Archive of Our Own ^beta

“You.”

The surprise at Semi’s presence is understandable. He’s never been here before, held up in the unkind spring humidity with Coach Washijou and guilt buried in his stomach. Semi knows better than this; he’s a good person. It’s just that he’s been able to hide his shitty anger management skills for a good portion of his first year. There were so many other eccentric, problematic-yet-skilled players on this team. In fact, if he weren’t in line for this year’s main setter, Coach probably wouldn’t even know who he is, he is that good.

Was. Was that good.

His palms are sweaty.

“It won’t happen again, Coach,” Semi says. His bruises bite back furiously in protest, but his pride does well enough in pretending they don’t exist. “It was impulsive and stupid and you can be sure that I’m really, really sorry for what happened—”

“Look. I don’t care about your petty squabbles or misunderstood feelings, figure that all out on your own. But you hurt the ace, you hurt the team, dumbass!” Coach punctuates his statement with a sharp cuff to Semi’s head. Harsh, but not punishing. Still hurts like hell. “You may have been a captain a year ago, but this isn’t your turf anymore. Get your head on straight or get off the team!”

“I understand,” Semi says with urgency.

Coach shakes his head. “I would have believed you yesterday. You’re a skilled player, Eita, that’s why you’re here. Do whatever you want, as long as you’re helping us win. But pulling out crap like this?” He waves to the bruises on Semi’s knuckles. “You had a full year to sort this out. You’re a second year, moron, one people actually listen to, and you choose now to tell me you have a history?”

“It’s… a work in progress.” Semi swallows back some excuse about Ushijima’s attitude, his own complicated middle school team, or his general low tolerance for disrespect. Besides, Shiratorizawa doesn’t take excuses, he’s learned; Shiratorizawa takes results.

“Nothing on this team should be in progress, Eita,” Coach asserts. “You’re either there, or you’re not. Especially now, since you know that there are first years coming in, don’t you?”

Semi nods, of course. Under all of the inter-team stress, it’s all he’s been able to think about since the new season started.

“There’s another promising setter we’ve accepted.” At Semi’s pinched expression, Coach raises an eyebrow. “What? You’re not scared you’ll lose your position, will you? Now that our main setter has graduated, is there a reason to?”

“No!” Semi snaps back, slapping back his confident expression.

“Well you should!” Coach slams a hand down on the table to create a noise equal to the breaking of Semi’s heart. “Unlike somebody, this kid’s got a real head on his shoulders. Got in here through his brains, valuable reputation, being everything you’re not. I’d say if you want to solidify your position you start acting right or you won’t make it to your third year. If I had to choose between a ticking time bomb and an actual wise guy, do you know who I’d choose?”

Semi blinks, dumbfounded. “I… I’m the time bomb, aren’t I?”

Coach pinches his fingers to allow a sliver of space to show. “You’re this close, Eita, from kissing Interhigh goodbye.”

Coach, in a rare moment of mercy, allows Semi to regain himself and shake out a startled, “What?” before kicking him out of the room.

Semi Eita does not throw tantrums.

Given, he shouldn’t throw tantrums. He’s an older brother to three children from the ages of six to thirteen, a former volleyball captain, and a member of the best high school volleyball team in the prefecture. So, no, he should have earned his dose of maturity long ago. This doesn’t erase the fact that Semi has one of the worst-held tempers on the team.

“Aren’t setters supposed to be, I dunno, composed?” Tendou says next practice in a subconscious effort to rub salt over the wound. Semi strikes another serve to the bottle on the other side of the net. “With good relationships with the ace? Like unless that was just you and Wakatoshi-kun duking it out for friendship kicks. I totally respect that, everyone makes friends differently.”

“I wasn’t trying to make friends!” Semi snaps, but only proves Tendou’s point further. Irritated, he trudges over to set the bottle back in place and takes a deep breath. Steady, he’s just worried. Satori is shit at showing he’s worried. “Sorry. He just gets on my nerves. Sometimes I wonder how our upperclassmen put up with him.”

“He’s good at the game. That’s what we want here,” Tendou says in good nature. He’s got his puppy grin on. Semi’s never been strong with puppy grins. “You’d like him too if you weren’t so wound up over how he never listens to what you say. I mean, he didn’t even fight back.”

Semi grumbles, mostly out of spite that Tendou isn’t wrong. Semi’s not used to being ignored by the other players; he’s worked hard to be a reliable figure. Not that getting into a fight with Ushijima has helped.

He brushes off the knowing smirk Tendou gives him and goes back over to hit another serve. Tendou’s an anomaly on the team in that he actually enjoying having one-sided conversation with their celebrity ace. Normally Semi would be that guy too (and he tries, honestly!), but Ushijima can find literally every one of Semi’s buttons and smash them with his giant, trophy-winning hands.

Though he didn’t deserve to get punched in the face. That was all Semi.

“So… you ready for spiking practice yet? This always freaks me out,” Tendou comments at the sound of Semi’s jump serve smash into the ground. “I know your serves are killer, but usually you’re actually trying to improve them.”

“I am improving,” Semi says, running to set the bottle back up again.

“Nah, you’re trying to kill a water bottle.” Tendou gives a sympathetic, albeit amused glance at the abused bottle Semi struggles to keep upright. “What, are you imagining that thing as Wakatoshi’s face?”

“No,” Semi lies. Think good things, Eita. What’s good about Ushijima? He scores well. He probably doesn’t mean half of the things that come out of his mouth. He’s not a setter and he can’t take your position.

“Come on, Eita, he’s not that bad of a guy.” Tendou gives a thoughtful hum. “You’ve got a problem with the whole grudges thing. Seriously, cool off and have some fun with the game for once! Or else someone else is gonna walk in and take your place.”

The timing is impeccable.

Something in his mind snaps. Coach’s words echo in Semi’s ears, ringing with the sound of his hands slamming on the table. Emotion fuels him, when he grinds his teeth, leaps, and slams his palm into the volleyball with as much anger and frustration he can release.

Tendou isn’t looking at him when his feet hit the floor, but Semi makes him, voice raised.

“I am not getting myself replaced,” Semi tells him, maybe a little too loudly. “If you think I’m just going to just stand back and allow some smartass first year take my place like he’s better than me, then I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about! I am this close to become a fucking bench warmer, and you want me to cool off!?”

Tendou is staring at him with wide eyes, just as Semi realizes what he’s said. His friend’s expression then scrunches up, smirk widening, eyes narrowed and knowing. Semi, on his part, is thoroughly embarrassed, and flushes bright.

“You heard about the first year setter.”

“I… well…”

“Tanji-kun told you about him, didn’t he?” Tendou says. Semi hates his weird expressions.

“Yes. I… He threatened my spot on the team if I didn’t get my act together, and I’m freaking out,” Semi admits, cooling down, finally.

“That was funny! Nice freak out, Eita-kun.” Tendou smacks his arms a couple more times and shakes a few more excess nerves out of Semi’s system. “So you’re not going to lose to this kid, huh?”

“I just said that,” Semi says. He has the growing urge not to talk about this anymore.

“Maybe you should tell him that instead of serving into his face.”

“Why would I serve into a first year’s fa…” Semi finally notices the ruckus around him. Half of his teammates are gathered around a poor kid bleeding from the face, and the other half, including Coach, are staring at him as if he’d just punched Ushijima in the face again.

“Don’t… Stop looking that way.” Semi gives up and tilts the poor guy’s head forward himself. He’s got annoyingly nice hair; who even keeps it that straight? “There, just stay like that for a few more minutes and you’ll be fine.”

He’s met with silence. Semi’s doing his best to feel more irritated than guilty, but this kid is doing a good job at preventing that.

From what he gathered, the kid’s name is Shirabu Kenjirou, and he is the last person Semi expected to see walking into first string. Round-faced, skinny, and relatively pretty, Shirabu looks more like he’s about to run for student council president than play Shiratorizawa-style volleyball. Semi kind of wants to dote on him except he feels like the last person Shirabu wants attention from right now.

Semi swallows guiltily. “And I’d just like to say I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t even see you there, I swear.”

Shirabu gives him the same glare that he’s given to Semi’s last twenty apologies.

Semi is fully aware Shirabu could talk to him he wanted to; the nurse told him that it wasn’t like he’d bit his tongue. But he’s not saying a word, so Semi decides it’s from the raw distaste for getting hit in the face by an angry serve. It earns them a good few minutes of uncomfortable silence. Shirabu does anything but look at Semi, and Semi sits there making sure Shirabu doesn’t choke on blood or something.

When Shirabu finally does speak, he wastes no time. “Thank you for your time, sempai, but I’m sure I can handle this myself now.”

He doesn’t even sound angry. He had faced Semi, bowed his head, and said it in a voice more soft and neutral than Semi had ever heard. Honestly, it would have been polite if Shirabu weren’t radiating with passive aggressiveness.

Apparently Semi is too bewildered by this, because when he doesn’t respond, Shirabu sighs. “Did you expect this smartass first year to apologize for taking your place?”

Oh. “You heard that.”

“You weren’t exactly subtle, sempai.”

“You shouldn’t listen to me when I say crap like that,” Semi urges him. “It’s a temper issue. Like when your uncle gets drunk and tells all your siblings that your parents lied when they said your dog just ran off.”

Shirabu glares some more. He shouldn’t do that; Semi is really trying to like him. Honest. “I see. Is that also why you punched Ushijima-sempai in the face yesterday?”

How much does this guy know? “Wait, how did you know that was me?”

“I guessed. It wasn’t hard.” You’re the only one who seems angry and stupid enough to do so, went unsaid.

