsukishima’s eyes shot open when he realized Kageyama had been sitting next to him the whole time.

“The fuck?” Tsukishima blurted, turning to look at him. “What do you want?”

Kageyama’ dark brows furrowed. “You don’t have to take it out on the tape.”

“…What?” Tsukishima asked again, “Were you watching me or something?”

“Yeah, I was,” Kageyama openly admitted, guileless.

“Gross,” Tsukishima automatically muttered, “You still haven’t answered my question.”

Kageyama shrugged, making a vague gesture toward his bag. “I don’t know, you’re either pissed about something or you don’t know how to unwrap tape, which I know isn’t true.”

Tsukishima studied him. He didn’t know what to do with a more placid Kageyama. Yelling? Sure. Dramatic and overly excited? Yeah, seen it. Moody and dour? Had it in spades. His immediate thought was to snark, to tell him what’s pissing him off is that he has to talk to Kageyama strictly outside of practice.

“The tape’s stuck,” Tsukishima carefully admitted.

Kageyama just sighed. “You’re an idiot.”

“Get out.”

Kageyama was suddenly in his space, leaning over his lap to snag the tape off his bag. Tsukishima froze. It was a blink and miss it action, but Kageyama’s body was a brand of heat across his chest. He caught a whiff of what might be vanilla shampoo, which was ridiculous. Before he could open his mouth, Kageyama reached out to take his right hand and placed it on his knee. Tsukishima jerked his hand away.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tsukishima asked, perturbed. Kageyama gave him an annoyed grunt and reached over to take his hand again, pressing it more firmly against his knee.

“Just shut up already, why are your hands so freakin’ cold?” said Kageyama. He slipped his fingernail under the tape’s end, deftly pulled it up, and pinched it with one hand while picking up Tsukishima’s in the other.

“Your fingers,” Kageyama demanded, lightly swinging the unrolling tape between them.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he replied. He took the tape away from him. Out of sheer spite, he started taping his own fingers. He wanted to die of embarrassment a little when he realized his fingers were still this side of too chilled, causing his hands to shake. It was not his most stellar performance.

“Stop it,” Kageyama ordered. He jerkily grabbed Tsukishima’s hand, but his grip was surprisingly gentle. “You’re probably not binding it tight enough to be effective.” Tsukishima tugged at his hand, but Kageyama wouldn’t let go.

“Oh please, Your Highness, grace this humble peon with your touch,” Tsukishima bit out, but he didn’t take his hand back. This felt like an out of body experience. Attentive, Kageyama carefully pressed the tape against the base of his pinky and methodically started circling it up his fingers. It was only logical to let him tape it at this point. He wouldn’t say it aloud, but Tsukishima could admit to himself that Kageyama did a better job than he could do on his own. He only winced a little, a slight tick of his eye, when Kageyama bound them a touch too tightly. He was surprised when Kageyama’s gaze shot up, blue eyes considering.

“Does that hurt?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

Tsukishima didn’t like being transparent enough for someone like Kageyama to notice. “It’s fine.”

Kageyama huffed, but without another word, he began to pick at the edge of the tape to unravel it.

“Stop that,” Tsukishima groused, finally finding the wherewithal to pull his hand away, “What are you doing?”

“It’s too tight,” Kageyama acknowledged, eyes fixated on pulling the tape away, “I’ll redo it.”

“Stop it,” he repeated. “It’ll do the job.” Tsukishima figured it was better to be too tight rather than uselessly flexible. The whole point was to brace them together anyway. The thought of Kageyama holding his hand this long was increasingly unbearable, though he wasn’t quite sure why.

Kageyama pinned him with a glare and Tsukishima, perhaps for the first time, realized they were eye-level when sitting. It made it harder for him to look away.

“Don’t,” Kageyama said, glaring, “Pretending is bullshit. If I do something wrong, I’ll fix it. I can only do that if you’re honest with me.”

That stopped Tsukishima. He had no quick reply. Even he could grudgingly admit it was a reasonable request. How obnoxious.

“Whatever, just don’t tighten it so much next time.”

Kageyama gave him a firm nod. “Next time, I’ll do it right.”

Next time. Next time.

___

Well, this was a mistake.

Tsukishima found himself in an unusual situation, staring apprehensively at the building which held the school’s exercise equipment. Yes, he had been inside this part of the school’s gym before, but not in this particular context. Faces dripping with sweat, the steady of clink of weighted metal from machines, occasional grunts from exertion. For all that he was a high school athlete like the rest of the girls and boys in the gym, Tsukishima rarely felt more self-conscious than he did in that moment. No, he wasn’t a twig, but he certainly didn’t have ropes of muscle like a boy nearby as he strained on a bicep curl. What the fuck team was that guy on? He was also hyperaware of his height in this situation. When playing volleyball, the height of players was more above-average than the real world, creating a skewed perspective until the Yachi’s of the world wandered by. Even then, he was still on the tall end. Now, he was acutely aware of how he towered over his peers and felt the uncommon urge to hunch. He continued to survey his surroundings, wondering if he was imagining his peers periodically glancing in his direction. He snapped to attention when he felt Kageyama’s arm brush his own.

“You’re quiet,” Kageyama observed.

Tsukishima frowned. “I’m always quiet.”

Kageyama side-eyed him and said, “What are you thinking?”

“I’m just looking,” he replied. Paused. “I’m…feeling out of place. I don’t exercise outside of team drills,” he admitted reluctantly.

Kageyama gave a slight nod in understanding but otherwise looked unconcerned. “Soon enough you won’t notice. Besides, people are going to be looking at you anyway.”

Tsukishima definitely felt his brows draw in. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

Kageyama huffed and he wondered if he thought he was the one being obtuse.

“Look, we can both be proud about some stuff, but neither of us are interested in like, showing off how our team is doing, right? We play because we want to and if we’re also really good, that’s extra. That said, our team is going to Nationals and that says a lot about us, even if we don’t want it to. So maybe you feel out of place, but we’re also part of something pretty big around here. That’s not for nothing.”

Tsukishima bit his lip in consideration, staring blankly at a machine nearby. He couldn’t deny what Kageyama was saying and was both frustrated and honestly a bit relieved to have someone voice what he was feeling. Even if it was coming from Kageyama. Especially if it was coming from Kageyama.

“Yeah, well,” Tsukishima started, “Sure, whatever. Just—” he flapped a hand toward a corner in the gym, “Let’s get started.”

Kageyama nodded in agreement and walked off, Tsukishima slowly following. Thus, began Kageyama’s tutorial of equipment in the gym. Tsukishima already had a basic understanding of stretches and calisthenics and cardio, but specific weight-work alluded him. Kageyama was very no-nonsense in his explanations, almost clinically describing not only the motion, but the muscles it targeted. While Kageyama slowly flexed his arm back and forth to highlight his triceps, Tsukishima had to admit he was surprised by the level of knowledge coming from someone who so readily seemed to struggle with academic work. But then he remembered that Kageyama had an incredible memory when he applied himself—namely to volleyball—so he supposed it made sense that if something was tangentially related to volleyball, he would study until he breathed it. He wondered if he could tap that somehow for tutoring.

“Focus,” Kageyama said, meaning Tsukishima must have drifted off again.

“Shut up, I’m watching,” Tsukishima muttered and truly, he was paying attention.

“Then show me,” he challenged, handing him the weight and stepping back to observe.

Tsukishima felt a sweep of self-consciousness again but did as asked. He flexed a slow, steady rep, judging the pull of muscle and strain of maintaining form. He got in a few more reps before Kageyama stepped in and said, “Tighten your core, minimize any arch in your back to reduce strain.” Kageyama reached out as if to correct his form but stopped just shy, pausing slightly before lowering his hands.

“Sorry,” Kageyama mumbled, but Tsukishima thought he understood what he was aiming for.

“Gross,” Tsukishima shot back without thinking.

He could hear a quick inhale from Kageyama, so he cut it off with, “It’s fine. Just, do what you need to do.”

Kageyama reached out slowly again—like he was some horse that could be spooked—then gently placed his hands on him. One hand pressed the top of his back between his shoulder blades, the other barely touching his stomach. Both hands applied slight pressure, forcing his back forward and his abdomen in and—ah, that’s what he meant. Kageyama faced him in a kind of half-embrace, his fingertips pinpoints of heat and for the life of him, Tsukishima couldn’t remember ever being so aware of someone next to him. If Kageyama breathed deeply enough, he would feel the press of his chest against his arm.

“Try to maintain this posture when doing upper-body work, engage here,” Kageyama instructed softly, his voice a quiet murmur near his ear as his hand pressed more firmly into his abs. Tsukishima’s face flushed—fuck, they needed to boost the AC in here, it was too warm—and he jerked a nod in understanding.

