I LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!
So, let's start with me apologizing for taking months to update. (Six months to be exact. Taking half a year to update a chapter was not my intention and not a pattern I'm going to fall into, I promise.) Life got busy and my spare time grew scarce. But I was determined to get this out before the end of July! ( I wanted to get this out before my vacation to AnimeX, but still wasn't completely happy with it yet) To make up for the lack of material these past few months, I give you over 40k+ words of angst, drama, lovely fluff, and FINALLY getting some of them to get their shit together.
Also, I took the liberty of going back and fleshing out and revising some of the past chapters. (Boy, some chapters were just ROUGH.) and to clear some things up. (You guys got that Akaashi is a publicist, right? Right? If not, please let me know so I can make that clear. That, amongst other things might have gotten lost in translation.)
Anyways, the true heroes of this chapter: Booze, the importance of keeping your eyes on the road, lots of mentions of pizza, more crying than was necessary, more booze, Sumi-chan (may she rest in peace), drinking games, internal rambling, more mentions of pizza, text messages, friends meddling because they really do care (and are probably so done with you), internal pep-talks, boys being so EXTRA, bad disguises, SHITx3=Kuroo, and even more BOOZE.
(You'll understand after you read the chapter.)
And that's all you need to know going into to this. That, and I work my beta, bubblesandwich, like I'm running a one woman sweatshop so a huge shout out to her.
Enjoy. Leave love.
Spite & Dogma
Chapter 1: Certainty
Chapter 2: Caution
Chapter 3: Concessions
Chapter 4: Comforts
Chapter 5: Concurrence
Chapter 6: Conviction
Chapter 7: Consequences
Chapter 8: Confident
Of where you stand
On making a move and moving on
February 4
Tsukishima
To reiterate, Tsukishima enjoyed staying late in the lab. It allowed him to enjoy his workspace with the luxury of lax rules and proper alone time. He would wear his headphones, bring food inside the lab, and lounge around on his phone. Yes, he might have sometimes taken advantage of the freedom, but he still managed to get a lot of work done during his overtime at the museum. However, what really sold Tsukishima on the splendor of staying after hours was the fact that he didn't have to be around his coworkers. Especially his desk mate.
For some unfathomable reason, Negishi Tatsuhiko, a portly, irritating man in his early twenties who just so happened to sit next to him, actually thought that he and the aloof blond were friends.
Negishi's hair was the colour of burnt bread and his cheeks resembled that of a chipmunk harvesting acorns for winter. He always carried around a pocket protector, had a spare handkerchief with him at all times, and really had a thing for trashy American reality television. These were the things Tsukishima couldn't care less about, but somehow during his year working next to the man, the blond had absorbed all this useless information through either osmosis or alchemy. He wasn't sure yet.
Negishi would often invite him out for lunch, or drinks, or just to hang out. Tsukishima had tried every which way to convince the geologist that he was just as unpleasant as everyone thought he was. But instead of running for the hills, like any sane person would, the irritatingly oblivious man had decided to try even harder to convince Tsukishima that they were more than just two coworkers who shared the same lab desk.
The former middle blocker might have been more irked about the whole ordeal if he hadn't had to put up with Hinata throughout all of high school...and college. Negishi was just as loud and obnoxious as the itty-bitty ginger. The only difference was that he was forced to deal with his colleague at work (and the fact that Negishi was taller than Hinata, but who wasn't).
And try as he might, the blond just couldn't dissuade him from his delusion.
If anything, it only made the other boy more forceful.
"No."
"Tsukishima! Come on! It's fun, I swear."
"Doesn't change my answer," the blond huffed as he crossed his arms, uncaring of the pout Negishi was sporting.
"What are you two going on about?"
They looked up to see their fellow intern, biological-anthropologist-in-the-making, Aoki Chitose, giving them a curious gaze from her lab table across from them. Well, not really a gaze, more of a stare. At Tsukishima more so than Negishi (she did that from time to time, just stared at the blond).
Unlike his desk mate, Aoki was one of the few coworkers that had grown on the former middle blocker since he started his fellowship a year ago. In fact, she and Tsukishima had started their internship on the same day as each other. They were cordial and professional enough that they had formed a sort of acquaintanceship within the first few weeks of working together, and in that time, Tsukishima had gotten to know her well. She was smart, ambitious, and focused.
And she was pretty. So pretty, in the softest of ways.
Aoki had fair skin and shiny dark hair that fell down to her shoulders like a waterfall made of rich silk. She dressed in skirts with tights every day, was taller than most girls, and always wore the ugliest sweaters you could imagine. At first glance, you might have never noticed her at all, but when you looked closely at her face you would catch a glimpse of the small dimples that adorned her cheeks and how her eyes weren't just green but polished jade. They would glisten behind thick-framed glasses and delicate lashes that kissed her cheekbones with each blink.
Tsukishima had known some beautiful women in his life, but he liked the quiet sort of beauty Aoki had more. He liked the small humble details that would enamor a person more than the obvious radiance that stunning people would give off.
"Tsukishima won't join us for trivia!" Negishi whined. The tall blond just frowned at his desk mate, wondering why he thought that Tsukishima would join in the first place.
"Awe, c'mon, Tsukishima-kun. You should join!" Aoki agreed. Tsukishima furrowed his brows in her direction, wondering why she wasn't on his side. She was usually reasonable like him. Understanding his silent question, she smiled, her dimples prominent.
"I'm on the team," she clarified.
"You guys have a team?" he scoffed, wondering why anyone would willingly be part of any team with Negishi, let alone a trivia team. The portly man was smart, sure, but he was so unbearably annoying. He thought Aoki would've shared the same sentiment, seeing as she usually did with the blond.
"Of course we do. It's really fun," she said, turning her chair fully to face them. Tsukishima could now clearly see today's choice of ugly sweater with her unbuttoned lab coat. It was bright red knit with white stripes running vertically across her torso, enhancing her small frame as the hem bunched up loosely around her midriff. And in the middle was a large, stylized black cat with a fish hanging in its mouth. Sitting pretty with its prize, looking so cavalier.
The resemblance was just so apparent, the blond couldn't look away. It was almost like the universe was, once again, using Tsukishima as some sort of guinea pig experiment for how much emotional torture one man could take. Either that or his tumor was growing again (he should really talk to a neurologist about that soon). Tsukishima didn't even realize he was glaring until Aoki raised her hands in front of her defensively.
"Alright, jeez. No need for that face, you don't have to join if you really don't wanna," she urged. Thrown off, he looked up to her face, catching her eyes twinkling back at him. She seemed dazed for a couple of seconds, just staring back at him with a glint he wasn't sure what to make of, when she snapped out of it and awkwardly raised her pointer fingers to her cheeks and shifted her face into a smile, silently advising he do the same. He sighed, instead quirking one side of his mouth as he resisted pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Sorry, it's just…"—it's just that he had finally stopped thinking about him—"It's just that I've officially decided that today's sweater is by far the ugliest one. I really just hate it."
"That's just uncalled for, Tsukishima-kun."
"I wish it were," he replied, his sly smile growing at his empty taunt. She just shook her head, joking that he was officially uninvited to the team much to Negishi's protests. To her left, directly in front of Negishi's workstation, sat her desk mate, Fukasawa Yayoi, who decided to speak up, eyes still peering through a microscope.
"Can you two stop flirting, please? Some of us are actually trying to work," she sang, a wide smile stretched across her beautiful face.
The in-house mineralogist fellow was, by far, the most annoying of all his coworkers. She would constantly ask him about his famous friends, was pushy, intrusive, and always liked to stir the pot. She was also unfairly beautiful, with aristocratic features and a perfect figure that was both petite yet curvy. Light brown hair framed her porcelain face, long waves cascading down her back. Her dark piercing eyes gave her a smoldering look that worked on almost all men.
Almost.
Tsukishima didn't care for her in the slightest. Like all of the interns who were invited for research at the museum, she was brilliant, but he still couldn't stand it when she opened her mouth, vulgarities and blabber breaching his patience. Especially since half of the things that came out of her mouth were said in hopes of making the blond blush.
What she didn't seem to understand was that Tsukishima was immune to her witchcraft. However, all the embarrassment he didn't feel would ricochet and catch on to Aoki, who had turned red from the other girl's comment.
"We weren't flirting," Aoki mumbled, lithe fingers picking at the cuffs on her sleeves. The drop-dead brunette turned from her work, her red painted lips curved in a leer that grew with mischief. The same red shade as the Nekoma jerseys. Tsukishima closed his eyes, already losing his will to live.
"Oh? I could have sworn you said you were finally gonna—"
"NO! No! Um, what, that's not wh—" Aoki cleared her throat, "I-I was just saying he should join, was all. But he refused." Fukasawa flipped her long hair away from her face to get a better view of the aloof blond, chocolate brown eyes running up and down his form.
"Oh whatever, we don't even need him," Fukasawa said nonchalantly, turning back to the other girl, "unless we just want him to join for other reasons…"
"What! No! Just go back to whatever you were doing Yayoi-san," Aoki huffed, turning back in her chair and burying her face into her paperwork. Fukasawa laughed, waving her hand and reassuring that she was only teasing.
Tsukishima tried to drown out the sound of her voice but it was so obnoxious that he couldn't hear himself think.
He opened his eyes, golden hues watching Fukasawa scoot closer to the taller girl, whispering something that Tsukishima couldn't make out clearly. The chestnut haired girl kept sending glances his way, so he could only guess that whatever Fukasawa was saying, it was about him. But watching the vixen was distracting. Which was perfect. If he just continued to focus on her he wouldn't need to get caught up in his stupid thoughts abou—
"Hey, where'd Hatsutori-chan and Meshizuka-kun go?" Negishi asked, looking at his wristwatch with a puzzled expression. Tsukishima knew exactly where the biochemistry pair had run off to, taking full advantage that their supervisor left home early today and gave them Friday off. Maybe I should just leave early, too. As the thought ran passed his mind, he watched Fukasawa look at the geologist with the most deadpanned face she could muster.
"Where do you think?"
"Did they go check on the new shipment again?"
"Yup, you know them. They just love inventory," Fukasawa winked. Negishi was lost to the implication, looking at Tsukishima for an explanation. Apparently, Negishi was smart on all things earth science but didn't have a clue on reading the room or taking a hint. However, the blond's attention was stuck on Fukasawa, and her provoking, loathsome, haughty grin. God, he hated it.
Kuroo grinned the same fucking way.
The blond clicked his tongue, closing his eyes in defeat. He was doing so well! There goes my new record. What was that? Five hours? Six? It felt like less. Ugh, god, this is stupid. Tsukishima suppressed a groan as he reset his internal stopwatch back to zero. Officially zero stupid hours and zero goddamn minutes and zero motherfucking seconds since I thought of Kuroo fucking Tetsurou...This really shouldn't be this hard.
Reasonably, it really shouldn't be this hard not to think of his former mentor. It had already been two weeks since they had hooked up and any normal person would have forgotten about it by now. For crying out loud, any normal person would have moved on four years ago! Four years was more than enough time to forget.
So where the fuck did he go wrong?
He claimed shenanigans on the universe, reasoning that he should have been allowed to throw away all the unwanted feelings he ever held over the years for the former Nekoma captain. Because four years was plenty of time to remend his heart, so he really didn't know why he still couldn't stop thinking about him. Or about that night.
About how familiar it all felt; his smile, and eyes, and hair, and laugh. How he left bruises on Tsukishima's hips and how he stretched him out like no one had in years. He couldn't stop thinking about how Kuroo looked at him that night, his eyes completely blown out and focussed on him the whole time. And he couldn't stop thinking about how perfect the older man looked sprawled out on his bed in the moonlight, sweaty and panting as the blond rode him into fucking nirvana. And oh God, his voice—how was Tsukishima suppose to not think about the way the ravenhead moaned his name like a homily? Huh? Or how he kept kissing every inch of him like a man possessed. It's been impossible to forget.
It was impossible to forget how quickly the older man had put on his clothes and how quickly he disregarded the blond. How could he forget how Kuroo easily walked back out of his life like he meant nothing at all?
Again.
Jesus Christ, not even four seconds! Couldn't even go FOUR DAMN SECONDS without thinking of that asshole. What is WRONG with me? Holy hell, I just want to maul something right now. Anything. Ugh, but Fukasawa is all the way over there. I would have to go over the table just to reach her. But, there's always Negishi, and he's right next to—
"Are you okay?"
Tsukishima opened his eyes to see Aoki looking at him with a worried expression. He hadn't even realized that Fukasawa and Negishi were now talking to the pixie-haired Hatsutori and Meshizuka who had walked back into the lab (looking less than put-together). The light haired man ignored Fukasawa's obvious teasing as Hatsutori tried her best not to blush. The blond turned back to the anthropologist, catching the small blush that was beginning to form on her face from being caught staring. Again.
"Yeah. I'm fine. Just trying to light your sweater on fire with sheer will."
She rolled her eyes, her smile blooming across her face like spring.
Even her smile was pretty.
Tsukishima was quick to catch onto the fact that he observed the taller girl so intently as of late. He knew why, too. Out of all his coworkers, Aoki reminded him most of Kuroo, in the smallest and gentlest ways.
The rest of the interns were obvious traits of the older man, oozing with annoying similarities; Fukasawa with her vexing arrogance, Negishi with his optimistic audacity, and the chemistry that reeked off Hatsutori and Meshizuka. But he knew the older man beyond the persona that he showed everyone else.
Aoki though...she was the bits and pieces. She wasn't the noticeable features of the man, but his quirks. Those were the habits that drew the blond in.
When he looked at her as she worked, Tsukishima saw how she would constantly move around, never being able to stay still. Kuroo was the same way. Or that she had detached earlobes like the older man, and liked to pinch them between her fingers when she got bored. Kuroo only did that when he was irritated. Aoki would sometimes brush her knuckles across her lips like how Kuroo use to do when he got stressed out during exam time. And they both also drank their tea lukewarm because they always burned their tongues.
Aoki was as pretty as Kuroo was radiant. And they both liked talking to him, and teased how little he ate, and always knew how to adjust around his moods. And they both watched Tsukishima from the corner of their eye when they thought he wasn't looking.
But it wasn't the same.
Not Aoki, not any of the other men that he's dated, not any of the other people he's tried replacing the older man with.
Maybe it was because Tsukishima never really dropped all his walls for anyone else. He wasn't an open book that was easy to read—he was a marginless heavy text filled with riddles and conundrums that made people too dizzy to even want to turn a page. He was so dense with cynicism that he never let his guard down. He was challenging.
Yet, he had no idea when he had allowed this cocky, provoking, pain-in-the-ass rival captain to meddle his way through all of Tsukishima's defenses and take a hold of him.
When did he allow himself to hold on to the hope that this earnest, charming, kind man could return his feelings? Him of all people, with his awkward indifference to the world and his chip on his shoulder. Why would Kuroo fall for someone so unsuitable like Tsukishima?
Maybe he just saw me as a challenge.
The blond wished he could go back in time and give himself a reality check. But in the end, it didn't matter, because he couldn't go back.
So he watched at a distance and looked for the man through other people. He looked for good company from other men and looked for pretty radiance from Aoki. Looked for people with good stories, easy confidence, and open hearts. Looked for clever banter and cheshire smiles, for obnoxious laughter and smoldering looks. For rough hands and wild stares. Yearned for butterflies in his stomach and feather touches. Searched for someone who made him feel like he was his best self all the time. Someone who made him feel like he was special.
Maybe I wasn't special to him at all.
He had spent years filing away all things Kuroo Tetsurou. All the small things that only Tsukishima knew. He kept those memories for a rainy day. It was those minor, finer points—the soft sweet details—that he had catalogued in his heart.
Wow. Two seconds? TWO SECONDS?! I am one piece of work. This man doesn't deserve to be put on a pedestal, okay, Kei? (Oh god he totally would've laughed at that pun he would've made it his facebook status he's that dorky and adorab—) I am being beyond pathetic right now. What would Yamaguchi think, huh? Or better yet, Akiteru? I need to get it together because this shitty whining is going to be the death of me. Just forget him, okay, Kei (holy shit, stop)—forget him. He's not worth it. I can do better, I will do better, because I am not some weak-willed middle-school teen who can only go as long as two fucking seconds without thinking about you-know-who. Be better, Kei—he's not worth it. He's not. Who cares about Kuroo Tetsurou? NOT ME. Who cares about his stupid hair and stupid smile and his stupid habit of saying bless you to people who have the hiccups and then stupidly blushing about it later? I DON'T, that's who. I am better than that, and I am better than needing stupid internal pep talks abou—
"Yo, are you listening?"
Tsukishima looked over to Fukasawa, who was giving him a look he couldn't place. The tall blond shook his head at her, letting her know that he didn't hear her at all. She gave him a scowl before she repeated herself.
"I said, are you going to get drinks with us after work since we don't have to come in tomorrow?" she droned at him. Before he could give her the same dry refusal that he always gave, she pursed her lips and gave Hatsutori a look. One filled with presumption and haughtiness—a look far too smug for Tsukishima's liking.
"Sure, I guess."
Hatsutori and Meshizuka automatically nodded, under the impression he would decline the offer like always. Then they both immediately threw him a confused look, unsure if they misheard him. Negishi dropped his pen, beamed at his deskmate and looked like he was going to tackle Tsukishima from overexcitement. Aoki also looked back at the blond, her eyes shining as she blinked with disbelief behind her frames. Fukasawa seemed slower to register his answer, though.
"See, I told you guys. Now that we've established that the grouch doesn't wanna com—wait, what?" she pressed, turning in her seat to face him. Tsukishima just crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, shrugging his shoulders and not bothering to repeat himself for the brunette. He closed his eyes again, ignoring the blatant taunts Fukasawa threw his way and wondered if he should have ignored his ego and refused the invitation for drinks.
("Well, shit. Who knew the glacial prince Tsukishima would ever grace us peasants with his presence? Lucky us."
"Yayoi-san, you really shouldn't say stuff like that. It's rude."
"Whatever. If he's coming, he better hope he's not a lightweight, is all I'm saying."
"Don't be mean, please."
"Don't worry, Chitose-chan. I promise that I'll play nice with your boyfriend."
"COUGHIKDG—Yayoi-san!")
Going out and getting drinks with people were things that you were supposed to do with friends. Not with this rowdy bunch of scientists. He couldn't back out now, though. Not when he finally got Fukasawa to drop her pleased sneer and wear a sour look on her face. Maybe this night would be worth it if he was allowed to put her in her place.
Plus, he usually had no time to do much else when the blond was roasting the small brunette. Especially dwell on Kuroo.
When the time struck a quarter till seven, all six adults began hanging their lab coats and making their way out of the lab. They walked in pairs out of the museum, musing amongst the others with glee and repartee as they clutched onto their coats and stuffed their hands in their pockets. Tsukishima stayed in the back, taking slow strides to keep up with the group. He walked in peaceful silence alongside Meshizuka, who was pretty mellow himself. Tsukishima watched as Hatsutori and Fukasawa hooked their arms by their elbows as they led the group to a bar and Negishi trailed behind them, rambling on about the trivia tournament starting in a month or two. Next to the man, Aoki hurried alongside them, throwing quick glances back at Tsukishima every once and awhile to make sure that he didn't disappear. Little did she know, he had nowhere else to go. The place that he wanted to be wasn't an option anymore.
The person he wanted to be with didn't want him anymore.
Maybe he never really wanted me.
They found a booth at the back of a bar two streets down the train station and placed their food orders to the waiter as Meshizuka poured out the sake for them. Tsukishima sat between the other men on one side of the booth while the women took the other side, snickering as they sipped from their cups. Negishi was still heckling him about joining the team as Hatsutori started going off on how she was willing to set up the other two girls with some friends of hers from college. Aoki seemed uninterested, but Fukasawa just seemed unimpressed.
"What do your friends do?"
"Well, one's an accountant—"
"Boring!" The brunette beauty whined, resting her back onto Aoki's side as she nursed her drink in her hand. The boy's attention was back on her, like she liked it. Tsukishima allowed her to continue being the center of attention; he figured he could use another drink before he started to provoke her.
" —and the other one is a dentist."
"Ugh! C'mon, Hatsu! I need some real options here," the smaller girl glanced at the blond sitting directly in front of her, "Like some of Tsukishima's famous friends," she purred. "Say Tsukishima, when are you going to set me up, hah?"
"When one of my friends piss me off and I want to unleash your crazy on them. But so far, no one's crossed me, so tough luck for you."
The whole group erupted with giggles, minus the mineralogist, who pouted at him. The girls grasped their bellies and Negishi lightly pounded onto the table top. Meshizuka tried to cover his laugh with his hand but his shaking shoulders gave him away. Tsukishima just hid his smirk poorly behind his hand, chuckling alongside the rest.
"I resent that."
"Good. So stop asking."
"But what about your volleyball friends? Like that one setter guy?"
"Kageyama? Even I don't hate the king that much to set him up with you."
"No, asshole. The good looking one, in all those Nike ads. You and he went to Uni during your undergrad together, didn't you? God, he's so dreamy."
"Wait, you haven't heard?" Meshizuka asked the small girl, placing his drink on the table. He and Tsukishima got along well enough, but what really made the male biochemist cool with Tsukishima was that he followed volleyball too. He was a fan of most of the national team, especially the starting lineup. So, of course he would know who Oikawa was, being the team vice captain.
"Heard what?"
"Oikawa Tooru is gay," the light-haired brunet said lowly, "Apparently, he and the ace have been a thing or some sort of couple for years."
"What? When was this?" Fukasawa asked, looking like she could just cry. Tsukishima was sure that half of the female population had cried when they heard the news too.
"Have you seriously not heard? It was everywhere since like a week ago," Hatsutori said, "someone leaked a picture of them at some bar and it went viral within a few hours. How have you not seen it?"
"Show me," the mineralogist demanded. The pixie-haired girl pulled out her phone and showed Fukasawa one of the many tabloids that had plastered the picture all over their sites. Tsukishima watched as the mineralogist whined and moped over the picture, sulking at the loss of such a handsome man.
"Why are all the best looking ones gay?" she moaned dramatically.
"I don't think that's true," Aoki tried to reassure.
"Yeah," Hatsutori added, "there are plenty of fish in the sea."
"Please, if that's the case, I'm a puddle during a drought."
"Now you're just being hard on yourself, plenty of men would date you," Negishi said.
"Really?"
"Sure," Tsukishima piped in, "If they were blind, slow, and desperate."
More laughter ensued at the girl's expense, making her threaten to dump the blond's body in some abandoned alleyway by the night's end. As revenge, Fukasawa pulled out her phone and started to open up Tsukishima's social media accounts, demanding that he set her up with one of the good looking men on his feed. The ladies huddled around her phone, looking at some of her options (and secretly trying to get a glimpse of Tsukishima's life outside of work, being the enigma he was) while Negishi had to take a call outside. Tsukishima felt Meshizuka nudged his side, refilling the sake cup for the blond who nodded in thanks.
"So, seriously, I know Oikawa is your good friend. How is he?"
"Mmh, I can't really call him my good friend. He was just my teammate," Tsukishima explained, taking slow sips of his drink, "But I did text him."
"What did you say?"
Usually, Tsukishima would keep the fact that he used to know a majority of the national volleyball team back in the day from other people, figuring they would only try and use him to score free tickets or introduce themselves. Meshizuka, though, was a genuine fan and an all around nice guy. He didn't have an ulterior motive and he wasn't looking for an in with any famous athlete. Besides Aoki, he was the only other colleague Tsukishima enjoyed talking to.
"I just sent him the picture and told him that he was wearing my scarf that he stole from me during my freshman year and that I wanted it back."
"Wow," the shorter man chuckled, "you really are heartless."
"No, it's just how he and I had always talked. Our relationship was built on sarcasm, well-meaning spite, and good-natured malice," he said serenely, ignoring the deadpan looks his colleagues gave him. "I guess he thought it was endearing because he's a closet masochist and never asked me to stop." Aoki choked on her drink, Kei quietly slipped her a napkin.
"Even when you were his kouhai?"
"I was never his kouhai, I mostly stayed under some other senpai's wing for most of my time on the volleyball team."
"Hmm, I see. But he was still a kind of friend, right? Aren't you concerned?"
"Of course I was, which is why I texted him in the first place."
"You have a funny way of showing you care."
"I guess, but at least he seems alright now."
"Yeah? How do you know?"
"Because he finally texted me back two days ago."
"What'd he say?"
"He told me that I shouldn't expect my scarf back and that it looked better on him, anyways," Tsukishima said into his cup at the edge of his lips. He had also mentioned that the scarf wasn't even Tsukishima's in the first place and so he had no claim.
Oikawa Tooru:
(-No way, Kei-chan, I look like a movie star in it! I could never give it up! Plus it's more my colour, anyways. Besides, it wasn't yours at all so you can't ask for it back either! But if Kuro-chan comes looking for it, tell him I lost it. (′ʘ⌄ʘ‵) Or better yet, tell him you lost it. He'll go easy on you, like always. You were always his 'favorite'. Talk to you later you shithead, and we should hang out, us and the old team, there's a lot we should catch up on ヾ(○ω) -)
Tsukishima still had the text on his phone. He wasn't close friends with the flamboyant setter, but they did get along and Tsukishima respected him. Both him and Ushijima. They might have been on different sides of the net in high school, but he had gotten to know them well enough in college. They were good people, and they were strong. Tsukishima didn't seem too worried, he knew that if anyone was going to get out of this scandal it was those two. It would do nobody any good for the blond to get in a frenzy over gossip. Besides, they seemed like a good couple. As far as he could tell.
The blond then felt the side of his hip vibrate, his phone coming to life with a text. Tsukishima put down his drink and slid out his phone, seeing an unread message from Yachi. He opened it as Meshizuka got up to get them some beer, granting him some privacy.
Yachi Hitoka:
- Hi, Tsukki! Just wanted to remind you that you won't be able to get out of this Saturday's mixer! Are you excited?! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ (I am! And nervous...and queasy. Gosh, I hope there's no blood) Me and Tadashi have some people we REALLY want you to meet ( ◞౪) So wear that nice suit you wore for my birthday last year, you look so handsome in that. Text me! -
He couldn't remember for the life of him why he didn't put up more of a fight with his best friend when he had agreed to go to the event. It was just going to be a party for genius doctors to rub shoulders with other genius doctors as they patted one another on the back for some revolutionary medical wonder they founded.
The blond looked back at the text and he tried not to groan at the glaring implication of their matchmaking. And as uninterested as he was, Tsukishima would suck it up on Saturday. Why? Because his friends were kind enough to try to help him to move on. Even if part of him still didn't want to.
Tsukishima honestly wasn't even sure if he was really trying to stop himself from thinking about Kuroo anymore. He had barely any self-control when he was sober, so he had no hope going into the night without thinking about the ravenhead (when they had gone back to his place, he hadn't had one drop of alcohol, so really, his self-control was abysmal when it came to the bedhead).
Fuck that, maybe I should be looking forward to Saturday, he thought, Maybe that would be the best kind of distraction.
He didn't always like to admit it but Yamaguchi might be right and Tsukishima might be...less right. But what he was trying to say was that maybe he really should look into dating seriously (he felt an involuntary shiver climb his spine at the thought). He's not expecting to find the one at this party, but maybe it could be a start. Because goddammit, he was ready—ready to go cold-turkey on his unhealthy one-sided obsession and never ending pining and whining. Kuroo Tetsurou was the exact reason why he should start dating again.