“This isn’t a regular thing,” Semi promises.

“I would prefer not to get caught up in the middle of it again.” The final word came out a little stronger than Shirabu had intended, Semi notices, though Shirabu seems to do pretty well in pretending it didn’t. I am 100% in control of my emotions, bite me, it screams.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Excuse me, sempai, but I’m sure I can take over from here.” Leave me alone. This kid is anything but straightforward.

Semi hates it when people are rude to him, especially when his juniors are rude to him. He got enough crap for it in middle school, and he gets enough crap about it at home. But he’s been fighting enough this week. He’s tired, and he doesn’t need to deal with passive-aggressive pretty boys who want to give him more shit than playing with Ushijima can in a week.

Shirabu takes one last glance at him when he gets up to leave and doesn’t look back again.

Okay, so Semi doesn’t have total control over himself. It bothers him at times, but he’s responsible; he’s learned how to manage it. One time he accidentally made his younger twin sisters cry and then stayed up until five in the morning looking for new emotional-management techniques. The ones that stuck were 1) exercise, and 2) finding something different to focus on.

That focus tends to either be volleyball or people. Semi has found over the years that he can be very good at fussing over people. When he’s restless, he’s especially fussy.

It’s probably why he’s so obvious. Semi doesn’t like to think he wears his heart on his sleeve, but people have noticed he’s getting stressed. Reon keeps ruffling his hair, which he only does when he’s trying to cheer you up. Semi lets him because he likes Reon, unlike Tendou, who keeps trying to bury him in manga. Ushijima just keeps telling him he needs to sleep more. It’s like Semi never punched the guy. He’s not sure how to feel about that.

Whatever. He likes fussing over the freshmen; they’re adorable, and most of them aren’t heartless. Tendou notices Semi only thinks that about most of them and asks him why he’s not paying attention to that serious kid with the stupid-straight hair that Semi gave a nosebleed the other week. Semi ignores him and fusses over more of the adorable freshmen.

“Sorry,” an especially tall one says when Semi calls him Taichi. “Kawanishi is fine.” And then he runs off to go practice with Shirabu.

“He totally blew you off for that kid,” Tendou says, and then bursts out laughing.

Semi stands in shock. This isn’t about names; Semi calls everyone by their given name, but he stays respectful to anyone who’s uncomfortable with it. It’s just that he calls everyone by their given name except Shirabu. Sorry-Kawanishi-Is-Fine noticed and threw it in Semi’s face.

Shirabu and Kawanishi have an entire conversation that involves smiling. Shirabu laughs, the first time Semi’s ever seen him as anything other than forcefully neutral.

Semi’s first thought is, Why can’t I do that? And his second is Because you’re being an asshole. His third is Goddammit, and guilt smacks him in the face.

So Shirabu’s not a walking grump machine. He can laugh. He has friends. People like this guy. He just doesn’t like Semi for justifiable reasons. It’s unsettling. It shouldn’t be, Semi likes it when his teammates get along, but he’s been subconsciously avoiding this particular teammate long enough for others to notice. They probably think it’s because Semi is bitter about the position threat. Which he’s not. Obviously.

He’s not.

“Not that I care,” he tells Tendou, but it feels fake.

By the third week, Shirabu still won’t give him the time of day, and Semi is bitter, except by now it’s especially worse when Shirabu seems to worship the ground Ushijima walks on.

He takes every chance to toss to Ushijima like he’s being handed the Holy Grail. Tossing to Ushijima is some kind of wonder to his tiny person because Shirabu plays like he never has before. It’s amazing how well they work together. A little rough around the edges, but still they play so swiftly and smoothly it’s hard for Semi not to admit he’s jealous.

Coach latches onto this interest immediately and soon enough, Shirabu is having his dreams come true and playing Ushijima’s team every chance he can. This means Shirabu is playing most of their games, and eventually, taking over. It’s not like he has a lot of competition; Semi is the only other main setter on the team and Coach has been eyeing him like he’s a blemish on this beautiful earth. The beautiful earth where Shirabu is the shiny missing cog in the Ushijima Machine.

Ushijima doesn’t mind, of course. He gets the ball, he scores. It’s just that the ball comes to him more often now. More scoring. No prideful time bombs trying to show off every chance they get. Shirabu hasn’t even punched anyone in the face. Their team is perfect.

Except it’s not, Semi muses irritably. Shirabu almost focuses too much on tossing to Ushijima. Semi knows that feeling: toss to the ace as much as possible and it’s like feeding a point dispenser. Semi’s thought long and hard for a whole year to prove why using him so excessively is a stupid idea, but Ushijima and now Shirabu just love proving him wrong.

But why’s Shirabu so dependent on Ushijima? What, is it a hero worship thing? Does he not trust himself? He shouldn’t be sitting here pondering over the ramification of Shirabu’s strength complex but yet, here he is, worrying as always.

“What’s with that face?” Yamagata says through a mouthful of yakisoba bread one lunchtime, looking straight at Semi.

“That’s the face he gets when he’s thinking about Shirabu,” Tendou explains. Semi frowns at him. Frowns deeper. He’s been frowning for a while. “He’s been doing that for the past month. You didn’t notice?”

“Really?” Yamagata stares at him as if he’s rediscovering Semi all over again.

Semi knows where his surprise comes from; he and Yamagata have been spending a lot of time together ever since Semi started calling Team B his new home. They should know all about each other with all their free time. It’s still hard to connect, though. Yamagata’s just waiting to succeed a senior. Semi got beat by a first year. An Ushijima-worshipping, stupid-polite, lithe, attractive first year who ignores everything Semi says. There’s a difference.

He also might be mentally fussing about him all the time, but Yamagata doesn’t need to know that.

“There it is again,” Yamagata says, big-eyed. “I thought you always looked like that. Resting Bitch Face or something.”

Tendou barks a laugh and high fives Yamagata. Semi throws a salt packet at Tendou’s head.

“But for real, Eita,” Yamagata says. “You have to learn how to chill around the kid. I mean, what do you know about him? He literally just got here.” That’s kind of the point, actually. “Just talk to him or something!”

“He doesn’t want to listen to me,” Semi argues. Saying it outloud hits him harder than he expected, and he’s staring down into his lunch again, poking at stray rice grains. “It’s fine,” he says before the display gets too pathetic. “I just need to pull myself together.”

Which is complete bullshit. Semi should have gotten over it a month ago, at least a couple weeks ago.

Yamagata makes a sound like he’s going to say exactly that, but Tendou stops him. They share a look, nod, and then suspiciously are okay with everything Semi just said. It’s as if an entire conversation just happened in front of Semi in the blink of an eye.

“Yeah, like you said, we’ll see,” Yamagata says, sounding hoarse.

“You’ll be back on your feet in no time, Eita-kun!” Tendou agrees, and pounds Semi’s back hard enough that he almost chokes.

Semi, stupidly, chooses to brush it off.

Semi never feels right when he’s not trusted by his juniors.

Well, this would be fine if it were just Shirabu (probably), but it’s not. The first years respect him; Semi is a safe option compared to the other seniors. They go to him for advice, appreciate his setting, and aren’t afraid to confide in him. But if there’s one thing the whole incident with him and Shirabu did to worsen Semi’s place on the team, it’s that the other first years are scared the play with him.

Main team or not, he’s still a setter, and a good one at that. He’s on someone’s practice team more often than not. Except every time he steps into serving position, hands fly to the backs of heads, and those in receiving position go ghost white.

Coach blames him for the first-day scare interfering with the player psychosis. He’s not wrong. Doesn’t mean Semi’s happy about it.

The only first years who don’t look like they want to dive off court are Shirabu and Kawanishi, ironically. Semi would be okay with it, Kawanishi never looks like he cares about anything, but Shirabu gets feistier on court. It’s the one time he actually pays attention to Semi. He just looks Semi dead in the eye, stretches his arms, and dares him to serve straight into his face again.

Semi makes sure he destroys them.

It doesn’t really matter which team wins the practice matches (usually whatever team Ushijima is on), but the two of them are always off the court fuming. It must be quite the sight because after a few weeks of that, people start talking. It’s not like Semi can’t notice; aside from the aforementioned few, Semi generally gets along with everyone on the team, so he hears things. Like how Shirabu a lot less chill than they thought, and how Semi’s a lot scarier than he seems.

“I’m not scaring them that badly, am I?” Semi asks Reon, ever the confidant.

Reon just chuckles and ruffles Semi’s hair before turning around to be everyone else’s favorite teammate.

Semi attempts to ignore it after that. He tries to play less aggressively, tries to cool his temper, but all it takes is one look from Shirabu across the court to set him off and suddenly, his vision’s white and some first year screams at the sound of his service ace smashing into the ground. Or a middle blocker is caught frozen at some trick Shirabu pulls out of his sleeve. Or Yamagata punches him in the arm for the Resting Bitch Face thing.

It’s worse because Shirabu is relentless. Even more because Coach’s distasteful expression never changes. Even more because his siblings notice, and he’s constantly being harassed at home by two six year olds and a middle schooler about why he’s sulking in front of the TV all the time (not that he sulks, he doesn’t sulk).

“It’s just this guy at school, okay?” he hisses as Hotaru and Hanabi whine and scramble all over him. Keita, full of all his cocky middle schooler attitude, rolls his eyes and sticks his nose into his DS.

“Is it a pretty guy?” Hotaru babbles in his ear. “I’ll like him if he’s pretty.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“He must be reeeaaally pretty if he bothers Nii-chan this much!” Hanabi laughs. “I wanna see him too, Nii-chan!”

