Chapter Text
“Kageyama-senpai’s being confessed to!” Itadori yelled, bursting into the gym.
This wasn’t the first time it had happened — not the first confession Kageyama had received and not the first time he’d been delayed to practice. It wasn’t the first time someone from the team had gleefully bounced into the gym and announced the news like there was free ice cream outside, either. And it wasn’t the first time many of them raced to watch the impending train wreck. Kei couldn’t blame them — watching Kageyama stumble his way through understanding and then rejecting a confession was basically free therapy.
“I don’t understand why this keeps happening,” he’d pouted as they walked back after a confession. Kei and Hinata were having a rare moment of shared delight, recounting the progression of noises and facial expressions Kageyama had made as if they hadn’t both just witnessed it. Yamaguchi, his tolerance for bullshit much improved after two years of constant exposure to the pack of fools they called ‘friends’, had just sighed.
“It’s cause, y’know.” He made a vague gesture in Kageyama's general direction.
Kageyama had tilted his head, eyes blank with absolute lack of knowing.
“Y’know!” Yamaguchi gestured a little more forcefully, hand flapping from Kageyama’s head down towards his feet and back up again.
“If I knew,” Kageyama had growled, “I’d fix it to stop this from happening again.”
Itadori, trailing after them, had to stop walking, doubled over with laughter.
“WHAT?!”
He’d straightened out and attempted to compose himself. “To fix…to fix it, Kageyama-senpai, ya’d need pl-plastic surgery,” which had set off him off all over again.
Kageyama had turned to first Yamaguchi, who was pinching the bridge of his nose, then Hinata, who was leaning on Itadori in support as he cackled. Those ocean eyes finally settled on Kei, mouth twitching minutely from the whole scene. He had just shook his head, unwilling to make himself an active participant in the conversation
“Look, Kageyama,” Yamaguchi began resignedly, looking like he’d rather be doing anything else. “It’s because you’re hot.”
And Kei must have lost his goddamn mind because how was this what his heart wanted? The idiot had brought his hand up to his forehead.
“But I feel fine?”
Hinata started howling and Itadori finally fell to the ground.
Yamaguchi sent Kei a pleading look but he shook his head, keeping his mouth firmly shut. The rest of the team had started to filter into the breezeway leading to the gym, drawn by the pained sounds the others were making.
“Not that kind of —” Yamaguchi shook his head in frustration. “You’re attractive, Kageyama. People confess to you because you’re attractive.”
And Kei hadn’t been able to decide if the growing audience was a blessing or a curse as Kageyama flushed a brilliant scarlet before looking at him — currently the only third party capable of speaking, Hinata and Itadori still in hysterics — with a questioning expression. The blatant appeal had Kei turning red himself, looking pointedly away and refusing to give an opinion.
Yachi, emerged from the gym in what was probably an attempt to get practice started, was the next unfortunate soul in Kageyama’s field of vision.
“I’m…hot?” he’d asked the petite blonde. She stiffened and nearly dropped her clipboard.
“I — umm —” She looked first at Yamaguchi, who gave a slight nod, then Kei. He shrugged. “…Yes?” she squeaked.
Kageyama looked stunned, like this was a revelation to him. He’d received multiple other confessions that month alone and been described in his Volleyball Monthly U19 team profile as the “stoic setter with a steamy stare” — since apparently it was okay to say that about a seventeen year old — yet had somehow stared at his own face in the mirror for seventeen years and apparently not had the realization that it was visually, aesthetically pleasing.
“Huh…” he’d muttered, walking into the gym and leaving everyone else in his stunned wake.
So, no, it wasn’t a surprise that he was getting another confession. As Itadori helpfully pointed out, he’d likely have to fix his face to get them to stop.
As was the ritual, they all filed out to watch.
“Doesn’t this feel kinda….y’know…wrong?” Yachi whispered, sandwiched between Kei and Yamaguchi.
“If they really wanted privacy, they wouldn’t have done it here.” Yachi looked at her boyfriend in shock as Kei was reminded why he’d kept him around.
Kageyama was once again metaphorically cornered, pinned in his place by a 155 centimeter wisp of doe eyes and a short skirt. She blushed sweetly while her friends giggled from the other side of a nearby window.
Some of the first year volleyball club members were murmuring about how that was the most popular girl in the second-year class asking Kageyama to the festival this weekend, how he'd be stupid to turn her down, how lucky he was and how good a couple they’d make.
But Kei didn’t deal with this dumbass’s bullshit, didn’t take him to the museum that held such a complicated place in his memory, just for the team to think he’d look better with someone else.
The confession had advanced to the stage where the girl was holding out something — Kei didn’t bother to see what — and Kageyama was trying to either find the words or a way to not accept it and Kei’d had enough.