Ooh. I might be able to get a consult about my ever growing tumour, too.
He quickly replied to the blonde, going back and correcting the typos he made. (Holy shit, am I buzzed already?)
Tsukishima Kei (myself):
- Yeah, I'm excited. Really, I am. -
And he was—excited to finally giving himself a chance to move forward, something he's never really done.
He's excited for a future with someone new who would be willing to give him their all—mind and body. Someone who was willing to deal with all his faults and baggage, who would learn to love his flaws, and all. He wanted something serious. He wanted to meet the parents and move in together and go through every milestone. He wanted someone who'd be worth asking Yamaguchi to go shopping for an engagement ring too. He was excited for all of it.
Or at least excited to get laid, if anything.
Suddenly, his phone vibrated in his hand, the screen glowing bright with another text from his former team manager.
Yachi Hitoka:
- Yay! That's super! I can't wait to see you! (^∇^) I think you'll really like some of the people there! -
Tsukishima couldn't even pretend that he didn't have a soft spot for the small blonde girl. She really was perfect for Yamaguchi. Just one other person who found their perfect partner that they wanted to spend their life with.
His train of thought was interrupted when he heard the ladies in front of him coo at Fukasawa's phone while stealing glances at him.
"What?" he asked, taking the mug of beer that Meshizuka handed to him as he sat back down in the booth. Tsukishima had already noticed that his cheeks felt warm and that he was talking more than usual. Both obvious indicators that he should probably not have another drink, but he figured that given the shitty couple of weeks he's had, he deserved to let loose this once.
"Nothing...we just found Oikawa's Instagram."
"And?" Next thing he knew, a phone screen was being shoved in his field of vision, making him blink before his eyes could adjust. When they did, he stared at an old picture of Oikawa, one arm out to take a selfie and the other arm around a younger, thinner, annoyed looking college-freshman Tsukishima.
"And you looked so cute when you were younger!" The girls laughed, giving him teasing mewls and awes. Negishi chose then to return to the booth, looking at the picture and laughing at how grumpy he still looked. Meshizuka was no better, joining the others in their teasing of the blond.
"Oh man, Tsukishima, what happened!?"
"Look at him, he's still such a grouch! Oh, my—ha—look! He's making that exact same face right now too!"
"Man you were so scrawny! How did you even make the same team as Ushijima?"
"Look likes nothing really changed, to be honest."
"I think you look fine," Aoki said as she failed to fight the giggles that kept escaping her.
He tried to keep his left eye from twitching, not entirely sure why everyone thought the picture was funny. He didn't look ridiculous in it. But he knew saying anything would just goad the group on more, so he retreated to something else.
"Why are you even on his Instagram?"
"Well," Hatsutori started, her hazel eyes sparkling with teasing, "we were looking through yours, but it was super boring and barely had anything. So we looked through your tagged pictures and found Oikawa's account."
"And you went through it because…?"
"Because we figured that we'd find some suitable men for me," Fukasawa explained, tapping away at her phone as she skimmed down the setter's account. Tsukishima just rolled his eyes and drank his beer, trying his best to keep his tongue from slipping out something mean. Well, meaner than usual. And then once again, her phone was shoved in his face.
"What about this guy?" The blond took a moment to see who she was referring to, "He's all over his account and he's totes my type."
"That's his best friend, Iwaizumi. And—"I'm pretty sure he's also gay"—you're not what he goes for."
"Ugh, okay," she said, pulling up another picture. When the phone was shoved back into his line of sight, he was looking at a picture with an overzealous Bokuto and aloof looking Akaashi wearing fake mustaches with Oikawa and an awkward Ushijima. "How about one of those two? The dark haired one is fucking gorgeous and I'm willing to drop my panties asap for the buff owl looking one."
"Yayoi-san!" Aoki shrieked in embarrassment, "Language!"
"Oh whatever, it's true. I'd let them both tag team me."
"Oh my god, Yayoi-san stop saying stuff like that!"
"Why? They might be into that."
"They're not," Tsukishima clarified, trying his best to wipe the image Fukasawa so clearly painted for him of her and the couple, "they're engaged. To each other."
Anyone who was familiar with Bokuto's career would have known that, but Fukasawa didn't really seem like she had interest in the actual sport, more so just in the athletes themselves. He will have to remember to tell Akaashi about the girl's ridiculous thirst when they met up for their weekly lunch.
However, Tsukishima might not be too eager seeing as how when they met up earlier this past week, Akaashi had been...suspicious. He could tell that the tall blond was upset over something, but Tsukishima didn't want to burden him, (plus, retelling that night would have been counter productive, seeing as he had sworn all thoughts, and feelings, and daydreams and—silly obsessive pep talks about the whole situation) seeing as Akaashi was still good friends with the older ravenhead. Tsukishima would endure by himself.
He was fine.
"That's not fair, how are all the beefy, good-looking guys that hang out with your friend gay? Ugh, does the universe show no mercy?!"
"Trust me," Tsukishima said, "it doesn't."
"So you won't set me up with the other setter guy on the team either?"
"Unless you're a short annoying redhead who's fluent in gibberish and sound effects, you're not his type."
"Ugh, seriously?"
"Yup. Or biodegradable plastic, but that's a whole other dilemma."
"...Well, okay, um, oh! What about your best friend, huh? The one who sometimes stops by the lab. He's cute. Hook a sista' up!"
"Yamaguchi? He has a girlfriend and soon-to-be fiance. Besides, I would never let him date a she-harpy like you."
"You are as insufferable as you are useless," the brunette moaned.
"Thank you," Tsukishima teased, finishing the last of his beer in one gulp just as a waiter arrived at their table with their pizza. The others all reached for a slice, savouring their first bite full of melted cheese and herby sauce. Tsukishima grabbed a slice of his own, taking a few bites before dropping it on his disposable plate and swallowing it down with beer. He felt light and airy, fingers tingling with a good buzz.
Why didn't he always go out with these people again? Sure, some were annoying but they were fun to mess with and they had bought all of the drinks so far. Plus, since he's been here he's been somewhat distracted from his self-pity party about—
"Oh, fuck me. What about this guy?" Tsukishima looked at her phone that was, once again, shoved back in his face, his eyes finally focusing on another picture of Oikawa. It was old and not the best lighting, but the setter still looked good. But right next to him, in Tsukishima's personal opinion, Kuroo looked way better.
His cheeks grew warmer, the alcohol in his system making it harder to resist the fluttering in his heart. Kuroo looked so young in the picture. It had to be around the time that the ravenhead had just started college, back when Tsukishima was still only hardcore crushing on ravenhead from miles away. He looked sweaty and tired but Tsukishima thought that he looked like he belonged alongside the setter on the court, his hand shooting a peace sign to the camera with a smile, a volleyball held between his other arm. God, he was so talented.
Why'd he stop playing again?
"Hello? Is he single or what?" The blond came out of his musing thanks to Fukasawa's annoying voice. Given his state, it took him a minute to get a grip of what she was asking him. He tried not to let his face harden at the thought of Kuroo with someone else, even in Fukasawa's fantasy. Kuroo didn't belong to him. The older man was never his…
"Yeah, he is."
"Whoo! Jackpot! Give me his number, please."
...but then again, the ravenhead was too good for the skanky ass brunette in front of him, in Tsukishima's humblest opinion.
"No."
"What!?" she screeched, on the verge of jumping across the table, "Why not? He's so sexy. C'mon! Set me up! He looks lik—"
"I said no."
"But why?"
"Because no."
"UGH! FINE," the mineralogist huffed, like a child throwing a tantrum. "You're no help. That's just fucking great. Let's order a round of shots, it's on me and my depressing love life," she offered dramatically, waving over the waiter to their table.
A few minutes passed before the waiter came back with a tray that overflowed with shot glasses, full to the brim. Everyone looked at Fukasawa like she was deluded if she thought they were going to down all of them, even between six of them. The waiter placed chasers of juice and beer down on the table too, having mercy on the poor group who had no idea what Fukasawa had in mind.
"You're joking, right?" Hatsutori asked.
"Nope. If you don't want any, then you better win," the brunette smiled sweetly.
"Win?" Negishi asked, unsure if he wanted her to clarify.
"Yup, win. Who wants to start?"
"Start what?" Aoki questioned, everyone already regretting whatever was to come.
"The game. It's easy. You don't have to drink," everyone let out a sigh of relief, "unless you've done the deed, of course."
"You want to play 'never have I ever?'" Tsukishima groaned, thinking that he had outgrown this game since the last time he allowed Tanaka to talk him into it a few years back. He was about to tell her that they were too old for this...but God, did he hate the look on her face just then, eyes squinting as she sneered right at him—looking at him like he was such chicken-shit. Fuck that.
"What's wrong? You're not scared, are you? If you can't hang, I understa—"
"Let's start then," Tsukishima dared, already reaching out to grab a large beer in one hand and a shot glass in the other. He frowned at the wicked smile she sent his way, grabbing a glass of her own. Negishi followed suit, figuring if Tsukishima of all people was going to partake, he should too. ("This will probably never happen again, so fuck it.") After him, the pair of biochemist threw caution to the wind and grabbed a glass. They all looked at Aoki, who had frozen in place. Reluctantly, she slowly grabbed herself a glass, sighing in defeat to peer pressure.
"Perfect!" Fukasawa beamed, "Now does anyone want to start the game?"
Surprisingly, Tsukishima raised his shot glass, looking at the chestnut-haired beauty with a competitive edge that he hadn't felt in years.
"Never have I ever," he put down his shot, "slept with a teacher."
He watched as Fukasawa's smile falter marginally and her eyes twitched at the audacious question. Never one to back down from a challenge, though, she raised her glass, tipping it ever so slightly, and downed it in one take like a champ. But when she put her glass on the table and reached for another shot, another clink of glass resonated from Tsukishima's left. Everyone looked away from the girl to see Negishi cringing from the shot he just drank, totally unaware of the face his coworkers were giving him. The geologist looked up, flinching with surprise from all their attention.
"What?"
"You slept with a teacher?" Fukasawa asked, clearly giving away how stupefied she (and everyone else, for that matter) was.
"Don't look so surprised," he defended, red cheeks puffing, "I'm an excellent lover."
And that's how every other intern he worked with got to hear Tsukishima's real laugh.
It was loud and he could have sworn he snorted at some point. Tsukishima's belly constricted and ached, forcing him to clutch his stomach as it burned with pain—a good, soothing pain that made him gasp for air. The sound started to fuse with another chuckle, then others, and then everyone around him had formed a harmony of laughter, like the sound of different bells chiming a melody against a breeze.
Small drops of tears caught onto the corners of his golden lashes, lifting his thumbs under his glasses to wipe them away. He opened one eye, looking around to see everyone in the same state as him. Except for Aoki.
She had stopped her giggling and just stared. Just sat there and stared at Tsukishima laughing, taking it all in. Him—in this moment. Looking young and sincerely, truly honest in his expression. He must have looked like a child, no worries and nothing to hide. And Aoki just stared, her lashes curling as they framed jade gems that gleamed and roamed his face. Tsukishima figured he must have looked quite different, from the way she was looking at him.
Then she smiled, so pretty. Right at him, their eyes catching one another's as he kept on laughing. She just smiled and stared, like she was the luckiest girl in the world to be seeing Tsukishima laugh like he had finally taken a breath of fresh air—like the weight he had been carrying for years on his shoulders had lifted.
And he stared back, because it had been a long time since someone had looked at him like that. Like he meant something. Like he mattered.
Maybe I never really mattered to him.
Their game continued on, taking shot after shot, and ordering another round as their questions grew bolder and bolder. Fukasawa was the repeat offender, taking the most drinks out of all of them, but she wasn't ahead by much. Hatsutori and Negishi were a few drinks behind her, followed by Tsukishima who's already had four shot (four shots too many) since they started the game.
Aoki was winning with only one shot so far. But the game was far from over.
Okay, there's no mistaking it. I'm drunk right now. Should I call Yamaguchi?
"Never hav' i ever," Negishi said, swaying in place as he rose his glass, "hadda' crush...on a senpai." Almost immediately, everyone groaned and took their shots in unison. Tsukishima felt his drink leak into his stomach like lava, the burn in his throat getting less and less harsh. What bullshit. What young teenager never had a crush on an older senpai? That was such a loaded question.
(Ooooh. Maybe I should call Kuroo-san instead...
No. That was seriously, like, Hinata-level dumb. Be better, idiot.).
Fighting with his inner thoughts and desires was a constant with Tsukishima, but those same thoughts and desires tended to be so fucking impossible to ignore whenever he drank.
"Alright, alright," Fukasawa cleared her throat, slurring her words, "never have I ever...had a crush on a coworker."
"That's just hitting below the belt," Hatsutori groaned, raising her glass all the same.
"All's fair. Now drink up you two," the brunette pointed blatantly to the biochemists. She laughed as they both tried to hide the blushes spreading across their faces. She was going to say more when they all caught sight of Aoki raising her own glass, downing the shot in one take.
The ravenhead girl cringed after, making a sour face as she chased down the alcohol with juice. Tsukishima raised a brow, completely caught off guard. Isn't this her first real job, though?
"My-my-my, aren't we being a brave girl tonight," Fukasawa cooed at Aoki, rubbing the girl's back as she began to cough lowly from the burn of the alcohol.
"Shut—cough—shut up," the raven haired girl chided, motioning for another glass, "Who's next?" Hatsutori raised her hand.
"Me. Alright, um, okay-ah, yeah okay," she cleared her throat, swaying as she looked at the rest of the group, "Never have I ever lost your virginity to the senpai I had a crush on."
"Yer just rewordin' my question!" Negishi whined. Hatsutori brushed him off, claiming that she thought of it all on her own. Everyone laughed at the exchange, and no one expected anyone to drink from their glass. And no one did. No one, of course, except Tsukishima.
Fukasawa stopped in the middle of her giggling to watch the blond swig the shot back and gently place his glass back down.
"You're shitting me, right?" she asked the blond, getting a hold of the everyone else's attention. "Tell me you're joking."
"Nope," he shook his head, feeling lighter than ever as he chased down the burn with beer, "I liked them since I was a first year. Then, when I was in my senior year and they were a sophomore in college, we hooked up."
"Lucky!" Negishi praised the blond, slapping his back, "Who knew ya' were such a casanova! Haha, unless they just felt bad for ya'?"
"They were a senior when you met? Good for you, man," Meshizuka said, clearly impressed.
"Do you still talk to them…?" Aoki whispered, her question going unheard.
"I could believe it," Hatsutori said, waving her right hand in front of her face for emphasis, "You're pretty good lookin'."
"Nah, it was probably out of pity." Tsukishima looked at Fukasawa with a frown, hating how she was grinning at him again, not even bothering to hide it as she sipped another shot. He could laugh at how he was probably luckier when it came to dating, but it would only entice another debate. She would still be laughing down at him, unbelieving and assuming she knew better.
Maybe it was just out of pity.
He wanted her to choke on that shit-eating grin.
"Maybe," he said, never looking away from her smug face, "If they pitied me for three whole years, that is."
Her reaction was immediate, spitting out her drink all over her right hand as she started a coughing fit, banging her other palm against her chest. Aoki slapped her between her shoulder blades, moving her drink on the table. The others laughed at her outburst, Fukasawa's reaction totally unexpected. Tsukishima just smirked, enjoying every moment as the brunette's eyes teared up and her cheeks turned blotchy.
The universe was finally giving him a win. A small one, but oh so satisfying.
When she finally calmed down, wiping her mouth with a napkin and smudging her lipstick, she looked at Tsukishima with a frown. Tsukishima just kept smirking as she recomposed herself, grabbing another shot glass to replace the one she spat out.
He quickly looked down to her disposed white napkin, crumpled and stained. Like the colour of a fire truck. Bold, bright, rich, and red.
The same shade as the Nekoma colours.
Tsukishima would know, he still had one of the VBC jackets in the back of his closet. Bold white print ran along the back of the shoulders and inside the seams, written in sharpie on the label tag, read Kuroo Tetsurou—captain.
When he looked up again, Tsukishima locked eyes with Fukasawa who wore an expression full of competitiveness.
"Three years?"
"Yep."
"I didn't know you used to have a girlfriend…"
"I didn't," he said, taking a slow sip of his beer.
"Oh, really..."
"Really."
"Well, then… I guess it's my turn," she said, her face becoming less hard and far more pleased than it should.
"Yayoi-san," Aoki pleaded lowly, "be nice."
"It's okay Chitose-chan, I just want to clarify something…" The brunette bombshell said, raising her glass to the blond, "Never have I ever had a fuck buddy."
He looked her in the eye as he raised a shot glass to his lips and swung it back. If she thought he'd back down, she was mistaken. No time to dwell on his answer, the blond fired back, forcing the snobby brunette to drink. The others just watched on as Fukasawa and Tsukishima baited one another.
"Never have I ever sent nudes." They both drank another shot.
"Never have I ever had a one-night stand." And another shot.
"Never have I ever participated in public sex." And then another shot.
"Never have I ever gone down on someone in a bathroom stall." Then another.
"Never have I ever fooled around in a classroom." And another.
And another.
And another.
Now I really might have to call Yamaguchi.
He slammed down another shot on the table, Fukasawa's own glass echoing against the table too. They were both swaying in their seats, eyes blinking as they tried to focus through their hazy vision.
"You two know that the rest of us are still here, right?" Hatsutori said, resting her head in her hand as she watched Tsukishima and Fukasawa reach for another shot (fumbling and clumsy, both knocking over empty glasses in the process), both not knowing when to quit.
"Alr-alright," Fukasawa said, ignoring the other girl and raising her glass. Tsukishima followed, ignoring Meshizuka shaking his head and Aoki sighing in defeat, "my turn."
"Shoot."
"Never have I ever..." she started, her eyes half lidded as she pursed her lips in thought. Tsukishima hoped that she was about to run to the bathroom, that way this game would end with him victorious. Looking away for a moment to figure out where the bathroom was exactly, he caught sight of a tall patron by the bar.
The patron couldn't have been more than a few centimeters shorter than him, but he carried himself well. He was handsome, his long dark hair styled back and his shoulders broad as it stretched his t-shirt across his chest. He was standing around with a group of people, laughing loudly as they clinked their beer glasses in a toast. Then, as the stranger placed the edge of the glass to his lips, he looked right at Tsukishima.
Almost as if he's been waiting for the blond to catch him staring since he got there.
They just watched one another, the air around the blond suddenly feeling like a furnace. The man didn't let up, just tilted the beer and sipped as he stared. His eyes were green and smokey, drinking Tsukishima in and shamelessly implying more than a simple friendly glance.
Come home with me, he said with just that one look, be mine tonight.
Tsukishima has been on the receiving ends of that 'look' since forever ago. And sometimes, the blond indulged at the invitation. He sometimes let himself enjoy strangers as they worshiped him for his looks, finding release from stress and built up frustrations. But it didn't matter in the end.
These strangers were never enough.
The blond looked away, turning his attentions back to Fukasawa, who looked right at him, gaze full of predatory instinct.
"Never have I ever been interested in men."
"You really are just trying to get fucked up, aren't you?" Hatsutori giggled as she watched Fukasawa quickly down her shot, to no one's surprise. The brunette, though, just stared at Tsukishima after, turning everyone else's attention back to the blond. The taller man just stared back at her, watching as her god damn smirk grew.
What? Did she think he was ashamed? Embarrassed?
No, he knew who he was—what he was. He's known since he was thirteen and tried to hide his blush whenever he caught a glimpse of the other boys in the locker room. Tsukishima might have never told his parents, but that didn't mean he regretted being attracted to boys. Somehow, it all worked out. He wasn't any less happy being gay. Surprisingly, thanks to his sexuality, he had gotten things he never thought he would. He had gotten support from his best friend, acceptance from his brother, and a lot more options in the dating department.
And he had gotten Kuroo, too. For a while, at least.
He raised his glass, ignoring the widening eyes from his other coworkers, as he glared down Fukasawa before he tipped his head back and downed the shot. The glass echoed against the wood, silence following his confirmation. He wasn't ashamed of his sexuality, but he didn't really intend on letting the other interns know something overtly personal about him through an abundance of booze and his stupid competitive ego.
It was always hard to guess the backlash some people might have about him.
"I knew it!" Fukasawa yelled, pointing to his face, "I knew there was something up with you! There had to be a reason you never tried anything with me!"
"It's actually your personality that's to blame," Tsukishima corrected, belly warm with alcohol and sheepishness.
"Fukasawa was right," Hatsutori mused, "all the good looking guys really are gay." She sighed. The other biochemist gave her a pointed look, a resounding 'hey' making her turn to him and reassure that she was only joking.
"Wait," Negishi said, "Is that why ya' never wanna hang with me?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" Meshizuka asked.
"He musta' been afraid of fallin' in love with me, obviously."
He didn't know what reactions to expect, but Negishi being so concerned that he'd end up accidentally wooing Tsukishima was not one of them. Whatever worry he had evaporated with the laughter that once again erupted from their table. Fukasawa then picked up the last shot glass.
"Another round on me! What do ya' say-"
"No," the other five replied in unison.
Tsukishima couldn't remember when he had laughed so much. These people—these colleagues weren't his friends, but they were starting to grow on him. Meshizuka raised his beer in cheers, the others following suit.
"To Tsukishima. Who knew that underneath all that snarkiness and bite was an actual human being. You should come out with us more often."
"And next time, drinks are on you," Fukasawa finished, getting a loud whoop from Negishi and the rest. He brought his drink to his mouth, a rare smile adorning his face. Next thing they all knew, half an hour had passed before the barkeep yelled for last call, the group only then realizing just how late it had gotten. Meshizuka offered to call cabs for everyone, stepping out to use the phone.
When they had mosied on outside to wait for their rides, the group had paired off, agreeing to share cabs with each other. Fukasawa left with Hatsutori, hanging off the poor girl who assured the group that she'd make sure the inebriated brunette got home safe. They watched as their cab pulled away and a loud 'woooooooooo' echoed through the night from their window. Meshizuka accompanied Negishi after, practically carrying the portly man into the taxi cab. He said goodbye to the last two remaining, telling them that he'd see them Monday.
Waiting for the last cab to arrive, Tsukishima stood next to Aoki, who had been quiet during the second half of the evening. He wondered if it was because of what he had admitted to the group, or if it was about something else. If he was sober, he might have let her be and allowed her some privacy to her troubles.
But he wasn't, and his mouth had a knack for running loose when he couldn't remember how many drinks he had consumed.
"Hey, Aoki," he said, doing his best to keep himself from slurring his words. She flinched at his voice, not expecting him to speak, almost like she forgot he was there. He tried not to let the reaction sting. She was the closest person he had at work. He did not want her to think ill of him. "Is there something wrong?"
She did not reply. The air around them grew colder. To his right, near the entrance of the bar, he heard another group fumble their way out and talk amongst themselves as they waited for their own rides. Tsukishima wanted to listen in to what they were saying, anything to keep him from being in this now suffocating silence that was too tense to go unnoticed.
"Is it something I did? Or said?"
He watched her try to hide a quivering lip. He caught a whiff of cigarette smoke from the other group but tried to ignore it.
The streets were dark, the moon hidden behind a curtain of clouds. They stood by the fluorescent lights, barely bright enough for Tsukishima to see her shoulders stiffen and her eyes look down to her feet. The blond sobered up slightly, taking in a harsh breath.
"I understand if you don't want to talk to me again. Not everyone is accepting about...my preferences, and that's fine. The last thing I would want is to make you uncomforta—"
"Have you ever been in love, Tsukishima-kun?" She interrupted. Taken aback, he turned to her, his hazy vision focusing on her downcasted head, her raven hair blocking her face from him. Her voice was soft, barely a whisper against the slow wind that had picked up. The muffled conversation of the other men died with the wind.
The breeze was enough to blow some of the girl's hair along, giving Tsukishima a chance to catch the trickle of water that had fallen onto her shoes. Completely unsure of what to do—what he did to make her cry—he placed a hand on her shoulders. It only seemed to make things worse, feeling her start to shake gently.
"Aoki, what's wro—"
"Have you ever been so in love that you can't breathe around them without your heart skipping a beat, without your dreams being filled with nothing but their smile and the colour of their eyes?"
Why was she asking him this? Right now? She must have known that he was in a questionable state of inebriation. Shouldn't she be telling this to Fukasawa, or Hatsutori, or someone else—anybody else?
But he didn't stop her. Didn't interrupt her, because he wanted to hear what she had to say. Because he had a feeling that he knew exactly what she talking about.
Yes, yes I know exactly how that feels.
"And then, one day, when you finally think you have enough courage to tell them—tell them how you feel, how you've felt since the first moment you saw them…they say something…that changes everything," She took a sharp breath, trying her best to keep her voice from breaking, "They say something that makes you realize that you two were never meant to be together..."
Yes, I have.
"That they could never love you back."
"I'm leaving, Tsukki."
"And they say something that just breaks your heart… Even though you thought that maybe, you had hoped that…"
"But why would you leave?"
"Why should I stay?"
"Just maybe...they might have felt the same for you."
In hindsight, Tsukishima could have said nothing. He could just stand there and pat her shoulder, waiting for her to tell him what was wrong. He could wait, and ride a cab with her and make sure she got home safe. He could do all of that without saying a word. Without ever saying anything out loud.
Stay with me, he wanted to tell him, please stay with me
But what good has keeping the things he wanted to say bottled up ever done for him? Maybe if he was a little more confident, like Aoki seemed to be, he would have said something when it mattered.
If he were braver, he might have confessed everything to Akaashi those weeks ago.
"Yes...yes, I do know what that's like."
"Give me one reason I should stay, Kei."
"Your senpai?" She asked, her breath hitching as tears started to drip down her cheeks, not a dimple in sight. Her glassy eyes moved to look at him, turning the jade hue a shade darker.
If he were bolder, he'd have been more direct, more honest that morning two weeks ago.
"Yes."
"You loved them?
Maybe if I just told him those years ago, he might have stayed.
He didn't want to stay silent anymore—saying nothing has only ever broken his heart.
"Yes," he whispered, letting the truth breathe openly into the night, the honesty only witnessed by one crying girl, "I loved him."
"Do you still? Love him?"
Me,he wanted to cry, For me.
"Yes," he said, light peeking out from the clouds, "Yes, I still love him."
He didn't realize he had looked away from her. All he knew was that he couldn't remember the last time the moon had looked so bright. He stared, alabaster light basking around him, his skin glowing. He didn't have to look back to know that the other girl was staring at him—she did that when she thought he wouldn't notice.
Kuroo used to do the same.
They were interrupted by a loud honk, the yellow taxi cab parking a few feet away from the curb, the driver unlocking the doors. The blonde quickly rose his hand, motioning that they were the customers that had called. He turned back to the girl, watching her quickly wipe away her tears. She pulled out a napkin from her coat, wiping her nose as she walked to the cab, pulling open the door and scooting to the other end of the backseat.
Tsukishima stood against the wall, fluorescent light crashing against his back harshly as the clouds rolled back over the sky. He wasn't sure what had happened, when the world had started moving again.
He suddenly felt all the night's drinking crashing back into his system, his vision distorted. The blond tried to take a solid step towards the cab but felt everything shift to the side. He thought he heard Aoki call out to him, but he really couldn't focus on anything but the warmth that wrapped around his waist.