Kageyama stepped away and said, “Again.” His right side felt cooler than a second ago.

They continued through routines, one which focused on upper body, another for lower, and so on. Kageyama maintained a steady stream of direction, looking as relaxed as Tsukishima had ever seen him. This wasn’t competition and it wasn’t strictly volleyball, but Kageyama was clearly in his element and it showed in the easy, relaxed nature in which he spoke. Tsukishima occasionally (and begrudgingly) stopped him for clarification or to repeat a motion, but they generally had an easy give-and-take. This was probably the first time he and Kageyama had ever spoken to each other without hostility or suspicion. It was…not bad.

As if some mutual understanding had been reached, Kageyama didn’t ask again if he could physically correct his position—he just did. When he had Tsukishima on the ground to practice a pushup, boy did that involve a lot of touching. When Tsukishima held himself in a straight-armed plank, Kageyama kneeled next to him, gently angling him to tighten his form. When Tsukishima was pressed to the ground, Kageyama would lightly grasp his elbows to push in, forcing thrust through his triceps and not his shoulders. Kageyama was everywhere, a hand to his back, his knee nudging against his own. Tsukishima would feel embarrassed for all this close contact but all he could focus on was how much heat Kageyama radiated. What a walking furnace. As someone who tended to run cold, Tsukishima better understood why he would start warming up in a sweatshirt and Kageyama would immediately strip down to his t-shirt.

At that thought, Tsukishima couldn’t help his gaze drifting toward Kageyama, eyes tracing how his shirt, damp from sweat, clung to a remarkably toned body for someone their age. Which, that wasn’t new, he had seen all of his teammates in varying stages of undress in all manner of conditions—my god, that summer training camp—but for some reason this felt different. Kageyama seemed different. In a pique of embarrassment, Tsukishima pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

“It’s hot in here,” Tsukishima offered, trying to maintain some semblance of nonchalance.

“Yeah,” Kageyama agreed, lifting the hem of his shirt up to wipe sweat from his brow and what the ever loving fuck.

Kageyama tilted to shorten the distance to his shirt, abs carved in stark relief as he essentially crunched forward. He had never paid attention to his teammates like this—he wasn’t a creep, thank you—but he could also admit to himself that he was increasingly aware of those around him. Little things, like how soft Kiyoko’s face was when she smiled, the breadth of shoulder on Asahi, and now these stupid abs in his face.

“Ok, how much more of this do we have,” Tsukishima blurted, suddenly paranoid someone around him had noticed his blatant staring.

Kageyama startled, but said, “We can call it here. Now we go through stretches and then we’re done.”

Tsukishima nodded in agreement, ready to end whatever route his mind was tracked on, this tension fused with burning muscle and an inability to look at anything other than Kageyama.

“Do you come here often?” Tsukishima asked, then hated himself for it.

“Sure, sometimes,” Kageyama replied, “Though I rely a lot on exercises using body resistance, so I just have weights at home, too.”

They moved in tandem further into the building near a padded section primarily used for stretching and exercise that didn’t need metal. They settled in a corner, though Tsukishima felt they were forced too closely together for comfort near a group of girls going through their own motions. They were surrounded by mirrors. Tsukishima tried to focus elsewhere, not enjoying watching himself.

This, Tsukishima didn’t need instruction on. He and Kageyama fell into their team’s routine, quiet and together. But there were also stretches they did which involved a partner for deeper bends. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, without fail, partnered with each other. It wasn’t even a question at that point, they simply gravitated toward one another, comfortable in a way that came from knowing someone most of your life. Yamaguchi, in many ways, was more his brother than Akiteru.

Kageyama, however, was most certainly not his brother.

“You start,” Kageyama said, motioning for Tsukishima to sit. Here, they would sit, legs splayed, and have a partner gently press into their back to encourage a deep stretch that shot along the inner line of leg and hamstring. Yamaguchi tended to press his hands into Tsukishima’s shoulders, almost the way someone would provide conciliatory comfort from behind. It was familiar and it worked.

When Tsukishima settled, he moved his legs out, trying to be mindful of how close he was to the girls next to him, which by sheer eavesdropping he gathered were from the soccer team. With legs as long as his, it was hard to not get into someone’s space. This wasn’t the volleyball court where they could spread to their heart’s content.

Tsukishima rolled his shoulders and looked up at Kageyama’s reflection in the mirror.

“Go for it,” he permitted, tossing another casual flap of hand.

Kageyama held his gaze for a beat, two beats, then bent down to start the stretch. Tsukishima stared at his feet in front of him, expecting hands on his shoulders.

Kageyama’s right hand curled around the ball of his shoulder, thumb digging lightly under ligament, but his left hand came up closer to the curve where his left shoulder met his neck. While his thumb rested near a nob in his spine, long fingers came to rest on his collarbone. Two calloused fingers grazed the column of his throat. Tsukishima’s eyes shot up to look at Kageyama, who was looking down at his hands.

“Um?” Tsukishima asked eloquently.

Kageyama’s dark eyes flicked up to meet his, then went back to his hands. “I’ve noticed you tend to let your head hang too much. Try to keep the line of your back straight.”

While Kageyama pressed his right hand down, Tsukishima felt the faintest press of his left fingers against the pulse in his throat; he could feel blood thud densely under Kageyama’s fingers.

“Keep your head up,” Kageyama murmured, using his left hand to guide. Kageyama crouched slightly to add weight, one leg lining up with his spine to press further. Tsukishima obligingly slid with him, his arms reaching out. He stared sightlessly at the floor beneath him. He couldn’t change the angle of his head even if he wanted to. Had Kageyama always done it this way with Hinata and I just never noticed?

For several beats they were quiet. Kageyama lifted his weight some, then paused.

“Inhale, and on the exhale go deep,” Kageyama instructed. Tsukishima took in a shaky breath, held it, then in a slight whoosh started leaning down because honestly at this point, he wasn’t sure what to argue. Kageyama’s right hand remained the same but his left hand shifted away from this neck and assumed a similar position to its opposite. When Tsukishima would have stopped moving, Kageyama pressed harder, pushing his body down until he could feel the twinge in his legs turn a little too sharp.

“Stop,” Tsukishima gasped, tensing to prevent further motion. Kageyama stopped but didn’t let up.

“You’re more flexible than you let on,” Kageyama muttered. Tsukishima’s face flashed with heat.

“Ok, ok, let up already,” he said, pushing back against Kageyama. He looked at himself in the mirror. His glasses had slid down his nose, eyes bright. He was flushed, lips slightly parted. He took a stuttering breath in, then looked up to Kageyama, expecting him to step back so they could switch. But Kageyama seemed frozen, staring at his reflection. His eyes were impossibly dark. He was looking at his face, but their eyes weren’t quite meeting and seemed to move a fraction lower. Tsukishima inhaled sharply and saw Kageyama’s eyes widen in response.

“ Kageyama, let up,” Tsukishima bit out, his chest tight. Kageyama took two quick steps back, looking a little dazed. Tsukishima took the interruption to scramble to his feet. When he straightened to full height, he was vaguely aware of one of the soccer girls squeaking next to him, surprised by how he just seemed to keep growing. He felt too tall, felt too much. This is why I don’t like coming here.

For a moment they stood next to each other, arms barely brushing by their sides. Tsukishima took a moment to consider the blush of pink across Kageyama’s nose. Objectively, he knew what all of his teammates looked like with physical exertion: faces flushed, chests heaving, slick with sweat. It wasn’t something he considered deeply in detail. Sometimes, he and his teammates were a bit gross to look at after a long bout, really. But when Kageyama ran a hand through dark bangs to push them back, face unobscured, the stamp of pink in his cheeks looked almost delicate.

Fuck, he’s pretty.

Tsukishima felt his shoulders tense, irrationally afraid Kageyama could suddenly read his mind. Kageyama blinked up at him and he realized he’d spaced too long. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, more at himself than anything.

“Alright, on with it,” Tsukishima said, studiously looking at the clock in the mirror’s reflection.

They continued in silence, their stretches rote. Once finished, they quietly gathered their things and made their way out of the gym, nearing the school’s gate. A beat too late, Tsukishima realized they still had a ways to walk in the same direction before parting. He refused to make this weird, to let any sense of discomfort known. Without preamble, Tsukishima started down the path, refusing to check if Kageyama was following. He didn’t know why his stomach jolted when he heard Kageyama’s steps fall neatly in line with his own.

At this point, if Tsukishima was walking with Yamaguchi, he would listen to him ramble until conversation naturally petered. He would take this as his cue to pull his headphones on without coming across as rude. But the thought of purposefully ignoring Kageyama this way felt a bit much.