“What is going on with you two?” Semi says, and peels a squirming Hotaru off his neck. They’re both laughing at him, but it warms Semi’s heart more than it should. Keita’s stare, however, does just the opposite. Semi meets it with challenge. “What?”

“Nothing,” Keita says, and returns to his DS. Semi frowns. His relationship with his younger brother hasn’t been a comfortable one ever since Semi came out, though not for the lack of trying. It still doesn’t help with Semi’s self-esteem very much, especially when Keita isn’t even straightforward about what he wants to hear.

Semi’s getting tired of these discreet younger people.

Things get even weirder after that, because apparently, that’s possible.

Semi’s been worn to the bone over the past few weeks, and it shows. Interhigh prelims are coming up, and with everything going on, he looks like he dragged himself out of hell by the skin of his teeth from all of the practice and stress he’s been driving himself through. He wants to play as a starters, which he wasn’t worried about before, but it's pretty apparent that Shirabu would sell his kidneys to play starter.

Unfortunately, Shirabu’s kidneys look like they’re going to be safe, because he’s been working harder than anyone. Semi’s not sure if it’s desperation or just for love of the game, but watching Shirabu train has been his motivator for the past few weeks. Still, when Shirabu is able to last longer than he is, especially with his smaller stature, Semi is almost worried about him. Which only goes to wear Semi down more.

It’s probably the reason people are glancing and whispering a lot more than usual. He can deal with the glancing and whispering. Well, he can tolerate it; he’s not too keen on being left out of the loop. What’s weird is that Shirabu’s glancing. And whispering. To Tendou of all people. Well, Tendou is whispering to him. Shirabu looks mildly constipated, but he’s bothered by something.

Semi stares into the club room mirror for a long time and slaps his cheeks to make sure he’s not delirious. Is this what people felt like when they did drugs? Psyche trips. Just another reason not to do them. You start imagining your worst rivals looking at you with something other than bitter contempt. Fun. But also very uncomfortable.

Semi wants to talk to someone about it, except Tendou and Yamagata are definitely in on it. Reon just keeps looking at him sympathetically. There’s only one person unaffected by the latest court gossip but that, of course, is Ushijima. Semi opts for staring into a mirror.

It goes on until mid-week, when Semi steps out of his classroom to grab some food for lunch and runs into Shirabu instead.

It’s surreal, like accidentally walking into the girl’s bathroom or catching your brother watching adult videos. Semi seldom sees Shirabu looking anything but hideously calm or akin to Satan’s spawn. Now he just looks awkward. Semi looks over his shoulder, even though he knows no one else on the team is in his class.

“Shirabu,” Semi says, though it comes out in a croak. “Did you need something?”

Shirabu’s lips thin, and he shifts, hesitant. He doesn’t look like he wants to be here. Finally, before Semi gets the guts to finally ask again, he holds a notebook to Semi’s face. “Here.”

“Um.” Reluctantly, Semi takes it. “What is it?”

Shirabu’s jaw tightens. “I… Tendou-san mentioned you needed help.”

“Help,” Semi says.

“With your grades.”

Now Semi’s blushing. It’s not like he hides the fact that his grades aren’t the best, he’s here via sports scholarship, but if underclassmen are trying to help him, then maybe these rumors have been getting a little too out of control.

Not underclassmen, Semi thinks, staring down at the boy in front of him. Shirabu, who’s staring at him expectantly.

“It’s just a study guide I put together to pass the entrance exam,” Shirabu explains. “Tendou-san said a lot of second year material depends on knowing it. I don’t need it at the moment, so you can look over it, if you want. Just remember to give it back.”

He pins Semi down with a glare way too intense for his own good, but Shirabu has those kind of eyes. The ones fit for putting people like Semi in their place.

“Don’t get kicked off the team,” Shirabu says, and then leaves.

And Semi is left there, standing in awe before someone pushes him out of the doorway. By the time he recovers, he has to sprint to the gym to be sure he’s not late and even at practice, Shirabu won’t look at him.

“So,” Semi says to Tendou after spiking practice. Shirabu’s doing something on the other side of the gym with Kawanishi and a couple other first years. He seems to be having fun. “Shirabu has the idea that my grades are so low I might get thrown off the team.”

“Really,” Tendou says. He’s got that shit-eating grin on his face, but he always looks like that. It’s hard to question his guilt. “That why you keep looking at him?”

“I’m not looking at him!”

“Sure, Eita-kun.”

Semi’s not sure how subtle the team is trying to be, but there must be some ungodly conspiracy pointed against him. It’s working in the sense that Semi is half aware that maybe this rivalry with Shirabu is a lot more troublesome than it seems, but really, that’s all he's getting.

Example: If there is an activity that has to be done in pairs, Shirabu and Semi end up with each other in no way that feels coincidental. Like rigged coin-flipping or seemingly random team decisions. Even if it doesn’t have to be done in pairs, it will be, and Shirabu and Semi will be stuck delivering half-stacks of papers or picking up small supplies together. This doesn’t amount to anything because Shirabu refuses to talk and all Semi can think of asking is if Shirabu eats enough.

Example: Whenever Semi looks over to see what the first years are doing, if Shirabu is there, there is a high chance that somebody points to Semi. Likewise, Semi’s friends really like talking about Shirabu in front of him. Now every time they make eye contact, Shirabu gives him this pitiful look and then turns away, as if to say, Some things just can’t be fixed. This probably wasn’t their intention but Semi is feeling the repercussions anyway.

Example: Semi, now, is sure this was intentional, but he and Shirabu almost got locked in the storage closet together after practice. They’re in the middle of one of their no-dialogue partner cleanups when there’s a loud slam and the lights go out, trapping them inside. It would have been a disaster had someone not stuck their gum in the lock. Semi was in the middle of wondering why nobody had reported it when Shirabu sprinted straight out the door, and he didn’t come into contact with Semi for the next few practices. Semi had thought their team was more efficient than this.

The killer comes when a first year grabs him near the gym one day. Semi’s seen him hang around Shirabu a few times, though this guy doesn’t seem to have a place in Semi and Shirabu’s little war. It catches Semi off-guard when he’s handed a stack of papers with, “Semi-sempai! Sorry to bother you, but could you give these to Kenjirou?”

Semi’s mind reels. There are a number of realizations, like Shirabu has friends who call him by his first name, and Shirabu forgets things? The latter is especially jarring, because Shirabu’s entrance exam notes were nothing short of exemplar. Perfect handwriting, understandable language, on-point organization; nothing you’d expect from someone who forgets his papers in class.

Semi stares down at the stack, and the first year gets fidgety. “You want me to give them to him?”

“Yeah,” the first year says. “He really needs them. And I’ve gotta head home early today, for— for family matters. So it would be cool if he could get them.”

“I’m sure Kawanishi could give them to him,” Semi tells him, not buying it.

“I… can’t find him?” The first year swallows. “Besides, I trust you, Semi-sempai. I know you’ll get them to him easy.”

Semi suppresses a laugh and pats the first year’s shoulder. “Do you really think I’d fall for that?”

“Hey, Shirabu, did you forget these?”

There’s no thanks. Shirabu’s eyes widen and snatches the papers out of Semi’s hands before another word can be said. He flips then them, then stares at Semi accusingly. “I thought I lost these. Why do you have them?”

“I was told to give them to you.” Semi looks around the suspiciously empty club room. It shouldn’t be empty; Shiratorizawa’s volleyball team is not that small. There’s no one to save him here, no one to jump in to anyone’s defense. Just him and Shirabu and accused theft.

It honestly hadn’t taken much for Semi to break. Mostly begging. The kid had gone on his knees. Semi is weak to earnest people.

“You,” Shirabu says, disbelieving.

“Well, you have them now, right?” Semi responds with challenge. “I didn’t take you as the kind of guy to lose things so easily.”

“I’m not,” Shirabu tells him, though he looks genuinely happy to get his stuff back. Now Semi feels bad for the attitude. “Thank you.”

And— He doesn’t even sound sarcastic about it. Semi was expecting some sort of resistance. Attitude. Cockiness. Some sort of sass he’d get pissed at. Shirabu just looks relieved. He gives Semi a brief bow and returns to changing.

Semi deflates. What did you expect, Eita, some tiny mastermind? The kid’s fifteen.

Right, he thinks. Because that’s what happens when you don’t talk to someone. The Shirabu in his head isn’t matching up to real life and that confuses him. Maybe he should try harder.

“Thanks for the notes,” Semi says. Shirabu pulls his practice shirt over his head and glances up at him. “They’re… really good. We do tend to forget the basics over the years.”

“I didn’t take you for someone who knew how to study,” Shirabu says. Semi shivers; for someone who doesn’t listen to him, this kid would probably remember every word he could use to spite Semi.

“I know how to study,” Semi defends. “I just don’t do well on exams. It’s easier to study up on the game, is all.”

Shirabu shakes his head. “That will work well until you fail out of the team.”

Semi stares at him. He opens his mouth to speak, but Shirabu’s keeps on going.

“Just because you’re not main setter anymore doesn’t mean you can shove all of your responsibility onto me and flunk out.” His eyebrow twitches. “You’re still our best pinch server, and you’re better than me at setting. So you can’t leave before I reach your level. It’s bullshit. I know you’re not stupid enough to—”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Good, so—”

“No, I mean, I’m not in danger of failing off the team, Shirabu. I don’t know where you heard that.” Except he does. He can practically hear Tendou and Yamagata bellowing in the distance. “My grades are fine.”