“Actually” — he walked forward until he was standing behind where the idiot was pressed up against the metal — “he can’t.”
The pair stared at him, as did the entire assembled audience.
“Can’t what?” The girl looked annoyed, though she made a valiant attempt at concealing it under manufactured confusion.
“Go to the festival with you.”
She gave him an unenthused look. “He can’t?”
“Did I stutter? He’s already going with someone else.”
Meanwhile the dumbass just looked back and forth between the two of them, lost. “I am?”
“You are,” Kei told him. Of course Kageyama wouldn’t pick up the hint to play along. Kei hadn’t fully thought this through, but Kageyama wasn’t really thinking at all.
“Who?” The girl was the one who asked, but from behind them Yamaguchi and Yachi’s auras were nearly overwhelming in their anticipation.
Do or die. No backing down after this.
Kei lifted a long arm, draping it over Kageyama’s shoulder. He angled his body so they were partially pressed back-to-chest.
“Me.”
The noise in the courtyard was immediately overwhelming.
Yamaguchi’s whoop was by far the loudest single voice, but the rest of the team were shouting a variegated chorus of ‘I knew it’s and ‘no way’s. The girl’s friends in the window started tittering behind their hands, eyebrows raised.
The girl herself had her mouth open, a light blush dusting her cheeks.
“Oh, I — I didn’t know.” To be fair — not that Kei was feeing particularly fair at that moment — no one did. “I’m sorry. I’m gonna…I’m gonna go.”
Kei tilted his head to look at Kageyama as she hurried away. He was looking at Kei from the corner of his eye, bright sapphire in the afternoon sun. His cheeks were red too, but his lips were raised in the smallest of smiles.
“You?” he asked softly.
Their eye contact went on for a beat too long, Kei distracted by the the shadows cast on his cheeks by raven-dark lashes, before he realized his position.
He stood abruptly, tugging on his shirt, ears burning. The general volume in the courtyard was falling as Yamaguchi herded everyone back into the gym.
“Don’t sound so enthusiastic, King. I know the idea of going with a mere peasant —”
A hand grabbed his wrist, pulling him to turn around again. Kei briefly caught a glimpse of the last straggler being pulled inside before the gym doors closed.
“I told you already that that’s not what I think,” Kageyama said once Kei was facing him. “You just — you hadn’t asked. I didn’t know you wanted to go.”
Truthfully, he hadn’t. But he hadn’t not wanted to go, though, and the thought of Kageyama attending with a girl, with anyone, who might mistake his silence for any sort of acceptance tipped the scales of his ambivalence.
“We don’t have to,” Kei offered him a way out. But that same something from the night he’d said they weren’t dating flashed across his face, the something that Hinata insisted was insecurity, doubt, uncertainty and disappointment all rolled up into one. He swallowed. “But if you wanted to…”
The small smile came back.
“Saturday?”
“Saturday.”
♛
Saturday dawned with Kei’s stomach in an uneasy knot. That he was going to the festival had been forced out of him a few days prior; on further interrogation by his mother, he had revealed that he was going with Kageyama. She promptly pulled his old yukata out to air, then despaired that it no longer fit him. Akiteru’s came out of the closet next.
It struck something in Kei that he was nearly too large for this one as well. The shoulders were tighter than he wanted, them hem was north of his ankles. His mother stood behind him, smoothing the cloth over his upper back with repetitive strokes, as if she could expand the fabric with the motions of her hands alone.
“Look at you,” she murmured. “So grown up. When did you get to be so big? I swear it was just yesterday that you were waist-high and stealing strawberries.”
“I did that one time, kaa-san!” He’d been seven and the large red berries had been everything he’d ever wanted. How was he supposed to know they were for a pie?
She let out a watery laugh. “Once is enough, my strawberry thief,” she said, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “Now, this doesn’t quite fit, does it? I might have some of your —”
“No,” Kei declined without even hearing the end of the sentence. “This is fine.” He wasn’t aware she’d even kept anything of his father’, but he didn’t want any of it, not for this occasion, not ever. When he was younger, he’d wanted to give back his height and hair, if it would make his kaa-san look less sad.
She hummed in quiet agreement before leaving to see if she could find shoes to match.
Kei snapped a picture of the bottom of the yukata on his phone, sending it off to Kageyama with a ‘if i have to wear this, you do too.’
The doorbell rang later that afternoon, twenty minutes before he’d told Kageyama to show up. In the middle of a physics problem set that was failing miserably at keeping him distracted, he hadn’t been ready. In the time it took him to collect everything into a drawstring bag and head down the stairs, Kageyama had been let in by his mother, their voices floating out from the kitchen.
Kei rounded the door to see his mother fussing over Kageyama, fixing his obi and adjusting the collar. His yukata was dark gray with stripes of blue-gray running vertically, the obi at his hips the same blue as his eyes. He looked over his shoulder when he heard Kei in the doorway, shooting him a small smile.