"Are you okay there, Tsukki?"
The blond blinked rapidly, trying to get his eyes to focus, his glasses askew. The man holding him had gotten him on his feet, his hands still resting on the small of his back. Tsukishima looked at his knight-in-shining-armour, wondering if his fantasies had manifested into the bedhead that he longed for.
Maybe he did come back for me.
"What did you say?" Tsukishima asked, his own hands creeping around broad shoulders and a thick neck. He almost couldn't believe his own luck. I can't mess up this time. I have to tell him. I need this pain to stop. He needs to know, I need him to know!
"What did you say, Kur—"
"I asked if you okay there, cutie?"
The blond blinked and the former scheming captain disappeared, only to be replaced by the stranger that had not-so-subtly ogled him all night at the bar. Tsukishima felt himself loosen his hold on the man, his arms falling from the stranger's firm chest. Straightening out, he tried to step back and felt like he was going to tip over again. Strong hands held him up upright, shifting him until one arm is draped over the man's shoulders again, and he was being half-carried to the cab. The door was opened, Aoki sitting closer to the middle to grab onto the blond as he was settled into the window seat. The stranger took his time disentangling their limbs, positioning Tsukishima once he was seated.
He might have been too forward for the blond's liking, but he was looking more and more like the kind of meal Tsukishima could indulge in tonight. He needed it. He was hungry, yearning to be wanted by someone. The person that he wanted didn't feel the same.
Maybe I just need someone to want me.
"You gonna be able to make it home alright, blondie?" The man asked full of intent, his smile lopsided. Tsukishima could only stare at his mouth, words lost to him.
Kuroo smiled the same way.
"He'll be fine, creep."
He watched the stranger's face drop, a hand pushing him away from the door before it reached out to close it shut on his face. Tsukishima turned to the girl, who was huffing at the stranger still standing too close to the side door.
She quickly turned forward, giving the driver her address.
"One stop?" The cabbie asked, looking at the pair as if they were a couple.
"No, two. Just making sure she gets home safe, first," Tsukishima mumbled, closing his eyes as the taxi started moving forward picking up speed, the stranger forgotten by the curb.
"Actually, just one stop, please," Aoki corrected, getting a firm nod from the cabbie. Tsukishima opened his eyes, turning his head to the girl confused.
"No, two. I have to get hom—"
"You can't let random men do that to you," she interrupted harshly. The ravenhead kept her sight forward, trying to hide her glassy eyes again. Lost to what she meant, he tried to straighten up from his slouched position, trying to get a better look at her face.
"What?"
"You can't just let men practically grope you like that. It's unnatural."
The way she hissed at him made his blood drain from his face. He didn't want her to hate him, not her. She was the most like Kuroo. He didn't know if you could go without the sideways glances and the warm feelings it gave him. But he couldn't change.
He's never regretted being gay, but in this moment—amidst the tense smell of leather and the half-hidden moonlight that was bathing her profile as tears continued to roll down her cheeks—he wished he could take back what he had admitted earlier.
"I don't mean to interrupt your lover's quarrel or anything, but I'm Kenzo," the cabbie said, really oblivious about reading the room, "And I'd really appreciate it if you would be so kind as to inform me if anyone needs to hurl their guts out, please let me know so I could pull over—"
"We're not lovers," Aoki corrected, turning away to look out the window, her sniffling catching Tsukishima's ears, "Please keep your eyes on the road, sir."
"Ri-riiiight. Either way, it would be much appreciated. Just cleaned my car this morning," he finished with a smile, reaching over to the passenger seat to grab a plastic water bottle, handing it over his shoulders to them. "For you, goldie locks. Just in case you're feeling as queasy as you look."
Tsukishima took the bottle with a low 'thank you', unsure of what he was supposed to do to fix the hostility between him and the girl seated as far away from him as possible. But he never learned how to fix anything, he was usually the one breaking.
When they arrived in front of her building, Tsukishima followed her out, telling Kenzo the cabbie that he'd be back in a few minutes after he walked her to the door. The cabbie 'assured' the blond that he'd wait, giving him a strange wink before Tsukishima pushed himself away from the taxi and inside the building. The blond caught up with Aoki, walking beside her in silence into the elevator. He wasn't sure what to say, turning to look at her with a confused sort of anxiety.
She was still crying.
And even if he wasn't clear on the reason, he knew it was his fault.
"I'm sorry. If I said something that bothered you or did anything..."
She turned to look at him again, her blotchy cheeks slowly dusting with pink. When the elevator dinged, they stepped out to her floor, walking to her door down the long, off-grey hall. A lunette window casting the only light around them at the end of the walkway. When they stood on her welcome mat, they didn't move.
What more could he say? He still wasn't in any state to have any sort of serious conversation, let alone stand as long as he has. He still needed to get home and forget about the night. But she was still crying, and he couldn't let things be as they were.
"I didn't mean to hurt you, Aoki," he whispered, scared that she might not feel his remorse, his sinking stomach not helping, "I'd never want to make you upset or make you feel distressed. I don't… I don't want you to hate m—"
Her lips were soft and tasted like apple juice. He wasn't sure when she had gotten close enough to kiss him, couldn't remember when her hands had found their way around his neck, but he didn't push her off immediately.
Her tongue darted forward, tracing his lower lip in permission. The blond felt the girl tug him closer, her chest pressing against his sternum as he was forced to slouch. His world was still hazy, blurred at the edges and he couldn't tell if this was all real. He was so lost, unsure what had happened in the last couple of seconds. Seconds? Minutes? Years?
She stood on her toes to reach him, her hands finding his jaw as she tilted his head to deepen her kiss. He found his wits, bringing his hand to push her shoulders away carefully. When he looked back to her, she was fluttering her lashes open, lust and hope reflecting off her irises. Her tear streaked face looked soft as Aoki leaned back on her heels, her mouth parted and glossy from spit. Tsukishima felt his cheeks grow hot at the sight. But he still needed answers.
"Aoki—"
"Please think this through, Tsukishima-kun," she begged, grabbing his hands and bringing them to her chest, feeling the heat radiating from her as his left knuckle could feel her heart racing. "Please. You—You're so smart—so brilliant! Surely you could see I'm right."
What was she asking him for? For a second of make-believe? For a momentary, fleeting kiss that she could hold onto? The blond needed to know because he wasn't sure if he could give her anything beyond that.
"What are you saying?"
"You and I both know that I'm the right choice for you."
What was he suppose to say to that? It had been a long time since Tsukishima didn't have an answer for whatever came his way. Tongue-tied, his mouth parted in disbelief as his golden eyes shifted, unsure if this was really happening to him. His hands still in her grip, the blond straightened himself to his full height.
"Aoki," he said in the sternest voice he could muster at the moment, wanting to make sure there was no confusion or misunderstanding, "I'm gay."
"Yes, I know, I understand, but what good will come of that?"
They stood there in silence, the ravenhead anxious and Tsukishima flabbergasted. Shadows danced against their faces from the window as the fog kept shifting against light from the night sky. Before he could tell her that she didn't mean what she was saying, she shocked him once again.
"Th-this way of living won't work for you! You won't be able to have an honest life with other people or—or have a family," she tried to reason, the tears forming at the corner of her eyes again.
He wanted to stop her, wanted to tell her to stop saying such ridiculous things. But he didn't, because even if he couldn't understand where this was coming from, he could recognize the look in her eyes.
I know that look.
"I can be that for you," she whispered, hoping to finally get through to him, "I can be that normalcy. I can be someone you wouldn't have to be ashamed of."
Maybe Kuroo was ashamed of me.
"You would live a lie?" he asked, dumbfounded.
"Yes," she replied without hesitation.
"Because you're convinced you love me?"
"Yes," she was crying again, "Yes, I do love you. I do, I know I do!"
She sounded so certain, her breath coming out fast and her heart still drumming against his hand. His own heart was no better.
"How?" he asked, so unsure of how willing she was to throw everything away for him. For him—a boy who was lonely, and cowardly, and longed for someone else. Someone so unsuitable and unworthy, "How could you be willing to do that? I wouldn't be able to feel the same for you. I—I would never be able to see you that way."
"I know you couldn't give me everything," she choked, her voice breaking. And though her voice came across a solemn timbre, she wore a smile. A smile that said he was everything to her in this moment—a moment of complete honesty. "I know that. But please, just as long as I can have you, that would be okay. Even if it's a small part. Even just the part that's all for show and nothing else. I just want you, please."
The ravenhead gave him that look again. The blond just stood there, unmoving and cold, watching her tears roll down her eyes like diamonds as she begged him to give her a chance.
"It'll be hard, but over time, our love will be strong, stronger than anything just driven by attraction. We'll have loyalty. You might even learn to love me back," she choked out, "and you might have other lovers and moments that you succumb to your nature—I understand that—but then when you come back—when you come back to your senses, you'll have someone waiting for you, not caring of your faults. You'll have me."
He knows that look.
"I'll keep your secrets, I'll make sure you have a fulfilled life."
He's worn that look.
"Please just say yes to me. Please let me have you."
That look of desperation.
"I can make you happy. So, so happy, Kei. Don't you want that?"
Yes, yes he wanted that.
Aoki watched his expression soften, confused and at a loss from her confession. She pulled him down, dousing him with warmth as she kissed him again, hungry and frenzied. Tsukishima fumbled against her, shocked when he felt her force his hand to cup her breast, moving his fingers against the red knit in a kneading motion. Her other arm wrapped around his neck, bringing him closer.
This felt wrong, and forced, and sad. But he didn't fight her. Didn't push her away because he understood her need, her desperation.
It was the same reason he had asked Kuroo to stay that night weeks ago.
It was one last attempt—one last plea, asking him to give her a chance.
That she could make him happy.
Tsukishima opened his mouth, his tongue darting into her own, tasting her in the heat of the moment. He licked and prodded her tongue, using bruising force against her lips as she willingly let him take over. His hand on her breast palmed her, massaging the mound as she moaned against his mouth, giddy with the blond's new found enthusiasm. Tsukishima pushed her against her door, pinning the ravenhead against him. The hand around his neck moving to his golden locks, gripping brutally as she pulled his head to the side to taste him better.
She was willing to give him a lifetime of happiness if he asked. So he was willing to give her this moment. And even if she was too soft, too small, and too wrong for a number of reasons, he forced himself to give her this—this brief instant.
He didn't want to disappoint her anymore.
So he kept on kissing her, their teeth clinking against one another's like glass. And each gasp of air or quiet moan from her made it harder and harder to refuse her. To say no to her offer.
He wondered if it was this hard for Kuroo to say no to him, too.
Maybe the older man just pitied the blond all along, placating him and appeasing his desperation like Tsukishima was Aoki. Was Tsukishima no better, destined to string this girl along until she cried and moped and yearned for more of his attention for years to come? Was she destined to be waiting around for a moment's attention that would drive her to seek out more of his love that would never truly belong to her?
Because she would never be enough for the blond to love her back. No one would be enough to replace Kuroo in Tsukishima's heart.
But it was in this moment, frisking and kissing this girl he couldn't love—his rock-bottom, that he realized that he was the one who was never enough for Kuroo.
And that would never change.
He was gentle when he pulled away from her, stepping back as her eyes opened to disappointment. He never wanted to be the one to break her heart. He never thought himself capable of doing that to anyone at all.
It was always his heart that needed healing.
"I'm sorry," he said, stepping further away as Aoki slowly sank to the ground in disbelief, dropping onto her welcome mat in a heap.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, walking backward toward the elevator door. She was still so pretty, even with tears streaming down her face. The kind of pretty girl his mother would have wanted him to bring home, marry, and have a life with.
But this pretty girl wasn't Kuroo.
"I'm so sorry."
She was not enough to help him forget, either.
He finally turned away from her, leaving her crying at her doorstep. When the blond walked back outside her building, the cold air hit his face, his skin stinging against the winter frost. He looked around, not seeing the taxi anywhere in sight. If he wasn't drunk, he might have called another taxi to take him home. If he wasn't in a state of shame, he might have called Yamaguchi to pick him up. If he didn't just destroy a girl who deserved the world, he might have called Akaashi. But he couldn't bear to be around someone else—anyone else that might be cut with the knife that was Tsukishima Kei. Sharp, cold, and fatal.
He turned down the street, walking away from Aoki's place and the melancholy cry that caught his ears. He didn't know how, but he had somehow walked all the way home. When he finally reached his door and opened it, the morning sun had started to peek over the horizon from the view at his window.
Tsukishima toed off his shoes slowly, his feet burning from the walk he couldn't remember. The blond didn't bother changing or brushing his teeth before he dropped himself on his bed, thinking back to Aoki and the kiss.
He could have done a lot of things: could have given her a chance, could have just tried to let himself open up to more people, could have tried harder with the other men he's dated.
Could have moved on a long time ago.
But he didn't, because no one was good enough.
Yet.
He refused to give up. He refused to believe that he wouldn't find happiness.
But he wouldn't settle—not for some silly girl who wished he was different and not for the strangers who could never compare—not until he met that someone who made him completely forget about Kuroo Tetsurou.
Only then would he finally give his heart out again.
Tsukishima fell asleep with his coat on, dreaming of a time that his heart didn't hurt and his hand held another's. As he slept, he hoped—he wished that someone was out there, dreaming, waiting for him too.
February 5
Hinata
Hinata sat at the far side of the coffee shop with two mugs of warm tea and a plated piece of apple pie in the middle of the small table for two—a pair of forks resting on the plate untouched as the morning rush of patrons dwindled down to few. He and Kenma had agreed to meet at 9, but Hinata had been too restless to wait. The ginger had gotten there an hour early to get their favorite table in the back and had asked one of the servers if he could wait to deliver his order till a quarter before the designated meeting time. That way, the pie would still be warm by the time his boyfriend showed up.
If he showed up.
Nerves tangled and braided more and more like unkempt vines every moment that Hinata was left waiting for the doom he was positive was coming his way—thorns peeking out, drawing blood. He and Kenma had never had this big of a fight before, ever. They argued, like any couple, mostly about dumb trivial things that eventually sorted themselves out.
But Hinata had never said anything quite as spiteful to the bottle blond before.
It was more than a mere slip up. It was a landslide of a fuck up.
The ginger had panicked and wounded his boyfriend—buried his efforts in mud and scorned his endeavor to take a leap of faith with their future. Hinata has been eager for his boyfriend to try to be more bold with their relationship, so of course it's only when Kenma finally does that the ginger would go right ahead and mess everything up.
His plan so far consisted of waving down the former setter (hopefully not get punched in the face if he was lucky), allow him to quietly eat his pie until he spoke first, tell the bottle blond that he missed him (one whole week of not talking and two weeks without seeing each other really destroyed Hinata—he had moped around at the firehouse these past few days since he had to wait till his day off to properly see Kenma), and then apologize for being a complete asshole (from a scale of 1-10 on how big of an asshole he was, he was treading close to Tsukishima's level of 11). If all goes well, Hinata might even be able to tell Kenma that he was wrong to say what he said.
He hit below the belt and Kenma was nothing more than collateral damage to Hinata's cold feet. Fear prickled against his bone even now, just minutes away from moving forward from their worst fight to date, or…
No, it's fine. I'm fine. He'll forgive me, he will, because he's nice and thoughtful and warm and kind and nice and thoughtful and warm and AND GODDAMMIT WHY WOULD HE? I WAS A DUMBASS. There's no way he'll forgive me. I'm always just mememememe and he's always trying harder and I always take him for granted and—
The same inner monologue has been running through his head since the moment Kenma walked out his door two weeks ago, running away from Hinata as if he was a stranger. He ran to stop him, but failed, watching him scurry away from their problems and Hinata's resistance to their future. The ginger could still feel a soft soreness along his side, his bruise finally gone but the damage still very much present. Hinata had countless of scars that each had their own story, each accounting for some heroic endeavor that he jumped head first in without thinking. He never thought he would inflict those marks and wounds on Kenma, who did nothing to earn them. That's what happens when he just didn't think things through.
Shame rested in his chest and Kenma was that breath of fresh air that he needed. Always needed. So why was he so afraid to dive in head first and move in with the man he wanted?
Maybe he just didn't think of himself as a full-fledged adult yet, still shifting and changing and molting his feathers into someone he always thought he'd be eventually. And maybe he didn't think he was ready to be that person yet. But Kenma was...and he had every right to get tired of waiting on Hinata to get his shit together.
No. Stop. The redhead feverently shook his head, drawing a couple of looks from some patrons. He was here to apologize on how he reacted to Kenma, not about his decision. He couldn't force himself to be ready and willing—moving in together still seemed too soon for him. He didn't want Kenma to think that Hinata doesn't appreciate him, he really does. More than he would ever know.
Kenma had been the only reason Hinata ever became the man that he was today. The bottle blond was the only reason Hinata could stand tall and be sure of who he was. He's gone above and beyond for the ginger boy.
The only reason Hinata was able to choose a high caliber university from the few that had scouted him in his third year was only because Kenma had established study sessions every weekend the year before. They went over material on Skype so Hinata would not only stay on track with his studies but finally receive good marks on his test (even English!). He had just gotten by with his grades, Yachi also lending a hand, and surprisingly, Tsukishima (though, he's pretty sure that Kenma had asked Kuroo to put in a favor with the blond beanpole). He was able to keep playing volleyball, go to college (his mom, Yachi, and Takeda-sensei had simultaneously burst out into tears when he received his acceptance letters) and choose a school in Tokyo. Closer to Kenma, who had also admitted that he wanted Hinata to be nearby.
"Cause we're close friends...and I like hanging out with you," the blond mumbled into the speaker through the screen, his ears glowing pink.
Kenma was the one who assured him that his mom would still love him if Hinata told her that he was gay. The ginger only gained enough courage because Kenma assured him that he would still have someone there who cared for him. When he did tell her, the elder Hinata all but smiled and hugged her firstborn, telling him that she knew and that she loved him.
"Kenma?"
"Yeah. I wouldn't have said anything if he didn't, ya know, think it was a good idea."
The elder woman smiled, bringing her hand to stroke back the strands of hair that covered the redhead's forehead, her thumb gently tracing his hairline.
"I like that boy," she said, the wrinkles at the corner of her eyes crinkling, "he's good to you."
"Yeah! He's awesome," the boy beamed, "He's, like, one of my coolest friends!"
The woman turned back around where she had been starting on dinner, chuckling at her son's enthusiasm toward the older city boy.
"Just a friend?" she asked, implication thick in her tone.
Hinata blinked, and blinked, and blinked, caught off guard as he felt his cheeks burn and the hair on his arms rise.
After so many more things that the former setter had gone out of his way to do for the ginger, he had never once asked anything in return. Hinata couldn't count the amount of time that Kenma had come through for him—the times that he'd been a shoulder to lean on, a shield to protect him, a pillar whose structure never faltered. He was good, too good for someone like Hinata. All the bottle blond had seemed to ever want in return was Hinata's happiness.
And Hinata was always too selfish to let go. Kenma was his rock, his anchor. And, he had also become a great distraction when the redhead tried not to think about Kageyama.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a head of bleached hair walking passed the windows at the front of the cafe, stopping by the shop entrance. The redhead shot out from his seat, standing frozen as he watched the man pull open the door and heard a soft bell ring. The barista behind the bartop welcomed him in, the sound of steam filtering in the background like white noise.
Kenma inclined his head at the welcome, his large jacket drowning him as his eyes searched around the small, mostly empty establishment. When he finally caught sight of Hinata, the ginger held his breath. Next thing he knew, he had thrown caution—and his plan—to the wind as he made quick strides up to the older boy and wrapped the full length of his limbs—from his defined shoulders to his small fingertips (calloused not only from spiking and work, but from rubbing salt in wounds)—around the petite blond.
Kenma stiffened, his arms lifted at his sides as Hinata nuzzled his face on the crook of the blond's neck, smelling cigarette smoke and something sweet.
"I'm sorry!" the younger man cried into the pulse of the blond's throat, strands of hair tickling the side of Hinata's cheek, "I am so so sosorry!" He pinched his eyes shut, breathing in the older man's scent carefully. His heart felt panicked and hurried, not really sure if he could resist the stinging behind his eyes.
"Shouyou?" Kenma whispered, his posture still stiff in the redhead's arms. He was probably getting a few strange looks his way and was probably making Kenma really uncomfortable or self-conscious, but he held on tighter.
"I'm sorry, Kenma," he said, his words muffled as his lips spoke against soft, blushing skin, "I'm-I'm such an idiot. Please, just—I missed you. God, I missed you. So much. So much Kenma. Just, fuck, I'm so sorry."
Even with college and study sessions and a career, Hinata failed to find the right words. The words that might just fix everything. He repeated himself over and over, curses and cries and words of remorse slipping from his lips.
How long had they been standing there, blocking the entrance into the small cafe as their tea grew colder and the pie laid forgotten? Hinata didn't really care, keeping in mind that all that mattered was that he didn't let Kenma go, didn't let him leave again. This was his one shot to fix everything. He wouldn't let go until he was certain Kenma knew every ounce of regret the redhead was feeling.
Then, warmth found it's way around Hinata's waist, soft hands pressing on his spine like a gentle kiss. The hesitance was obvious, as well as the awkwardness, but Kenma still wrapped himself fully around the redhead, his chin leaning into the younger boy's collarbone.
"I didn't mean what I said," Hinata whispered, his heart clenching at the weight of Kenma's head leaning next to his own, "I know I hurt you and I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, really. I was wrong to say that. I panicked, I'm sorry." He kept repeating himself, muffling out apology after apology against the blond.
Then the older boy nodded, tickling his ear with light fine hairs.
"I know. I'm sorry, too."
After another two minutes of their embrace, Kenma started to fidget from the attention they had from others in the tiny cafe (even if it was just the two baristas and an elderly woman). Hinata pulled away, gently grabbing the other's wrist and lead them to the table in the back where their too-sweet breakfast awaited.
They sat, Kenma pulling off his coat against the back of his seat. The former setter took a sip of his still warm tea as Hinata drank the boy in, wondering if Kenma had always looked so cool. The ginger grabbed his fork, and waited for Kenma to do the same before he dug in, watching as the blond kept sending shy looks his way as he slowly chewed.
There were four chunks missing from the pie when Kenma finally spoke up.
"You know, I feel kinda lost."
"Lost? Why's that?" Hinata asked, a bit of whip cream sticking to the top of his lip. The blond smirked, moving his hand up then back down unsure. The redhead watched as his boyfriend gulped, looked back up before slowly reaching across the small table and wiped the cream off with his pinkie. Hinata blushed fiercely at the innocent touch.
"Well," he starts bashfully, looking away from Hinata's face so he couldn't see how flustered he looked, "I came here and...I was supposed to apologize first. I had it all thought out too. Now, my order is all messed up. I don't even know how to start."
"Don't," Hinata interjected, "you don't have to start. There's no reason for you to apologize, I was being a dumbass."
"That's...sweet. But, I bombarded you with a new apartment and the assumption you'd be moving in too, and that wasn't okay. I—I'm sorry," he said, looking down at his shoes. His voice dropped to a whisper, "You were right—and I can't believe I almost let something so dumb get in between us. I'm sorry."
"Kenma, look at me," Hinata grabbed the older boy's hand, the fork in his grip dropping onto the table, "I'm the one who's wrong. I'm the idiot who's too scared to move in together. Okay? It's me who's the dumb one, always. And I'm too selfish to share that title with you. So you're stuck being the smart one. Got it?"
"But—"
"Got it?" he repeated, wanting the other boy to agree. He meant every word. He always knew Kenma was too good for him, deserved more. He deserved someone who was willing to take those steps with the blond and deserved someone who could give him the world because he deserved nothing less. He didn't deserve reluctance or unsureness. He didn't deserve to end up with someone like Hinata, stupid and dependent and selfish.
The blond nodded.
"Good."
But the redhead was selfish, and if Kenma was still willing to be with Hinata then the redhead wouldn't convince him otherwise. Yeah, sure, he was a dumbass, but he wasn't that much of a dumbass to ruin any second chance Kenma was giving him just because he knew that he wasn't good enough. If Kenma was okay with settling for the ginger, then Hinata wasn't going to take it for granted.
"Shouyou?" Hinata locked onto sharp, topaz eyes that stared back with such softness, Hinata could have just melted right then and there.
"Yeah?"
"I missed you."
Two weeks without Kenma's smile was rough. One week of complete radio silence from the blond was torture. But this—this beautiful, electric feeling that built up inside him whenever the older boy looked at him with so much love would have been impossible to endure for a moment longer. To think that he hadn't turned into a complete wreck was astounding because he didn't think that he would ever move on if they ever actually broke up.
"Me too."
"You did?" Kenma asked, biting his bottom lip from nerves. Hinata felt his heart swoon.
"Yeah. I missed you like crazy."
They ended up leaving not long after that, leaving a tip as they exited through the door and walked down the street to the train. Their knuckles brushed against the other, walking almost shoulder to shoulder as they maneuvered past the Tokyo crowd. When the redhead became unsure if he should reach out or not, he felt Kenma soft hand glide along his palm until their fingers laced together.
He looked up to see his boyfriend looking straight ahead, a small smile surrounded by cheeks painted pink. Taking the wheel was always Hinata's thing, always initiating them forward as a couple. But this bolder Kenma, the one who took risks and reached out first, is something Hinata could get very much used to. No longer afraid of taking a leap, Kenma had just made Hinata fall even more in love with him if it were possible. Even if he sometimes stumbled, Kenma would be there catch him.
Oikawa
Hiding away from the public eye was what Oikawa had been doing since the news got out about he and Ushijima a week ago, held prisoner in his own home out of fear of the press and the masses. The setter was known for being out and about amongst the general populous and almost always surrounded by fans, but Oikawa had been wary. There had been a lot of news circling around the couple, speculating about their relationship. A few articles from well-known sites were particularly cruel and bigoted about their status, spitting out biased and close-minded rhetoric that made Oikawa question how the words 'respected' and 'valid' became associated with the reporters in the first place.
And even though Oikawa knew better than to look online (Ushijima had been very annoying all week, hiding the brunet's phone and changing the wifi password so Oikawa wouldn't succumb to the curiosity of the interwebs) he had to know. He had to know what was being said about him. Being someone who thrived, no, lived off of his fans' love for him and the publicity he received from both his good looks and superb talents, Oikawa couldn't not check for himself.
On Monday, after many failed attempts, he finally guessed his neighbor's wifi password correctly (1223334444, very original) and google-searched himself—a practice that he practiced every other day. And in the first time in forever, Oikawa did not like most of what he found.
Never had the chestnut haired man been the focus of such disgusting slander and hate. It took all of twenty minutes on his laptop to march back into his own room and cry his eyes out again. Ushijima returned from practice to find Oikawa in the same state as the day their relationship went public.
Breaking down every other hour had become a chore for the handsome setter, exhausting himself as he failed to keep his nerves in check. All the falls of depression and low moments kept Oikawa in his apartment like a hermit for a week.
Ushijima had been absent for one day and then showed up to practice the next. He seemed barely fazed from the scandal, pushing his way passed all the paparazzi and ignoring people who begged for juicy details or public statements about their private life. Oikawa wasn't sure if his boyfriend even noticed or if he simply wasn't bothered by the cameras and tape recorders being shoved in his face. After the fourth day, Oikawa had asked how the large spiker wasn't a complete mess unlike himself. He simply said:
"I don't care what anyone else thinks. Your opinion is the only one that's important when it comes to us."