They passed Ukai’s shop, continued further until an intersection split them. He could’ve kept going, could have hooked a left and let Kageyama continue straight like he knew he would. But that also felt wrong. They came to a stop where the path diverged. He felt like he should say something in parting, but a normally terse “bye” felt wrong somehow. He weighed his options.

“Thanks. For this.” Tsukishima cringed at how awkward that felt tipping out of his mouth. Kageyama had already been looking at him.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Kageyama replied, seeming a bit as adrift.

Tsukishima allowed himself a world-weary sigh before continuing. “You’re…quite good at this, actually. Teaching me. You clearly know what you’re doing.”

His words were honest, if a bit toss away. But the way Kageyama’s eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, looking as pleased as he’d ever see him, triggered another swoop in his stomach. He really just needed to go home already and take an antacid.

“Yeah, ok, I’m going now,” Tsukishima said, figuring this as good an opportunity as any to leave. But as he started to turn, he saw Kageyama raise his arm and make a fist. Tsukishima looked down at his clenched fingers, unsure what he was staring at, wondering for the briefest moment if he had something in his hand. When he looked up, he saw Kageyama’s brow crease. The fist in front of him wavered slightly before lowering back to his side.

“Yeah, night,” Kageyama uttered, turning suddenly and walking down a different path.

Wait, what—

Tsukishima groaned at the universe and jogged after Kageyama until he could grasp his shoulder and spin him around. He did not have the energy for this.

“What,” Kageyama bit out, familiar frown sealed back in place. He sounded as terse as usual, but his eyes lacked the warmth they just had. Tsukishima felt a pang of guilt gnaw at his lungs. He was an asshole, ask anyone, but he knew there was a difference between riling someone up and pointedly shutting them down.

“I—” he started, stopped. He felt like he should apologize but he didn’t know for what. Before he could lose his nerve, Tsukishima reached out and grabbed Kageyama’s wrist, pulling his arm toward him.

"What?” Kageyama asked again, now looking totally perplexed. He felt his wrist flex beneath his fingers.

“Try…try again,” Tsukishima muttered, waiting a beat before taking his hand back. Kageyama’s arm stayed awkwardly raised between them. This is why I don’t have friends, it’s too much work.

Sighing through his nose, Tsukishima raised his arm to mirror Kageyama’s, then curled his fingers into a loose fist. He jiggled his wrist slightly to get his attention.

“Ok, I’m going now,” Tsukishima repeated, his arm steady in front of him. Kageyama was still until he gave a light huff in bemusement. He made a fist again and bumped it against Tsukishima’s.

“Good night,” Kageyama said. He then flashed a too-quick grin, as if involuntary, and turned back to head home, his back a little straighter.

Tsukishima sighed, “Gross.”

He wished he didn’t sound so fond when he said it.

___

Through trial and error, they’ve found the library wasn’t an ideal location for homework. Tsukishima could only temper his snark so much and Kageyama had a bit of a short fuse, so between the two of them, they combusted too easily. Studying in one of their respective classrooms, however, also proved somewhat futile because it was too easy to be distracted by classmates. They still hadn’t broached studying at one another’s home because surely that was one step too far.

Theoretically, a viable option where they could both be on their best behavior was a café.

“Ugh, fuck this noise,” Kageyama snarled, throwing his pencil down with a thwack. “Who cares about probability and multiplication to this extent? When will I ever need this?"

“Quiet down, you heathen, we’re in public,” Tsukishima whispered harshly, aware that a few customers were giving them wary to unkind glances. “It doesn’t matter how much you’ll use it as an adult, you need to use it now as long as you’re a student. And if you want to go to training camps, you have to be a good enough student so quit bitching already.”

Kageyama flopped back onto the bench, exhaling a blustery sigh. Tsukishima also leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose in reciprocal frustration. They were both still struggling to find a groove that worked for them both. Kageyama was like a deflated balloon in the corner, slowly losing the will to live. Tsukishima thought it unfair that the way sunlight slanted in through the window cast Kageyama’s dark eyelashes into a fine fan across his cheeks. He sipped his tea and forced himself to look elsewhere, mindlessly tracking movement around him. He picked this café because it was roughly equidistant from their houses and, for whatever reason, was more habitually populated by older adults in the area. It was unassuming and quaint and the perfect place to avoid people who wanted to talk to him. He realized, in retrospect, bringing Kageyama here was probably ruining the sanctity of this refuge.

Tsukishima closed his eyes in thought, cradling the hot mug in his hands. He was just so frustrated. He knew Kageyama had an incredible memory—when applied—and was overall a sharp and quick thinker, at least when the topic was volleyball and—

“Wait,” Tsukishima blurted, startling Kageyama out of his sulk.

“What?” Kageyama groused.

“Shut up, give me a second.” Tsukishima shushed him.

“Excuse me?”

“Shut. Up.”

Math out of context could be tedious and difficult, that much he knew. Knowledge generally held better if there were real-world applications, some relevant context the person was already interested in. Tsukishima scrutinized Kageyama, who looked like he was powering up for another rage.

“If your team has six players on the court at any given time, how many different ways could your players be arranged in your starting rotation?”

Perplexed, Kageyama just stared at him. “What?”

Tsukishima barreled on. “You can move your six players however you like so you have three players up front and three players in the back, right? You could start Hinata in the top left as a wing spiker or in the back right to serve. Every combination leads to different strategies you would use, which leads to different outcomes. What’s your best defensive play? Or offensive? So how would you calculate how many different strategies you could develop based on how you arrange your six players?”

Kageyama stared at him, eyes unmoving. Tsukishima waited a beat, two beats, sitting in silence while Kageyama’s cogs were turning. He’s either going to throw a pencil at me or storm off.

“I suppose that depends,” Kageyama said instead, slowly sounding out the words.

“Ok, so this is where you would want to know about the counting principle discussed in this chapter,” Tsukishima replied, pointing partway down Kageyama’s open textbook. “Each rotation affects how the game progresses. Forget about all six players, keep the back line the same. You still have three players up front to move around. Calculate how many starting rotations you could have.”

Kageyama blinked at him, a bit unsure, but without protest he picked up his pencil and started scribbling in his notebook. Not long after, he paused, then flipped the notebook around for Tsukishima to see.

“…How does that look?” Kageyama asked. And by god they were starting somewhere.

“Yeah, that looks good,” Tsukishima allowed, rotating the notebook back toward Kageyama. “Ok so let’s add that backline back in, what is it now?”

He took a little longer, but as Kageyama started to turn the notebook again, he stopped. “Uh, so how does having a libero change this?”

Oh. “Great question,” Tsukishima said, “You can only have Nishinoya come in at certain points, so that adds another layer to it. You can just keep to six players for now—” but Kageyama was already bending his head down, scratching out some numbers and continuing on.

Once again, Kageyama moved the notebook, albeit slower this time. He studiously looked anywhere but at Tsukishima.

Tsukishima pulled the notebook closer, pushing his glasses up. He looked the equations over. He ran through them again, carefully running his finger alongside the penciled notes.

“So?” Kageyama asked.

“Holy shit,” Tsukishima admitted, almost unbelieving. He caught Kageyama’s eye. “You just successfully calculated probability.”

“The fuck?”

“Yeah.”

"Seriously?”

"Yeah.”

And with a whoop loud enough to rival Tanaka, Kageyama swung his hand and held it, the universal signal for a high-five. And for some reason his body must’ve been on autopilot because without thinking, Tsukishima gave it a hard slap, loud enough a woman startled and dropped her tea. A waiter scurried over, dabbing towels on the woman’s table. The waiter turned sharply around, glaring at them both. “You boys. Out. Now.”

But they just grinned and packed up their things, haphazardly stuffing books into their bags and giving him a polite bow before moving out into the fresh air. They were a few steps away from the café when Kageyama turned to him, face more relaxed than he was used to seeing.

“How did you know that would help? What you said,” Kageyama asked, head tilted slightly to the side.

“I didn’t,” Tsukishima shrugged in response. “I figured the best way to speak to a volleyball idiot was to use his own language.”

Kageyama wrinkled his nose at that. “Rude.”

Tsukishima started walking down the worn path, kicking a larger piece of gravel out of the way. “You’re quite smart, you know, once you know what learning method works best for you.

He was a few steps ahead when he realized he hadn’t heard Kageyama follow. He looked over his shoulder to find Kageyama staring at him, a little soft and a lot incredulous.

“You think I’m smart?”

“Yes?” Tsukishima said, drawing the word out. “You know that people call you a genius when you’re setting, that’s common knowledge.”

Kageyama jerked his head in a quick shake. “No, not that. Do you think I’m smart about…other things?”