“Kei, you messed up the obi!” his mother scolded, moving towards him to undo and retie the belt.
“Kaa-san,” he mumbled, blushing at the attention both she and Kageyama were now giving him.
“Hush you. Now” — she clapped her hands — “you both look so handsome! Lemme take a picture.”
“No,” Kei refused, but she just flapped a hand at him and she pulled up the camera app on her phone.
“Yes,” she asserted. “Kageyama-kun will let me take a photo, won’t you?” The other boy didn’t stand a chance against that earnest amber gaze, nodding hesitantly. “See? Move closer together, this is a date isn’t it?”
“Okaaaa-saaaan,” Kei whined, face burning.
“Oh, you want to take the photos outside? Is that what I’m hearing?”
The two shuffled closer together, their sleeves just brushing.
“See? So nice! Now smile — er, not quite like that Kageyama-kun, umm…there you go!”
As soon as he heard the sound of the shutter, Kei grabbed Kageyama’s hand and pulled him out the door. He covered his flush by checking his phone as they walked to the bus.
“Yamaguchi and Yachi are already there” — he glanced at Kageyama, blush still painting his cheeks — “if you want to meet up with them.”
Blue eyes met his before dancing away. “Do…do you want to meet up with them?”
Kei stopped, phone in hand but eyes on Kageyama.
“No,” he said. “I don’t.”
His mother finally sent the photo while they were on the bus; he tilted his phone to show Kageyama.
Blue eyes darted over the image as Kei watched him. He hummed.
“You look nice,” Kageyama said.
It was a good photo, he’d admit. His yukata — Akiteru’s yukata — was burgundy with a tan hemp-leaf pattern, obi a simple cream cloth, and despite not having been picked for him, the colors suited him well, making Kei look marginally less pale and highlighting the gold of his hair. Kageyama’s blue yukata complimented the tinge of pink in his cheeks, giving him an almost boyish appearance, and — at his mother’s direction — he’d dialed back his usually-awkward camera smile to a slight quirk of his lips, not too different from his victory smirk but softer. Gentler.
“Not as bad as it could have been,” Kei agreed.
Kageyama huffed a soft laugh before meeting his eyes.
“Your mom said this was a date.”
“She did,” he agreed, neutral.
Kageyama lost some steam, pausing a moment before continuing, voice quiet. “Is it?”
Kei had shot down a confession for Kageyama for this. In front of the volleyball team, in front of a group of girls who had undoubtedly spread the story throughout the school. How could he not know?
“Yes,” Kei said, aiming for exasperation but probably ending up somewhere closer to fond.
Kageyama, blushing again, nodded. And then, “And your mom, she’s….okay with that?”
Kei shrugged. “Seems like it.”
“Okay.”
There were a few more moments of silence before Kageyama started again.
“So are we…dating?”
And Kei wished he could be just about anywhere else. He had hoped beyond hope that they’d just fall into whatever this was so that he could go his whole life without asking Kageyama Tobio to date him but — seeing as that wasn’t a possibility — he had settled for hoping not to talk about this on the public bus.
“Do you want to be dating?”
“I —” he cut himself off. “I dunno. You sounded like you didn’t want to. Back — back when Yachi asked.” And now he was pointedly not looking at Kei.
That wouldn’t do.
He poked him in the side.
Kageyama turned to him, eyes blazing, but Kei spoke before he could.
“I didn’t want to say anything without talking to you first.”
“You said the idea was ridiculous.”
Kei looked away.
“s’notridiculous,” he mumbled.
“What?” Kageyama asked.
“It’s not ridiculous,” he enunciated, voice low. “Do we have to talk about this now? Let’s just go to the festival on a date or whatever and figure it out later. Can’t believe you of all people want to talk about feelings.”
“What’s that supposed to mean!?” Kageyama asked.
He was lucky he was pretty.
The bus pulled up to their stop, multitudes of other yukata-clad passengers standing to get off. Kei stood, tugging the end of Kageyama’s sleeve to get him to follow.
The shrine hosting the festival was a few blocks away but the food stands and festival-goers extended outwards by a few blocks. The smell of roasting meat, the laughter of children and general din of a crowd only grew stronger and louder as they got closer.
“What do you want to do?” Kei asked once they reached the main drag of stalls. People milled about them, occasionally doing a double-take at the two tall boys. A group of first year girls that Kei vaguely recognized from the halls of Karasuno giggled when they saw them. A few were brazen enough to wave and call out, ‘Hello senpai!’, eyebrows raised, before scurrying off.
“Food?” Kageyama suggested. Kei rolled his eyes.
“Of course you’re hungry. Sure, let’s eat before the King gets cranky.”