Oikawa envied his simple rationality, it made everything more bearable. Ushijima was right, nothing that anyone else said would change either man's mind when it came to each other. The press didn't determine what they were to each other, only them. But it still stung as Oikawa would read articles and forums and catch the words like 'faggot' all over the comments.
He was still hurting, but after hearing his boyfriend's constant reassurances, Oikawa started to feel like himself again. He needed to take a short break and allow the buzz around him to die down before he could go out in public again with confidence.
The vultures outside, however, were not making it easy.
They were ruthless, constantly bombarding Ushijima as he came and went from their building, shamelessly spouting out intrusive questions.
"How long have you been secretly seeing each other?"
"Did you always know you were a homosexual?"
"Why have you been lying to your fans?"
"Do you think that your relationship will have an effect on your team?"
"When should we expect Oikawa to make a formal apology to the public?"
Oikawa had been so anxious to deal with them that he was forced to use the treadmill in the apartment gym so he wouldn't be spotted if he tried to venture outside for his morning runs. It was ridiculous.
Oikawa still couldn't get over how the couple had ordered pizza on Wednesday night, only for the delivery boy to pull out some fancy camera and blind the setter with flashes the moment he opened the door (the kid didn't get the last laugh, however, when Ushijima stepped up and knocked down the camera where it completely shattered to pieces. Since the fucker had been trespassing, all he could do was run away and not wet his pants at the threatening aura from the large ace, else there might have been some serious backlash on the couple and Ushijima's temper).
He's had no peace in his own home for a week and it was even seriously starting to affect his complexion—small blemishes peppering on his chin ("Where?" Ushijima asked, squinting as he carefully looked at the setter's chin, seeing no such imperfection. "Right there, Waka-chan!" Oikawa whined, pointing to the bumps running along underneath his bottom lip. When his boyfriend shook his head, saying that he didn't see anything, Oikawa bolted back into the bathroom, rigorously lathering on his face scrub).
Quarantined, Oikawa took the time to message everyone who had tried to get in touch with him back, letting them know that he was okay, each in his own special way. He called back his family who had been worried sick and made sure that his coach hadn't benched him due to his absence. His friends, however, needed a little more reassurance.
To: Satan#1
- Makki! All is well, I'm just staying out of the limelight for a while. Giving someone else a moment in the spotlight. But the Great Oikawa Tooru will return with a vengeance and take what's rightfully mine, looking just as fabulous as always (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑ ! Just need a few vacation days to cleanse my aura and realign my chakras #namastelife #atpeace (˘ʃƪ˘). Also, don't you think that was a low blow, commenting on how my nose was "running like a broken fire hydrant"? It wasn't projectile dripping, my nose was gently weeping with me, empathetic of my plight unlike you insensitive heathens!
Anyways, I'll see when I can make time for both you and Mattsun to thoroughly interrogate me...100% can't wait. Love you both, thank you -
To: Mini-Me~
- ! AAH OMG, Yahaba-chan, YAS (◕ヮ◕)! A spa day is exactly what I need. Spending a whole day just spilling and talking shit and planning murders, I can't wait ╰( *ˊᵕˋ* )╯. Make an appointment and I'll be there ✧*٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و✧*! Text me what day works! Thank you Yahaba-chan! -
To: Katboy
- Holy crap, Kuro-chan, shut up. Everything is fine. I know you can't get enough of my voice, but stop calling me already, my voicemail is completely full and at least half of those are from you! I don't even know what you're saying, it reminds me of that time you got a fishbone caught in your throat and you were too scared to swallow or make any movements with your mouth so you spent a solid forty-five minutes making alarm noises as a mode of communication. Also, I'd love to reluctantly eat with you, provided that you're buying, of course (◡‿◡✿)! I do really appreciate your suffocating love, Kuro-chan, you remind me of the smothering mother I moved out of the house to avoid!
Waka-chan says "Hello" in his grumpy happy voice and wants to see you soon. Off topic too, but we also have to figure out what groomsmen gift we're giving Kou-chan. (Don't let Waka-chan convince you into getting a plant. I know he's swaying you with that flower language thing, but no. I don't care if he finds a flower that represents the meaning of life, if he brings up plants one more time, IS2G (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ! ) Let's meet up soon before you break into our apartment. OH, btw, Kei-chan lost your scarf ٩(•̤̀ᵕ•̤́๑) -
To: AkaAagahaGashi
- Hey, Kashi-chan. Thanks for giving me a heads up on your boy, I'll make sure he doesn't break down my front door (again). I would love to talk about a statement, I figured I'd need one soon, thank you. Btw, I don't know what you're talking about. Kou-chan and I just practice late. No biggie, everyone needs to chill~ -
To: Bokuto Koutarou
- Kou-chan, I really hope that's your autocorrect speaking, because I didn't want 45 messages worth of spam talking about toilet bowl cuisines and anthropomorphic art supplies. Also, what have you been doing you doofus? Your Kashi-chan is getting super suspicious and his messages are getting borderline hysterical (⊙_⊙). -
Over two dozen or so people had spammed his phone, (even Tobio sent a picture of soft petals, texting everything is okay, Hana-san is there for you) questioning what was going on or asking if he was okay. However, every new call or text only filled Oikawa with anxiety, constantly looking at his screen for a new notification. He wasn't scared that some reporter would get his private number or annoyed with the constant worrying from his friends. No.
Of all the missed messages, missed calls, not one of them was from Iwa-chan.
Not a single fucking one. Which was blasphemy seeing as how, being the setter's best friend, he had an obligation—no, a privilege to check up on the brunet to make sure he was doing well, or at least to make sure he wasn't falling apart. Iwa-chan should have texted the first day telling Oikawa that he was going to get answers from the chestnut haired man or he'd strangle it out of him, and Oikawa would give them. He expected him to show up the hour the news got out with a suitcase and plane tickets to Jamaica for a month-long break of healing (something Oikawa would for sure 100% have done for him), but Iwa-chan didn't. His best friend should have at least called him on the second day (and even the second day was pushing it, like he had expected before, the hour the news came out) to scream at him for not telling him about his boyfriend sooner, and he would've taken it. He should have at least barged in, yelling at him to not wallow around his apartment, and Oikawa would've let him stay to lecture him further. He even would've been fine with Iwa-chan throwing some sci-fi movie DVDs in his face at the door and leaving without a word. But nothing. One whole week of radio silence. The only time they had gone this long without contacting each other was when they had broken up.
At first, he had been upset, wondering if his friend really hated him now for lying. Then he became restless, wondering if this was the calm before the storm. Now, he was starting to get pissed.
Sure, yeah, Oikawa lied (technically omitted, but that's beside the point) about being in a long-term relationship with his nemesis under everyone's noses and continued to pretend they were nothing more than teammates who roomed together. Big whoop. Oikawa could have done (and now that he thinks about it, had done) a lot worse. He's more than certain that if he murdered someone and called Iwa-chan to bury the body, his grumpy best friend would get over it faster than he seems to be getting over setter's current predicament.
So why the fuck was his inbox empty of impending death threats and beyond degrading pet names?!
He wasn't asking for much, just for his best friend to forgive him, apologize for ignoring him, then console him on his fucked up dilemma. It's not like he was asking for the moon!
Maybe he was being bratty. Or petty. But Oikawa has had a tough week so being a little unreasonable wasn't really that unreasonable. So instead of finding some sort of distraction from all the hate and smear campaigns, he decided to distract himself from Iwa-chan—by wearing a totally masterful disguise consisting of an old baseball cap and heavily-tinted sunglasses as he snuck out through the back entrance of his apartment building, and ventured to practice fashionably late.
He had seen the janitor come in and out of the back exit to take his smoke breaks, figuring out exactly how to make his way out of the building undetected. Oikawa was willing to endure hat-hair just so he could get some fresh air and forget about his best friend ignoring him.
When he rounded the corner in the alleyway, he peeked his head out from the dumpster on his side, making sure the coast was clear of any questionable people (paparazzi and delinquents alike). Carefully, he walked out from the shadows and managed to merge into the foot traffic of the city, pulling his coat collar up to his chin. His duffle bag bounced against his shoulder blades as he briskly walked to the train station, trying his best to blend in with the commoners before him, all unaware that the weirdo—eccentric trendsetter—with the faded hat and too-big sunglasses was, in fact, the Great Oikawa Tooru.
Under normal circumstances, the setter would be surrounded by a hoard of fans as he walked through the streets, but now, Oikawa jumped out of his skin whenever he saw someone glance his way, terrified that he'd be recognized. His felt like he had a big neon sign above his head flashing, letting everyone know his fame and insecurities with each step.
Step. Oikawa Tooru, setter extraordinaire and celebrity.
Step. Queer.
Step. Vice-captain of the JVB team.
Step. Fairy.
Step. Glorious dream boat and Japan's sexiest man of the year.
Step. Queen.
Step. National treasure.
Step. Faggot.
He swept again along the crowd of Tokyo, his eyes darting from one pair of eyes to another, hoping none looked at him with recognition. Paranoia chilled his bones, goosebumps tickling his skin. When he finally made it to the train, he let out the breath as he squeezed into a cart. The brunet took out his phone, trying to keep his face from view and act like a normal person.
He clicked on every new notice he had gotten since he left his apartment: a calendar reminder about his dentist appointment, his poetic lunar app notification about the crescent moon coming up, no new messages from Iwa-chan, a dozen new DMs, an email from Akaashi, a notice that he hit his walking goal for the morning, still no new text from his awful best friend—
Ugh! This is so annoying! The chestnut haired heartthrob was never one for self-control, but Iwa-chan knew how trivial Oikawa was and still refused to text him first. He was blatantly giving the setter reason to worry and was expecting Oikawa, of all people, to be the bigger person and reach out. But Oikawa was above that sort of immaturity.
He doesn't want to talk to me, fine. Fine! I don't want to talk to him either! Whatever, I'll just go to practice. I don't need the press getting me down, stupid Iwa-chan and his stupid lack of concern to get me down. Down? No way, baby, there's only up for me! Head in the game, staying woke and staying on top. Staying on that grind. Always focused, always working. Blessed life, stay humbled. Number one, never two. All this hate is motivation for me. My greatness never quits, I NEVER QUIT! I'M GREAT! I'M OIKAWA FUCKING TOORU. I'M THE BEE'S FREAKIN' KNEES! TOO-RU, TOO-RU, TOO-RU! YEAAH YEAAHHH! I'll show him. I'll show them all!
With renewed vigor, Oikawa straightened his spine and held his head up after an entire week of fixing his gaze to his feet. When the train got to his stop, he had a pep to his step as he made his way to the national team's gymnasium.
Walking into the empty locker rooms, Oikawa quickly changed into his practice gear, taking note of the additional duffle bags that littered some of the benches. The setter finally realized that the extra baggage probably belonged to the players who lived outside of Tokyo during the off season. Seeing as the tour was starting soon, some familiar and unpleasant members would be showing up for practice in the weeks to come.
The sound of balls hitting the ends of the court and sneakers squeaking against the wooden floor resonated as the starting setter walked into the practice gym. Some of the chatter from a few benchwarmers stopped when he passed them and the rest of the regulars slowly started to notice his attendance. The confidence that Oikawa had formed since his train ride had begun to dissipate, the knot stuck in his throat twisted and hardened into boulders that sank down his gut. Just as he began to think that venturing out into the world was a horrible idea and he should go back to his room and hide, a small bundle of black and blond blurred across the gym and tackled him to the ground.
Oikawa hit the floor with a thump, the wood cold beneath his clothed back. His shoulders stung from the fall, but the weight on his chest and stomach was of more concern at the moment.
"Holy shit, you're alive!" Nishinoya belted, arms around the handsome setter's shoulders. Oikawa tried to collect himself and reply past his bewilderment, but next thing he knew, both he and the tiny libero were lifted off the ground until his feet hung a few centimeters off the floor. Sandwiched between a pair of beefy arms, the chestnut haired man turned his head and caught sight of silver and black streaks from the corner of his eyes. He sighed, a small smirk catching on his face as Bokuto and Nishinoya clung to him like koalas.
"OIKAWA! We missed you!" Bokuto yelled, causing the setter to turn his ear away from the screeching.
"Where the fuck have you been? I've been here for days and you barely showed up!" The libero yelled in equal (if not greater) volume, trapping Oikawa (and his precious ears) to endure the screaming on both ends.
"Akaaghshi said you didn't want to see me!"
"Miss more practice and Kageyama is gonna take your spot, bitch!"
"Ushijima said it wasn't true! But why would Akaghaghshi lie to me?!"
"I was worried about you, pretty boy! Why you making me worried, hah!?"
"Miya was being too nice to me! I think he was making fun of me in secret! HALP!"
"I'll beat you up and skewer you next time you make me worry!"
"You didn't tell Akaagghshi about the thing, right?"
Oikawa wasn't certain what to reply to first, or at all. Overwhelmed with his teammate's ambush he allowed himself to be manhandled roughly until a cough interrupted the other two's roughhousing. All three turned their heads to Ushijima standing to their side, a pleasant expression on his face as he quirked a brow to Oikawa. The setter felt the corner of his lips turn up, hoping his boyfriend could be of some assistance.
"I'm surprised to see you here," Ushijima said, his barely-there smile turning the stones in Oikawa's stomach into fluttering butterflies.
"Figured the rest of the team had gone too long without me gracing them with my presence," the chestnut haired setter said, a taunting tilt to his head making his bangs fall against his forehead.
"Pretty sure most of us don't feel that way," the tiny libero jibed, a snickering Bokuto finally letting the two down. Oikawa huffed in playful annoyance.
"How can you say that after the emotional week I've had, Noya-chan!?" he whined, hands fisted at his side as he pouted at the laughter both Bokuto and Nishinoya cracked at his expense.
"Hey, that was all your fault," Bokuto chided, crossing his arms in front of his chest, "You're the one who took so long to show your face! I would have cheered you up in a second!" he vouched. Nishinoya nodded his head in agreement, patting (hitting) the setter's back harshly.
"No need for the strong face," the short stacked libero consoled, a genuine gleam in his eyes shined as he placed his hand on the taller man's shoulder, "We're all just glad you're okay." Though Oikawa wanted to argue and claim that all was fine, that he was fine, he stopped himself. If anyone else knew what Oikawa must be going through, it was Nishinoya and Bokuto, who had both at some point dealt with the onslaught of disgusting rumours and accusations throw their way because they wanted their relationships with their partners to be public knowledge. They seemed happy with their decisions, still very much with said partners and still ignoring the haters that crossed their path.
Oikawa envied them, wondering if he'd ever get to the same level of comfort and normalcy that both dual hair teammates seemed to have found being officially 'out'. His heart felt full, the simple words lifting the heavy anxiety that rested on his chest for a week.
"Thank you," he said. Simple, sweet, and honestly, glad to have been lucky enough to have friends as intrusive and as selfless as them. Nishinoya returned with a large smile, words already dancing on his lips.
"If you ever wanna talk to som—"
"If you ever wanna talk to someone," Bokuto pushed through, interrupting Noya altogether, "I'm always here! I know all about this stuff and press! Akaakghshi too!" The libero's brow twitched at the interruption but he didn't say anything, taking the high strung wing-spiker in stride like the rest of them.
"Thanks, Kou-chan," he said, "I'll remember that." With that, the two hyperactive teammates rushed back to the individual practice on the other side of the gym, telling Oikawa that they'd better not see him slacking. The setter half smiled after them, knowing he'd have to endure the rest of the day with similar antics and awkward consolation. He was already dreading it. Hopefully, no one would treat him differently than before, especially seeing as he and his boyfriend weren't really the type for public displays of affecti—
Soft, warm lips grazed his cheekbone gently, the chapped skin and barely there scruff against his boyfriend's chin tickled his handsome face. Oikawa's eyes widened as light air danced between their skin, Ushijima's mouth a hair's breadth away.
The quiet mumbling and hard looks the setter received when he first walked in the gym were nothing like the absolute silence that fell around them now. Once the setter finally processed the poorly timed kiss, his brows creased as he went from shock to braindead. Oikawa brought his hand up to skim over the wet spot as he turned to Ushijima, the ace finally taking a full step back looking far too pleased with himself. The butterflies in his stomach had now turned into hot, blaring fireworks.
Then Ushijima smirked.
Like a fucking asshole. Ushijima turned away from his boyfriend, walking back to the far court, seemingly unconcerned with their teammates shocked (and amused?) faces.
"Hurry up and stretch," the larger man said over his shoulder, "We've already wasted plenty of practice time. You especially."
Oikawa choked on his spit. He puffed his cheeks as his face turned red.
"Just because everyone knows doesn't mean you can be so casual, Waka-chan!" He yelled, a pout making him look even brattier. The ace just kept on his way, unapologetic and continued his practice with Sakusa as if nothing happened. As Oikawa crossed his arms and made his way to the coaches, his blushed remained, the wet spot on his cheek slightly hotter than the rest.
Luckily, the coaches found pity on him, brushing off his week on absence with a slap on the wrist and a warning. As he sat next to the far wall and began his stretches, a vile stench drifted under his nose. The stench of hubris.
Seeing as Oikawa spritzed on some Bleu de Chanel just this morning, it couldn't be himself. Which left the only other team member with an ego as big as his.
"My, my, Oikawa. I was starting to worry that'd you'd never show up." The former Seijoh captain tipped his head up to Miya Atsumu, the over confident setter extraordinaire with his cocky smile and a knack for getting under Oikawa's skin.
"Miya-chan," he leered, stretching the name with a too-sweet tone, "didn't expect to see you for another couple of weeks. What happened? Did Poland want to get rid of you that badly?"
Oikawa couldn't help the smug grin the grew on his face when Miya's smile twitched, a hefty sign that he was still bitter over his Polish club's loss only a few weeks ago.
"Unfortunately the season ended for us sooner than expected. As I'm sure you know." Of course, Oikawa knew. He kept up with the younger man's stats and games, always staying on top of his competition. It was already a lot staying in tip-top shape with Kageyama looming in the shadows ready to take his spot permanently. Miya was a whole other dilemma, that luckily seemed to stay away in Europe for six months of the year. Being around the younger setter brought out an ugliness that Oikawa didn't know he possessed seeing as how he was so blessed with beauty.
"Then again," Miya added, "not as quickly as your season did, at least."
The patience that Oikawa saved up for the past couple of months had all been for the purpose of being able to be around Miya without gauging the other man's eyes out with a used, rusty spoon. Probably wasn't going to last the entirety of the tour. The fake smiles they threw each other didn't diffuse the voltage that sparked between their glares. A low, awkward cough pulled them both from the staring contest.
"Um," Kageyama said, a volleyball held in both hands in front of him as he looked between his two senpais with unease, "Ushijima-san told me to tell you guys to, um," he looked up, trying to remember what the exact words were, "'play nice. Or he was going to send over Aone-san to reprimand you both."
A shiver ran down Oikawa's spine, mutely reminded about the few times Aone would stare him down whenever he did something stupid during practice. Seeing the look on Miya's face, he seemed to be remembering a similar encounter with the large middle-blocker as well. The light haired setter huffed as he walked away from Oikawa, the latter getting back to his stretches.
After that, practice went smoothly. Some of the players who were away for their individual clubs fell right into place with the home-based players, their timing and game-play in sync with the rest. Oikawa felt like nothing was different, like nothing had shifted in his world. In here, he wasn't bombarded with questions and scandal. He was just a setter.
Within the gym walls, he was the confident Oikawa Tooru he had always dreamt of being.
He didn't feel as small as he did out in the world.
After the hours had passed and the rest of his teammates had given their positive support towards the setter, Oikawa was warming down next to his boyfriend, both taking their time as the rest of the team fizzled out the door. When they finished, they washed up and gathered their things, both exiting the locker room slowly. Standing in front of the building's exit, Oikawa stopped. Beyond those doors were tons of people just waiting for some sort of scoop they could get their hands on. Just waiting for a moment worth capturing to sell and profit from, regardless of the person exploited.
Out there, the world was scary, and Oikawa's security blanket had yet to text him back.
Calloused skin feathered across his right palm, the larger man intertwining their fingers slowly before completely encasing the setter's hand. A smile broke across the brunet's face before he could stop himself, matching Ushijima's own. With borrowed courage and the confidence of knowing that his feelings didn't sway from a few mean comments, he and his boyfriend opened the doors, walking out into flashing lights.
Probably cameras. But maybe fireworks.
Kenma
Smiling never seemed like something that Kenma would associate with pain, but his cheeks burned and his jaw ached because he just could not stop smiling. It wasn't his usual soft smile, with crinkled eyes and light blush. His smiles were all teeth all day, the corners of his lips stretched and wider than ever before. It couldn't be helped really.
Kenma and Shouyou were finally, finally okay again—holding hands and blushing when caught staring at each other. He loves me, the blond kept reminding himself, smitten all over again for the boy with carrot hair and a smile that gave meaning to his grey being able to walk next to him again sent Kenma's heart fluttering. How he spent two weeks away from the redhead, he didn't know. Being unable to just hold the smaller man against him was unbearable, not wanting to draw anymore attention to themselves like back at the cafe. As soon as they stepped onto the pavement, however, weaving through the city streets together, the very thought of still being allowed to hold his boyfriend's hand sent waves of euphoria coursing through his veins. He still loves me.
It might be silly, but Kenma was genuinely worried that he had ruined any and all chances of reconciling with Shouyou, seeing as how he seemed to have pushed the younger man too far that time. Forcing such a large step in their relationship on Shouyou was all on Kenma, but somehow they made it through, and he had gotten the answers he'd been searching for.
They didn't want to break up.
They still had to work on communicating their feelings to one another.
And when it came to taking the next steps in their relationship, they weren't there yet. But they were on their way to be.
Affirmation was never something that the bottle blond thought he needed, figuring that he was above the need to always be constantly reassured of his Shouyou's affections for him. This fight had both destroyed a lot of walls that the couple hadn't realized existed and created a lot of walls they never knew they could build until it all went to shit. But now, they both wanted to build bridges to ensure that they never have another fight like this again.
We're still happy.
After they spent the rest of the morning going over what they each did for the past two weeks, amidst getting crepes and going to the outlet store, Kenma learned that perhaps there was still some mystery in the relationship he was so certain had grown stagnant. There were still small surprises and unfamiliarity that made their catching up feel as if Kenma had finally unlocked a whole new level to his boyfriend—beating his already high score. Fresh and new, like when they were in high school. The familiar fear of messing up was more prominent than ever for Kenma, but his eyes still crinkled and his smile never wavered. They didn't need to be shoved in a more serious direction, all they needed was a gentle nudge.
All this had the bottle blond rethinking and questioning all their past talks, on what Kenma had done that made him miss this very different side to the Shouyou that might have been there all along. This Shouyou was still the same boy he knew, but this man was grown and confident and certain about Kenma. He didn't want to seem desperate, jumping from huge fight to domestic bliss, but Shouyou made him happy. Happier than he's been in two miserable weeks. And now, on solid ground and holding hands, Kenma smiled, because Shouyou was everything to him and he finally knew that he was everything to Shouyou.
He still needs me, the gamer thought, he still wants me.
In his musing, he must have missed some sort of joke because Shouyou began to laugh softly, nose scrunched and eyes shut.
'I missed your laugh the most,' is what Kenma wanted to tell Shouyou every time his boyfriend burst into giggles—a melody so pure and bright, so rich with joy that Kenma wanted to catch it in his palms and bottle it all up for himself. Such an easy reaction to get from Shouyou, but Kenma felt special whenever the ginger laughed quiet enough for only him to hear. That sound was what he had ended up longing for when they were apart.
What surprised Kenma as they caught up was how much he had ended up missing the redhead's questions during their time away, too. Used to the endless inquiry about games, plans, schedules, and overall randomness, he would think that the two weeks apart would have been a nice breather for him. But no one else asked him anything. Kuroo never needed to ask Kenma anything, his mother-hen intuition giving him all the answers to whatever he might be wondering about the younger boy. The rest of his friends never bothered him either, figuring Kenma would just see it as a bother—which he would. But that wasn't the case with Shouyou, whose natural curiosity and musing always filled up their conversations, and Kenma's low voice always gave in to his childish wonder and verbatim words. Pleasing as his laugh, Kenma missed the voice that filled Kenma's heart like music.
The younger man seemed naturally gifted at immediately lifting Kenma's spirits, letting the bottle blond soak up all of the sunshine in his grasp. All morning, Kenma kept wondering why he ever let himself doubt and falter where the couple was heading with their relationship.
Maybe he had just been a fool.
But if he was honest with himself, really honest, it had been the fear that Shouyou would eventually grow tired of him if nothing changed soon. It was still there, that daunting worry. However, panic and embarrassment had made him miserable—what he had thought was shielding his heart had only made him suffer more. So he ignored that gnawing feeling at the back of his throat and pushed down the crippling anxiety and held onto the ginger's hand tighter.
He still loves me.
That's all that matters, he came to realize.
The sun was still high in the sky, mid-afternoon somehow sneaking up on the couple who lost track of time. Before Kenma could suggest where to grab some really late lunch, Shouyou said that they could order in pizza. Back at his place. The nerves tingled his spine again.
The last time they were both in Shouyou's apartment was not the most pleasant memory for the older boy. Before he could mumble his concerns, however, Shouyou turned away, trying his best to hide a very surprising blush.
"Maybe...I don't know, I can pack up some stuff. Ya' know, to keep at your new place. If you want, but it's okay if you don't..." the boy almost (almost) whispered. The shock registered slowly for Kenma, unsure if there was a rational reason for the sinking feeling in his stomach.
It felt almost out of place to see Shouyou so...unsure. As if he was trying to hide his own worries and fears of rejection behind his happy demeanor, like wearing a poker face but holding no cards in hand to play. He was gambling with no real assurance that Kenma wouldn't recoil at the thought of going back to being where they started.
Kenma didn't answer immediately, at a loss of what it was he wanted exactly. Nothing would really be different if Shouyou did take a few items to Kenma's place, they'd both visit frequently and keep the keys to each other's apartment. It still wouldn't be their home, but…
"Yes," Kenma agreed. It wouldn't be their home, but it would feel that way with Shouyou there within the too tall walls and too large rooms. With sweet laughter and bright smiles and warmth that he couldn't live without, that would help fill up all the empty space that suffocated Kenma when he tried to fall asleep to silence. "Yes, I'd like that," he clarified.
Maybe it was the fact that Kenma had allowed Shouyou to settle back into his home so easily, or maybe the surprised expression on the ginger's face was due to how quickly the bottle blond had allowed his boyfriend to occupy a new space that he wasn't sure he was welcomed in given the past few weeks. All Kenma knew, however, was that he had felt like a stranger in his new apartment since he moved in, and the cold draft that seemed to be permanently rooted in the foundations of his place needed to disappear. He needed to let in some sunshine.
Making their way back to Shouyou's place, Kenma's worries kept rising back up, wondering if it was a good idea to return to the same place that had been the stage of their almost break-up. It's fine, he reminded himself when they were just a block away from Hinata's flat, It's okay, he loves me.
At the door, the bottle blond gave himself a few seconds to calm down (all the while, Shouyou rummaged through his pockets, excavating for his keys), reassuring himself that he's been in the same apartment countless of times. He wasn't a stranger to this place. When his boyfriend finally grabbed his keys, dusting off lint and crumbs from the dull metal, he quickly slid them into the lock and pushed into the threshold.