Tsukishima paused at that. It wasn’t something he actively thought about. “Yeah, I do,” he said carefully. He figured that this wasn’t the time for a flippant response. “We all have things we struggle with, but I think you don’t give yourself enough credit, either.” Eh, what the hell. “You memorize things quickly and you have a sharp sense of appraisal. I think people are doing you a disservice when they say the only thing you’re good at is volleyball. I mean…I’ve made that mistake, too. You can be more than that, if you want.”

Kageyama watched him, face still disbelieving. Tsukishima felt a flush of embarrassment, he shouldn’t have said anything. Kageyama coughed into his fist, then moved past him, the bag slung over his shoulder knocking into Tsukishima’s arm.

“Thanks, I guess,” he said, voice low and a little gruff. Tsukishima squinted after him, unsure what he was missing.

“You’re welcome, I guess.”

___

“Set for me!”

Hinata truly had no concept of an indoor voice. Practice had officially ended; the third-years had already left and the second-years were begrudgingly herded out by Ennoshita, who proclaimed that exams wouldn’t study themselves. The first-years, to varying degrees of enthusiasm, agreed to linger a bit longer, particularly when Yachi offered to stay behind and help.

Tsukishima was already one foot out the door, but Yamaguchi dragged him back in, especially excited to practice knowing a certain small blonde would stay behind as well. The taller boy gave his usual token protests but didn’t look put out when they seemed to naturally pair off: Kageyama and Hinata were to work on quicks and Tsukishima would work on receiving jump floaters. Yachi stood near the middle of the court with a basket of balls, just as willing to throw them one as she was to providing gentle but enthusiastic encouragement. Kageyama couldn’t tolerate a lot people, but she was one of the few people that didn’t bother him.

Hinata was already bounding away. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi shared a commiserating look and went to their respective side of the court. Tsukishima didn’t receive much these days but he really didn’t have an excuse to not practice, especially when it helped his best friend. Yamaguchi was chatting for a moment with Yachi, gripping a ball in his hands while she smiled sweetly up at him, unknowing of or kindly ignoring how flustered he was getting. Kageyama blinked up at fluorescent lights for a moment, letting himself be blinded. For the span of a couple breaths, he was content to let ambient noise surround him. Yamaguchi’s pitchy voice and Tsukishima’s deeper, murmured responses. Yachi’s breathy, gasping laugh. Soft, rhythmic thudding and a faint rubbery squeak from where someone was repeatedly scuffing their sneaker into hardwood. Presumably, Hinata.

“Tsukki! Stop spacing!” he heard Yamaguchi yell at him.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Tsukishima called back, but still got into position.

Yamaguchi’s actually getting good at this, he thought to himself as Tsukishima whiffed a receive. Where Tsukishima didn’t seem apt to give verbal praise—though when he did, it felt more poignant for how sparingly it occurred—Yachi was his lively counterpoint, wont to loudly cheer Yamaguchi on. He personally didn’t really look for Yachi’s approval, but he still felt warm when it was directed his way.

It was an easy, familiar rhythm to fall into. Hinata was many things, some good and some tiring, but he was an astoundingly excellent partner for quicks. Sometimes it was so easy with him, he felt like they didn’t even need to practice. He knew there was a need for repetition and hard work, but there was almost no challenge in getting Hinata to give his all. It gave him confidence that he could help shape how other teammates performed.

“Hinata!”

Kageyama and Hinata whipped over to look at Yamaguchi. Tsukishima also looked taken aback by the interruption.

“I think I need your help,” Yamaguchi said.

“Ohh, with what?” Hinata replied, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.

“Hinata, let’s switch,” Yamaguchi said.

What, right now?” Hinata replied, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.

“Yeah, I want to change it up,” he said. Yamaguchi must have made some face at Tsukishima because the latter grimaced. “Also, let’s be real, you need to work on your receives, too.”

Hinata sighed loudly and dragged his feet, but he still muttered fiiine and moved obligingly over to the court’s other side. Tsukishima was slower to move over to Kageyama. He was still giving Yamaguchi some kind of look. Kageyama and Tsukishima studied each other for a moment, waiting for the other to speak.

“Fine,” Tsukishima echoed, moving to position himself.

Yachi cleared her throat, still a little squeaky when she said, “Actually, this sounds like a good stopping point for me. I want to help, truly, but I really need to finish an assignment before my mom comes home so I think I’ll head out.” Her eyes widened dramatically. “Unless that’s a problem! I can stay! Never mind, school can wait.”

“No, no,” Yamaguchi said, waving his hands to calm her. “You’ve helped enough. It’s fine, we can take it from here.” She nodded uncertainly but placed a ball back in the cart.

“Yamaguchi, were you planning on swinging by Shimada’s later?” Tsukishima asked.

“No?”

“Oh,” Tsukishima hummed, “I just thought if you were going over you would be walking in the same direction as the train station, right? You and Yachi might as well head out together.”

“We could do that,” Yamaguchi said, but it came out like a question. “But I think—”

“That’d be nice!” Yachi chirped, then clapped a small hand to her mouth. “I mean, totally unnecessary, of course, you do you, but if you were there I’d like that, but not like, you know what I mean—”

“We got it,” Tsukishima interrupted her gently.

Yamaguchi blushed, freckles in stark relief, but Kageyama couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or something else. He generally wasn’t great at reading people.

“Uh, let me get changed and we can go,” Yamaguchi offered.

Yachi gave him a firm nod, then a slower second one. “Are…the rest of you staying here then?”

“I am,” Kageyama said, because it was the truth.

“Yachi, do you need someone to walk you home?” Hinata asked, looking restless as he shifted from one foot to the other. Kageyama just wanted things resolved so he could get back to work.

“I don’t think that’s—” Yamaguchi started.

“I…can’t think of a reason to say no,” Yachi peeped. Tsukishima covered his face with a hand.

“Hinata if you’re going, get gone already,” Kageyama ordered, tired of things dawdling.

“Ugh, fine, don’t get too much better ‘cause I’m leaving early,” Hinata swatted at him, then tugged at Yamaguchi’s sleeve.

Yachi laughed but Yamaguchi gave a resigned sigh. He shared a quick look with Tsukishima, who was raising an eyebrow back at him. Kageyama had no idea how much they were able to communicate by just looking at each other. Maybe that came from being friends for so long.

Eventually the trio trundled out, Hinata and Yachi chatting away while Yamaguchi trailed behind. Kageyama turned to Tsukishima, who was already watching him. He couldn’t quite decide how awkward he felt about the two of them alone in this cavernous gym. Usually when they were just with each other, they were already in some public setting with other people around. Here, alone, he felt hyperaware of his body and more so, of Tsukishima.

Kageyama silently flapped a hand at the ball cart and was grateful when Tsukishima snorted but went to grab one to start practicing. Starting with a few practice runs, Kageyama couldn’t help but notice how Tsukishima’s limbs looked impossibly long as he reached for the ball. His frame was certainly willowier than Asahi’s or Tanaka’s, but build alone wasn’t a factor in how advantageous one could be when spiking. Kageyama bounced the ball in his hand, contemplating how to make Tsukishima’s spike more effective.Setters should bring out the best in their teammates, Oikawa’s voice whispered in his ear. He could do this. He adapted all the time, he could help improve Tsukishima’s spikes.

“Ready?” he asked, bouncing the ball one more time. Tsukishima nodded, took several steps back, then sprinted forward. A little higher this time, he thought. Tsukishima’s hand connected, but it lacked some of its usual power. When he landed, Tsukishima gave him a bit of side-eye.

“Again,” Kageyama directed. Tsukishima stared at him for a moment before jogging back into place. Kageyama nodded at him and readied for his approach. Perhaps higher, he can definitely get this. He identified his target space with laser focus and fwipped it with key precision. Tsukishima hit it with even less power, the ball glancing off his fingertips more than connecting with his palm. His landing stuttered. When he turned to him, there was an evident glare behind his glasses.

“What are you doing?” His voice registering a lower pitch. It’s okay, I know what I’m doing. I can be encouraging.

“Try again,” Kageyama said, brooking no argument. “You can do better than this.”

Tsukishima straightened to his full height, eyebrows furrowing. “Your aim’s off. You getting too tired to do this?” It might have been said out of concern but Kageyama took it as goading. He bristled.

“I’m fine, just. Jump higher.”

“Right. Okay.”

Tsukishima moved back again, but the lines of his body were tense. Kageyama sent the ball soaring once more. He didn’t change the trajectory. He didn’t want to do too much, too fast. Tsukishima would get this next one.

Tsukishima didn’t get the next one. Or the one after. Or the one after that.

The ball popped over the net with so little force it would’ve been immediately picked off. As soon as Tsukishima’s feet hit the court, he invaded Kageyama’s space. Kageyama refused to move, but he was painfully aware of his body responding to his proximity, his height, the heat radiating from his body, an uncharacteristic look of anger on his face.