Kageyama’s resultant pout was cuter than Kei would ever admit, so instead he shot him a sharp smile and started walking.
Kageyama fell into step as they made their way deeper into the festival. The crowd was equally likely to press them together, shoulders bumping and hands brushing, as to pull them apart. After the third time he’d lost his date, Kei linked their pinkies.
He refused to acknowledge the look of blatant surprise on Kageyama’s face, or the blush he knew was painted across his own.
They ostensibly bought everything — Yakitori and takoyaki followed by karaage and yakisoba — to share, but the split was more 80/20 than anything remotely even. Which suited Kei was just fine — he got to pick at whatever was in Kageyama’s bowl, earning pleased smiles and hums, without having to commit to a full portion himself. He ate more of the desserts — taiyaki and dango — savoring the sweet red bean paste despite Kageyama’s grumblings about not eating a balanced meal.
“It’s a festival, King, let me enjoy it. Nag me tomorrow.”
They moved on to game booths, winning a large stuffed tanuki Kageyama softly suggested giving to Kei’s mother and a goldfish they realized neither of them wanted.
Kageyama had been pulled in by how difficult the game had appeared: toss a ping-pong ball into an array of small fish bowls. If the ball landed (and stayed) in a bowl, the tosser received the fish that was in the bowl. Most of the people surrounding the stall left empty-handed. Kei had no interest in owning a fish, but had a vested interest in riling Kageyama up.
“Bet you can’t win one,” he provoked.
Kageyama could, in fact, win one. He won three with the four balls he was given — the first he grossly overestimated and sent careening into the next stall over.
“It’s not a volleyball, King,” Kei had teased. “You don’t need to spike it.”
And he had taken that to heart, tossing the next three projectiles with the care and strength Kei — not that he’d ever admit it — expected of him.
They stood off to the side, holding the large plastic bag of three goldfish lazily swimming back and forth.
“…Natsu?” Kageyama suggested.
“Natsu,” Kei nodded in agreement.
It was getting late, afternoon melting into evening as dusk fell over the scene. The lanterns hung in the trees beyond the festival were lit, pinpoints of light floating into the expanse beyond.
They found space to breathe on a bridge at the outskirts of the crowd, eagerly escaping the crush of the crowd. Even there, lanterns were strung through the crowns of the trees of the valley below, stretching their way down the mountain.
“There should be fireworks soon,” Kei said, “if you wanted to stay for them. Or we could head back.”
Kageyama leaned against the balustrade next to him.
“Fireworks are nice,” he said softly.
A sparkler went off overhead, raining gold down in the sky above them. Shortly after, the sky lit up with reds, greens, golds and blues as they felt the boom of the fireworks in their chests.
It was beautiful, as good an ending to their date as he could hope for.
And it had been a date, their first. At least, the first they’d both agreed was a date, the trip to the museum hovering somewhere closer to Kei fulfilling a civic duty.
And as all the shoujo Yacchan made them watch had taught him, dates usually ended with —
Kageyama was looking up, bursts of technicolor light reflecting in his eyes. Kei took in the sight for a moment, happy for the distraction the fireworks provided, before he leaned in.
He intended to kiss his cheek, if one could even call it a kiss — more of a press of his mouth against the smooth expanse of skin running from under those deep blue eyes down to his jaw — but Kageyama chose that moment to look at him.
Lips pressed against lips, still slightly tacky from the dessert they’d shared earlier, but warm. Warm, and opening against his own as Kageyama gasped. Somehow his bottom lip ended up sandwiched between Kei’s own and oh — this was his first kiss.
He fought every instinct he had to stay right where he was.
The pressure on his mouth lessened and Kei pulled back. Kageyama’s eyes were wide and staring directly into his, fireworks still dancing across the expanse of them, except the fireworks were getting bigger and then Kageyama’s mouth was on his again.
He wished he knew what to do with his hands, settling for grabbing the front of Kageyama’s yukata — not to bring him closer or push him away, just to hold until they parted.
Looking back towards the night sky, he shuffled closer to Kageyama until his radiant body heat warmed Kei’s left side as the boom of the finale reverberated throughout the buoyant space surrounding his heart.
Once the show was over, they headed back towards the bus station.
“Was that…” Kei trailed off. “Was that okay?”
If the crowd hadn’t forced him into such close proximity, Kei might have missed Kageyama’s pleased hum.
♛
His mother was waiting for him when he got home.
“And?” She was up next to him as soon as he slipped his shoes off.
He handed over the stuffed raccoon dog. “We won this for you,” he said, looking away.
She held it out, smoothing the faux-fur over it’s face. “How sweet,” she crooned before looking at him again, intent. “And?” she insisted.
“And what?” he countered.
“How did it go?” she shoved his shoulder.
He gave a small smile, remembering the food, the goldfish, the date. Their kiss.
“It went well.”