The genkan was still covered in unlaced sneakers and cute animal slippers that were poorly placed, almost like they were just kicked off. Kenma took his time removing his jacket, then bending down and unlacing his shoes, stalling himself from entering further into the apartment. Shouyou had already walked down the hall and turned into the kitchen, no doubt looking for a menu stuck on the fridge so they could order. The older boy lagged even more so, his eyes darting at the space as if it were foreign and new, intimidating with its eeriness.
Kenma's flight or fight response was buzzing, confusing him. It was as if by being away—by banishing himself—had made him more aware that he didn't know what was inside. That maybe there were still skeletons he didn't know lying around. That there were things that he was unwelcomed to. It was almost like being a servant in a manor—you lived there, but it was not your home.
He felt like an intruder now.
And the apartment knew it too. The walls seemed as though they were laughing at the former setter when he padded his socked feet through his boyfriend's hall. Mocking him. We have eyes that see your faults and ears that hear your falls—we know secrets that make you unworthy, they said, the bumps and ridges that textured the walls written like braille.
The older boy felt as if he were at an impasse, unsure of which direction he should walk to—toward Shouyou or straight out the door. His hands itched for a cigarette, his vice comforting these past few weeks. But he had promised that he would quit, and now being back together with Shouyou gave him less need for the bad habit. Still he felt out of place. He regrets leaving his DS at home, wishing he could hide out in the hallway and forget where he was.
He knew he was just letting his nerves get the better of him. Knowing didn't make them go away, though.
"I'm gonna head out now."
The blond looked back from the walls to Shouyou, who was making his way past Kenma to the door. Kenma felt odd being back here, but he would feel really uncomfortable if he was alone.
"Wait, where are you going?" The blond asked, trying his best not to sound panicked.
"Imma go pick up the pizza," the younger man explained, tying up his messy laces. "They said they weren't making deliveries today because they're short staffed so I gotta' go get it myself."
"We can order from somewhere else," Kenma tried to suggest.
"Nah, they have a special today and I know you like their sauce," his boyfriend reasoned. He quickly strode to Kenma and pecked his cheek before he grabbed his wallet and keys from the tray that laid on the table next to the door and turned back as he stepped out. "I'll be right back."
The door closed.
There was a heavy silence that drowned Kenma as he stood there in the hall. Unsure if he should venture into the apartment, the blond almost jumped when the door opened again suddenly, Shouyou's head poking back inside.
"Can you do me a favor and look for a clean duffle bag that I can put some stuff in?" he asked Kenma, an embarrassed look on his face. "To bring back to your place," he elaborated quietly. Not wanting Shouyou to sense his newfound discomfort (and mistake it for something else), Kenma nodded. Beaming, Shouyou repeated his goodbye, and closed the door behind him, leaving the blond once again in the silence of the apartment.
Could someone drown without water? Kenma wondered. The heavy feeling that pressed onto his chest suggested that one indeed could. This place felt...eerie. Kenma wasn't sure if there really was something different about the apartment, something that lurked about, ready to pounce on him. Something that had been living, growing within the walls like mold, all while Kenma, blinded by sweet delusional affection and cute company, had never taken the time to notice. Something that had been watching him.
The hairs on his arm rose as a tingle danced down the blond's back, itching to leave this place. The sooner he found the duffle bag, the sooner Shouyou could pack after they ate. And the sooner he packed, they sooner they'd leave.
Bunching up the sleeves of his sweater, the former setter padded his way from the looming hallway to Shouyou's bedroom, figuring that was the best place to start his search. The main dilemma was finding a clean bag, the blond being hyper aware of how often Shouyou seemed to neglect cleaning his place.
Under the bed looked like a soot factory.
His dresser replicated the aftermath of that "Black Friday" shopping frenzy in the United States that Kuroo told him about once.
And his closet...Oh god, that closet was beyond dysfunctional. Kenma could barely see anything past the ridiculous amount of clothing his boyfriend had, most too large to fit him properly. The carpet inside the closet was full of stuffed backpacks filled with junk and old schoolwork that Shouyou had been too nostalgic to throw away. His main concern, however, was the top of the closet, a high shelf filled with boxes, old trophies, and memorabilia toppled on top of each other with a thick coat of dust. With Kenma's luck, what he was looking for would end up being amongst that mess.
After finding a step ladder, the bottle blond started rummaging through the shelf, dropping trash and shifting cardboard around looking for a bag. Every five seconds, Kenma sneezed into his elbow from all the dirt that lifted, making him clumsy as he continued his search. He could hear the low sounds of Tokyo life outside the open window amongst the shuffling he was doing, along with the dim squeaking of the floorboards underneath him.
Wait. There. At the corner of his eyes, he saw a canvas strap stuck underneath a plastic box. Reaching for it, Kenma tried his best not to knock anything over as he gently pulled the strap closer to him, attached to an old duffel bag that looked like it hadn't been used in years. Just as he was about to loosen the bag free, the blond felt another tickle in the back of his throat, his nose scrunching in anticipation.
He let out a loud sneeze, dampening his sleeve with spit as he accidentally yanked the bag free, knocking over the plastic box that it was stuck underneath. The box fell to the ground with a loud thump as dozens of cassettes spilled over the carpet.
Kenma quickly stepped down, throwing the bag onto the bed as he dropped to his knees to gather all the scattered tapes. Piling them into his arms, Kenma carefully placed them back into the box when he finally noticed the writing on each of the cassette tapes, their blank labels marked with written dates. Kenma furrowed his brows in confusion, not sure what Shouyou would have tapes for.
At first glance, Kenma guessed they were recordings of old games from Shouyou's volleyball days, but he knew that most of those games were available digitally. Plus, Shouyou didn't have a video recorder. The blond picked up one of the tapes, turning it in his hands as he tried to figure out what they could be. He looked back into the box where the majority of the tapes were stuffed in. Digging through them, Kenma didn't understand why Shouyou would have these tapes, stacked together and all dated, maybe hundreds of little cassette meticulously stored dating back years. Shouyou was never good at organizing and maintaining his belongings, but it was obvious he had put extra care into preserving these tapes.
Out in the hall, Kenma heard the answering machine ping from a new message.
It took a second for Kenma to finally realize what the tapes were—old recordings of Shouyou's answering machine. Why Shouyou seemed insistent on keeping his messages, Kenma had no clue. But, it wasn't his business, he supposed.
Mystery solved and bag found, Kenma resumed reorganizing the cassettes when something caught his eye. A scribbled on doodle of hearts drawn on a label of one of the tapes, dating back almost six and a half years ago, the summer that Shouyou had first moved to Tokyo for school. The tape looked older than most but not as dusty as some of the other ones. Shouyou must have listened to this particular tape recently. Kenma brought the tape closer as he noticed a small note underneath the date, written with a dark red marker.
July 3 - Sept 24, 20XX
for when I'm missing him
The blond's eyes widen at the words, a warm blush soaking his cheeks. Shouyou had obviously not just kept the tapes out of laziness to throw them away, but to listen to whenever he needed to. Like when he was missing Kenma.
The smile that had disappeared the moment he walked into Shouyou's apartment two weeks ago had returned to the blond's boyish face, biting his bottom lip from giddiness. How adorable was Shouyou? How lucky was he to have someone like the amazing ginger to be his boyfriend? The walls seemed light again, like they had always felt whenever he visited this place. The paranoia that had clouded his brain had lifted, making him shake his head from how silly he had been, some hair coming loose from his hair tie on the back of his neck. How foolish.
During their weeks apart, Shouyou must have yearned to hear some semblance of his boyfriend, finding comfort in these tapes.
He was such a sap sometimes.
Kenma sifted through the box, looking for tapes that had other small notes written underneath them, moving the ones that just had dates. He grabbed one that read, messages from when I was sick with chickenpox, remembering how whiny and needy Shouyou had been knowing that he was too contagious to leave his dorm during his sophomore year (and Kenma couldn't take care of him since he had never dealt with the virus, so he sent Kuroo to go tend to his boyfriend, only for Kuroo to end up getting infected). He grabbed more tapes, ones like 'while away to Guam' from three years ago and 'when my roommate STILL WON'T LET ME SLEEP' from when Shouyou first moved out of the dorms. He also grabbed 'when homesick' (expecting to hear messages from Shouyou's mom and even Natsu), 'drunk missed calls' (Kenma already dreading the sorts of messages he might have left Shouyou while inebriated, knowing that he wasn't the classiest drunk), and 'away in Okinawa' (where his boyfriend had done his first boot camp for the TFD). With full hands, Kenma carried the tapes back to the hall where the answering machine waited.
Kenma took out the first tape he had chosen, the 'for when I'm missing him,' curious about the messages Shouyou had saved from Kenma. Especially since the tape dated a few months before the two had officially started to date. The blond took out the current cassette tape and placed it on the side while inserting the old one, wondering what lame cringy message from his past he's about to listen to. He eagerly pressed the play button.
BEEP —FIRST MESSAGE—
"Hey dumbass, it's me."
That...was not Kenma. The blond scrunched his brows as he listened.
"I guess you aren't home...even though you said you would be...Anyways, I just got out of practice and it's, well, still weird. Kinda. It's just, um, I don't know. Everyone is good and even the coach wants me in most games but...my tosses feel different."
Kageyama. Why was Kageyama talking?
"Maybe I still need to adjust to the team. Bokuto-san is a lot to manage. But at least I'm not stuck on the same team as Oikawa-san, like you," he laughed, "Imma need some time to get used to it, I guess. But...we should meet up, maybe toss around for a bit."
Why was Kageyama on this tape?
"Um...I miss you—hanging, I mean. Shit, I miss hanging out with you, is what I wanted to say. So, yeah. Just, just call me back. Okay. Bye."
Kenma tilted his head to the side, unsure what that was. Figuring it must have slipped past Shouyou when he saved the tape, Kenma shook off the weird feeling and listened as the recording continued.
BEEP —NEXT MESSAGE—
"Hey, dumbass. Me again," said not Kenma.
The hell was this? Why was Kageyama still on this tape?
"I heard you guys won today. Yachi told me. Who heard from Yamaguchi. Who went to watch Tsukishima. Who apparently played more than you...which might explain why you guys won," he snorted, "But I guess you're out celebrating. You should answer your cell, at least. Oh hey, this weekend I'm actually free to go and wat—"
Kenma had enough, had heard enough of that. He slammed his finger on the fast forward button, unsure what this achy feeling in his stomach was. But the more he listened to Kageyama the worst it got. He finally lifted his finger, hoping to hear his own younger self from the machine.
"Did Oikawa or Ushijima say anything to you about yesterday? I ran into them and Bokuto-san downtown when I was getting off my train and today in practice, Bokuto-san tried to convince me that I didn't see them. But I swear I did! They were all coming out fro—"
Kenma slammed his finger on the fast forward button again.
"I found this weird spot on my shoulder the other day when I went swimming. Matsukawa-san said I might have cancer. I made an appo—"
The whirring noise from the tape fast forwarding filled the room, Kenma's breathing picking up just as fast before he let go once again.
"I think I'm about to fail my test. I'm serious. Even Akaashi-san didn't look confident after he let me join his study group. Fuck, I can't fail. If I fail, I'm off the team, and if that happens I'm going to jump off of skytree—"
Why the fuck was Kageyama still on this tape? He punched the button again and again until the tape had ended, almost breaking the machine as the blond took out the tape and replaced it with another, hoping that this whole thing was a mistake.
BEEP—FIRST MESSAGE—
"Why aren't you answering your calls, dumbass?"
Was this a fucking joke?
"Oh, shit. Wait, you're on vacation...aren't you? My bad, I seriously thought it was next week. Tch...I ju—I just really wanted to talk to you...I kinda had a shitty week—"
This isn't funny.
Fast forward.
"And, and then my fucking dad wouldn't stop yelling! Like it was my fault! I had to get out of there, I seriously thought I was going to hit something if I di—"
This can't be happening.
Fast forward.
"Hey, sorry about ranting to you last night. Or to your machine I guess. Probably took up a lot of space...I just got really heated and yeah. You don't have to—"
Oh no.
Fast forward.
"I forgot you still weren't back yet...when do you get back?"
The walls were laughing at him again.
Fast forward.
BEEP—END OF MESSAGES.
He ripped out the tape and put in the third. Then the fourth. Then the fifth. Each filled with messages. Each one, every single one of them not belonging to Kenma.
He ran back to the room and grabbed a handful more tapes, all with only a date written on them. Kenma had hoped that these would be different. That these carried men and women and coworkers and friends and other voices that would stop Kenma from breathing so fast. Stop him from feeling like the walls were getting closer and closer with each new message that he heard.
Play.
BEEP— FIRST MESSAGE—
"Hey dumbass—"
Kenma didn't even let the rest of the tape play as he opened the machine and loaded a new one in. He pressed down hard.
Play.
BEEP— FIRST MESSAGE—
"Hinata, you fucking idiot! Answer your godda—"
Kenma quickly yanked out the tape, loading another one in.
Play.
BEEP— FIRST MESSAGE—
"Hey, you forgot your credit card dumba—"
The blond just kept switching tapes, the stinging in his eyes making it harder and harder to see where the play button was. Oh, wait, there it is.
Play.
BEEP— FIRST MESSAGE—
"Oi, dumbass. You never told me if you wanted to come with me back home. Because if you are, then what time should we catch the train because my practice ends at—"
Kenma ripped open the machine, yanking out the cassette before throwing it across the hall, hoping to stop the laughter.
The blond was completely lost, tears running down his face, unsure of what to do as the tape fell on the floor.
He was not prepared for this. Was not warned about this other threat to his life. Was it always there? Was he just blind to it? He had never thought to even worry about this other boy. Kenma worried about long days, and short tempers, and getting on each other's nerves when it came to Shouyou. But the question remained: did he have to worry about Kageyama too?
Fool, the walls chuckled between creaks and moans, you foolish boy.
What a fool he was, indeed. To think they were okay again...were they ever okay?
Was there ever a time that Kenma wasn't being played? A time that these tapes weren't being listened to while Kenma slept within the same walls in ignorant bliss? Was there ever a time when Shouyou only saw Kenma? Only needed Kenma? Only loved—
Foolish boy.
Well...this certainly explained a few things.
Like why Kenma still lived alone in a too tall, too large apartment by himself.
Or how Kenma could never get rid of the feeling that he loved Shouyou more than the redhead loved him.
What now? What should he do now, Kenma wondered. What can he do now? Would there be any point? Tears fell down his cheeks, his heart fell out of his chest, his world fell apart.
Defeated, and at loss of what to do, Kenma walked slowly to the discarded tape, picked it up and along with all the other ones he had played, gathered them back in his arms. The blond made no noise as he walked back to his boyfriend's room, reorganizing the tapes to how they were arranged before Kenma's meddling. Before the box fell, along with Kenma's hopes.
He felt sluggish as he lifted the box over his head and shifted it back onto the shelf, sliding the closet door closed. His head hung on his shoulder as he grabbed the duffle bag and brought it out to the hall.
In the short walk from the room, Kenma had already drawn out a plan. A simple, repetitive plan.
He would leave.
He would leave and go home. He would wallow and let the heartache consume him again. Let his sanity and health go to shit because who gave a shit.
It felt like deja vu from their last fight. He was running away again.
So what? He was hurt. This place had hurt him again. Reality had hurt him again.
Shouyou had hurt him. Again.
They didn't even have to get in an argument this time. There would be no point in talking it out, because this time, Kenma knew that there would be no other explanation for those tapes. Nothing Shouyou could say that would change the truth, and truth of the matter was that Kenma might have been second best all along.
And it hurt, this pain...it was unbearable. Unspeakable. Unfixable.
And he was angry—rightly so.
Six years, he thought, if six years wasn't enough for him to choose me...only me...
This wasn't fair to him, and he couldn't stay.
He dropped the bag on the floor, intending on leaving it there for Shouyou to find, along with Kenma gone. For good.
Water crept from his nostrils in rivers that bent and merged with the rest of his tears. The last tears he would shed in this place. This home that was a stranger to him now, these walls that had listened to a different voice at night, a voice that did not belong to the blond. Along with a heart that never belonged to him, it would seem.
Fight for him, a voice—quiet but fierce—screamed inside his head, urging him not to seek an end to this second chance, this chance for the only love that had ever seemed possible.
But Kenma knew his limits. And he wasn't about to fight for something already lost.
The blond turned for the door but stopped when he noticed something still out of place. A tape, one that was already in the machine before Kenma had taken it out to listen to the others. He wiped his cheeks down before he grabbed the tape, slotting it back into the machine. Then, when the machine registered the tape, a red dot lit up, recognizing one unheard message from earlier. Kenma stared at the dot, wondering if he should listen to it, wondering if hearing a message from anybody else that wasn't Kageyama would calm him down before he left.
His finger found the play button, pressing down slowly.
BEEP— FIRST MESSAGE—
"Hey, it's me."
Kenma's eyes narrowed.
"Um...I'm just answering the message you left me earlier. You sounded nervous."
He heard enough. Had heard enough of Kageyama's voice for a lifetime. But...it wasn't the other boy's fault, was it?
Maybe he was being bitter, blinded by the truth of his boyfriend to see Kageyama as an innocent bystander. The awkward ravenhead had always been nothing but polite to him, quiet but never rude. They had just never clicked but the setters never minded each other's company. It was easy to want to hate the other boy, jealous feeling foreign in Kenma's blood. Kageyama wasn't to blame for Shouyou's split feelings. And neither was Kenma. So he would leave—
"Even though you really shouldn't be. Kenma will forgive you...I'm sure he will."
He let out a small gasp, unsure if he heard that right. Was Kageyama really giving Shouyou advice...about Kenma? Guilt also felt foreign in the blond, a terrible feeling filling up his head at the thought of being mad at the other setter. He wasn't to blame.
"But—"
...but?
"If...if it does turn out bad...maybe it's for the best. Well, not best, but, better this way."
Kenma's heart stopped. His skin felt cold. Better? Better for who?
Certainly not him.
Certainly not Shouyou.
"Maybe you guys...I don't know, should maybe, break up. It might save you from these sorts of fights later on..."
Kenma had held his breath at the words. Break up. Thirty seconds ago, that might have been Kenma's intentions. But not out of hate or want. He had just figured it would hurt less in the long run. It would soften the blow that would inevitably come. When Shouyou would choose Kageyama over him. But would that be better?
Would that be for the best?
"You know, for good. I just, I don't like seeing you so miserable, dumbass."
No. It wasn't.
"Maybe something even better could come after this."
Kenma was best for Shouyou. He was. No one else.
"But...whatever happens...I'm here for you, Shou."
And certainly not Kageyama.
"Okay. Let me know if you need to talk...to me, or to Hana-san. Bye."
BEEP — END OF MESSAGE. TO DELETE THIS MESSAGE, PRESS 1. TO SAVE, PRESS 2. TO REPEAT MESSAGE, PR —
BEEP — MESSAGE DELETED. INBOX EMPTY.
Shouyou returned to his place with his hands full, a large box of pepperoni pizza with extra cheese (Kenma's favorite) and a six-pack of soda. He struggled to open the door but when he did, he yelled that he had delivered the pizza in perfect condition like the shining knight he was.
And Kenma smiled from the hall. Unfortunately the tears hadn't stopped in time. Shouyou caught sight of his boyfriend, water works running down his cheeks and a forced smile on his lips facing the ginger boy.
The ginger dropped the pizza. Apparently, his face hadn't been convincing enough.
"Kenma," he cried, running to his boyfriend with his shoes half off, reaching around the blond locks to look at his face properly. The blond felt his heavy heart ease up with the concern on Shouyou's face, so genuine looking. "Kenma, what happened?"
What should he say?
I found your tapes that you keep of your unrequited love.
It was the truth...but it didn't feel right on the tip of his tongue. It rubbed him raw like sand paper. Would saying it hurt Shouyou as much as it hurt Kenma to find?
Did he want to hurt Shouyou?
"Kenma, please, tell me what's wrong," Shouyou pleaded, holding Kenma's forehead to his own. Their eyes reflected one another's, bright sunset orange against tear ridden topaz.
He could never dream of not wanting to fight for someone who looked at him like that.
"I just," he whispered, sniffling as he tried to get the words out, "Just being here. Alone. I felt," he paused, calming his breathing so his voice wouldn't break, "Overwhelmed is all."
It wasn't a lie. He didn't like being here alone. The skeletons had come out when Shouyou left.
"Oh shit," Shouyou whispered back, "Oh, fuck! Kenma! Kenma, I'm sorry," he pleaded, seeming to understand why his boyfriend would feel uncomfortable being back at his place all by himself. "Kenma, I'm so sorry!"
The ginger boy hugged him, shoving his nose into the blond's neck repeating his apologies. Kenma, all the while, rested his head onto Shouyou, basking in the feeling of being wrapped in his arms before he ended it all, while he still could embrace this boy. This boy who made him feel so safe and wanted and—loved?
Was he really willing to lose this?
"Shouyou."
The ginger lifted his head, trying to look Kenma in the eyes, unsure of what more he could do to make his boyfriend stop crying.
"Yeah?"
The blond held his gaze, a quiver running through his chin as he tried not to sob. There was so much he should say, was supposed to say, planned to say...but he hesitated. He wouldn't be able to take the words back. But they had to be said.
I think we should break up.
How could you do this to me!?
I love you, but I can't deal with you leaving me for someone else.
Six years, Shouyou! Why didn't you say anything? Why did I have to find out this way?
I know that you have feelings for someone else too. For Kageyama.
I deserve better than this! Who does this to someone they love?!
I don't want to keep you from what you want.
I was your dormant and you lied to me, the whole time!
I deserve better...and you deserve to be happy.
I deserve someone who's going to put me first. Love me, not just settle for me...
But...
...was...was all we shared, all these years, meaningless?
The smiles, the glances, our talks and...everything. Did they not feel special to you too?
Wasn't I special to you?
Enough for you?
Like you were to me...
I don't want to lose you.
"Kenma?" Shouyou asked when the blond stayed silent.
What could he say?
I can't lose you.
"Shouyou..."
In the end, he said the truth. His truth. What he's always known.
"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," Kenma whispered, his breath fanning the younger man's lips, "Yo—You're the best thing in my life."
More than just truth. A promise hidden with each breath. A vow.
I won't lose you.
Shouyou blinked at his words, seemingly caught off guard by Kenma's forwardness. But they weren't just words. Kenma knew he would do anything to prove to Shouyou that he meant them. That he would do anything to make sure Shouyou never doubted the love that Kenma had for him. That only Kenma could give.
And Shouyou smiled. And Kenma hoped that he had understood.
"I love you too."
He still loves me.
And Kenma kissed him, like Shouyou was air itself, the only thing sustaining Kenma from drowning further into a life of loneliness. This kiss, this man, this love was worth fighting for.
He would not lose to a box full of plastic. He would not lose to a boy who had lost his chance a long time ago.
Fight for him, a scream rang in his ears, fight, you fool.
Kiyoko
Friday nights were always busy at the Midori Grotto, a trendy new lounge that had opened up near the outskirts of the Ginza. Patrons were lucky if they were able to get in, let alone a table, but the raven-haired beauty happened to have an in with one of the managers, an old colleague from her Uni days. She walked in just before sunset and scored three seats at the bar, fairly close to the restrooms, and attempted to order herself a drink before her friends arrived. But before she could call over one the bartender, a drink had been placed in front of her.
A dry martini with top shelf spirits, if she had to guess. She looked up to the bartender, her glasses sitting low on her nose and her brow high as she gave the man an inquisitive look. He smiled, tilting his head to the right side of the room.
"From the gentleman down the bar, miss."
Shimizu Kiyoko looked at said direction as the bartender walked away, her face passive as she locked eyes with a run-of-the-mill suit who sent a slimy grin her way. He raised his own drink, something on the rocks, and tilted his head in greeting to her.
The ravenhead held back a groan, politely grabbing her gifted drink to return the gesture, shallow and ingenuine. Before she could raise it in his direction, however, her drink was snatched out of her hand by the grace of God.
Or, more accurately, by Shirofuku Yukie.
"Is this for me?" the redhead asked just as she took a sip, unconcerned if the drink belonged to her or not, it would seem. The girl then shook her head, her auburn hair dancing around the sour face she gave the drink. Kiyoko already felt more at ease with her friend finally here.
"Blech," Yukie groaned, "too fucking dry. Why'd you order this?"
"I didn't," Kiyoko mused, failing to hold back a smirk at her friend's foolhardy nature. She rested her chin on her right hand and tried not to giggle as Yukie rolled her eyes at the implication, drowning the rest of the drink in one gulp regardless of her dislike. "It might be drugged," the ravenhead teased.
"Whatever," the redhead grumbled, "I had a shit day." She took the seat to Kiyoko's right, dropping her bag at the foot of her chair as she waved her arm frantically, trying to hail the bartender as if she were getting a taxi. The raven haired woman took the moment to look over her shoulder, noticing that the gentleman who had sent her the drink looked irritated at her indiscreet dismissal of him. Luckily, he had locked eyes on another prey, a longhaired girl in a booth, making his way over to her with two drinks in hand.
She sighed in relief, turning back to her friend as one of the male bartenders walked over to them, a sultry grin on his handsome face.
"Ladies," he cooed, making Yukie smile like a fox and Kiyoko try her best not to roll her eyes, "what can I get you two beauties this evening?"
"We'll have two glasses of the 2012 Clos Fourtet to start, please," Kiyoko said, holding her debit card between her pointer and middle fingers, eager for the man to hurry and serve them and leave. "Open tab."
The bartender nodded at her request before he quickly grabbed her card, walking off to the side to get them their drinks. Yukie, turned to the ravenhead, smile still sharp with a teasing flare.
"I don't know what you just ordered us," the redhead mused, twisting a strand of her auburn hair between her fingers, "but it sounded kinda snobby." The ravenhead just kept her grin, shrugging her shoulder as she pulled out her cell, a new text blinking on her screen.
"You wanted something else?" Kiyoko asked, opening her messages.
"I was just gonna order some Sapporo, honestly," Yukie murmured, curious to what Kiyoko was looking at.
"Mai says she's running a little late, but she'll be here soon," Kiyoko informed the other woman, turning off her screen. Yukie hummed, understanding. Their glasses were placed in front of them on coasters, the bartender leaving them with a flirtatious smirk as he walked to another customer. Yukie took the first sip, smacking her lips at the aftertaste.
"Taste expensive," she commented, taking another generous sip. Kiyoko took a small sip of her own glass, side-eying her friend from the rim before putting it back down, the warmth smoothly traveling down her throat.
"Well, it is my treat tonight. And you did say that you had a shitty day," she said, making the redhead smile at the words. Yukie's white teeth looked wicked against the now red tint that stained her lips.
"You know what, you're right," Yukie agreed gleefully, "I totally deserve to be wined and dined." Kiyoko then raised her glass to the redhead, a playful glint shining across her smokey eyes.
"To girl's night," she toasted. Yukie followed suit, raising her own glass before clicking it to Kiyoko's.
"To motherfuckin' girl's night!" she gleamed, downing the rest of the red in one go, slamming it down with little to no finesse to hail the bartender for another.
They ordered their third glass fifteen minutes later.