“Ok, I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s like you’re fucking up on purpose.”

“Fucking up. On purpose,” Kageyama repeated, confused and disappointed.

Tsukishima was scowling. “You know I can’t jump that high, why are you forcing it?”

Kageyama wasn’t sure why this was spiraling so quickly. “Yes, you can. I’m helping you out. You just have to do what I’m telling you.”

“You’re not telling me anything, you’re just doing whatever you want.”

Why was he not getting it? “What I’m doing is helping you realize your potential. You can’t just—” he fumbled for the right word, opted with, “You can’t just coast.”

“You think I’m coasting,” Tsukishima confirmed, quietly, his face blank. Kageyama found that to be scarier than frustration. He was wading into unfamiliar territory, wondered if this is what Oikawa dealt with.

“I think…sometimes you don’t take volleyball seriously enough,” his tongue felt thick sounding the words out. “If this has anything to do with your brother—"

Tsukishima lashed out, palm striking the meat of his shoulder. Kageyama took several steps back, not unexpecting it. “Don’t you mention my brother, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kageyama slapped his arm away, stomach clenching. “What the hell? I’m just trying to help you.”

“Oh yes, you’re absolutely right. You’re helping. I must look so pathetic to you. You don’t think I’m trying?” There was a slanted twist to his mouth, something that looked wrong. “Please accept an apology from your humble servant, Your Majesty.”

“Stop it!” He snapped, stung and furious in equal parts.

Tsukishima took a step back.

“All of this ‘King’ business! Your Highness, Your Worshipful-whatever, all that bullshit. That’s not who I am anymore! Do you really still think so little of me?”

“Calm down,” Tsukishima frowned.

“Fuck you,” Kageyama was feeling heat behind his eyes. God, this was stupid, he was stupid, why did he think Tsukishima was any different—

“Ok, ok, geez,” Tsukishima held his hands out, fingers splayed in a placating motion.

Kageyama felt he couldn’t stop, felt as if his throat was thick with words and fuck he couldn’t stop—

“Why are you like this? Sometimes you’re—” my friend “—Sometimes I think you care but you don’t, do you? Why won’t you take anything seriously? You just go through the motions, but you don’t care about anything.”

Tsukishima looked as if Kageyama put his fist in his stomach. He pushed a hand into Kageyama’s chest, forcing him against the wall.

“Don’t you dare talk about shit you don’t understand. Why the hell would I do all of this if I didn’t care? You think I love getting up at five in the morning to run in the cold? You think I love going to the gym and feeling embarrassed? That no matter how hard I train I’m still nothing compared to you?” Tsukishima clutched the fabric of his shirt, pushed him harder into the wall. “I’m so sorry for not living up to your expectations, Your Motherfucking Majesty. Maybe I really am just shit. Not learning fast enough for you, right? Like, why should I even try, I’m just coasting, right?”

“Stop it!” Kageyama yelled. He loathed himself so deeply for feeling his eyes tear up. “You piss me off so much. I hate that you don’t think you’re good enough at anything when it’s obvious that you can be fucking amazing if you could just get out of your own goddamn head.”

“Don’t lie to me!” he snarled, slamming his other hand by Kageyama’s head. He felt caged in, his blood thrumming. He forced his chin up, forced himself to stare at Tsukishima, whose eyes had gone a little wild.

“You think I’m the shit, huh?” Kageyama asked, throat raw. “That I’m better than everyone else, that I think I’m better than everyone else. That all this, this talent just came out of nowhere and I don’t have to try. You should know better than anyone how hard I have to work. This is all I have. I’m too stupid to get by without a tutor, I sure as hell don’t know how to interact with others like a normal human, there’s nothing else for me if I can’t be the best at this. Don’t you understand? I’m nothing without this so the more you shove me on some pedestal the more I can’t breathe.”

He was gasping for air, he couldn’t fill his lungs. Kageyama could feel the hot press of Tsukishima’s body against his own, a brand of heat running from chest to thigh. They were so close now he could see Tsukishima’s eyes were dilated, black swallowing amber. It made something in the pit of his stomach scorch. He reached up to the arm pressing him in, gripped Tsukishima’s wrist until he could feel the bones grind. He wanted to push Tsukishima away, so he gripped his hip, felt abs tighten beneath his fingers, but as soon as he touched him he didn’t want to move. He was so angry he could barely see, could only see Tsukishima’s mouth so close and he just wanted him to shut up already and with no thought left to function, Kageyama tilted up and pressed his mouth to Tsukishima’s.

Tsukishima gasped, moved his head back a fraction so they were breathing into each other.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Tsukishima asked, voice ragged, his lips brushing against his own as he spoke.

“Oh my god, don’t you ever shut up,” he replied. He couldn’t open his eyes, didn’t know when he’d closed them in the first place.

Kageyama felt a gust of heat against his face, a huff of laughter from Tsukishima.

“Seriously though, answer me.” Tsukishima’s voice was quieter, edged.

Kageyama had to open his eyes now, saw Tsukishima’s face impossibly close to his own. The eyes staring back at him were wide and a little afraid. Kageyama knew he could answer any number of ways, could really push him back, shove him until he fell, drip acid from his mouth until Tsukishima would never look at him again. He could do this, but someone help him—

“I want this.”

“Yeah, ok,” Tsukishima responded, slotting their lips back together.

The thought of how Kageyama’s first kiss would go had always been a bit nebulous, a blurred image he couldn’t sharpen. Particularly with the way he let volleyball consume his life, it didn’t occur to him to actively look at anyone. It’s not that he didn’t look, it just didn’t feel like a priority.

But now he couldn’t imagine anything he wanted more in this moment, this breathless pocket of dark and heat and wet slide of lips. Kageyama was distantly aware he had no idea what he was doing, but he suspected maybe Tsukishima didn’t know either. He used his grip to pull him closer, dragged his teeth along a chapped lip until he could chase it with his tongue. Tsukishima pressed into him, wedged a thigh between his legs, and he felt more than heard something in the back of Tsukishima’s throat, a groan that Kageyama desperately swallowed.

Kageyama could hardly piece thoughts together, not when all he could feel was sweat and scorched skin and an ache swelling in his stomach. He felt Tsukishima’s glasses dig into his cheek and he moved to pull them off, his roughened palm rasping against a cheekbone. The motion forced Tsukishima’s head back, tousled his hair. But when Kageyama had black plastic frames in his hand, Tsukishima leant in not to kiss, but to press face against his neck. Kageyama felt a flutter of eyelashes. He tilted his head further back until he could see the ceiling above. They were entwined, long longs and heaving breaths. Kageyama pressed his face into Tsukishima’s hair, was a little surprised by how soft it was. Tsukishima’s body was a heavy weight against his own, pinning him to the scrabble of wood at his back, but Kageyama couldn’t imagine moving. The burn simmered to embers, warm and sweet but not suffocating. Without conscious effort, Kageyama slid his arms up Tsukishima’s back until they curled around his shoulder blades, loose but purposeful, one hand mindful of its grips on his glasses. Kageyama pressed his lips to Tsukishima’s hairline.

Tsukishima’s mouth dragged up the column of his throat until brushing against his jaw, his ear.

“Can’t say I was expecting that,” Tsukishima confessed, continuing to hide his face against his own.

Kageyama tightened his hold. “Don’t care,” he admitted. “Regret it?”

Tsukishima sighed heavily through his nose, then moved back until he could look into Kageyama’s eyes. He looks really good, Kageyama thought, stunned by pale eyes he so seldom saw uninhibited. Tsukishima had long, blond eyelashes framing eyes the color of honey. This close, Kageyama could see the faintest smattering of freckles across the taller boy’s nose, against flushed skin. He wondered what Tsukishima saw in return. Which made him wonder—

“—how bad’s your vision without glasses anyway?” Kageyama mused before letting Tsukishima speak.

Tsukishima rolled his eyes but not unkindly. “This close I can see you fine.” A slender hand rose to cup Kageyama’s cheek, a thumb absently rubbing a hint of wet at the corner of his eye.

“So. You, uh, regret it?” He couldn’t let it pass.

Tsukishima tilted his face back until their cheeks were flush together.

“No.”

___

“Give it here,” Kageyama directed, flapping a hand in his direction. On autopilot, Tsukishima took a sip of his water with his left hand and, without looking, offered his right hand. Kageyama hesitated before taking the other boy’s hand, dimly aware this was the first time Tsukishima hadn’t even given him a halfhearted fight.