Shirabu’s gaze turns stone cold. He looks behind Semi, and then back up at him. It’s like he’s searching for the punchline and he doesn’t think it’s funny.

Except… Except it is, Semi realizes. Tendou spun Shirabu around like a puppet, and now he looks so confused. Semi never though he’d see this guy like that. He’s trying to hide his smile and is failing badly. Shirabu, observant as ever, doesn’t miss it.

“My level,” Semi echoes.

Shirabu throws him an icy glare, though it stings a lot less. He pulls together his things. “Thank you for returning my things, Semi-san,” he says, and then moves to brush past.

“No, wait just a second.” Semi shakes off any leftover laughter and catches Shirabu’s arm before he makes his exit.

Shirabu looks back at him over his shoulder, still looking vaguely frustrated, but something still feels off. After the past couple months of tension, he can’t allow his first actual conversation with Shirabu end so easily. There were a lot of things he wanted to say, but he sort of forgot most of it the minute he realized Shirabu isn’t… terrible.

Though one thing does stick out, something Shirabu reminded him of just now, something he’s been wanting to say since he knew about the first year setter. Underneath all of the initial contempt.

“I can always help you, you know,” Semi says. “I’m still your senior, and a setter. I haven’t done really well at helping you adjust to the team, so if you want to practice, then—”

“I’ll be fine, Semi-san,” Shirabu says quickly, pulling his arm away and finally escaping. He practically sprints out the door.

Semi sighs. “Cheeky brat,” he says, but it feels more endearing than before.

The following practice goes smoothly after that, and Semi can hear the collective sigh of relief from his supposed teammates. At least he knows they care.

If Shirabu thinks he can escape Semi, he’s very wrong. Semi doesn’t care how strictly independent this guy is, he has a thirteen year old brother at home and his tolerance for bullshit is half the normal level.

It’s also fun to throw Shirabu off. It means something’s getting through to him.

“You’re moving too fast, try not to panic,” he’ll tell Shirabu at the bench.

“Have you worked on receives today?” he’ll ask him if he’s been setting for too long.

“Don’t wear yourself out too much,” he’ll say all too often, and pass Shirabu a water bottle. “You might be smart, but you’re not a machine. You can always tell me when you need to switch out.”

Shirabu brushes him off, most of the time, but the times he actually follows through with the advice are worth it. Semi’s getting used to his attitude, when he snatches the water bottle from his hands or gives Semi another unamused look. Semi will get irked about it, but he won’t let it ruin his mood like it used to. It’s not Shirabu unless he everything he does annoys Semi, after all.

Of course, people notice. The first years suddenly feel a lot more comfortable talking to him. Shirabu’s friend, the Lost-and-Found kid, acts oddly guilty and smug at the same time. Tendou is proud, Reon stops coddling him, and Coach doesn’t look at him like he’s the devil’s curse anymore. Little victories, no matter how terribly given they are.

Then Interhigh comes.

Shirabu is chosen to be playing first string. Semi is their pinch server.

Oh.

He should have expected this outcome, with everything going on. But now that it’s official, everything all comes rushing back. This would have been the first year he’d be playing as the main setter for Shiratorizawa, but that lasted all but a week before he let his emotions get the better of him. 

He finds himself in his backyard. He was trying to practice, study up on plays, do something to focus on the game, but it’s a lot harder when he knows he won’t be playing full-time.

He wanted this. This was everything he dreamed about since his first year. It’s why he came to Shiratorizawa. Now he’s on his back, staring at the stars and tossing a volleyball at the moon, wondering where it all went wrong.

Since Shirabu, of course. Like Semi could forget. He’s been all over the place, trying to win everyone’s approval, trying to win Shirabu’s approval, and unable to focus on much at all. Of course Shirabu would be the better choice, he actually acts like he knows what he’s doing. He’s good, he’s worked this hard for this position, so much it dampens a lot of Semi’s initial bitterness towards the ordeal.

He almost feels proud of Shirabu.

“What are you doing?”

The ball slips from Semi’s fingers at the sudden shadow, and flies somewhere against the fence. Hanabi shrieks, “I’ve got it!” while Hotaru remains crouched over his face with curiosity lit up in her eyes. She cocks her head at her big brother and presses her hands to his cheeks.

“You look sad,” she says. “You were happier last week.”

“I’ve had better years,” Semi tells her.

“Is it that guy again?” Hotaru whispers to him. “Hana and I can go beat him up.”

“I got it!” Hanabi drops the volleyball on his chest and leaps onto his stomach. “Are you talking about the guy? The pretty one?”

Semi ignores the child on top of him. “You guys don’t have to beat anyone up,” he says to the best of his ability. “It’s not his fault. I just have to cope with some things.”

“Are you thinking about him?” Hotaru asks secretively. “I know he makes you look funny.”

“I’m not—”

“You should think about how the other person feels,” Hanabi recites like she’s answering a question in class. “If you think reaaaally hard, you’ll see you’re being silly, and then you’ll feel better! At least, that’s what Miki-sensei says.”

“You two are ridiculous, you know that?” Semi says, and picks Hanabi up so he can breathe properly. The sound of Hotaru’s giggles and Hanabi’s squealing have some sort of magic on him, and do well at clearing his cloudy thoughts.

By the time Hanabi flails out of his hands and runs off with her sister, Semi’s staring up at the stars again, prepared to wallow in his own self-pity again, when Hanabi’s words echo in his ears. Shirabu is the only first year in their starting lineup this year, and he’s under a ton of pressure.

Semi sits up and looks at his hands. Taking a deep breath, he raises them and smacks his cheeks as hard as he can. Fuck, that hurts. But as his head stops rattling, his thoughts become clearer.

This isn’t about you anymore, Semi thinks. This isn’t yours. This is his game.

But what if he—

Semi shakes the thoughts away. Shirabu is composed. He’ll be fine; kid seems to have enough confidence himself.

Trust him, he thinks. He’s good. He has to be, if he beat you.

Until this year’s Interhigh, Semi never thought he'd feel so on-edge.

They take over prelims. The seniors are ruthless, and Ushijima scores and scores. The initial matches are over in a flash before they’re up against Aobajousai in the last round, like every year. He’s not sure whether Ushijima and Oikawa are enemies or rivals or whatever, but Semi almost feels bad about punching the guy with how Oikawa gets Ushijima’s blood boiling. It makes him seem human.

Semi finds himself being switched in more often than he thought. It’s because Shirabu, for all his effort, stresses himself on the court, he’s noticed. He thinks too much, gets frustrated when things don’t go his way, so he wears down quicker mentally than physically. Which says something, since he’s already so small. Every time he gets called off, he’s seething.

It takes one look at the team for Semi to realize that that worry for Shirabu that’s been swelling up in Semi makes sense now. Shirabu can barely compare to the rest of them in physicality, and his skill is pure effort and knowledge. He’s trying too hard because he can’t try any less. In a way, Semi feels good that it takes Shirabu so much effort to surpass Semi, but it’s subsided by the look he gives every time one of his sets is blocked.

When he’s switched in, Semi pushes Shirabu down toward the bench. “Cool off,” he says, feeling more composed than he has in months. “The game’s not over yet.”

He gets an encouraging high five from Tendou, and is able to meet Ushijima’s gaze. He can do this. And for those next few rounds, Semi doesn’t hold back on Aobajousai. He’s able to look Oikawa in the eye, a setter he’s admired since middle school, and plays to win.

Semi barely even thinks about the things that irritate him about Ushijima. His personality, his cheekiness, his raw talent. He’s calm now. All he has to do it play, play right, and give Shirabu a good game to return to. When Ushijima’s form appears above him, daunting and powerful, all Semi has to do is send it straight into his palm.

They score. The feeling is unforgettable.

By the time he switches back, Semi is resisting. He wants to play more. Another round, another set, the whole game. But he can’t. This isn’t his game. He passes off to Shirabu, narrows his eyes, and says, “All yours.”

Shirabu meets his gaze with an unreadable expression. For the first time, he affirms with meaning. Respect. “Alright.”

Semi sits down near Coach and drowns himself in water. He’s delirious, he thinks, between his time on the court and the millions of thoughts running through his head, so he thinks he imagines it when he hears, “You did good, Eita.”

Choking on water, he turns to Coach, who’s staring out at the court, stone-faced. Semi blinks, looks around (as if someone else would feel like then when Coach complimented Semi). He wants to say something, but he doesn’t. The moment feels too good.

It’s strange, he thinks. Sitting here, on the sidelines, almost feels just as good as playing.

Interhigh is over by the third day. The ride home is quiet. Nobody speaks on the train, or the bus, or anytime between Tokyo and home. They stop by Shiratorizawa to pick up their things and have a team meeting, but other than that, it’s just another year without conquering Interhigh.

After the meeting though, mostly everyone disappears. Notably, Semi notices, Ushijima is nowhere to be seen.

“What, did you expect him to stay?” Tendou says as they pack up in the club room. He’s the first person Semi talks to, for comfort, mostly. Unlike him, Tendou was a regular. He’s also one of Ushijima’s closer teammates, ironically. “He’s probably went running to cool off. He doesn’t take losing very lightly.” He shakes his head. “Don’t worry! He’ll be back and kicking in no time!”

Semi sighs. It’s only times like these that he remembers Ushijima is, well, sixteen. It makes him feel inexplicably guilty.

“He doesn’t like losing,” Semi says.

“None of us do,” Tendou corrects him.

A face flashes to mind, and inevitably, Semi wonders where Shirabu is.