Kiyoko and Yukie waited around half hour, third glasses of wine almost empty before Nametsu Mai made her way past a few patrons to the two ladies over at the bar. Mai slung her work tote next to the empty seat, breathing heavily as she sat down on Kiyoko's left and gladly accepted the wine glass offered to her by the raven haired woman. The light haired brunette downed her glass swiftly, licking her lips after she emptied it. Both Kiyoko and Yukie raised their brows at her eager drinking.
"Tough day at the office?" Yukie asked, sipping her wine with pink cheeks and a reckless grin. Mai sighed at the question, exasperation heavy on her shoulder from the looks of it. Kiyoko leaned back on her chair as she rested her glass in her hand, ready for the start of some serious venting from her friends. After all, what's girl's night for if not a great excuse for some serious gossiping and bitching about their lives?
"My boss is such an ass," Mai moaned, accepting another glass that was placed in front of her by the over eager bartender that had been keeping their glasses full. "He said that I can assist with the new building modifications. Assist. He's basically telling me to work under some moron whose designs were approved because the client would rather have a man design their new building than an actually good architect," she said, bitterness emanating from the woman as Kiyoko nodded her head in understanding. The raven had been through similar hiccups throughout her career. She rose up the ranks from an intern at an investment firm to a full blown analyst at a hedge fund. Then, after feeling stuck for some years, she had finally earned the proper recognition and earned her most recent promotion to a management position. She'll now have to deal with micromanaging incompetent workers who only had their jobs thanks to favoritism and be privileged to actually guiding talented people into taking more responsibility and risk. The ravenhead was sharp, ready for the new role she was taking at the company. The girls in front of her didn't know about her promotion, but it didn't feel like news she should share just yet.
Mai's ponytail shimmied against her shoulder as she shook her head, a deprecating smile gracing the younger girl's face.
"Everyone there just sees me as some little girl who can't be taken seriously."
"Dude, same," Yukie droned, shifting her upper body to face both girls fully as she placed her elbow on the bar top. "Do you know how annoying it is to still just be managing at the catering company. I should be in charge of the menu, not the stupid schedules."
"I thought you were thinking about starting your own?" Kiyoko asked, unsure of what was keeping Yukie at that miserable place.
"I want to, but I don't even know where to start. Plus, I would need to build a client list and a tasting menu. I need to build references before I could even call anything certain. Not sure if now's a good time, you know," Yukie said flatly, swirling her wine in the glass, watching the drink circle. She turned to the ravenhead in between them. "How about you, Kiyoko? You gonna tell your boss to fuck himself if he doesn't give you the promotion?"
Now would be appropriate to share her good news, but the ravenhead didn't quite think it was the most ideal time. Not when her friends were rightfully complaining about their frustrating positions of their own.
"No point," the ravenhead shrugged nonchalantly, hoping that their curiosity would be satisfied.
"Hmm, you gonna try next quarter?" Mai asked, getting more comfortable in her seat. Kiyoko wasn't sure if she should share her news with her friends tonight, seeing as how her predicament seemed to have already solved itself. Her already rosy cheeks turned a shade darker.
"No...I got the promotion." Yukie and Mai immediately turned their heads, wide eyes facing the dark-haired woman. Kiyoko didn't want to bring it up tonight for a reason. What if they thought she was boasting to them, bragging about her luck while they resented her? Then who would she talk to?
As irrational as it was, Kiyoko didn't have many close girlfriends growing up, so she tried to always be careful about not stepping on their toes and tried not to upset any female companion. At first, she thought that maybe she came off as aloof or intimidating while she was in her adolescence, but then she came to realize that girls were either too shy to talk to her, or they just didn't like her.
It was only in her last year of high school that she really started to open up and get to know other girls, the Karasuno volleyball club being an important part of her life that finally got her out of her shell. She had made lifelong friends there, especially amongst the other female managers. Especially—
"Congrats, Kiyoko!" Yukie cheered, heavily patting the raven haired woman on the shoulder as she grinned from ear to ear, "That's my girl! Moving on up in the corporate world, kicking ass and taking names!"
"That's right!" Mai followed, "Showing the man that us ladies are to be trifled with!" Then the light haired girl looked at Kiyoko with a worried expression. "Wait. Why didn't you tell us earlier?" she asked. Kiyoko tried not to squirm from being in between their sharp eyes.
"I didn't want to annoy you guys," she softly spoke, "especially on girls night." Without missing a beat, Yukie chortled at her response, covering her mouth with her knuckles trying to keep the noise down. She failed.
"You idiot! Of course we're annoyed," she laughed, "mostly because your good luck still hasn't rubbed off and given me and Mai a break. Doesn't mean I'm gonna hold that against you."
"Seriously, Kiyo," Mai said, shaking her head like a disapproving mother, "we're not petty. Of course we'd still be happy for you, no matter what. Have more faith in us, why don't cha'."
Relief washed over the dark haired girl. She brought her glass to her lips.
"Thank you," she said quietly, "I'm still overwhelmed, so do you guys think we could talk about something else?"
"You mean talk about the fact that I'm boning the new chef," Yukie smirked wildly, "yeah, let's talk about that." Kiyoko tried to hold her eyes back from widening to comical proportions. She failed. As did Mai.
"WHAT?! Seriously? You finally convinced him to actually date you?" Mai asked eagerly.
"Well, no," Yukie huffed into her drink, sipping before she continued, "We're just...hmm, how should I say? Um, hanging out, I guess."
"Hanging out?" Kiyoko asked, deadpanned expression doing nothing to hide her distaste. "What does hanging out even mean?"
"You know. Like, hanging...out."
"That doesn't explain anything at all, Yukie," Mai said, just as confused as before, "Does that mean you guys are dating, or keeping casual...or what?"
"It means, we're just..." Yukie started, but instead of saying anything else, she just shrugged, her shoulders lifted high to her ears. Smokey grey eyes stared at the redhead, Kiyoko trying her best not to tell her friend, for lack of the proper words, that her new situation with this apparently attractive (fine ass piece of prime-A Australian meat, according to Yukie's past description) chef was stupid.
"Well, that's stupid," Mai said, reading the ravenhead's mind and ripping the band-aid off.
"I agree with Mai."
"Well, that's what was decided," Yukie harrumphed, tilting her chin up to her friends. Kiyoko watched Mai shake her head as she warned the redhead to be careful. Careful of what, Kiyoko wasn't sure. Careful of getting hurt, probably. Or maybe careful not to hurt someone else. Careful not to ruin everything.
I ruined everything.
"Kiyoko?" Yukie asked, tapping the dark haired girl's shoulder, "you okay? You kinda spaced out there for a sec."
"Oh, yeah. Sorry. I didn't realize it," the ravenhead assured. The redhead nodded before turning to Mai. "What about you? How are them omais going, hah? Your mom still getting on your case?"
"Ugh, please don't remind me," the light-haired girl moaned.
"Nothing promising yet?" Kiyoko inquired, genuinely interested in Mai's husband-to-be hunting.
"Nothing worth even mentioning," Mai murmured. Kiyoko, however, didn't miss the sour note of Mai's voice, who was obviously more upset about her lack of progress than she was letting on. But that wasn't any of her business, she supposed. She will not pry, and hopefully neither wi—
"So, what you're really saying is that you're still not over your irritating high school sweetheart?" the redhead asked, sipping her drink casually. Yukie then squeaked when Kiyoko pinched the redhead's thigh harshly, squinting her eyes in annoyance. She quickly turned to Mai, whose ears were bright red.
"She didn't mean to ask that—"
"No it's okay," Mai mumbled, taking a few seconds to collect her thought. The silence felt awkward, a sad tint fading down on the group. The younger girl pouted, sipping the last of her drink before she waved to the bartender, who started walking briskly towards them. "Kenji was pretty fucking annoying sometimes."
"Ladies. Another glass?" the bartender asked, smile perfectly in place.
"More like some hard liquor, good looking," Yukie corrected, "we'll have some shots." She turned to the other two girls who looked very unamused and uninterested. But knowing Yukie, they would drink the shots regardless. Kiyoko gave Yukie a pointed look, though. The redhead groaned lowly before she turned back to the bartender before he left. "And three french 75, if you will please."
The two eldest girls then turned to the youngest, the brunette sliding her finger around the rim of her now empty glass, a faraway look in her eyes. A look that the ravenhead had worn herself day in and day out since she was seventeen. Since that time of her life. Since— No, she told herself, this moment isn't about you right now. Focus. She turned back to Mai, and hesitantly placed her hand on the girl's shoulder, awkward but seemingly welcomed. The redhead cleared her throat.
"Why not just follow your gut and go after him?" Yukie asked. Crass and far too invasive, but she meant well, her tone telling no other agenda than to comfort Mai. Kiyoko nodded, continuing to softly rub circles on the girl's arm.
"Right. So I should just drop my entire life here and follow him back to Sendai," Mai hissed, pushing her glass away with more force than necessary, "As if I'm the one who should give up my place, my job, my friends willingly for him. I'm the one who has to sacrifice everything."
"That's not what we're saying," Kiyoko said, trying not to make her angry.
"I know, but that's what I'd have to do," the light-haired girl said, "That's what he wanted me to do. Like his dreams and wants were more important than mine...more important than me."
"Did he actually say that?" the ravenhead asked, genuinely unsure. She had known Futakuchi Kenji back in high school and, though he was kind of an ass, he didn't seem like someone to say things to truly hurt someone else. Especially not someone he was romantically involved with for over half a decade. Even when the couple attended Kiyoko's university together, the younger girl seemed to have the boy wrapped around her finger. He always seemed gentle with Mai. It was hard for Kiyoko to imagine him giving the girl that sort of ultimatum.
"He didn't have to say it. Him deciding to take that job and leaving said enough," Mai said, her head now hanging lower than when she first sat down, "He didn't even ask me before he accepted. He just...didn't care, I guess."
"At the pharm company?" Yukie asked. Mai nodded. "So...he can, like, hook us up?"
"Yukie," Kiyoko warned, her voice low and she gave the redhead a hard look, Yukie putting her hands up defensively. The ravenhead turned back to the youngest.
"Don't you think a lot of this might just be miscommunication from both your parts, Mai? How do you know what he wanted from you?"
"It doesn't matter," the brunette dismissed, looking away from the older girl, "It was months ago, anyways. Plus, neither one of us would have been happy giving up our jobs for one another. I wouldn't be happy just being his housewife."
"You don't seem happy either way, though," Yukie countered. Kiyoko was about to reprimand her, again, but then took the words to heart and hummed. Turning back to Mai, she gave a defeated look.
"She does have a point." The light haired girl just huffed, her eyes lighting up when the bartender returned with their drinks. The youngest reached for one of the shot glasses, downing it before the other girls had a chance to touch their glasses.
"It doesn't matter," she said, a sour turn of her lips gracing her face before she shook her head to rid herself of the aftertaste, "It's done. The next guy I date...will be it."
"If that's what you want."
"Well, if we're asking what I want," Mai muttered, taking a sip of her cocktail before turning on her stool and facing the ravenhead fully, "I want to know if this mystery person of yours has replied back to you."
"Ooh, yeah," Yukie lit up, "Nice change of subject, Mai. I wanna know too."
"There's nothing to know," Kiyoko said, looking down at her hands she hadn't noticed were wringing together on top of her lap, "No reply."
"Still?" Yukie all but groaned, "When is this person gonna get a fucking clue?"
"I don't usually go along with Yukie's choice of words, but I actually agree," Mai nodded, looking at Kiyoko fully. The raven haired girl didn't know what more she could say. Nothing had changed. She had sent her email almost two months ago and still hasn't gotten a reply to her confession. Not even a rejection. Nothing. Plus it didn't really matter in the first place, it wouldn't change anything—
"What do you mean it wouldn't change anything? Change what?" Mai asked. Kiyoko looked up quickly, flustered that she had been thinking out loud. How odd.
She shouldn't say anything. Right? It would only make things messier the more people who know, right? It's not like it would change any facts. Wouldn't change the villainy in Kiyoko's desires. But...being the one who is suffering alone hasn't been easy for the dark haired girl. And maybe, if they knew what she did, maybe they wouldn't pester her about it as much. Hopefully.
"They're in a relationship."
"Who is?" Mai asked, totally confused now.
"The person I confessed to. They're in a serious relationship."
Silence. Ugly silence surrounded them after those words. Unsure of what to do with her hands, Kiyoko grabbed her shot and gently swallowed it whole, kissing her teeth as she placed it back on the bartop and reached for her cocktail, washing away the taste of hard liquor. Yukie followed suit, hissing after she took her shot. Mai was restless on her seat. Kiyoko figured that she was trying to change the subject again. Before she could say anything, though, the younger woman's phone rang loudly from her purse. Mai cursed, digging through her bag until she pulled out a sleek smartphone, sliding along the screen before she brought it to her ear.
"Hello, Nametsu speaking," Mai said, nodding every few seconds as she just replied in yes sirs and no sirs. Her face gradually fell and Kiyoko had easily realized that she must have been talking to her ass of a boss. Yukie giggled as Mai made a disgruntled face, pouting into the phone as she bid her goodbyes. "Of course, sir. I'll get it done. Goodnight."
She quickly hung up the phone and let out a long sigh. An apologetic smile rested on her chin and Kiyoko knew that she had to go.
"I have to go back to the office. I'm really sorry, guys," she said, confirming the ravenhead's thoughts. Kiyoko told her that it was fine, that they understood how important her project was. She hugged the light haired girl, squeezing more than she normally would. Mai then scooted to Yukie, who almost spilled her drink as she hugged the poor girl tightly.
"You better have a boyfriend before the next girl's night, okay?" Yukie demanded.
"Yeah, yeah, okay," Mai half-assured, rolling her eyes as she slipped out of the ginger's arms. She quickly grabbed her bags and waved as she pushed her way back out of the establishment. The two elder girls sat on their stools and watched her steer through to the exit, like a sailboat reaching the horizon.
"Do you remember," Yukie said, breaking the silence as Kiyoko turned back to her right, giving Yukie all of her attention, "how huge our girl's night used to be? Back in college."
Kiyoko smiled, knowing exactly how large their outings used to be before. Before jobs, and boyfriends, then husbands and babies. Before their life seemed like something still waiting for them in their future and not something they were settled in. Unsure of how the future quickly became their present, their right now. How times had changed.
"Some nights we couldn't even fit in one table," the dark haired beauty giggled, taking a sip of her drink. She remembered the girls who came to study in Tokyo, old managers and volleyball players, queens and rivals, coming together to mingle and gossip and vent and support one another. They became Kiyoko's friends, her girls.
And then life changed. Some left for jobs, others to start a family. Some didn't leave the city but just didn't keep in touch. And others simply moved on.
Maybe it's time to move on...
"Hey, Kiyo. Can I be honest about something?" Yukie asked with a surprisingly serious face, making the ravenhead straighten her back.
"Of course."
"It's about your confession."
Kiyoko knew for a fact that the last person who would ever judge her would be Yukie. She knew that the auburn haired girl wouldn't shame or belittle or label her with anything. But the nerves still settled under her skin, rising like sweat, regardless of what she thought.
"It's just," the redhead started, taking a large gulp of her cocktail before she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, "this whole dilemma of yours doesn't seem like somethingsomeone like you would do. You get what I'm saying?"
"Not really."
"Okay. Um, like, ugh. I don't want to say it, but if I had to describ—"
"Homewrecker," Kiyoko finished bluntly, completely aware of the title she bore. Yukie looked at her, but Kiyoko knew she meant no harm. Good intentions didn't matter against the truth. And the truth was, Kiyoko had given a confession to someone in hope that the feelings would be reciprocated. As far as she was concerned, the name was justified. The ravenhead jumped when she felt a hand on top of her own, the redhead's pink nail polish bold and bright against Kiyoko's fair skin.
"But knowing you, and being your friend, I know that this isn't something you'd take lightly. I know that you don't recklessly look for love in cups that are already full." Kiyoko turned to the other girl, their eyes both open and honest and sitting on top of rosy cheeks.
"What do you mean?"
"What I mean is that you..." Yuki started, but then closed her mouth. Then opened it again, only to repeat herself until a smile broke across her face, "Well, you're probably the most honorable person I know."
Kiyoko felt her head snap back, eyes wide as her glasses drooped down her nose. Those words seemed...too good for her, like she was unworthy of the fond expression on her friend's face and the honesty that seeped through her words. As if the words didn't steal her breath away.
"Yukie…"
"It's true. So if...if you of all people think that you were doing the right thing, the right thing for you...then I'm rooting for you."
Yukie was sorely underestimated by a lot of people. Kiyoko wondered when in the past couple of years she started to underestimate the girl too, caught off guard that the redhead could say such...kind and insightful things that spoke volumes about her character and their friendship. The girl might be a mess at times, but she was good. Better than herself, for sure.
But that didn't' change the fact that she had no chance.
"They're happy, Yukie. I'd just ruin everything"
"Well, I think that you don't take things lightly. So let me ask you something."
"Okay," Kiyoko nodded.
"Do you think that you could make this person happier?" the redhead asked. Kiyoko immediately dropped her head, looking anywhere but the other girl's eyes.
"I don't know."
"Yes, you do," the redhead clapped her hands around the raven's, completely serious, "you know."
She did know her answer. But saying it out loud would make it real. Would make her ill intentions real, along with all the rightful judgment and mixed feelings. But she did indeed know her answer, she knew for years.
"Yes."
"Do you love them?"
"Yes," she whispered, not understanding when her mouth turned dry.
"Do you think they love you?"
"I don't know."
"Kiyoko."
"I really don't know, Yukie. Sometimes, yes. And other times…"
And other times...it's like I don't even matter as much. Like I'm just the friend. I'm just background to their relationship, to their lives.
Like I'm just second best.
"But they've read your confession?"
"Yes."
"And they haven't said anything to you about it?"
"No," the ravenhead shook her head, dread and disappointment fresh on her tongue. Yukie nodded, holding Kiyoko's hands tighter, before she brought them to her lips and kissed her knuckles, reassuring and comforting. The redhead leaned forward, shifting low so that she could look at the ravenhead's downcast eyes, smokey whirlpools in dire need of reassurance.
In need of some hope, too.
"Then maybe all you need to do is give Yachi-chan some time."
The dark haired girl heard her neck pop as she snapped it up, her breath stuck in her throat. The rosiness from their drinking had faded into a sickly grey as the words sank deeper and deeper into her worrisome heart.
Worried that now that Yukie knew she found the raven haired girl disgusting. Kiyoko thought she was ready, but she was wrong, so wrong. She wasn't ready for the retaliations yet. Not from anyone. Not from Yukie. Not Mai. Not Yamaguchi. And...not from Hitoka.
She was gross and wrong and selfish and of course Hitoka pretended like nothing happened. No acknowledgement to something so vile as Kiyoko's confession. Her desire for the blonde girl had turned from innocent and friendly to something unquenchable and illicit. Warm daydreams haunted her until they morphed into fantasies of the night. Surely Hitoka must have caught onto the looks Kiyoko had always sent her way, but after sending such a confession, the blonde must have come to realise just how immoral her affections for the girl truly were. If anything the older girl must have sent the blonde into a flurry of anxiety, making her tense and uncomfortable and waiting to break the news to Kiyoko. Preparing to break her heart.
Her head felt light and her eyes began to burn with salt. And then warmth found its way to her cheeks, cradling her gently. Her eyes focused back, finding Yukie's face with a smile.
"I know what you want to ask, but it doesn't matter how I know. What matters is that you don't give up on this. Because it could be beautiful, and it might make everything worthwhile in the end, yes?"
She was ice, frozen in place as warm hands held kept her grounded on earth. Kiyoko didn't know where she found her voice again, broken and cracked and raw.
"Yes," she whispered, tears now framing her lashes.
"So here's some advice."
Kiyoko nodded, her glassy eyes spilling.
"Fight," Yukie said, her grip tightening and her smile brighter, "don't give up."
Fight for her, her heart screamed. Screamed to her every night since she was seventeen. Fight for what you want and what you need—what you can't live without.
Yes, yes she should.
But what if I lose her? Her logic asked, creeping in the shadows with a voice so certain that it smelled like the truth.
"I'm scared," she confessed, unsure of what part of herself to listen to.
"I know. But you do your best."
Be the best for her, a voice whispered into her dark hair, a breeze of confidence calming her drumming pulse.
"I'll try."
"Good," Yukie said, finally letting the girl's hands go and grabbing her drink and finishing it with a large gulp. Kiyoko just watched, gingerly grabbing a napkin and dabbing her face dry. She didn't' feel all that embarrassed, but she did feel bad that girl's night took such a downward turn. But even in guilt, her curiosity won out.
"Yukie?"
"Hmm?" the redhead hummed, turning back to her friend. Kiyoko tried to swallow her worry.
"How did you know?"
Yukie sighed, soft and full of kindness.
"Because you're one of my best friends and I love you," the redhead giggled, tilting her head to the side as her rosy cheeks stretched into a bright wide smile, looking right at Kiyoko, "And I know you better than you think."
The night ended soon after, Yukie saying that she should go home and that Kiyoko had a lot to think about herself. The walk home after that was pleasant, splitting off from the redhead as she caught her train. Half an hour past before Kiyoko turned her key into her own apartment, small and tidy as she shimmied off her coat before draping it on her sofa. She made a beeline for the bath, ready to soak and relax and forget.
She sunk herself down into warm water, foaming bubbles and lavender bath salts floating as they mixed with oils. The raven haired girl rested against the porcelain, resting her head on edge of the tub as she lifted her feet to the other end. She tried to coax her mind to relax and stay silent but Yukie's words kept repeating in her head. Advice that she had always wanted to ask someone but wasn't sure she was ready for.
Kiyoko tried to ignore the strong pull of gravity radiating from her phone, her self-control thinning as she tried to fight the urge to once again reread her email (like she had done every single day since she sent it to her blonde best friend). Like every other time the urge tugged at her, she submitted. She reached her arm over the edge of the tub to where her phone laid on the tile floor against her slippers.
She unlocked her screen and slid her thumb to her inbox, scrolling down to her sent messages. She clicked to her latest sent email to Hitoka, the subject line filled with 'there's something I've wanted to tell you for a long time.' On the top of the sender's information, a green writing stood out to the ravenhead as the words wrote out that the message had indeed been received and read.
The dark haired beauty skimmed through the letter, her lips pursing as she reread it again. The surface rippled as she shimmied her legs in the water, unable to remain still as she nitpicked every line, wondering if any of her words could have been interpreted wrongly or if there could have been a misconception. Seeing none, like always, she locked her phone and dropped it onto the floor with a pout.
There could be many reasons why she hasn't gotten a response, but none made sense as to why Hitoka acted exactly the same way towards her when they met in person. Hitoka wasn't the sort of person who could hide her feelings, she wore her heart on her sleeve. Kiyoko would have noticed a change. So how could she have acted so casually after knowing how Kiyoko felt about her?
Still, she had gotten no reply. And she wondered if her fight was over before she even had a chance to raise her fist. With an uncharacteristic groan, Kiyoko grabbed onto the edge of the tub and submerge herself under the water. Sinking and sinking, wondering how long it would take to drown if she never got another chance to fight for air.
Kuroo
Yep, just your average Friday night for Kuroo; relaxing with two of his best friends—Bokuto and Akaashi, taking a breather and catching up while they waited for their pizza to arrive. Pretty normal...except for the fact that Kuroo was wearing nothing more than a pair of his super risque Dragon Ball briefs. And nothing else. To be fair, this wasn't the first time Kuroo was missing multiple articles of clothing in the apartment of his favorite engaged couple in all of Tokyo. But this time, it was intentional.
It all started when his best bro greeted him at the door in only his silky, tight fitting, incredibly exposing underwear.
("Jesus fuck, where are your pants!?")
("Pssssh, pants. So overrated.")
According to Bokuto, the plan was for the dual haired man to wear as little clothing as possible at home—in front of Akaashi—so that the younger man would slowly (but inevitably) succumb to his unadulterated sexiness (his words) and eventually stop being mad at Bokuto for something he claims to have zero clue about. And to make it look like Bo was totally not doing something dumb and stupid and overtly suspicious (his words), he immediately prompted Kuroo to strip at the doorway too, having him hang around in nothing but his delicates. To look normal, according to Bokuto. With Kuroo joining his tomfoolery, he hoped his friend's plan worked, for poor Akaashi's sake.
So here Kuroo was, going along with this foolproof (his words) plan as he melted further into Bokuto's living room sofa, lounging with his bro as Akaashi rummaged in the kitchen. And maybe his night had already started off much differently than he had first thought, but if anything it helped him with his ultimate goal of the night: to be completely and utterly distracted.
His days have been...challenging lately, but he's been keeping it together for the most part. His haphazard appearance had actually earned him a pat on the back from his boss, who thought that the ravenhead looked awful due to him taking his cases seriously these past few weeks. Work has been a great distraction too, but he couldn't stay in his office forever, pretending that he didn't have an empty apartment to go home to. So he had accepted Bokuto's invitation last week to stay the night with him and his fiance, watch some bad movies and catch up with junk food and drinks.
And if Kuroo had to look at Bokuto's junk all night just so he wouldn't be alone and constantly think about Tsukki all day—Tsukishima (he meant to say Tsukishima)—than he would endure that too. He had hoped that his crazy mind could, for the love of god, stop thinking about the blond. Two weeks was long enough to relearn how to forget him again, right?
While they waited for Akaashi to return with drinks, Bokuto had started some superhero movie and took the time to inform him that Oikawa had finally shown up to practice that day, settling the bedhead's uneasiness about the scandal.
"I'm glad he's okay. He had me worried, being that withdrawn...and…" he shuddered, "...tolerable."
"Ugh, yeah, I feel you, bro," Bokuto rasped as he plopped at the foot of the couch in his tight silk briefs, uncaring of Kuroo's innocent virtue. Kuroo shook his head, unconvinced that Bokuto parading in little to no clothes was actually going to work. But who was the bedhead to deny the hilarious and grumpy expressions that crossed his fiance's face? "Oh, but he and Ushijima are so freaking cute together. You shoulda' seen them."
"I bet," he said, trying his best to appear like his usual self. He was fighting off bad sleeping habits and constant migraines pulsing behind his vision. The ravenhead had to take a double dose of aspirin before taking the train over. But he knew that Bokuto could see right through him. Which only meant that Akaashi could too. The dark haired man tried to remain natural as he felt Bokuto send him a look, doing his best to pay attention to the movie.
"Hey, Kuroo.."
"Yeah, what's up buddy?" he replied, hoping he sounded casual.
"Did...did you do something you weren't supposed to?"
Well, Kuroo couldn't say that he didn't see this whole scenario coming from miles away, but he was hoping it wouldn't be brought up tonight.
"What makes you say that?" the ravenhead asked, already dreading the conversation he's been avoiding. The ravenhead has admittedly been rather moody lately, enough to make anyone notice, including Bokuto—he's more surprised that it's taken this long for Bokuto to say anything. He was half expecting the wing spiker to never quit asking him what's wrong. Kuroo figured he should probably thank Akaashi for that. But Kuroo couldn't pretend that he hasn't been noticing the younger man staring at him intently since he arrived earlier.
Would he know?