Tape in one hand, Kageyama used his other to gently pinch Tsukishima’s two fingers together. They were long and finely boned, as readily capable of splaying for Rachmaninoff on the piano as much as blocking a fierce spike. Kageyama bit his lip thinking of how much dislocating and tearing would have hurt, how devastated he would be if such an injury waylaid him from playing. But Tsukishima never once complained, not aloud. He just accepted this the same way he needed glasses, acknowledging a disadvantage and doing what he could to make up for it. There was something to be admired in such an approach moving forward. Kageyama sighed, annoyed with himself that he would compliment Tsukishima, even if only slightly and only in his head.

Kageyama was in the habit of keenly watching blockers, trying to help spikers identify the path of least resistance. This meant that the longer Kageyama worked with Tsukishima, the more he noticed minute tells. When poised for action, Tsukishima did an incredible job of keeping his spine neutral until he knew where to jump. When Tsukishima read his call, he always took a sharp breath before sprinting to the ball.

And when Tsukishima caught the ball just so on his ride hand, he’d wince.

It wasn’t terribly obvious; everyone’s face was pretty emotive when worked up. Pride, shock, frustration, guilt. Pain. Kageyama suspected his teammates were probably less likely to notice because their eyes were either trained high to receive or scanning below to spike. And by their nature, blockers were always facing away from their teammates. One player who generally had an eye on things, however, was a setter because they had to see everyone at once.

So when a blocked ball jarred Tsukishima’s hand, his eyes would tighten and his jaw would clench. It was so subtle that if Kageyama thought about it too hard, he’d convince himself it never happened. But for some reason, the more he started paying attention to Tsukishima, the harder it was to look away.

He wrapped Tsukishima’s fingers to the tip of his pinky and gently bent them to ensure they were secure. He let Tsukishima’s hand drop and only then realized that the other boy was watching the whole time.

“That should do it,” he said gruffly.

Tsukishima just nodded and without a word got up to join the others. Kageyama sat for another couple minutes willing his heart to just slow down already. Annoyed, he heaved himself up and made his way over, determined to push anything but volleyball out of his mind. As the team fell into a natural rhythm, Kageyama spared a thought to how his found family became ever more cohesive with time and practice. His younger self may have despaired at his current circumstances, but now he honestly couldn’t picture anything but this. Sometimes, when he played alongside someone like Hinata, he believed him to be a catalyst for his own growth.

Sometimes, he could also just strangle Hinata.

“I’m telling you, you’re wrong,” Kageyama argued, eyes narrowed. He and Hinata stood a few steps away during their break, forever caught in an argument about how to approach their quicks. He saw Tsukishima exchange a look with Yamaguchi, who whispered something back, causing Tsukishima to chuckle. He desperately wanted to know in that moment what made the corner of his mouth quirk up in amusement.

“You always think I’m wrong!” Hinata yelled back, looking very much like a chick with its down fluffed up, “Back me up on this!” Hinata looked over his shoulders, trying to grab someone nearby to be on his side. He looked slightly lost when the only ones nearby were himself and Yamaguchi. The redhead waited a beat.

“Tsukishima! Tell him he’s wrong,” Hinata demanded.

Tsukishima tugged his sports glasses off, rubbing at his face where they had dug into his cheeks and left faint lines from compression. “You must be desperate if you’re reduced to asking me for support.” Yamaguchi lightly slapped his arm. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Hinata replied, “I don’t wanna get back into it. Just answer me this. In a fight, who would you pick: me or Kageyama?”

“Neither, you’re both losers,” Tsukishima admitted.

“C’mon, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi cajoled, “Right now, without thinking, who would you pick, go!”

“Kageyama,” Tsukishima blurted, then made a displeased sound in the back of his throat.

“You sound like my cat,” Yamaguchi whispered behind him.

Kageyama made a fist in victory while Hinata screeched in dismay.

“Spoken like a true—”

“—piece of crap, Tsukishima!” Hinata spoke over him and now Yamaguchi was straight out laughing at them. Kageyama couldn’t deny the bloom of warmth in his chest. He couldn’t have imagined finding a place where he stood with teammates, laughing and teasing and maybe possibly considering them friends.

Kageyama turned his raised fist to Tsukishima and god help him, he blushed when he pounded it back because I think we’re actually friends.

“I could die happy right now,” Yamaguchi murmured. Tsukishima swatted him with a backhand to the chest.

“Shut up.”

“I refuse,” Yamaguchi replied dreamily.

“Break’s over!” Ukai yelled, clapping his hands once. Let’s get back into it.” There was some low-key grumbling, but everyone levered themselves up from wherever they took repose and readily lined up. Kageyama was at one side of the court and Suga at the other. Half of the team would line up for spiking and the others for receiving before switching sides. Kageyama couldn’t help searching for Tsukishima, who he found was placed diagonally from him. Realizing what he was doing, his snapped his attention away, irked with himself.

They fell easily enough into motion, muscle memory learned by rote. Kageyama could feel blood thrumming through his veins, hands slick with sweat. He never once had a day in his life when he didn’t love playing volleyball. Sometimes it felt like fate that it had become such a part of his life. He could so easily lose himself in strategy, fatigue, and just sheer joy. He found his mouth curling into a fierce grin until he heard Tanaka squawk Fuck! and Yachi gasp by the ball cart. Kageyama look over and saw Tsukishima on one knee, a hand to his face.

Kageyama heard Ukai’s sneakers squeak as he jogged toward Tsukishima and before he knew it, he was ducking under the net, hurrying to his side as well. He felt a flash of wait, what am I doing but all he could see was Tsukishima hunched over, turned away from the group. Kageyama was closer than Ukai and without thinking laid a hand on Tsukishima’s back, bending over to catch his eye, to see his face. His nose didn’t look broken. Kageyama bent his knees to get under Tsukishima, the hand on his back sliding down to his elbow to maintain balance.

“You ok there?” Kageyama asked, his voice low.

Tsukishima paused before slowly moving his hand away. His eye squinted shut in pain, his nose trickling blood. Kageyama could feel Tsukishima’s panting breath against his face he was so close. His eyes roamed his face, looking for any sign of further injury, of…something else, he wasn’t sure what. He felt frozen in place, terribly unsure in that moment, staring helplessly.

The moment was broken when Ukai made it over, pulling Tsukishima up straight to better assess his face. Kageyama stayed kneeling for a moment, feeling awkward, before slowly unfurling. Ukai had a gentle hand to Tsukishima’s chin, tilting it this way and that to look it over. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yamaguchi scurry over. Kageyama knew his glasses prevented any real damage but it didn’t mean his nose wasn’t throbbing.

“How’s it feel?” Ukai asked, not sounding especially worried. They had all seen their share of injuries and volleyballs to the face, but it was always a relief to find there were no broken noses or eyes with burst blood vessels.

“I’m fine,” Tsukishima murmured his characteristic phrase, but his voice was stilted.

“Yachi, get him some ice, will you?” Ukai asked, but Yachi was already at his side, icepack in one hand and a towel in the other.

“Here you go, Tsukishima,” Yachi offered nervously, hands wringing with concern. Tsukishima gingerly removed his glasses, holding up the pack after wiping blood from his face.

Ukai sighed. “Eh, we’re close enough to practice ending, might as well swing by the nurse and head home.” He looked out over the rest of the boys. “He’s gonna be ok,” he assured them, not unkindly, gaze directed at Tanaka who was tense, face apologetic. “Let’s get back into it.”

Tsukishima sighed, taking his glasses from Yamaguchi. “I’ll drop the icepack off with the nurse, you don’t have to wait for me after practice.”

“Tsukki, I’m happy to go with you,” Yamaguchi replied, “We’re getting close to done anyway.”

“We’re still working on serves, you should—”

“I’ll go with you,” Kageyama offered. He felt as surprised by this admission as the others looked.

Tsukishima squinted at him. “That’s hardly necessary—”

“Yes, Kageyama, please go with him!” Yamaguchi interjected, voice rushed.

They both swiveled to look at him. “Yamaguchi, what—”

Kageyama wasn’t sure why this felt like a trap. Yamaguchi looked quite innocent when he said, “You’re right, Tsukki, I definitely need to continue practice. But I think it’s a good idea to have someone go with you. Isn’t it kind of Kageyama to offer?” Yamaguchi turned to Tsukishima, “I think you should go with him.”

Tsukishima removed the ice pack to glare at him, though the effect was diminished when he struggled to keep one eye open.

“What are you—”

“It’s decided! Thank you, Kageyama,” Yamaguchi steamrolled through. Stop interrupting me Tsukishima hissed behind him.

“No problem,” Kageyama muttered, hating himself a little for drawing attention. He looked over to Tsukishima, who was pointedly not looking at either of them. “Is that okay with you?”

Tsukishima sighed loudly as if greatly put upon. “If you happen to wander in the same direction as me to the nurse’s office, I’m not going to stop you.”