It’s suspiciously easy to find him. For the giant campus, their first year setter is couched out behind the clubhouse building, staring at his sports bag as if looking at it long enough will give him the secrets of the universe. He doesn’t look up when Semi slumps down next to him, probably because he thinks looking down won’t let Semi see how red his eyes have gotten.

Semi spends a good amount of time joining in on the silence, before he moves onto kicking rocks and drawing in the sand, restless. Shirabu finally speaks, then. “No sage advice today?”

“Not today,” Semi says, throwing a rock across the field. His company isn’t amused. “Just seeing how you were after your first Interhigh.”

“I’m fine,” Shirabu says with an edge in his tone.

“You weren’t the reason we lost, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Semi says, and right when Shirabu turns to protest, “Don’t lie, I know how you’re feeling. You seem to keep forgetting I’m your senior.”

An annoyed glance. “You’ve never been the only first year playing as the main setter in Tokyo.”

“No, but I was on the court when we lost our last set at Spring High last year,” Semi says.

Shirabu glances back at him and says nothing. He shift upright a little, a sign to Semi that he can continue.

Semi throws another rock. He hates telling this story, but if it helps, then he’ll muscle through. “I was trying to keep cool since it was the last point. Takizawa-sempai, last year’s setter, was out with a twisted ankle, so it was up to me. It was my time; I had it all planned out, getting that last point and taking us forward. Except Wakatoshi wasn’t following up.”

Shirabu mumbles something Semi can’t hear, probably something about Semi’s attitude towards Ushijima-san or whatever. Semi bats his shoulder.

“I was overconfident and pissed off. I guess you know what that looks like,” Semi says, and Shirabu scoffs. “So I tossed to someone else instead, even though I knew Wakatoshi would make the spike. We were blocked, and one round later, we were out. I never really forgave myself for that, and I was a wreck afterwards.”

Semi swings his arms over his knees and runs a hand through his hair. He really hates this story, and there’s a 60% chance Shirabu is actually listening to him. He takes a breath. This was as much for him as it was for Shirabu, he realizes. Talking it out is one of his least favorite emotional management techniques, as highly recommended it is.

“So, I got so sick of blaming myself over the month after that, so when I came back, I blamed everything on Ushijima,” Semi continues regretfully. “And you know him, he acted like my anger was stupid, and made me even madder, and then I proved him right by punching him in the face.” He rubs his knuckles. “It was like punching a brick wall, I swear to god. He didn’t even react! Like he was fine with it. And then I— did you just laugh?”

“No,” Shirabu sounds disgusted at the suggestion, but his shoulders are still shaking. The bastard is trying to hold it down. “Are you done?” he asks.

“No, because then I was second-hand threatened off the team by you and accidentally served into your face.” Semi groans. “Then I ruined everything else by refusing to come to terms with everything else while it was going downhill.”

Shirabu looks vaguely offended. “Are you… suggesting I’m going to pull all the crap you did?”

“Maybe.” Semi offers, but continues before he can get an answer. “I’m just trying to say that you shouldn’t get caught up in this. One way or the other, you’ll fuck yourself up if you blame everything on yourself. You’re just not as expressive about it. I’ve seen you on the court, you’re not as stoic as you think.”

That actually gets Shirabu to blush. It’s not a bad look on him. Semi likes knowing more sides to Shirabu; they make him seem less intimidating. “What’s your advice?”

Semi perks up. “You’re asking me?”

“No, I just know you’re going to say it anyway,” Shirabu tells him, but it’s softer than before, his tone. Semi can’t help but fight off a grin. “When I get too stressed out on the court, what should I do?”

“Hit yourself,” Semi says, and Shirabu looks at him as if he regrets everything. “I mean, knock yourself out of it. Stop getting all caught up in what you’re doing wrong and focus on the game. You’re the one they want to help this team win, Shirabu, so start acting like they didn’t make a mistake in choosing you.”

Shirabu doesn’t respond, but he’s not leaving or glaring at Semi either, so that’s a good sign.

It’s a while with just the two of them, as Semi waits for something to happen. For Shirabu to speak, to yell at him or snap back or something. He tries to distract himself by staring at the sunset, the muffled conversations on the other side of the clubs building, something other than how close he chose to sit near Shirabu.

Because then he notices how soft Shirabu’s expression gets when he’s thinking. The long fingers brushing through his hair, his delicate shoulders. Semi remembers he touched Shirabu’s hair once, when he held his head down to keep him from bleeding down his own throat. He got pissed because Shirabu’s hair was too soft. Now it looks softer for different reasons. Nicer.

Semi suddenly feels uncomfortable and strangely creepy, but he can’t move away or break the moment. He just finished giving a speech, and he can’t look like he’s backing out now.

Shirabu finally turns to him to rebuke. His eyes flash and Semi feels oddly dizzy. “You would have been different.”

Semi blinks, because… because that’s not what he was expecting. “What?”

“My first thought, when we lost,” Shirabu says, taking a break, “is that you would have played it differently. And don’t try to tell me you wouldn’t have; we’re too different, Semi-san. And I’m not an all-rounder like you. I keep thinking that maybe we could have gotten one more receive, one more spike, a service ace, if you’d been on the court instead of me. You have more control of the court, when you set, and people listen to you. I keep thinking…”

Shirabu shakes his head and clenches his teeth. Semi can’t believe he’s saying this either.

“Even after you told me all of that, about Spring High, I still think this. At least you learned something. You’ve been more… more mature lately, like you’ve figured something out. When you’re on the court, you look different. Everything’s changing and I’ve been blowing it off.”

Semi thinks for a moment before he says this. He has to, because he spent his who second year so far denying it. “I did figure something out,” he says, after a breath. “This team needs you.”

“You’re the more experienced one.”

“But I’m not what they need,” Semi says, against all his pent-up pride. “They chose you, and I’m choosing you too. It doesn’t matter how much better or worse I would have been on that court. Everyone did what they could, and now all you have to do is get better. This was your first tournament, Shirabu. Just don’t let yourself down for the rest of them.”

Shirabu mulls over this. For a while. After a minute, Semi thinks he’s lost him again and is about to snap him out of it, but Shirabu destroys all of those expectations by leaping to his feet, grabbing a rock, chucking it across the field and yelling.

“FUCK!” Shirabu screams, and doesn’t stop.

Semi can’t catch all of it while he’s scrambling to his feet, but he hears things about getting too caught up in playing with Ushijima and not paying attention to the game and playing with stronger teams. How he’s tired of being the weakest link and feeling like a liability, nothing Semi thinks he’d typically say out loud. Semi barely has enough time to take it all in.

Mid-way, Shirabu turns to Semi, face red and hands balled into fists. “And fuck you, too! You and your experience and good advice and damn talent! I worked too hard to get here, to play with this team, to play with him, so there’s no way in hell I’m going to lose to you either! I’m better than that! I’m… I’m going to get better…” He’s losing breath. Today’s events are crashing on him like a ton of bricks and all that’s left for Semi to do is watch. “And… fuck…!”

Then he smacks himself in the face. It looks like it hurts like hell, from the sound it makes.

“For someone who acts so polite, you’ve got quite the mouth on you,” Semi tells him, because that’s all he can conjure. “Also, you might want to use two hands next time. Less whiplash.”

“Sh… Shut up.” Shirabu’s voice cracks, and he blinks too much. Semi freezes because this kid is about to cry again, but really, that’s okay.

“It’s fine,” Semi sighs. He can feel his caring instinct return to him, and he pulls Shirabu’s head down so he can’t see his face.

Shirabu sucks in a breath, and Semi can feel him shudder. He looks away when Shirabu rubs his eyes quickly. Semi’s grateful, for once, that he’s used to comforting people. Shirabu needs someone who is.

“You did well, Kenjirou,” Semi tells him, and this time, it feels as if Shirabu believes him.

The dizziness comes back.

“If you tell anyone about this, I’m never talking to you again,” Shirabu says when they’re at the gate to leave.

“Trust me, I won’t,” Semi says, offended, but in no way looking Shirabu in the eye. Every time he thinks about what just happened, it keeps his heart in his throat. “I’d be really grateful if you go back to being an asshole to me tomorrow. This is really weird.”

“As long as you don’t call me Kenjirou again,” Shirabu says, albeit more awkwardly than disgusted. “It sounds off.”

“Deal.”

“Okay.”

It’s the next morning when the twins jump into his bed and babble into his ear, “Nii-chan, you looked bad yesterday!” “Did that pretty boy make you mad again, Nii-chan?” “Maybe he doesn’t like you back!” that realization punches him in the gut and he turns around to scream into his pillow while the twins laugh over him.

It is radically difficult to comprehend how Semi got to care way too much for a single underclassman. He’s tried to. Maybe it’s because he never stopped paying attention, or never stopped caring what Shirabu thought of him, or somehow ended up finding some backwards favoritism in this one first year who just so happened to be his setting rival. Maybe it was when Shirabu stopped avoiding him and started listening, or when Semi began to pay too much attention to Shirabu’s little faults and quirks that he started to care way too much.

This, he thinks, is the worst possible outcome.

“It’s so great to see you getting along with Kenjirou,” Tendou tells him at lunch the week after. Spring high is right around the corner, hello darkness etcetera excetera, but Semi has other things on his mind. Like his crush (crush???), or whatever the kids seem to call that nowadays. He feels more like a middle schooler than he did when he was in middle school. If Tendou notices his distress, he doesn’t say anything about it. “Awesome! We were all hoping you’d finally make it this far.”

“Yeah, it’s about time,” Yamagata says, toasting milk cartons with Tendou.