N-no, he doubts that. Kuroo hasn't said a thing, and unless the tall blond had mentioned it to him (which seems highly doubtful, because the younger boy could care less about what had happened. He's probably forgotten it by now...) then Akaashi wouldn't know a thing. Unless—
GASP—maybe he's been talking to Kenma. That little meddler has been giving the elder ravenhead grief all week. To think that they would be talking about him—conspiring, even. That treacherous little shit. Regardless if it was for his own good, he didn't want Kenma preparing some sort of good-will coup d'etat against Kuroo and having him admit his wrongdoings. He was perfectly fine living the rest of his life feeling like a complete dickhead, thank you very much.
"Because all week whenever I brought up you coming over tonight, Akaashi got kinda… I don't know, annoyed?"
"Wait, what?"
Annoyed? With him? That seemed...random.
Why would Akaashi be mad at him? Wasn't he mad at Bokuto right now? Does he really need to share in the younger man's wrath along with his burly best bro? No, that couldn't be it. Akaashi knew that whatever Bokuto did, Kuroo wasn't always to blame or always involved.
Only sometimes.
"Have you talked to him at all since last week?" Bokuto asked.
"Not since we were over at Ken's place."
"Hmm," Bokuto hunched forward as he stroked an imaginary beard with his hand, sticking his tongue out as he thought hard, "You sure? Because he's also been asking me about you for the past few days."
"Why?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Bokuto slumped, giving Kuroo a half-assed glare, "Whatcha' do to my boo, Kuroo?"
"Dude, I honestly can't think of a single reason why Akaashi would be mad at me."
"Hmm," Bokuto hummed, keeping the playful glare on his friend, "well, you better figure it out. Wouldn't want to be on his bad side, ya' know."
"You mean like you?" the bedhead replied, earning a cute squawk from the wing spiker.
The younger ravenhead walked out from the kitchen to the pair, his fuzzy robe snug around his frame while carrying a bottle of red wine and two Ramuné. Akaashi passed both soft drinks to Bokuto who tossed one to Kuroo, the dark haired man opening it with ease as he watched the younger ravenhead sit on a recliner.
"Pizza should be here soon," the younger man said aloud.
"Nice, I'll answer when he gets here!"
"You will do no such thing dressed like that, Koutarou."
Fizzled soda ran down Kuroo's throat, leaving his tongue tingling. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as Bokuto took a swig of his own, grumbling a complaint that went unheard. Then he noticed that Akaashi had forgotten to get himself a glass, or had left it in the kitchen. Before he could offer to get one, the younger man uncorked the bottle, gripping the neck before taking a generous sip, his Adam's apple bobbing with each gulp. Kuroo could only raise his brows in surprise, Bokuto doing the same.
Akaashi could hold his liquor better than most (way better than Kenma and Bo, for sure), that wasn't anything new.
But...still. The younger ravenhead didn't tend to get shitfaced often, and even when he did, he would share. The bedhead stiffened a laugh, wondering what had happened to the couple because based on his whitening grip around the bottle, Akaashi must be really, really mad at Bokuto.
Kuroo hoped this wouldn't continue throughout the night, though. Akaashi tended to be a mean drunk sometimes.
"Um, babe," Bokuto asked, tentatively, "you good?"
"I'm great," the former setter bit out serenely, resting the bottle on top of his lap.
"Maybe you should slow down?" the wing spiker suggested timidly. Akaashi turned his head to his other half, an unamused expression painting his face.
"Well, we have a guest, so maybe you should put on some pants," he grumbled, immediately receiving a childish pout from Bokuto.
"But why? It's just Kuroo," the dual haired man whined, shimmying across the rug to the foot of the seat Akaashi sat on. "He doesn't mind."
"I mind, Koutarou," Akaashi pressed, words dropping the temperature of the room. Kuroo yearned for the warmth of his clothes.
After years of knowing the younger man, Kuroo would've taken the silent warning more seriously if he were Bokuto. But the larger man just grinned at his fiance, without fear. The former Nekoma captain sat back against the couch, watching Akaashi's patience thin fraction by fraction as Bokuto assured his fiance that there was no problem in his attire.
The younger man tried to ignore his fiance, gingerly holding (death-gripping) his wine bottle as he tried to take another sip, Bokuto all the while rubbing himself along Akaashi's bare legs, hoping the skin on skin contact might elicit a softer reaction from the man. To no avail, though.
Then the pepper-head rose from the rug with a smug grin, making a spectacle of himself in his underwear as he hopped onto the younger man, draping himself over his poor lover who was half his size. But instead of shrinking away from the affection—or flat out knocking his fiance off—Akaashi just sighed, placed his bottle on the coffee table to not spill all over his carpet, and waited till the larger man settled on his lap, nestling his nose into dark locks, then gripped Bokuto's knees and shoulders so he wouldn't fall off.
It was a cute picture, like an owner and his very buff, overgrown pet. Or really more like a couple of teenagers, cuddling so candidly without regard to other possibly suffering individuals in the room.
After they adjusted themselves comfortably, the younger man moved his hand along Bokuto's arm, circling his thumb as he caressed the rough skin. Kuroo grinned at the sight, holding back a snicker at the thought of Bokuto being able to get away with anything when it came to Akaashi, who could never really stay mad at his older goofball fiance.
The endearment was obviously welcomed, Bokuto purring along his lover's neck, spreading a light blush along his nape. It was a cute picture, indeed. It kinda reminded him of their teenage years—back when he'd egg Akaashi on to relay messages to Bokuto, and belt out awe-inspiring pep talks to his bro, urging him to ask the pretty setter out on a date. Back in the day, when he watched his friends from the sidelines as they came to realize they belonged together.
He's known the pair for a long, long time, so Kuroo has picked up on the stray glances that they would always send each other's way. He's watched them fumble around with their obvious crushes since middle school when Bokuto would pine and mope about his pretty teammate at the local skatepark. The messy haired teen witnessed their shy beginnings as an official couple, the gentle sway of their romance. As an adult, he's been a loyal audience member who's done his best in keeping his envy in check as he watched his friends gradually grow more and more in sync over the years, smoothly gliding to the beat of their own song.
Ah, Kuroo thought, so that's what love looks like.
It was a routine that Kuroo never got the hang of—a dance that he watched from the sidelines as everyone in his life slowly but surely perfected the steps with their own perfect partners. A rhythmic routine he watched from a distance time and time again. Romance was never his dance to perfect.
Still, eight years was a long time to stumble on two left feet.
An ache that had been impossible to ignore as of late spread beneath the bedhead's chest, dull and muted as it waltzed slowly against his ribs—a cruel pace. Complex steps had made it impossible to sleep some nights for the ravenhead, making him dizzy with remorse and unanswered questions. Watching two of his best friends—two people who found their other halves in spite of it all, in spite of everything that came and dared to tear them apart—reopened a wound that had been blistering out since high school, had started to bleed out again weeks ago, blunt nails scratching rivers of red on his skin, the ghost of past scars resurfacing from their sleep.
Soft blonde hair rested on his elbow, the younger boy fast asleep in his arms, his back facing him. Kuroo had been awake for hours, the moonlight dancing through the window as he continued to admire the taller boy, all his worries forgotten in that moment. He rested a hand on the boy's chest, wrapping and pulling him closer as his fingers tapped along to the beat of the blond's steady heart. His back was warm, cute beauty marks sprinkled onto his fair skin. He looked so young—baby-faced even—when he wasn't scowling. His breathing was a lullaby, each inhale a note of autumn and each exhale a timbre of the sea. And Kuroo didn't know how he was going to be able to leave.
Maybe it was his fault, for putting the younger boy on a pedestal for so many years, for not telling him of his feelings and walking in limbo, for only being clandestine. And for being satisfied with only being useful, not wanted. Desired, but not cherished.
Love is hard when you're young, Kuroo thought.
Then he remembered that this wasn't love. This isn't what love feels like. Love isn't painful. It isn't selfish, or hushed, or something he should be afraid to voice to the person lying in his arms. This is heartache. And he needed to leave. In order to heal.
He hasn't told Kei yet, that he's leaving.
He wanted to tell him when he got accepted into the program last month, but he couldn't.
Wanted to tell him that he had finalized his schedule and would be finishing his schooling abroad last week, but he didn't.
He wanted to tell him last night that he finally booked his flight to SFO, but the blond had smiled so sweetly to him and had kissed him so gently—so convincingly, that he was too scared.
The morning, he thought, I'll tell him in the morning. But for now, he wanted to breathe in the younger man's scent, remember the curve of the blond's spine against his chest and pretend that he was brave enough to hold Kei as a lover and not a secret.
He'll tell him in the morning, but he'll bask in this make-believe bliss for now. While he still could hold him, while he could still watch him sleep in his embrace. Before he could dwell more, the blond began to stir in his arms, groaning lowly as he twisted his head to look back at Kuroo who smiled like a sap, kissing the younger boy's shoulder. The darkness had begun to fade and a hazy morning glow had started to paint the room.
The morning had come, light peeking through the blinds.
"Why are you up?" Kei mumbled, now fully facing the ravenhead with sleepy eyes and smacking his lips due to cottonmouth. The older man just nestled closer, earning a low groan.
"Couldn't sleep. Too much on my mind."
"Like what?" Kei yawned.
You, he wanted to say, always you.
But that wouldn't change anything. Kuroo knew it wouldn't. He was never meant to have this boy forever. He was never meant to know this love.
"...about something I need to tell you."
"Hmm?" the blond hummed, rubbing his eyes before he looked back to Kuroo. The raven crafted his face to cold stone as the rays of dawn spilled through the cracks of the curtains. The blond blinked at the expression. The older man swallowed any hesitation he felt, plunging head first into cold waters—into the end.
His heart bled.
"I'm leaving, Tsukki."
"Kuroo's totally looking at my ass, babe."
"He's not, Koutarou. He's obviously just lost in thought."
The ravenhead snapped his eyes to the couple, the pair giving him anxious looks as he blinked rapidly, trying to assess what he may have missed. He gave a half-assed grin, scratching the back of his neck as he apologized for zoning out. He wondered if the apology looked as unconvincing as it felt.
Usually, he would be rewarded with a snarky remark from Akaashi and a hoot from Bokuto, but he received neither. Instead, the pair frowned, sending each other a look that Kuroo couldn't fully understand. Before he could ask, the couple turned their eyes back at him, their faces grave as they looked at him with a hard stare, making the words in his mouth sink back into his throat.
Kuroo felt the first trickle of sweat on his brow when Bokuto finally spoke.
"Bro, I understand the whole pretend to respect your privacy until you're ready to talk about whatever is seriously bothering you thing, and I'm trying to hold up to that, but even I could tell that it's been days since you've gotten a full night's rest judging by thedead eyes and the dead face and the dead well, whatever the sculpture on your head is, and even without having to bro hug you, I'm kinda not sure you've been following recommended showering protocol for the past few days," the wing spiker deadpanned, ignoring the harsh sigh from Akaashi due to his fiance's not-so-delicate scolding. "Kuroo, you straight up look like shit. Even shittier than that. If shit could shit shit, and then that shit shitted shit, you'd be that. The shit of shit's shit. The third generation shit. Anyways, we're crazy worried, Kuroo. You look like shit."
Granted, Kuroo was completely aware that this was going to happen sooner or later. He just hoped that it would've been later, much much later. He wasn't sure which he dreaded more, the interrogation he was about to receive, or the lecture that was certain to follow afterwards. The way he saw it, he had two options: either tell them the whole story now and get the potentially mind-breaking earful out and over with, or just wait till everything explodes in his face in the distant future (or not so distant, seeing how quickly he's beginning to unravel—a mere two weeks being enough to make him Shit the Third).
Or he could wait till Kenma coaxed it out of him (he will, soon, inevitably, 100% success rate) and decide then.
Regardless of his own relationship problems, that bottle blond had found the time to annoy Kuroo all week to admit what was wrong. It was only a matter of time before his best friend would force his hand. He didn't really have any other choice at this point.
Wait. He just remembered there was a fourth option, one he's chosen time and time again, embracing the choice like a sweet friend—denial.
Denial was his true partner, swaying gracefully alongside him since he could remember.
"Nothing is bothering me, guys. I'm fine," he lied, practically spoon feeding crap to his friends, incapable of letting his problems come back to the light, where he could see them. Where they could remind him of the past. Where they can hurt him and bruise him and break him with the hard truth of his false-hearted promise of the future.
"What happened with Tsukishima, Kuroo?"
However, it would seem that Akaashi wasn't having any of his shit. Kuroo tried to remain unmoved, unconvincingly stoic as his pulse picked up at the name.
"What?" Kuroo asked, the slightest hesitance in his voice. The couple kept their eyes on him until Akaashi nudged Bokuto, softly pushing him off his lap (a low whine drifted from the larger man) and letting him sit back down on the carpet. Akaashi scooted himself to the edge of his chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at Kuroo with a serious expression, brows knitted and a tightness to his jaw.
"I said, what happened with Tsukishima?" Akaashi repeated, his tone clearly expressing his displeasure. Usually, Kuroo would appease the younger man, telling him exactly what he'd want to hear just to get the other man off his back. But this was different because Kuroo knew that he gave no implication about the reasons for his behavior lately. He's kept his lips shut for weeks now and knew for a fact he hasn't so much as voiced the tall blond's name out loud since that fateful morning.
So Akaashi would have no idea what his crisis would be about, and yet he does. Which only meant that he either was definitely conspiring against him with Kenma...or the elusive blond skyscraper had told him something himself.
The thought made the hair back on his neck stand. Kuroo cleared his throat, hoping that his voice didn't sound so broken from the desires that were trapped inside his teeth.
"Did...he say anything to you?" he asked, his voice cracking like he had swallowed glass. He cleared his throat again, embarrassed that he exposed his nerves. When he looked up, Bokuto had a worried frown.
His fiance, however, looked thoroughly annoyed with the older raven haired man. Kuroo thought that maybe Akaashi wouldn't say anything about it, ignore Kuroo's questions about the blond and get straight to the lecturing without hearing his side of the story, but he didn't. Akaashi just lifted his hand to rub along his temple, swallowing down a heavy groan.
"He didn't tell me anything. But I could tell he's been upset," the younger man looked directly at him, "In fact, I started to notice around the same time you began to look like you were bothered by something. It wasn't hard to put two and two together."
As relieving as knowing that the blond didn't confide in Akaashi to complain about their very brief and disappointing reunion, Kuroo felt disheartened. He's never enjoyed upsetting the blond, but it had turned out to be something he had become rather proficient at. (However, what was unnerving was how bothered Akaashi seemed to be about a dilemma that wasn't even his business. Kuroo knew that he and the blond were good friends, but the former setter was sending some hostile vibes his way that he couldn't find any justification for. Especially if Tsukki didn't even tell him wh—fuck, Tsukishima...Tsukishima is what he meant—especially if Tsukishima didn't tell him what had transpired during that horrific morning after.)
"Wait," Bokuto interrupted, excitement blooming across his face as he jumped in place, "did you tell him how you feel, bro?! Is that it?"
Being a great friend, Bokuto might actually be rooting for him, and maybe even wanted to help Kuroo with his long-standing infatuation for his kouhai, but intentions aren't enough sometimes. And intentions don't mean shit when said best bro, who promised to keep your secret and take it to the grave, openly talks about said feelings in front of someone who might not have known.
That someone being very close friends to the object of his affections.
That someone who happens to be giving the nastiest stink eye Kuroo had probably ever received in his life (and Kuroo has been in the same room as Daisho on more than one occasion, but his glare still didn't match Akaashi's). There's no way someone could be that careless. Not even the brawny wing-spiker.
"Bokuto, what the fuck. What the shit."
"What?"
There's no way someone could be that clueless. No way.
He had no words. The utter betrayal he felt was just ludicrous. Kuroo's slack-jawed face just stared at Bokuto, hoping the other man would understand his fatal mistake. After a few more seconds of the dual-colored haired man still looking confused, Kuroo immediately threw an arm to Akaashi's direction, the younger man taking another sip from his bottle.
Bokuto's face immediately lit up, finally understanding exactly what Kuroo meant.
"Oh! Bro, I told Akaashi already."
...what.
"Holy heckin' Jesus, Bo! I trusted you!" Kuroo moaned, fisting his hair in frustration.
"Hey! He's my fiance! Soon-to-be husband! What I know, he knows. I tell my baby everything, bruh," the dual haired spiker rebutted smugly.
("Sure you do," Akaashi grumbled, going unheard by the older men in the room talking, screaming, at full volume.)
"Besides," Bokuto pressed, "when I told him, he said that he already knew."
Full disclosure: Kuroo was hardly ever surprised. Rarely has he never seen something coming his way. There are a handful of people in his life, however, who've shown that they can occasionally get the better of him. One was his childhood friend, another was the boy who he had mixed feelings for. There was his dentist, but that was a one-time thing. And then there was Akaashi—but his unpredictability wasn't occasional, it was his default. He just always seemed to know how to catch him off guard. He shouldn't even be surprised that he'd be surprised at this point.
But Kuroo didn't get it—how could the ravenhead seem to know everything?
"WHAT?"
"Yes, Kuroo. I knew," Akaashi grimaced, "It wasn't that hard to figure out."
The deep, dark secret he had kept locked in his heart for years—single-handedly, obliterated—wasn't that hard to figure out,' what the shit, Akaashi?!
"Since when?!"
"Depends on what you're asking. If we're talking about your little crush," Akaashi's scowl deepened at the word, "since my last year in Fukurodani. If we're talking about your little arrangement," his tone grew sharper, "I knew around the same time. As for your blatant feelings," his eyes narrowed, "about a few months after your joke of a relationship began."
Okay, ouch.
So Tsukishima is a touchy subject, Kuroo understood that, but Akaashi could afford to simmer it down a bit. As controlled as he was, the older ravenhead had limits to his temper.
Kuroo isn't a bad person, he knew that he was an all around good guy. So he sucked with romance; there are worse things that he couldn't have turned out to be beside someone who's shitty at relationships. The ravenhead felt a vein start to pulse on his forehead, his anger wanting to tell Akaashi to keep his tone in check, but he refrained, knowing that there was truth to his words. And messy haired man was the one who asked. So he reeled in his defensive urge and tried to get back to the topic at hand.
"Really?"
"Oh yes," the younger man sneered, his tone dripped with warning, "I've also been very much aware that your obsession has yet to fully wither away over the years, unfortunately."
Excuse me, did he hear that right?
Apparently, for reasons beyond Kuroo's understanding, Akaashi seemed to be incredibly vexed by his confusing feelings more than he really had any reason to. More so than the older ravenhead would have thought capable. Maybe the younger man felt like he should come to the blond's defense, but fuck—he didn't have to be so goddamn rude.
Besides, the former middle blocker wasn't obsessed. He had risky feelings and a questionable history, but he wasn't obsessed. Kuroo was genuinely confused about what to do with said feelings but he wouldn't let Akaashi dirty his sentiments for Kei—Tsukishima, Tsukishima is what he meant. It wasn't obsession and it wasn't just lust, it was lo—
"I'm not obsessed," Kuroo said, interrupting his thoughts before they took a wrong turn back to his past.
"Oh really?" Akaashi jeered, "Then what would you call it?"
Kuroo could feel his heart beat faster and his hands tightened into fists.
"None of your business, to tell you the truth."
"Watch it, bro. That's my man," Bokuto warned from his spot on the rug, "Besides, let's cut the bullshit. We all know you totally still want him."
"Want is a different matter, entirely," Akaashi said, his face still cold.
"Why are you giving me such a hard time?" Kuroo exasperated, not understanding why he was feeling attacked rather than interrogated.
"Because I don't know what you did, but whatever it was, he's hurting because of it."
Kuroo was getting really tired of the way Akaashi was looking at him and reminding him that he fucked everything up. He's fully aware of his self-sabotage.
"And you automatically think I had something to do with it?"
"You just implied that you might have done something, and you really do know how to fuck things up when it comes to him," the younger man said, straightening his back and watching Kuroo through grey slitted eyes, "So what did you do?"
"Honestly, I highly doubt that I could have had any major effect on him," he answered. Kuroo knew the words were true, and even as he hoped that they would appease his friends, he should have been prepared for the sting those words would leave on his ego. "He's ice to me now, we only hang out with"—one purpose in mind, with bad intentions and no hope for me or what I really want, what I've never had a chance for—"friends around."
The couple looked unconvinced.
"Tell us, Kuroo. What did you do?"
"I just ran into him," he blurted, "Okay!? I ran into him when I was grabbing a bite. That's all. Happy?" It was the truth, Kuroo reasoned. He wasn't lying. But the rest seemed...personal. Private and heartbreaking and not something he wanted to think about around other people. It was for when he was alone and moping and wishing that it could be different.
"When?" Bokuto urged, turning serious.
"Two weeks ago." (Technically, 15 days, 2 hours, 11 minutes, and 23 seconds, but that's beside the point.)
"Kuroo, what aren't you telling us?"
Why would they think I would want to tell them? The ravenhead thought, exasperated. He didn't do anything wrong, per se.
It was none of their business. It had nothing to do with them.
He's okay dealing with it on his own. He's been doing just fine.
Besides, it was all in the past. Four years was long enough for the blond to move on.
It didn't matter anymore. It was over now. Kei has proba—
Sorry. Tsukishima. He meant Tsukishima.
(He meant to say Tsukishima. He's Tsukishima. Not Tsukki. Not Kei. Not anything else. He's just...Tsukishima now.)
And it was over, and it was the past, and they weren't together, and they were never a couple, and so he left, and Tsukishima let him.
And he let Kuroo leave again. And he didn't stop him.
And so Kuroo ran away, again.
Because Kei—Tsukishima—must have realized that it was for the best.
So Kuroo fled, and ran away, and hid from everything and his life was just fine. And Tsukishima was obviously doing so fucking great without him.
Because he never needed Kuroo in the first place.
And maybe it might just take Kuroo a little more time than the blond to see what Tsukishima obviously saw; what the blond must have seen all this time that made him so goddamn certain they never had a shot in the first place.
And somehow, someday, Kuroo would finally move on too.
And be happy.
And not think about Tsukishima.
And stop feeling like complete shit whenever he woke up in the morning.
And forget how it felt to be lying next to Tsukishima as if the younger boy was made just to fit perfectly in his arms like he belonged there. He will learn to forget.
So how was it fair for someone else, who had no business to butt in, to ask him to remember now? Now, when he's trying to figure out how to erase any ounce of reminiscence of that night.
Those years.
That boy.
That love.
It wouldn't change anything.
Tsukishima would still only be Tsukishima. Nothing more.
And he was still Kuroo, ruining everything he touched.
He was still damaged and full of remorse.
And he was still hurting.
"Kuroo?"
He looked up, catching the couple staring with the same intent...but a trace of concern ran across their face. At first, he was confused, wondering if his weeks of keeping it together were coming undone or if he really just couldn't hide his feelings as well as he thought.
"Nothing, he just...it was nothing."
He felt the younger ravenhead watch him, sympathy casting across his face, the disdain from earlier draining from his rigid posture.
"You honestly expect us to believe you when you say it's nothing, but still look so…" Akaashi pursed his lips, fighting for the right word to describe...just what Kuroo was.
"So..." he tried again, looking back at Bokuto for help. The dual haired man just crossed his arms, tilting his head to the side trying to find the most appropriate thing to say. Then, almost simultaneously, both men turned to Kuroo, the perfect word on the tip of their tongues.
"Tragic." "Shitty."
Well, they were both...not wrong.
"...what do you want me to say?" Kuroo asked, any fight left in him leaking out his pores and leaving him limp and cold on the sofa cushions, the white noise of the movie steady in the background.
"The truth," Bokuto urged, taking a seat next to Kuroo, their bare thighs pressed against one another. The larger man swung his arm over Kuroo's shoulder, his hand pulling the taller man's head to Bokuto's shoulder. It felt warm and familiar.
"Come on, just tell us. It can't be that bad, bro."
Oh, Bokuto.
He should know better by now.
Being his bro, one of his best friends, he should be fully aware of how much Kuroo could really fuck something up.
"I ran into him and then he invited me back to his place...and I went."
The two other men groaned simultaneously.
"Bro, why would you do that?"
"You really never learn, do you, Kuroo?" Akaashi asked, a forceful sigh passing his lips as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
"To be fair, he invited me back just to eat," Kuroo shrugged, knowing his words were meaningless.
"To eat?"
"Yeah."
"Kuroo, please. You honestly expect us to believe you went with him without other intentions on your mind?"
"I seriously didn't go there for my dick."
"Dude, what'd you think was gonna happen?" Bokuto asked, giving his friend a squeeze on his shoulder.
"Honestly," the bedhead sighed, dropping his head down as he stared at his hands—his hands pressed and grabbed soft, pale, palpable flesh, his fingers strumming each vertebra on the blond's spine upwards, the younger boy on his lap tilting his head to the side and sighing softly as his palms kneaded golden locks—a sudden pain forcing his knuckles into a fist, "I had hoped we'd just ...hang out. And talk."
"Talk?"
"Yeah," Kuroo chuckled, no mirth in his voice, "Like an idiot...I just wanted to be around him again. I missed him. Is that so wrong?" he asked. He looked up to Akaashi, genuinely expecting the younger man to reprimand him again. It was clear that he was not happy with Kuroo still attempting to interact with the blonde man in question.
He was met with a perplexed look, as if the younger ravenhead was torn between staying mad at him or making him some hot chocolate to cheer him up. Kuroo gave a half-smile, wondering just how awful looking he must have been to make even Akaashi take mercy on him.
He must have looked really pathetic.
"I just didn't want to let go. He had—," the ravenhead continued, chewing at his lips trying to find the right words to explain his rationale that night, his eagerness and thirst, his desperate attempt to prolong a moment that Tsukki was—Tsukishima was finally looking at him, and only him, "—finally given me hope that maybe we could be...kinda friends, or something. It wouldn't be like before, I know that, but I would have been okay with that."
The ravenhead winced, feeling his blunt nails begin to dig into his palm, nasty red marks etching the skin. The back of his neck began to burn, and Kuroo could hear his teeth grind together as his jaw clenched, the words hurting as he said them out loud after years of swallowing them down his throat.
The still stung once they left his tongue.
"As long as I could be close to him, again. All these years I've just been trying to pretend that it was nothing because it was easier, I guess. Because that way I might actually believe it too—" he shook his head, his bangs brushing his cheek, shielding the glassed over eyes with a self-deprecating grin, fully aware of all that he wished he could have changed, all that he wished he could have had, "—and it would hurt less and I could stop...missing him like crazy. He invited me and all I knew was that I just wanted it to feel like before. I was happier before. God—" he half groaned, "—I was so fucking happy."
And he wished he could go back—go back to being 21 and search high and low for some guts to just say something, regardless of knowing the blond's answer.
"I just wanted to talk and be around him. I thought maybe he would want to try being friends," he smiled, closing his eyes as he hunched against his friend's arm, leaning onto him so he wouldn't sink anymore, "Then...I realized why he invited me over. And I didn't want it."
"Bro…"
"No, I mean, not that. Yes, yes, of course, I think I'll always want him that way. But, what I meant is that I don't want it to be like before. Where it was just that," he tried to make clear, "I don't want to be...expendable to him again. So I tried to leave and then..."
He tried to leave and then...and then…
"Then what happened?" Bokuto asked, face inches away from Kuroo's own. Akaashi too was eagerly waiting for Kuroo's words. The bedhead just sat there, staring at his hands as his fingers unfolded. There was a shake.
Two weeks wasn't a long time to bury a bloody heart.