They made their way to the nurse’s office in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The nurse didn’t look remotely concerned, waving Tsukishima over to a bed. She futzed with his face for a moment, confirmed his nose wasn’t broken, and offered a fresh icepack. Kageyama awkwardly stood for a moment before dragging a chair over to where Tsukishima was sitting.

“What got you so distracted during practice you let someone hit you in the face?” Kageyama grumbled, shifting in the plastic chair.

“You make it sound like I did it on purpose,” he sulked, shifting the bag of ice, his face flushed from cold. He was slouching slightly on the bed, foot tapping idly on the linoleum floor.

Kageyama sighed but leaned forward to take the ice pack away from him. “Didn’t answer my question,” he said, pressing the bag back to his face.

“What are you doing?” Tsukishima asked, reaching to take the pack from him.

“Your hands get cold easily,” he stated, swatting his hand away, “You’re avoiding the question.”

Tsukishima huffed but said nothing, tangling his fingers together in his lap. For all that Kageyama felt an itch to get back to the gym, he was also surprisingly content to sit in companionable silence with him. His hand was slick from condensation but he didn’t want to move it. Tsukishima’s eyes were closed, almost peaceful. He didn’t know if he was aware he was mindlessly humming some tune. It made something in his stomach flutter.

“Let’s see how it’s doing,” Kageyama said, needing a distraction. He lifted the bag from his face. Tsukishima slowly opened his eyes, blinking a few times to bring him into focus. He would have some bruising near the bridge of his nose where his glasses dug in, but he otherwise looked fine. His eyes were a particularly pale contrast against his flushed cheeks. Even injured, he’s handsome, he could quietly admit to himself.

He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it, not sure what words to use to convey what he was feeling. He realized he had been staring too closely by the way Tsukishima’s brow started to furrow. He knew he could be too intense in that way. Kageyama was more one for action than words. He drummed his fingers on his knee briefly, then reached out to take Tsukishima’s hand. Tsukishima’s eyes widened but he didn’t pull away.

“If you could not get hurt again, that’d be great,” Kageyama mumbled. He fiddled with Tsukishima’s fingers. There was the faintest scar near his pinky from where he tore it months ago. He curled his own fingers around them more firmly. He was too self-conscious to look at him.

He felt a slight tremor in his hand, then Tsukishima curled his thumb over, lightly rubbing his knuckles.

“I was looking at you,” Tsukishima admitted, his voice low and quiet.

“What?”

Tsukishima huffed, looking intently over Kageyama’s shoulder. “You asked what I was distracted by. You—” he stopped, shook his head slightly, “You just looked really happy, you were smiling when you set and I just,” he shrugged helplessly, “I couldn’t look away from you.”

That flutter in Kageyama’s stomach tightened, but he was so pleased he couldn’t help but smile again. He wanted to say something sweet, something to show how much it meant to him, how much he meant to him.

“You’re such a sucker,” he teased, blushing.

“Oh my god, get the fuck out of here,” Tsukishima laughed. “Seriously though, get back to practice already, I’m fine and you know it.”

He sighed but got up. Tsukishima’s head tilted back to watch him. He breathed deeply, then bent down to gently press a kiss to the corner of his eye. His lips felt hot against his face, which was cold and a little damp from the ice. He lingered for a moment, then pulled back. He looked down at Tsukishima, whose eyes were blown wide. He breathed a quiet oh in response.

They both startled when they heard a squeak by the door. In unison, they turned to find Yamaguchi leaning past the door jamb, looking chagrined.

“Sorry, sorry!” Yamaguchi said, his voice pitched high, “Practice is about over so Ukai sent me to check on you, Tsukki.”

Kageyama took a quick step back, but he kept Tsukishima’s hand clasped in his own. He was surprised but not embarrassed at being caught.

“See, I’m fine, get going,” Tsukishima repeated, but his gave his hand a light squeeze before dropping it. Kageyama just nodded, then turned to move past Yamaguchi, who caught his wrist before he could leave.

“Thank you for taking care of Tsukki,” Yamaguchi said, a light grin on his face. His hand tightened around his wrist to the point of being a little painful. “I appreciate someone else looking out for him ‘cause he’s my best friend and I care about him deeply and it’s important to me that he’s doing well, yes?” His grip didn’t loosen. For fuck’s sake, Yams, he heard behind him.

Kageyama nodded, a little unnerved. “Yeah, I know,” he mumbled.

Yamaguchi stared at him a for a beat longer, then let go of his wrist to clap him on the shoulder.

“Alright, I got it from here, thanks,” Yamaguchi said, grin still in place, the hand on his shoulder pushing him out the door. He cast one last glance over his shoulder at Tsukishima, who was looking up at the ceiling in resignation.

Kageyama huffed a quiet laugh and walked down the hallway, feeling oddly lighter.

___

Tsukishima didn’t consider himself particularly prone to affection.

Expressing affection often felt stilted and ingenuine so it was easier to just be his snarky self and hope people could read between the lines. He would sigh dramatically when his mother hugged him, but his arms still tightened around her smaller frame. Akiteru bugged him more often than not, but he couldn’t help calling him “big brother” or—quite frustratingly—looking for his approval. And Yamaguchi was the only person in his life who wasn’t a blood relative that he let in, who seemed to just get him.

Well, one of the only people in his life.

It was fading to dusk when Kageyama walked him home, which he initially rebuffed but secretly didn’t mind. The darkness and faint glow from lit windows felt like a world all their own. It let him feel a little bold and safe to lean into Kageyama’s arm, one hand holding his bag over his shoulder while the other hung near Kageyama’s hand, letting their fingers brush. His headphones were on, music quietly playing in the background. Kageyama wasn’t much one for chatting anyway. It was deeply comforting to know that they could exist in the same place as this, present but quiet, comfortable in a way that met both their needs. He felt the faint vibration in his throat as he hummed along. Yamaguchi generally paid it no mind, used to it after so many years, but Kageyama still occasionally poked fun at him for it.

When they reached his front step, usually the quiet ease turned a little awkward when faced with a goodbye. It wasn’t as if they’d never kissed before, but other than one gut-churning moment at the gym, they were generally more reserved, there was no particular urgency. They were both quiet boys not especially predisposed to quick action. Kageyama was always the one to initiate but didn’t push him, which was partly a relief but also frustrating because he didn’t like the idea he wasn’t brave enough.

Kageyama reached out to squeeze his bicep and said, “Alright, see you tomorrow.”

He then took a step back out of the front light into shadow and Tsukishima suddenly knew that at this moment, he couldn’t let him go. A sharp spike of anxiety shot through him as he grabbed Kageyama to reel him back in.

“What?” Kageyama asked, not looking the slightest bit concerned. His stomach was churning because he desperately wanted this but was also terrified. What am I doing?

“Can you close your eyes?” Tsukishima requested.

“Uh, no,” Kageyama sounded perplexed. “Why’re you being weird?”

“I’m not weird, shut up,” he replied because his brief moment of confidence was already flagging. “Never mind, I’ll see you at practice, bye now.” He tried to take a step back and knocked his elbow into the door.

Kageyama took him by the elbows and pulled him closer. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

Tsukishima took in a deep, fortifying breath. I’m better than this, this is stupid, I’m stupid. He prided himself on being aloof and nonchalant and this was the furthest thing from it and he wanted to low-key die on the spot.

“Just, fuck it,” he snapped, mostly at himself, and leaned in to kiss him.

He pressed a bit too hard, could feel more than hear a muffled sound Kageyama made against his mouth. He immediately eased off, righting his glasses which were knocked askew in what he felt was a terribly pathetic attempt. Tsukishima couldn’t bear to look at him.

“Uh,” Kageyama started, then stalled. “What are you doing?”

See, this is why trying hard is lame, it just leads to disappointment.

Now his anxiety physically hurt, a stabbing pain in his chest. He couldn’t bear the thought that he had just ruined whatever unspoken nonsense they had between them. Was that first kiss a fluke, something which came from heightened emotion? That subsequent touches of affection from Kageyama were because he was becoming more comfortable with him as a friend, only as a friend, I’ve never misread something this poorly in my whole life. He was trapped against his own door, Kageyama still limply holding his arms, neither letting go nor holding too closely, looking bemused. He wanted to melt into the wood behind him, stumble in his room and scream into his pillow until his throat was raw.

“I—” Tsukishima swallowed, he wanted to say it was a joke, it was a mistake, that they should never speak of it again and they could just go back to the distant thing they once were, something which made him ache to think of.

Kageyama’s hands tightened on his arms, thumbs digging in.

“Why did you do that?” Kageyama asked, though he sounded more confused than angry.

“I like you!”