“A few weeks ago you were pretending like you had nothing to do with that,” Semi accuses them, still upset because they are unknowing contributors to this horrible outcome. “Now you’re rubbing it in my face?”

“I missed the old Eita-kun.” Tendou sighs innocently. “The one who paid attention when I talked about anime and was susceptible to lunch-buying manipulation. My pal Yamagata here agreed you needed a little help.”

“You’re pretty emotional for a big guy, Eita,” Yamagata told him. “All we did was spread a few rumors. Besides, it did well, right?”

Semi’s eye twitches. “Right.”

“You sure you guys are cool? You look a little put-off there, Eita-kun.”

“We’re fine,” Semi says. Kill me, he thinks.

Avoiding Shirabu is the obvious option. A very stupid, cowardly option that Semi is too prideful to choose, so he doesn’t! Also, summer finals ended a while ago and he has to give Shirabu his notebook back.

It’s easy to scope him out; people are very eager to help, especially his teammates. They’re all ecstatic they’re talking and not making the practice court a literal hellground. Yes! Talk to Shirabu! Be nice to each other and make friendship bracelets and promise to never cause trouble for your teammates again! They sure love him.

Semi’s at Shirabu’s classroom door in no time. A girl runs to get him, and Semi takes the opportunity to peek in. Shirabu’s discussing something important with Kawanishi and the Lost-and-Found teammate, but when the girl points him to Semi’s direction, Shirabu nearly falls out of his chair.

“Thanks again,” Semi tells him when he steps up, and presses the notebook into Shirabu’s hands. “They helped a lot during finals. Even though I wasn’t actually failing off the team.”

Shirabu blushes a little at his past mistake. Semi remembers a while ago he thought it was a good look on him. That opinion hasn’t changed.  

“It was an honest assumption. Thank you for returning it.” Shirabu’s about to escape, but takes a moment to pause and notice the book underneath his notebook. “What’s this?”

“It’s one of mine,” Semi tells him with great enthusiasm. “You’re pretty good at literary studying. Setting’s pretty easy to make a one-man trick out of, but there are some pretty good techniques in here that can help you understand other positions better.”

Shirabu flips through the book and seems mildly surprised at his own approval. He reads over a couple lines with interest, turns it over, and looks for any skepticism on Semi’s face, meeting only with his senior’s cheeky grin. “I’ll look it over,” he says.

Unfortunately for him, Semi’s not done fussing. “But if you really want to improve in all areas, you have to work on your athleticism. Judging by your stamina, you most likely run a lot, but have you thought about your strength regime? I’m not sure if you notice how skinny you are but it’s hard to play volleyball with—”

“Thank you Semi-san, but break is ending soon. I wouldn’t want to make you late to class.” Shut up, sempai.

Semi sighs. “You’re not cute at all,” he grumbles, and then musses Shirabu’s perfect hair. “Don’t slack off on training.”

“I never slack off,” Shirabu tells him. There’s a split second, Semi almost misses it, that Shirabu’s mouth twitches upward. His throat goes dry. Shirabu’s never smiled at something he said before.

He’s shoved out into the hallway before he can question it.

I didn’t lie, Semi thinks all the way back to his classroom. He didn’t, or maybe his perception of attraction is different from others. Shirabu is snarky, foul-mouthed, aesthetically deceiving, annoyingly passive-aggressive, and Semi is attracted to all of it. He’s just… not cute. Is all.

To say his newfound feelings have had him on the edge would be an understatement. This isn’t to say Semi’s actually resorted to ignoring Shirabu, quite the opposite, actually. He’s treating him pretty favorably, just that he’s most obvious about it now. Half of it is proving to his peers (Tendou and Yamagata) that all he has is a favorite first year, like they planned, while the other half is out of masked overwhelming care that he has for Shirabu and Semi’s futile attempts to fight it.

Shirabu’s resistant to help as always, but he doesn’t seem to have lost that respect he found for Semi during Interhigh. He won’t let Semi tell him what to do, but if they’re on the court together, he’ll follow any direction Semi throws at him. He’s good at now letting his pride get in the way, it makes Semi’s style of play easier to execute. It makes it enjoyable, playing with Shirabu. Being a pinch server has its benefits in that; there’s a little victory there.

Far from the sense that he’s getting over these feelings at all. But it’s fine this way, right? Hiding it in plain sight.

“Semi-san.”

Semi yelps and jumps at the voice, slamming his locker shut with far too much force, because Shirabu’s voice is far too deep and rough for— Oh.

“Kawanishi?” Semi recognizes, being met with a lazy-eyed expression rather than a leer. His heart nearly stopped in his chest; maybe he’s too used to the not-so-coincidental times the team got him and Shirabu alone in the club room.

Still, Semi’s surprised. He never really sees Kawanishi outside of Shirabu’s approximate friend group, he’s so quiet. Also Semi has the feeling he’s not exactly at the top of this underclassman’s favorite person’s list either. It’s hard to tell, with that kind of face, Kawanishi makes less expressions that Ushijima.

“Did you want something?” Semi says. He almost says his name again, but it still gives him horrible flashbacks to when Taichi became a new taboo word in his dictionary. So he’s still upset about that. Huh.

“Hn…” Kawanishi runs a hand through his hair awkwardly. Semi peers at him. “This is weird… But I guess, can I ask you something?”

This is the most Kawanishi has ever spoken to him before, so Semi is eager. “Sure, I’d be happy to help.”

“Yeah… so, um… are you gay?”

There’s a beat.

Maybe more. Time seems to freeze over for Semi and Kawanishi doesn’t do a good job at letting any impatience show. He stands still faced, waiting, as Semi reels over the question and pretty much his entire life up to this point. He looks over his shoulder, around the room. No one. Just them. Still reeling.

“That… That wasn’t an actual question, was it?” Semi muses.

“No… that definitely felt like an actual question,” Kawanishi says.

“I am very much used to being the reliable one, people would ask me things all the time, but you know what I’ve realized? I’ve been losing that lately. I haven’t been taking care of myself as well as I used to and that’s affected how I relate to the team. Maybe it’s the mid-year crisis. Maybe I should always reevaluate my life when I’m taking advice from my six year old sister.”

“That does sound really sad,” Kawanishi tells him patiently.

“I’ve been trying, and I thought it was working. I’m not blaming people anymore, I’m improving, and nobody’s trying to interfere with my social life anymore. But every time I think I’ve got it under control, something else just has to make me wake up and question it all over again.”

“That’s nice,” Kawanishi says.

“Fine, yes. Yes, I’m bisexual, why are you asking?”

“It was important,” Kawanishi replies. Vaguely. It suddenly strikes Semi that this might be a problem, and Kawanishi might be uncomfortable with it. That’s why Semi never told anyone else on the team, because he doesn’t like the barrier. Dammit, how did he even know— “I don’t actually care.”

Semi blinks. “Then… Then why did you ask?”

“Well, I didn’t actually expect you to answer.” Kawanishi shrugs. “I just said it was important.”

“Why is it important?”

“Hm…” Kawanishi ponders over answering for a moment before he shrugs again. Is it a first year thing to never answer anything directly? Is it a new trend? Seriously? “Thanks, sempai. We should get to practice.”

“Yeah,” Semi replies, dumbfounded. And that’s the end of that.

He hopes.

The first hint that it’s not is when Semi’s out grabbing drinks from the vending machine outside, and he runs straight into Shirabu while turning the corner on his return trip. Cans fly in all directions, Semi stumbles back, and Shirabu falls backwards.

The shock lasts all but a second. “Hey, are you okay?” Semi demands, crouching down in before him.

Shirabu stares at Semi as if he’s never seen him before. Semi moves to help him up, and Shirabu snaps back into reality. His eyes dart around to the mess around them. “Sorry, Semi-san,” he croaks out.

Semi looks to where he dropped his drinks. “It’s fine, but you sound weir—” Except when Semi looks back up, he’s gone.

“Shirabu, Coach wants to talk to y— What the…” Semi blinks. He’s sure he just saw Shirabu standing here, there’s no way he could have missed that.

“Ah, Semi-san,” Kawanishi says as he takes a water bottle from the bench Semi is standing dumbfounded at. Kawanishi’s seldom struck up a conversation with him before. The last time he did was a time Semi likes to pretend didn’t happen, when Kawanishi became a code-red threat. “Did you need some water?”

Semi’s about to say no, but he’s nervous. He douses himself in water and allows Kawanishi to scare him off.

“Is Shirabu avoiding me?” Semi asks. “I don’t remember doing anything wrong. Well, I mean, I’ve done plenty of things wrong, but I haven’t done anything especially wrong as of late. We’ve been getting along. But every time I see him he’s suddenly gone. And every time I do try talking to him, he acts like it never happened and then he’s gone. Has he said anything? I mean, not that I think you know everything, but people talk to you. I trust you. You can tell me if you’ve heard anything, right?”

Reon gives him a sympathetic look. “You get some crazy ideas, Eita. Just be patient.”

He then ruffles Semi’s hair and ends the conversation.

“What did you do?” Tendou asks him, unusually unhappy that lunchtime. “Kenjirou won’t talk to me. Did you tell him something?”

“No,” Semi insists, but neither Tendou nor Yamagata look convinced. Of course, the only reason Shirabu would avoid those two if they haven’t done anything themselves (a good possibility, since they’ve been good lately), is if Semi did something wrong. Semi and Tendou especially are particularly known to be associated with each other. “I am not the cause of every one of Shirabu’s bad moods!”

“Sure, Eita,” Yamagata promises him, patting his hand in assurance. “But you’re still the only one who can singlehandedly get him so pissy.”