Four years, however, was plenty of time.
And yet...
"He kissed me." And that was it. All it took was Tsukishima to show an ounce of interest and Kuroo was putty in his hands. He was willing and wanting and lonely and happy again. For a night, at least. And morning came, and he was still just Kuroo.
Coffee wouldn't have changed that.
"Please tell me he's just upset because you didn't kiss him back and just went home, and he feels rejected," Akaashi said, a pained expression on his face, already knowing his answer.
Even if that wasn't the case, it did remind Kuroo of his confusion over the blond. Why would he be upset? Surely, Tsukishima should have been ecstatic that Kuroo saved him the trouble of an awkward morning after. Then again, it wasn't his most graceful exit in the least. And he did indeed say some uncalled for things.
"Maybe it is because I rejected him…" he reasoned, remembering how the blond had frozen over once again after Kuroo brilliantly opened his big mouth. That had to be it.
"Oh thank god," Bokuto sighed in relief, slapping Kuroo's back as he wiped his forehead from imaginary sweat, "I was worried you might have stayed the night or something."
The movie was probably the loudest sound for a couple of seconds after Bokuto's words. The lack of response enough of a confirmation that Akaashi shook his head before he brought his hands to cover his face, a low groan escaping him. Bokuto face completely blanked.
"Kuroo, no."
"Bruh...are you stupid?" Bokuto moped, running his hand through his hair in displeasure. Akaashi grabbed his half-empty bottle again, holding it higher as he took another swig in hopes that he'd find God at the bottom, or a reason not to hit Kuroo with it.
"It just happened," he said, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find the words, "I really didn't mean to. It just happened."
"Wait," Akaashi interjected, lowering his wine, "that makes no sense. You didn't reject him, then."
Akaashi looked at him, wanting an explanation. Kuroo couldn't look him in the eye. He just turned his head slightly to the left and stared at the wall.
"Um, the next morning… he invited me to stay around for a while. I couldn't. I just panicked and said whatever I thought it'd take to leave faster," he explained.
"Why would you do that?" Akaashi yelled, his hostile tone from earlier returning to his voice once again, his face hardening. Kuroo jumped back, feeling Bokuto do the same next to him, caught off guard once again from the younger man and his confusing anger. He tried to think of something to say that wouldn't upset Akaashi more, something that wouldn't give him the wrong impression.
"Because I knew if I'd stay, that might end up being the first morning of many mornings of the same pattern I had with him," he tried to reason, "And I'm tired of it now. It's different with other people, I don't care about them. He's...he's just"—he groaned, grabbing his hair trying his best not to yank his locks out of frustration—"I can't stand the idea of waiting for him to throw me away again."
"How are you so sure?" Akaashi asked.
"Because I know. It'll always be the same with Tsukki—Tsukishima, I mean," he bit out, his muscles tensed at the full name still foreign to him, like talking with marbles in his mouth, "It'll always be the same with him." He felt Bokuto hover close to him, probably unsure of what to make of his correction.
"What did you say to him?" Kuroo looked at Akaashi, wondering why the former setter would think that important.
"What?"
"When you were leaving. You said that you told him 'what you had to' so you could leave faster and, from what I could guess," Akaashi said, "you wanted to make sure he understood that you wouldn't be back. Right? So what was said?"
"He said that we should hang out," he titled his heads, trying to remember exactly what he had said that morning weeks ago. Then suddenly, like a punch to the gut, his voice chimed in his thoughts repeating those words..."And I told him that I didn't really think that we should. It was a bad idea. That it was—" Kuroo cringed, remembering how the words fell from his lips—how the blond had almost flinched at the audacity of his voice.
Suddenly, an overwhelming dread lingered inside him, self-hatred churning in his blood.
"I said that it was fun but felt a little...repetitive."
"Is that what you told him?" Bokuto asked, appalled.
"No," he said, shaking his head again at himself, wondering what state of mind he must have been to say something so unnecessarily cruel. He wasn't like that to anyone. Especially not to the blond. Maybe it was the embarrassment that had Tsukishima feeling upset these past few days. That someone like Kuroo would make him feel so unwanted and undesirable. Maybe that was it…
"I said it felt kinda 'been there, done that'...that we shouldn't hang with each other again like that." He finished, taking a deep breath, no longer bothering to shift the frown shadowing his face. Even after weeks, the words felt so wrong. He never wanted to upset Kei.
Kei was—was just Tsukishima now. He's not Kei to him anymore.
He made sure of that.
"You fucking idiot," Akaashi spat.
"Bro. That's so harsh."
"I had to. I can't do that again," he tried to explain, wanting them to understand why he said those words, why he had to offend the younger man—to cut it off so coldly, "If I do, I'll just be like I was and what's worse, I know I'll allow it to happen all over again," he reasoned, hoping they could understand the struggle he's bottled up since weeks ago, since forever, "I'd let myself go back to what we were before, for even a speck of his attention."
He can't do it. He couldn't do it again. The raven head clenched his jaw at the thought, frustrated that since their encounter he's had moments of almost giving in and calling the younger blond, asking him to ask Kuroo again—that he'd be willing once again. For whatever he'd give.
Then, after those traitorous thoughts clouded his head, he started to vomit, his own body punishing him for his weakness.
He was tempted, and his brain tortured him with sleepless nights. And he was so close to running back to the small, warm apartment—body and soul for the taking.
Then his heart began to clench. It tightened, and twisted, and stretched in his chest, throwing himself in a fit of panic. His heart convinced that he was dying. That this boy was killing him.
This love was going to kill him if he became expendable again
"I can't go back to what I was to him. I just can't."
To see Tsukishima only in dim bedroom lighting would break him.
To pretend that he didn't want to kiss him like a lover would hurt him.
To bite his tongue so that he wouldn't tell the blond that he wanted more of him, needed more of him, loved him for more than a night—since forever, since the beginning, since always—would kill him. He knew it would.
"If you're feeling shitty, you have only yourself to blame."
Kuroo and Bokuto looked back to Akaashi's face, frozen over once again after the words fell from his lips. But there was a fire brimming in his glare, grey stones searing Kuroo's own.
"What?" Kuroo whispered, not sure if he heard that right.
"You're the one who made the decision to label it as a hookup, thinking for both of you. Like you always did, always have," the younger ravenhead hissed, "even if you did think it was for your own good, you were also the one who to blame for discouraging anything from happening between you and Tsukishima in the first place."
"But that's what it was," Kuroo argued, "why else would he randomly invite me over?"
"I'm talking about the beginning too, Kuroo!" The ravenhead flinched as Akaashi yelled, his voice strained with frustration, the rosy cheeks on the younger man showing that the earlier gulps of wine weren't helping his volume, "it was you who wanted no strings. He's not to blame for sticking to your MO. You were the one who started this!"
"I know that, but it was pretty obvious that he was more than that to me!" Kuroo yelled back, his temper finally clawing out from inside him, "He stayed over all the time. We made plans. We were always together. We went on dates that we didn't call dates, we checked up on each other like fucking boyfriends, for fuck's sake!" He knew that he should stop yelling, what with Bokuto's grip becoming incredibly tight on his shoulder. He should stop yelling, because he's not this emotional around other people, but the words kept falling out of him, like rainwater spilling out of the gutter, "I cared about him more than just some friend. We were basically a couple—and then we weren't! And yeah, I know it was my fault but it's hard when he's treated me like some distant classmate or some random acquaintance for years after it was OBVIOUS that I felt for him more than anybody else!"
He should really stop yelling, the neighbors might hear.
"And Kei isn't stupid okay, he's—fuck, I mea-I meant Tsukishima—but he's not!"
The bedhead felt too exposed, in nothing but Dragon Ball briefs and his heart bleeding along his sleeves. He was standing now, brushing Bokuto off as he stared at Akaashi who had stood from his own seat, eye leveling Kuroo's own, increasing in anger.
"He's not blind, he must have known!" he continued, "There's no way he didn't see it! There's no way he wouldn't have known how I felt! But he didn't say anything, ever. He didn't want to see it! He gave me no hope that I even had a shot. Nothing changed!"
"You left!"
Kuroo froze, the words shocking him. What did that have to do with anything?
"You left, and you left without telling him why," Akaashi spat, "And even if you thought you guys didn't have a chance, after three whole years he deserved to know why. He deserved to know, Kuroo!"
"Babe, maybe simmer it down, he feels bad already," Bokuto whispered, not wanting to set Akaashi off even more.
"No!" Akaashi growled, pointing at the older ravenhead, "You can't put all the fault on him. He's known you only as someone who wants nothing more than a warm body. You can't blame him for never trying for anything else when you gave him no hope that you wanted more from him. You know him, why would he ever put himself out in harm's way? Why would he do that when he believed that you would never accept that!?"
The bedhead just stared, unsure of what to say to...that. He didn't do that, right?
Did he really make the blond think that all that time nothing had changed for him?
"He doesn't risk anything, especially himself. But he was willing. Does that not register as odd for you? Why would he do that, huh? You can't think of any reason?"
That's true, Kuroo thought, I was never able to make him do anything he didn't want to. But put that way, Akaashi brought up a good point. He just said it with a poisonous tongue.
"My fucking God, you're so dense," the younger man continued, pacing in a tight circle as his onslaught grew louder, "He probably didn't do anything about your obvious feelings because he's someone who's rational. And we all know he's not an optimistic thinker, either, Kuroo. He probably convinced himself not to hold onto hope, no matter how in-your-face your infatuation was. Maybe he just convinced himself that you wouldn't love him back and that he was just seeing what he wanted and not what was really there! Why's he never realized he could do better? God only knows, but to stand by and watch him still be in love with you while you complain and whine that he was going to throw you away—and not the other way around—is ridiculous. I can't watch this anymore!"
I would never, he wanted to say, panic slowly creeping back to his chest, I would never throw him away. Why would Tsukishima ever think that? He must have known. He must have, right?
Kuroo must have shown him a thousand times over how much the blond meant to him.
"And the thing is that we abetted you," Akaashi continued mercilessly. "Before, we didn't understand the scope. You were our friend and you were hurting. You had to leave—we understood that," the younger man motioned between Bokuto and himself, obviously recalling when he had taken a plane abroad, leaving them to pick up the damaged pieces of his and Tsukishima's non-relationship.
But in the end, they didn't need to do any damage control. Tsukishima brought it upon himself to break away from their little pack, choosing to make all of Kuroo's friend's less guilty over choosing to stand by the ravenhead's side. Coming back home, Kuroo felt a little grateful for the separation, making the whole thing easier on the bedhead. But he was selfish.
And he might not have been the only one hurting.
"So we watched you leave and we still chose your side, thinking that you must have been really torn apart. So we let Tsukishima drift, not knowing better. He's tough, sure but everyone has insecurities! I wish I could go back because thinking about how he must have felt, in your words, expendable not only by you but by us too," he grieved, yelling at himself as much as Kuroo at this point, "All because we thought that you were right, that he didn't care. But he's not apathetic, he's guarded. And I discarded him too," he cried. Akaashi kissed his teeth, shaking his head in remorse, before returning his glare to Kuroo who had long frozen in place.
"But you fucked up first! Because no matter what you think, Kuroo, Tsukishima never threw you away. He never said no and he never left. Never looked for anyone else, never bothered anyone else—never strayed from the fucked up leash you somehow convinced him to put on and keep. You were the one who abandoned him first!"
Kuroo breathed sharply, his lungs on fire.
What has he done?
"And you did it again."
What has he done?
"But...he must have known," Kuroo whispered, his voice fighting for air, "Even if he didn't want to risk it, he must have known that I would never push him away...I would have never done that, never. We were, we were—"
"We were never friends, Kuroo-san."
The dark haired man could hear sizzling, his brain frying as it absorbed everything.
It was all his fault, all this time.
Yes, he knew he had a lot of the blame, but knowing that he was once again the maker of his own demise...it was easier just to think that it was all because Tsukishima would never want him.
"You really are an idiot," Akaashi said, grabbing his bottle and finishing its content in one massive gulp ignoring Kuroo as he dropped back to the couch and buried his face in his hands, rubbing them raw on his eyes.
"Leave me alone, I feel like trash right now."
"Oh, you are."
"I'm such a garbage person," Kuroo whined, his words muffled by his palms."Why am I the worst?"
"The world may never know," Akaashi offered, all his steam gone as he settled back into his seat.
"Wait…" the two ravenheads turned to Bokuto who was still standing, his head tilting to the side deep in thought. His eyes kept shifting back and forth, his attire made him look even more ridiculous. He then quickly looked to his fiance, "Keiji did you...did you just say that Tsukki was in love with him?"
Silence.
The sort of silence that exist in a vacuum engulfed the apartment, short-circuiting the older bedhead altogether.
A low thump broke the silence, Akaashi having accidentally dropped the empty wine bottle on the rug, the glass not breaking on impact as it rolled to a stop. The younger man didn't seem to notice. Kuroo had focused completely on the former setter, his hair rising at the static charge running through him.
Because Bo was right, Akaashi did say that.
So busy remembering how he had messed up, Kuroo almost let it slip past him.
But he heard it all right, and he needed answers.
Now.
Akaashi blinked, focusing on the older men before his face returned to being stoic.
"No, I didn't."
"Don't fuck around Akaashi, yes you did!" Kuroo cried, pointing an accusing finger at Akaashi.
"I'm not in a state where I am fully aware of what I'm saying," the younger man deadpanned, keeping his face passive, "I'm drunk, clearly."
"Keighji! You said it!" Bokuto cried out, real tears sliding down his cheeks, "How could you keep this from me?!"
("I thought you told each other everything," Kuroo mocked, remembering the words said not too long ago. His voice goes ignored by the ridiculous couple.)
"No, Koutarou," Akaashi scolded, his voice leaving no room for argument, "I don't feel comfortable breaking Tsukishima's confidence. Our conversation was private."
"WHAT!?" The older men scream in unison.
"...What?" the younger man asked, taken aback by the reaction.
"Tsukki told you he loved Kuroo himself?!" Bokuto exclaimed, earning a panicked look to spread through the former setter's face as he flushed bright red.
"God fucking dammit."
"Spill, baby!"
"No," Akaashi said calmly, picking up the discarded bottle from the floor before continuing, "You know what? This is all a misunderstanding. Yes. A misunderstanding. And you know who we should blame? The French," he nodded, "Why? Because they make fucking fantastic wine. Wine so fantastic you don't even realize you've drunk the entire bottle until you trip on one. And you know what we all should do? Have another one and forget we said anything. Shall I open another bottle and pour us all a glass?" he offered, already trying to beeline to the kitchen.
Bokuto blocked his path, arms open and ready to pounce. Akaashi frowned, knowing that in his current state, he'd probably never make it out of the living room.
Fuck it.
Akaashi tried to jump over the couch, half-tackled by his fiance in the process. They wrestled on the ground—robe riding up to expose Akaashi pale legs as he thrashed under heavy muscles, Bokuto managing to pin him down with ease, his underwear practically useless as it provided no coverage whatsoever. Kuroo watched, not really paying attention since he was completely dumbfounded how the past ten minutes might have just changed his life forever. But it wouldn't mean shit if he wasn't certain. And only Akaashi could tell him so.
And he would get his answer.
"Sumi-chan," Kuroo said.
Kuroo saw the moment that his words registered with Akaashi, the younger man immediately freezing under his fiance. He looked at Kuroo with horror, his eyes bulging at the older man. Bokuto, however, looked lost, unsure of why his fiance and his bro were having an intense staring contest out of nowhere.
"I'm lost," Bokuto said.
"Kuroo," Akaashi whispered, a pleading look in hi eye, "Please. I can't tell you."
"You have to, I am cashing in your promise. I want my boon."
"Kuroo, no."
"You don't have a choice! You shouldn't have run over my cat! Shouldn't have run over my Sumi-chan!"
Ah, yes. Sumi-chan. A gorgeous tabby cat with the softest fur and the cutest meow that a young Kuroo had adopted when he was fifteen years old. His grandmother had paid for her as a gift to her grandson (to help with the...difficult time he was having. He needed something to take his mind off of everything), and Kuroo saw it fit to name it after the gentle old woman. The lovely furball was friendly and wild, jumping from shelves to bookcases all through his father's house, driving the elder Kuroo crazy with her aerodynamics. Plus, Kenma really liked her, so she officially became part of the family.
But with beauty comes consequences, and her fault was that she was incredibly stupid. But she was cute, so Kuroo figured it would be alright.
Then, one time during the end of his sophomore year of college, he decided to bring her to his shared apartment off campus for the week. He wanted to introduce her to Kei when he came to Tokyo for a mini vacation during his winter break.
She immediately took a liking to the tall blond, rubbing herself against his ankles all week long, practically stealing all of Kei's attention as the taller boy would pick her up and spoil her to no end, much to Kuroo's delight (and jealousy).
Then, the night before he was going to return his beloved pet home, he had invited some of his friends over to his place. Including the couple of the hour, Bokuto and Akaashi. However, before the couple arrived, Sumi-chan had managed to escape the apartment through a window, wondering the streets nearby. Like the dumbass she was.
The moment Tsukki noticed she was gone, they went out searching for her, hoping she had not traveled too far. When the blond yelled that he spotted her in the middle of the road, Kuroo cried in joy. There she was, sitting pretty and still along the pavement. However, a moment later Kuroo saw the headlights of a car approaching her at high speed, a familiar car. Kuroo tried to yell at Akaashi to slow down, for surely the man would have noticed Sumi-chan long before he got too close.
Or he would have if his head wasn't tilted up and eyes not even close to staying on the road. Then next thing he knew, Sumi-chan was soaring as Akaashi drove her down, her mangy body flying on impact and scaring Akaashi enough for him to stomp on the breaks...and for Bokuto's head to hit the steering wheel from his boyfriend's lap.
It was a day that Kuroo didn't like to dwell on, the horror of his beautiful but stupid cat's mangled body laid limp in his arms, as Akaashi—completely horrified—asked if there was anything he could do to make it up to his distraught friend.
And payment was finally due.
"I am still so very sorry," Akaashi said, slowly getting up from Bokuto grasp, walking back to Kuroo with his hand's up in surrender, "but please. I can't tell you."
"I need to know, Akaashi. Sumi-chan would have wanted you to tell me."
"You'll only feel worse about yourself," Akaashi informed, guilt still painted over his face.
"Come on, babe!" Bokuto encouraged, "For Sumi-chan!"
"Shut it, that was your fault too!" Akaashi hissed at his fiance, before turning back to Kuroo who stood there in wait, knowing that the former setter would give in. A defeated sigh escaped the younger man.
"Let's just say that it might be fair to assume...that Tsukishima's feelings might be more than just acquaintanceship."
"Akaashi. I think that Sumi-chan's short but beautiful life is worth more than just assumptions. Yes?" Kuroo nudged, earning a half-assed glare from the younger man. "Come on, now. For Sumi-chan. She'd want you to do this for me."
The dark haired man's eyes didn't waver as Akaashi challenged him again, keeping contact as smokey grey bored into his soul. He would cave, Kuroo knew he would. Again, he heard the sound of victory as Akaashi groaned in defeat.
"Fine… he has feelings for you."
"Sumi-chan wants specifics."
"No, she doesn't." Kuroo pouted at the former setter's dismissal.
"Are you seriously going to tell me what she does and does not want? I don't think she would contact you from the afterlife, seeing as you're a murderer." Akaashi's left eye twitched (and Bokuto let out a low 'Ooooooh'), gritting his teeth.
"Well, if you really want specifics, fine. Seeing as you still don't get it without having to bring up the ghost of your dead cat, I'll tell you. Your little proposal? He only agreed because he already liked you, you fucking idiot. Is Sumi-chan satisfied with that?"
"Since when?" Bokuto interjected before Kuroo could defend his precious cat (may she rest in peace in cat heaven, eating catnip and destroying furniture to her heart's content) from Akaashi's mockery. The younger fiance then smirked, looking like he was trying hard not to smile.
"Honestly, it was cute watching him blush when we first met him in training camp. Started around then, probably."
Then there went Kuroo's brain again, short-circuiting once more.
"Akaashi, what the fuck! How could you not have said anything?" Kuroo boomed.
"Hey, this is still all your fault. What would you do if your crush started to give you attention, only to realize there was no hope?" Akaashi said, poking his chest roughly at the accusing tone, "You strung him along. It wasn't my place to say anything."
"Fine," Kuroo huffed, "but you're certain that he still feels the same for me?"
"Seeing as we only had this conversation after New Years, yeah. I think it's safe to assume."
"That wasn't even two months ago!" Kuroo cried, "You could have let me know before I went and ruined everything!"
"That was entirely your fault, too," Akaashi grumbled.
"Still you could have given Kuroo some hints," Bokuto shrugged, chastising his fiance, "Or, ya' know, not run over his cat, at least."
As Akaashi started to claw at his future husband's face, seething that it was all his fault for getting too handsy, Kuroo just stood there, letting it all sink in.
God, he was so stupid.
How could he not have seen it all before?
The glances—honey-gold eyes so piercing, forcing Kuroo to meet his gaze every time.
The blushes—velvet pink and incredibly bright against Kei's light skin, sending him spiraling when the blond would try to turn away in embarrassment, unaware that the blush had spread to his ears whenever Kuroo would compliment him, or be overly affectionate, or when he said something corny.
Those moments—those times that the younger boy looked like he wanted to say something to Kuroo.
He would look at the older man's eyes and the ravenhead could tell that the blond was thinking too hard and convincing himself to not saying what he wanted to. Instead, he'd say something else, as Kuroo kept his own words in his heart to himself.
What if he had just leapt in first, said something first? Maybe he could have saved them. Instead, he let Tsukishima dance around his self-doubt and Kuroo stayed silent.
"You should save all your dumb lines for someone you actually like, idiot."
But I like you.
"I'm not upset. It's nothing you should burden yourself with."
Let me comfort you.
"It's fine if you're busy, really. I don't want to take up any more of your time."
I have plenty of time for you.
"Don't you get bored just hanging out with me? I'm not that great..."
You're my favorite person.
"What I want in five years..." he wondered, closing his eyes as he thought it over, Kuroo waiting patiently as he tried to count all the lashes like blades of grass on the younger man's eyes. Then they opened, a sea of molten gold shining bright, "I guess, I would want some sort of answer...to something I've been wondering for a long time..."
Do you see me in your future?
"Why would you leave?"
Because I can't stay if you don't love me back.
"I guess...it's for the best."
Is it?
"It doesn't make sense for this to go on. You're leaving anyway. Let's end this."
Ask me to stay, he wanted to cry, Ask me to stay for you.
They had crossed a line a long time ago, but pretended that nothing had changed. And it had cost them and had inflicted pain that both were responsible for. And Kuroo couldn't believe that he never saw it—the insecurity, the caution, the incredible burden that the blond must have shouldered thinking that Kuroo didn't want him.
And yet, he still had feelings all this time for Kuroo despite him constantly rejecting Tsukki. Somehow, Kuroo still had hope.
He's done waiting for another opportunity to slip by.
"Akaashi," the ravenhead said, getting a hold of the couple's attention.
"Yeah?"
"Do I have a chance?"
Akaashi just stood there, saying nothing as he looked at Kuroo with a softer expression. Bokuto hooted.
"Bro, that's totally a yes!" Bokuto hollered, throwing his arms up in excitement.
And he smiled, joy bringing colour back to his cheeks after weeks of turning a sullen grey. Tonight...has changed everything.
Because even though he's scum, Tsukishima loves him. So tonight was beautiful.
Tsukishima wasn't just Tsukishima afterall—he was still Tsukki, still Kei.
And throughout everything, Tsukki was the one who asked him to come over, to stay the night, to stick around in the morning. And through it all, Kei still held out hope.
And God, he was so beautiful.
And Kuroo was done running away. This time, he was running forward.
He turned to the front door, long legs climbing over the couch to get there faster. Next thing he knew, his face met the rug as he fell hard, the pillow that hit the back of his head bouncing off to the side.
"You can't just go running to him though, idiot! You don't have that right, especially with what you just did to him!" Akaashi fumed, the most ridiculous face gracing his features as he cursed to the heavens for making him deal with such stupidity on a daily basis before turning back to Kuroo, who was sitting on the ground rubbing the back of his head to ease the pain. "He was honestly reaching out and putting himself in harm's way because for some reason, you're still...something to him."
"But then what should I do?"
("Wash your hair?" Bokuto suggested, his words going selectively unheard by the two ravenheads.)
Akaashi huffed, shaking his head and crossing his arms before, once again, sighing in defeat.
"I can't believe I'm saying this"—wow, he actually looks physically pained—"Kuroo...would you like my help?"
"Really?" Both Kuroo and Bokuto beamed, starts shining in their eyes at the generous deity that was Akaashi Keiji. (Oh, how they would worship him—the monuments they will build!)
"I'm meeting him later this week," the former setter said, "Would you like me to...I don't know, test the waters?"
"You'd do that for me?" Kuroo asked, tears brimming his eyes at the benevolent offer.
"I'd do it for him mostly," he clarified, a traitorous smile slowly forming across his face, "but yes, you too. Because even though you keep fucking up and hurting him...you're my friend. And lord knows what will happen if I allow you both to go unsupervised in your guy's messed up dilemma."
"Woo!" Bokuto screeched, "Alright! Let's do this! Mission: Get Kuroo and Tsukki to get their heads outta their asses and get together is a go!" he proclaimed, sharing a high-five with his best bro who was totally on board with the mission in hand. Akaashi rolled his eyes.
"But you have to promise that you're going to do this the right way this time, Kuroo," the younger man warned, "I mean it. You have to do right by him."
All Kuroo's ever wanted was to do right by him.
All he's wanted was to move forward with him. Be with him. That strange grip in his heart, usually painful and suffocating, gently eased up. Letting go of his fears and cradling his love instead. He was done looking back.
Kuroo was confident that he'd do right this time around.
Tsu—Kei had been waiting long enough.
"Yes, I promise," he smiled, "that's all I've ever wanted."
Next Chapter: Chance
Hanamaki, Yamaguchi, Daichi, Tsukishima, Sugawara, Yachi
I expect the hate mail and threats to my life in my letter box. I totally deserve it. But now progress can ensue and we got a lot of things rolling! I had a lot of different reactions as I was writing each section, completely throwing off my groove once in awhile, but overall happy with how they each turned out. I won't go into details, but here's the overall gist of what was going through my head as I wrote them each:
Tsukishima:
Damn, that could have gone better.
Hinata:
He's is so sorry! I hope it all works out!
Oikawa:
Ignore the haters! Do you, baby!
Kenma:
I know you're nervous but it'll be okay.
It's fine, it's fine
It's fine, it-OH NO
NO KENMA
ABORT
ABORT!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Kiyoko:
Hell yeah, girl's night!
Wait, what's this?
(shook)
Kuroo:
FINALLY.
I'm so excited for the next chapter, you guys. In fact, the next couple of chapters are just going to be so fun to write that hopefully it won't take me so long this time round. Not to mention there'll be a short time skip in the near future and I'll let you know which chapter when I post. Be warned, I'll probably be updating the tags as well, and that's coming up within the next chapter or two, so keep an eye out. I'd still love to hear your reactions too and any comments, even if it's to give me a piece of your mind, all are welcomed! Till next chapter!
~Comment-Review-Fav-Follow-Bookmark-Subscribe-Kudos~ (and all that good stuff.)
~The Hive in June~