If the world could swallow Tsukishima whole, now would be as good a time as any. Kageyama let his arms drop, dark eyes wide. He shook his head slightly. Was he warding him off? Telling him no? Tsukishima pressed a fist into his chest, trying to anchor himself lest he get swept by a torrent of embarrassment.

“You like me,” Kageyama clarified. Tsukishima kept his eyes shut but gave him a faint nod.

“You like me…as a friend?”

Tsukishima made a pained noise. “Yes I like you as a friend. I also like you.”

“Yeah, you just said that,” Kageyama replied slowly.

“Are you trying to embarrass me? Because it’s working,” Tsukishima’s voice cracked. He felt strung out and trapped. “Just, forget I said anything, okay? Please just go.”

Kageyama was frowning now. “No, I’m not going. What are you trying to say?”

“I like you!” Tsukishima snarled, despair tipping into rage, “Hell if I know why at this point. I want to see you outside of practice. I want to talk to you about the music I like. I want to discuss volleyball strategy with you because of the way your eyes light up. I want to do homework with you because I like being around you.” He took a sobbing breath in, “I want to hold your hand, I want to kiss you, I want to be with you. But just, let it go, okay? We’ll pretend this didn’t happen, I won’t bring it up again.”

He took his glasses off, roughly scrubbing at his eyes. He gazed somewhere around Kageyama’s chest because looking anywhere close to his face felt impossible. He saw Kageyama slowly raise one hand to grasp his wrist, his glasses dangling from his fingers. The other moved up to his face, fingers delicately cradling his jaw, tipping his face up to look at him. Kageyama’s eyes were so soft it hurt to look at, a faint blush across his cheeks.

“I don’t want to pretend this didn’t happen,” Kageyama mumbled, “I’m just surprised. You’re usually so distant and I hoped we were friends, but you haven’t said anything before and I didn’t want to push so. You know.” His fingers brushed his ear and cupped the back of his head.

Tsukishima gave a weak chuckle, a little wet. “I feel stupid even talking about this.”

“It’s okay, I already know you’re stupid,” he said, solemnly, “I still like you anyway.”

"Oh, you're one to talk." He found himself leaning into Kageyama’s hand, a bit overwhelmed. “So, you like me?”

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

“You guess? You’re not sure?” He eased into teasing but still felt a little flatfooted.

“Can I kiss you?” Kageyama replied.

His face flashed with heat. He nodded.

Kageyama pulled him down by the hand behind his head, fingers tangling in his hair, turning his face up to meet him. It was soft this time, almost tentative. Tsukishima angled his head slightly, felt his nose brush Kageyama’s cheek. Kageyama parted his lips slightly, his breath warm. Tsukishima pulled Kageyama in with an arm slung low around his hips, wanting to feel the solid press of heat against his body. It wasn’t hurried and his heart ached with how sweet it tasted. He didn’t know it could feel this good. He felt his lips curl into a smile against Kageyama’s, who huffed a light laugh against his mouth. For a beat or two they just breathed in each other, Tsukishima taking a moment to let his anxiety ease, now knowing he hadn’t misread everything. Kageyama’s fingers tightened in his hair and he felt a pull of heat in his stomach and—

“Is that my baby brother?” He heard aghast behind Kageyama and it was fitting such terrible timing could only come from Akiteru. He clicked his tongue in annoyance and gently pulled away from Kageyama, whose eyes were still closed, a small smile on his face and he was so fucking pretty.

“What are you doing?” Tsukishima grumbled, only ever-so-slightly relieved because it gave him a chance to recalibrate and catch his breath. He kept his grip on Kageyama.

Akiteru waggled the grocery bag in his hand. “Mom needed stuff. It looks like you need stuff,too so—”

“Stop it,” he groused.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” Akiteru asked so sweetly and he hated to admit it was probably, mostly genuine. “I’m Akiteru, Tsukki’s brother and…you’re the team’s setter, aren’t you? Oh my god are you dating your team’s setter? Tsukki.”

“Yes, and he was just leaving,” he replied, a half-second later realizing he maybe confirmed they’re dating and was that too sudden—

“Bye, Tsukki,” Kageyama said through a grin. He had zero patience for where this was going.

“Yeah, alright,” he allowed. He flicked his eyes to Akiteru, pointedly caught his gaze, then back to Kageyama where he pulled him in to ghost his lips over his, licking into his mouth when he gasped in surprise, pulling from him a faint whine he’d be sure to tease him over later.

You’re so petty, Akiteru said, the grocery bag crinkling in his grip.

Tsukishima leaned back and quirked an eyebrow at Kageyama, who still looked faintly dazed.

“Goodnight, team’s setter.”

Kageyama blinked a few times before replying, “Goodnight, team’s blocker?”

“As much as I hate to break this up, I’ve got milk in here and I actually have better things to do then wait on you.”

“Liar,” Tsukishima argued, but he gently pushed Kageyama away from the door, putting his glasses back on. “I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.”

“Uh, yeah, sounds good,” Kageyama said. He turned to leave, paused, then gave Akiteru a slight bow. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Akiteru gasped in delight.

“Bye, Kageyama,” Tsukishima said again, this time final, walking into the house with the vague notion of locking Akiteru out.

“Tsukki, tell me everything,” Akiteru asked, moving around him to the kitchen.

“Hard pass.”

But when he heard no rejoinder, Tsukishima stepped into the kitchen to see Akiteru staring at him thoughtfully.

“What?” he asked, self-conscious.

Akiteru hummed slightly. “Do you actually want to talk about it?”

“What is there to talk about?”

Akiteru shrugged. “I’m pretty sure this is the first person you’ve dated? Sometimes it helps to, you know, process things.”

His immediate response was to rebuff. They weren’t those kind of brothers. They hadn’t been in a long time. But Akiteru looked so earnest it was hard to remember quite how they’d gotten there. Neither of them were kids anymore.

“Ok.”

“Wait, what?” Akiteru asked.

He was already regretting this. “We can talk. Isn’t that…what big brothers are for?”

Akiteru took a sharp breath in. “Yes, absolutely, give me hug, I want to remember this moment forever.”

“Gross,” Tsukishima murmured, but allowed himself to be corralled in, allowed himself to sink his weight into his brother’s arms because he could allow himself these small comforts. It seemed like a night for new beginnings.

___

“You’re a monster.”

Tsukishima looked up at that. It came from a first-year on the opposing team, someone who was benched throughout their practice match.

“Huh?” Hinata asked, head tilted in confusion. He and Tsukishima were standing off to the side with Kageyama and Yamaguchi when this no-name person appeared. They were collectively taking a moment to breathe between games, trying to fit as many in as they could while having another team available. It didn’t feel like that long ago the four of them would seldom be seen together as a group. They came in natural pairings, both of which had chattier counterparts to their taller, broodier friends. Tsukishima couldn’t pinpoint when these two pairs converged, but in the quiet of his head he could speculate it had to do with him and Kageyama.

Tsukishima snorted in derision, familiar enough with the monikers his teammates were gift and amazed at how ballsy this fledgling wing spiker was. Though he supposed to people who didn’t know him, Hinata gave the false impression he was easy to approach because of his height.

But Yamaguchi just laughed. “Which one? Hinata or Kageyama?”

“No, Glasses over here.”

He was uncomfortably aware when all eyes were on him. That must have been a mistake.

Tsukishima frowned. “Uh, no.”

“Uh, yeah,” the first-year argued, “You’re a beast at blocking. We barely got any past you. How the hell are you doing that?”

“You make it sound like I’m the only one doing it,” Tsukishima pressed.

The first-year shook his head adamantly. “There were other blockers, sure, but it was all you.”

“For someone who was benched, you must not have watched that closely,” Tsukishima said, quirking an eyebrow. The first-year spluttered.

“If you only saw me, that’s because you weren’t watching the whole play,” he continued. “Do you think how the ball was served doesn’t affect the receive?” He made a vague gesture at Yamaguchi. “Or how a setter prepares his spiker?” He flapped a hand at Kageyama, who snorted. “Or even how someone manages to spike a ball when they’re as shrimpy as this one over here?” He didn’t bother gesturing when Hinata squawked Offense taken!

“Volleyball’s a team sport. If you don’t get that, you shouldn’t be playing,” Kageyama inserted. Oh my god, you guys, said Yamaguchi, looking unnecessarily proud.

“I won’t be beaten by—!” Hinata yelled, stopped, “—uh, who are you again?”

Tsukishima smirked. “We didn’t bother with his name.”

“All of you, monsters,” the first-year hissed in disbelief. He didn’t look happy about it as he walked away.

“Thank you!” Tsukishima called out to him. His teammates would laugh, familiar with his brand condescension.

Kageyama caught his eye, slanting him a small smile, because they both knew calling them monsters was one of the greatest compliments you could give.