“Also, you’ve been looking like we lost Spring High all over again,” Tendou says.

Semi groans into his hands. Never did he think he’d hear about that tournament and not think about his past failures. Now he’s just thinking about when he told Shirabu that story. What happened to them?

He got too attractive, Semi thinks grimly.

“Whoops, sorry, Eita-kun,” Tendou says, oblivious. “All of us are upset you guys aren’t getting along.”

“You know when you practice this one technique so hard? And when you think you’ve finally got it down, you’re so excited, but once you put it into practice, it all falls apart?” Yamagata sighs. “That’s how we feel.”

“Don’t you guys have better things to do?” Semi asks. “Like practice for Spring High prelims?”

“Healthy inter-team relations are important, Eita-kun.” Tendou shakes his head disapprovingly. “You were always the one who told us that before you became a bitter old man. Just goes to show how much help you need if you’ve forgotten that.”

“I don’t need help,” Semi swears. “I didn’t do anything wrong this time!”

Tendou and Yamagata look at each other. Semi feels a curdling sense of déjà vu.

Semi almost trusted them again.

He foolishly allows himself to convince himself that it’s best to follow Reon’s advice and patience will solve all his problems. He brushes off all suspicious activity, the painful disappointment at Shirabu’s cold shoulder, and every glance, whisper and strange slip-up he hears from the team to ease himself back into a comfortable life. He came to this school to play volleyball, after all. So he focuses on other things, like helping the first years, fighting for Coach’s approval, and training himself harder than he has before.

It feels good. Semi likes this life of blissful ignorance. The first years seem to be interested in some girlfriend one of them has gotten over the summer break and Semi greatly approves. Anything to take him mind off of the leftover stress.

But he focuses too hard. Those emotional management websites never told him to watch out for traitorous friends.

It comes when Semi turns up late for their afternoon run. He was voted to return the supplies they borrowed from the baseball club, and somebody forgot to take inventory. Semi spends a good amount of time convincing the baseball team they didn’t break, abuse, or lose any of their stuff. It’s a lot of work; their club has a reputation.

By the time he gets back, he only has a few minutes to change and meet up with everyone outside. He goes straight to Reon for a catch-up. He can always trust Reon.

“Oh, good,” Reon says when he sees Semi. “We’re taking that route you like today, the one that goes past the park.”

“Thanks,” Semi tells him. He doesn’t question it; of course he likes it, it’s a challenging route. Semi needs all the distractions he can get right now.

Reon gives him an encouraging pat on the shoulder and goes off to go talk to the seniors about something. Semi joins Tendou and Yamagata for company, but doesn’t get a chance to talk to anyone else before they start. Ushijima flies off somewhere, the team disperses according to physicality and relation, and soon, they’re all separated in their own little groups.

First mistake.

The second is allowing his teammates to ditch him in the middle of nowhere. It’s so simple, one minute Yamagata trips over some invisible crack on the sidewalk, Semi runs a couple meters too far, and when he turns around, they’re gone. He’s standing alone in the middle of nowhere, and there’s not a single teammate passing him by.

The third mistake is not running for dear life he heard a familiar voice call out, “Semi-san?”

Semi turns around, and he’s there. Semi’s barely seen him in the past couple weeks he spent getting over this guy, but now he’s here, and it’s all rushing back. Shirabu’s cursing off some nonexistent figure, probably whoever tricked him into meeting Semi, eyebrows furrowed and frown prominent. It shouldn’t be a good look on him but it is.

He is never trusting Reon again.

“Shirabu,” Semi manages.

The answer is immediate. “Well, I’m sure this isn’t the right way. I’ll just go find the usual route.” And like that, he’s leaving.

Right then, all doubt in Semi’s mind escapes him. Semi’s sick of fighting for his attention and beating himself up over it. He used to be able to assert his authority; he had his pride, dammit, before his kid came in and screwed him over. He grabs Shirabu’s wrist, pulls him back, and tells him, “Wait just a minute.”

“This really isn’t the time—”

“Do we have a problem, Shirabu?” Semi demands. “I know you’re avoiding me.”

Shirabu’s hand twitches under his grip. “Is that so?”

“You’re not as subtle as you think.”

“Of course,” Shirabu hisses. He meets Semi’s gaze, just to prove he can, and he does it awfully well. “Why do you care? I thought you’d be happy that we’re not fighting all the time.”

“That’s not… No, of course not! I actually like having you around, you know,” Semi scoffs. Shirabu inhales sharply and curses to himself. “And you still haven’t answered my question. What’s been up with you lately? I know I haven’t done anything this time.”

“You sure about that?” Shirabu asks.

“Yes!” Semi throws his free hand in the air. He still hasn’t let go of Shirabu yet; if he does the guy will disappear again, and Semi’s already gotten this far (technically, Tendou and Yamagata have gotten this far, but he can’t back out now). “I thought we were doing well. I haven’t even told anyone about the time you… that… that thing after Interhigh. And I’ve been trying to help out, too. Is that it? Do you want me to back off?”

“No, that’s not—!” Shirabu grits his teeth before he can say more. The leer he’s giving Semi’s hand on his wrist is hard enough to hurt, but he seems more trapped than anything. “It’s just hard to be around you, it’s messing with me.”

What does that even mean? “Us being civil with one another screws with your head?”

“Yes, you could say that,” Shirabu huffs, not meeting Semi’s eye. “You’re… nice.”

“I… I guess?” Semi stammers. “Surprisingly enough, I’m not usually an asshole. Speaking of which, I’m sorry about that, you weren’t really—”

“No— Stop that,” Shirabu snaps at him. “You… You treat people right. Ever since that time in the club room, it’s been—!”

Shirabu seems to realize his sudden volume from the look on Semi’s face. He takes the opportunity to shake off Semi’s hand, but doesn’t run off. He steps back, rubbing his wrist, trying to calm down.

“You’ve been helpful, and you smile way too much,” Shirabu continues, against all better judgement, apparently. “It’s bizarre to see you not treat me like I murdered your family.” (“That was months ago, I haven’t… I’ve been trying—”)“And you’re helping me adjust, and comforting me, and you’re never even sarcastic about it anymore. It’s like you genuinely like me.”

Semi swears to himself. Shirabu probably doesn’t mean it in the way Semi actually does like him, but hearing it outloud has thrown him out of loop. The kind of way that makes the sunset look brighter and the summer air grow warmer.

“Most people would take that as something progressive,” Semi tells him.

“Well I don’t like it when my head’s messed up, if you haven’t noticed,” Shirabu grumbles. “It was easier to focus on things when I thought you were a jackass and not—”

Shirabu stops.

Semi narrows his eyes. “Not what?”

“Nevermind,” Shirabu says quickly.

“Not what, not trying to help? Not nice? Not approving of…”

Then it dawns on Semi. The timing. Kawanishi. The inconceivable map of events that has been happening for the past few weeks. Past few months. He’s been so distracted by Shirabu and trying to takes control of himself that he didn’t put together the obvious.

“Kawanishi told you I was bi.” The look on Shirabu’s face says it all. Semi jumps back. “Oh, fuck, I didn’t— Of course he’d tell you, you guys have your own secret world. And you were fine until I told him, too.” Semi groans and runs his hands through his hair. “This is exactly why I don’t tell people— God, if you have a problem with it, then fine, we'll talk it out—”

“I don’t,” Shirabu tells him in a low tone.

Semi stares at him, unconvinced.

“I don’t,” Shirabu insists, fists clenched. It takes a moment for Semi to convince himself that Shirabu is actually blushing, and he’s not imagining it. “I’m the reason he asked. It’s fine. That you’re bi. It doesn’t matter—”

“You’re acting like it is,” Semi says.

Shirabu clenches his jaw. “That’s not what I mean—”

“You literally just said you would have been fine if I wasn’t.”

“Yes, but it’s not what it sounds like—”

“It sounds like you have a problem with me liking guys.”

“I do, but it’s not—”

“Well how can you get any more obvious than—”

“Goddammit, can’t you just shut up!?”

And that’s the last thing Semi remembers before Shirabu yanks him down and kisses him.

Kiss is, well, a strong word. It’s more like Shirabu smashes his mouth against Semi’s and breathes against it in a heavy and frustrated way that’s supposed to tell Semi a million things at once. He’s never been straightforward, Semi thinks, panting hard and mouth stinging when he’s shoved away.

Straightforward, Semi thinks. How do you get more straightforward than that?

Shirabu is staring up at him, eyes wide and hands trembling, like he can’t believe he did that either. But he’s not moving, or apologizing, or running away.

“It’s easier to give up on a straight guy,” Shirabu mutters, not meeting Semi’s eye.

And, as Semi’s thinking Oh god, Shirabu just told an upperclassman to shut up, he was rude to an upperclassman, the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, “That was so disrespectful.”

“I guess I’ll be going now,” Shirabu says, returning to his annoyingly polite persona. Then he turns to leave, and Semi’s kicking himself for ruining everything.

“Wait,” Semi says, and turns Shirabu around. He takes him by the shoulders and looks him in the eye, keeping him firmly in place. “I’m sorry, that was… I don’t respond well under pressure. Hold still.”

“What?”

“Hold.” Semi leans forward, pressing his forehead against Shirabu’s. “Still.”

If he’s tired of feeling Shirabu’s breath, it doesn’t show. It exhilarates him, from the sharp inhale to the involuntary sigh against Semi’s lips over his. This time, the message is clear. This person has feelings for you, it says, when Shirabu kisses back. He’s nervous. Unsure, but he likes this.

It’s a world changing thought, to Semi. Shirabu didn’t just try to kiss him, he likes kissing him. It wasn’t a mistake. He’s not as dramatic as to throw his arms around Semi’s shoulders, but he shows it with tentative grace, the slight grip on Semi’s shoulders, pulling him closer. Semi is actually the first to pull away, after the sudden emotional trainwreck leaves him breathless, but he doesn’t let go.

All sense of confidence leaves him. He’s left staring in the eyes of the guy he likes with nothing to say, mouth still tingling from the pressure of Shirabu’s lips on his, and Shirabu actually looking vulnerable in his hands.

No, he does have things to say. I like you or You have feelings for me or I thought you were attractive when I first saw you but only ironically, but it turns out you’re stubborn and hardworking and really smart, and I’m actually really proud of how you were able to take us to Interhigh because you’ve tried so hard, and how can I not admire that?

So he’s about to speak, probably a bad twist of all the things running through his head, when somone grabs him by the shoulder and punches him in the face.

“OW!” Semi hisses, at the same time Shirabu screams, “What the fuck!?”

Semi has one hand on his face, suspiciously damp, and the other trying to keep him from hitting his head on the pavement. He pulls himself up and stares in shock at his attacker.

“Kawanishi!?” Semi yells, except it comes out like a strangled “Kahwaniphy?!” because he is currently bleeding from his nose.

“Oh,” is all the taller first year says, rubbing his knuckles. He finds a dumbfounded Shirabu. “You look more than fine. I thought—”

He’s cut off by a bold yell from somewhere outside of Semi’s peripheral vision. It all happens so fast. One minute Semi thinks he’s hallucinating from the impact of that punch because there is no way the owner of that voice is who he thinks it is, and the next Keita throws himself at Kawanishi. Keita tries to kick him in the crotch, but Kawanishi to too fast for him and gets a sharp thirteen year old kick to the shin.

“Stay away from my brother, dickstick!” Keita snaps at the older boy. 

Kawanishi hisses in pain and hops away from Semi’s younger brother. Keita looks like he’s ready to go for another round. Shirabu looks like he’s ready to punch someone’s lights out, and Semi, in fear of Keita’s dignity, pulls himself to his feet and starts forward when he’s grabbed onto—

“Steady there, Eita-kun.” Tendou says, two arms hooked under Semi’s.

“You don’t want to fight with a middle schooler!” Yamagata says, jumping between them.

“That’s my little brother, assholes!” Semi chokes out, and scrambles free of his friend’s intervention.

“What the hell is going on?” Shirabu demands at last. He’s staring at Semi as if this is all his fault, like kissing Semi set off some domino effect of disaster and like he’d ever make the mistake of doing that again.

That, being the last thing Semi wants, forces him to glare at everyone around him for an explanation.

Everyone goes at once. “You weren’t with the group so I thought you got lost,” Kawanishi tells Shirabu in his typical nonchalant manner. “Semi-san grabbed you so I thought you were fighting again.”

“How else would I react when all I want to do is grab food with my friends and finding you getting another fight?” Keita says, flapping his hand at the convenience store at the corner.

“We stuck around in case things got messy. And they did, look at that,” Yamagata says. He senses the sudden tension and quickly adds, “I don’t think we heard anything?” Except it sounds strangled.

“Nope.” Tendou shakes his head, but he still has his shit-eating grin. Semi hates that grin. “Dude, look at you, you’re bleeding.”

“Sorry,” Kawanishi tells him. At least he sounds guilty about it. “You do look like you could break Kenjirou in two.”

“Is that his name?” Keita looks over at Shirabu. Shirabu looks at Semi with suspicion. Semi glares at Keita.

“What’s going on here?”

All eyes turn to the tall, broad figure jogging their way, and all breathing seems to come to a halt. Ushijima stops just a meter away from them, gaze flickering over the mess of their group. He gives this tired expression. Same shit every day, for him. Semi’s always envied his resilience.

“Ushijima-san?” Shirabu says, frozen. “What… why are you…”

“I’m done, I’m heading back,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He turns to Semi. “You should treat that.” He glances at the blood on Semi’s shirt. “What are you standing around for? It’s not like you can’t punch harder than that.”

And then he’s off.

Tendou’s sigh breaks the silence. “Same ol’ Wakatoshi-kun.”

“I think I just got complimented?” Semi says. The thought makes him feel lightheaded. Or maybe that’s just the blood loss.

“Oh, come on.” The next thing he knows, Shirabu’s dragging him to the store for some emergency first aid. Keita is hot on their heels, while Tendou and Yamagata help the slightly injured Kawanishi back to school, any further disaster averted. For now.

Shirabu’s improved a lot to nosebleed first aid since his first day. He grabs an ice pack, a ton of tissues, and makes sure Semi keeps his head down the whole time. It’s a pretty quick fix up before they head back, very handsy yet to the point. Semi would find it intimate if his thirteen year old brother weren’t eying Shirabu’s every move. Keita doesn’t leave until they’re out of the store, and he has to meet with his friends again.

“Stop getting punched!” Keita tells his older brother with all seriousness. “I’m not gonna always be here to save your ass.”

He then glares at Shirabu, looks between him and his brother, blushes, and runs off. Semi’s pretty sure that if there’s one person that really saw everything, it was him. That’s not uncomfortable at all.

Other than a couple, “Stop moving”s or “How stupid are you”s, Shirabu is silent on the way back. Smart choice. Shirabu’s good at those. He even stays by to explain to Coach that some guy shoved Semi into a telephone pole and sticks by the whole time Coach is chewing Semi out for letting it happen.

In the end, they’re in the nurse’s office again. The nurse herself has stepped out to turn in the rest of her work for the day, but Semi’s left cleaning off his bruised face.

Shirabu’s hanging back with him, mostly because Semi won’t let him leave until they talk. He’s sitting in the chair next to him, the same one Semi was in when they came here together the first time. The irony of fate, it seems.

“Back again,” Semi finally says through the thick silence. The bleeding’s finally stopped, but his face still hurts like hell.

“So it seems,” Shirabu replies. He’s biting his lip.

“This isn’t exactly where I pictured myself, last time.”

“I don’t think anyone tries to imagine this kind of outcome for themselves, Semi-san.”

“Yes, I don’t think I would have planned on coming here as a result kissing the guy I like.”

He’s met with silence. Semi glances over at him only to see Shirabu seemingly trying to melt into his seat, as if it would take him away from this distorted reality. The one where he admitted his feelings for his horrible upperclassman and is trapped with him in the nurse’s office.

“Well, that was always a possibility,” Semi continues awkwardly. “I just didn’t think that guy would be you. Then again, I wasn’t doing very well at tempering myself back then.”

Shirabu huffs.

“Was I really that bad?” Semi asks after a long pause.

“Yes,” Shirabu replies, but then he frowns. “Not really. Mostly. You made an impression. There were a lot of reasons not to like you, and it was obvious you didn’t really like me at first. But there were a lot of reasons to like you, too. You have a good reputation; I think I liked being the critical one.”

“That sounds like you.” Semi sighs wistfully. “I shouldn’t talk. One of the reasons I didn’t like you was because you hero-worshipped Wakatoshi.” Shirabu rolls his eyes in the same way Hotaru rolls her eyes when Semi tells her she should stop listening to EXO. “I think I got caught up in you and your shitty attitude.”

“My shitty attitude.”

“You were one horrible underclassman.” Semi nudges him, and he can feel how tense Shirabu actually is. “You’re still awfully rude. Do you kiss everyone you want to shut up?”

“Only the ones I like.”

They look at each other. Shirabu immediately seems to regret it and everything that he’s said, because he’s blushing again. He doesn’t look away.

Eventually, Shirabu gives in. “I… like you.” He looks more like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. “I shouldn’t, you piss me off most of the time. At least, you used to. But you’re obvious and trustworthy and… and you care about people. Even if you really don’t have to.”

He’s talking about himself. Semi sinks further back into his seat.

“I thought I’d be better off if you weren’t always on my tail but…” Shirabu swallows. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Semi feels himself grow fonder. “Did that hurt to say?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. He only looks up when Semi doesn’t reply. “What?”

“This is why I prefer it when you’re fighting with me,” Semi mumbles from where he’s dropped his head in his hands. “I really want to kiss you again.”

Shirabu stares at him. He opens his mouth, closes it, takes a breath, and holds it. He’s trying to hold back any expression that could escape him. It’s not working, because he can’t take his hand off his mouth or hide the pink flush in his face that gives away how much of that second kiss he remembers. This is good, Semi tells himself. Way too good for him to handle.

Shirabu notices the pleased look on his face. “Don’t—”

“I’ll do it, you know,” Semi tells him. “If you want me to.”

“That’s—” Semi doesn’t remember the last time he’s gotten so much satisfaction from just talking to Shirabu. He should stop grinning. Eventually. “Yes.”

His breath stops. “What?”

“I need a redo anyways,” Shirabu tells him. “I panicked on that first one.”

“Well I had to teach you something,” Semi replies. “It’s not like you listen to anything I say.”

“I don’t mind you teaching me this.”

Semi doesn’t bother suppressing his contentment anymore. “I’m good at that.”

Shirabu punches him in the shoulder, but it doesn’t hurt. He keeps his hand there, touch lingering, a small smile on his face. Semi throws an arm around him and pulls him into an affectionate sideways hug, and before Shirabu can protest, presses one more kiss on his mouth. It hurts a little, when Shirabu jolts and bumps into his cheek, but it’s worth it nonetheless, because Shirabu looks just as pleased with himself when he kisses back.