Chapter Forty-Seven
"Yes." He says, accepting the inevitable, that Kuroo would hurt him and that he would see Kenma. He's not sure why he thought it would be different. "Good boy." Kuroo says, though he barely hears it through the ringing in his ears. The older boy leads him away, up a set of stairs and through an unfamiliar hallway, Kenma's school is a lot different than he thought it would be, darker and more foreboding than a place of education had any right to be. He supposes that his observation might be biased by the hand clenched around his own, too big and cold, like being swallowed by an ice cube. "In here, Shouyou-chan." Kuroo says with a flash of ivory, the same wicked grin he only sees when they're alone in the dark. He swallows around too many words, most of them begs for Kenma. "Good boy." Kuroo mock praises, patting him on the head as he takes two steps into what might be a classroom on a normal basis.
He's not sure what to do with his limbs around Kuroo when they're not being pinned against something, when they're not fighting to catch his breath and clawing without a single falter in too thick shadow. Shouyou isn't left to his thoughts for long, not nearly enough time to decide where to put his body before the decision is made for him. Kuroo's tanned arms dig into his sides, nudging bruises that flare under the older boy's touch, burly fingers dig into his hips and his feet leave the ground. The position is familiar, only lacking flickering yellow lights and the roughness of a cement wall digging into his back. Pushing those memories away only makes them fight harder for control, to mend that instance into this one, he thinks he might be able to hear Grand King's breathing instead of Kuroo's. "Shou-chan?" Kuroo, or Grand King, maybe, asks, a whisper into his neck that drags like flame. "Yes." He says, because he can forgive Kuroo, if only because he was Kenma's friend. Best friend. Kuroo laughs.
Things are quiet for a moment, with him staring at the bleak classroom over Kuroo's shoulder, through messy, inky hair that's too close. He's put down, on something that isn't the floor, Kuroo's hands shift, swallowing his sides with squirming, roaming fingers that nestle under the hem of his shirt. The older boy's fingers are still cold and his fingernails are hard as steel when they slide over his skin, forcing angry red marks over skin that he can't see. "Good boy." Kuroo says, though he's not sure why, Shouyou thinks it might be his acceptance, the fact that his cries haven't been herded out of him at the first instance of pain. He doesn't feel like crying, or screaming, or begging. He's just there, under Kuroo's chest that presses him until he's flat on the surface he's been placed on, a desk, he figures.
Kuroo's lips are as cold as his fingers. He just wishes that he didn't know that, that he couldn't still feel them against his. Another thing taken away, only this time there's no flash of light, just subtle black that slides over his forehead. The older boy is panting when he pulls up, harsh breaths that make him feel each of Kuroo's ribs digging into his own, grinding in ways that make him squirm uncomfortably, "You're shaking." Kuroo muses, head tilting enough to expose both of his eyes, dull chopper that he can barely discern from the grey filter settled over his vision. "Yes." He agrees, taking a moment to glance at his trembling fingers while not taking his eyes off the older boy above him, not that it's much of an ordeal when Kuroo is engulfing him like he is, making it harder to breathe than it already is.
The pause in action ceases to exist, Kuroo's fingers slide over his skin like a heavy tide, pushing his shirt up until it's over his arms and on the floor. He shivers but he's unsure if it's the cold or the lingering gaze of the boy above him, pulled back enough to only take up space on his lap with folded legs. "You're hurt." Kuroo says, like their deal, that this moment, wasn't made of him getting hurt. He nods, thankful for the thick black that slides over his eyes, blocking off half of Kuroo's heavy gaze. "Do they hurt?" Questioned along with a prod to the one on his left hip, he jerks away from the touch and the Nekoma captain makes a noise he can't define. "I'm sorry, Shou-chan." Kuroo whispers, it sounds sincere, lacking the biting sarcasm that it should have. The words stun him, he's just not sure why, why Kuroo's apologizing and making it sound sincere.
"I'd never hurt you," Kuroo whispers, promises that slide ice over the burning lines of his chest. Mine. "We'd never hurt you." Said with conviction, Shouyou almost believes it, would have believed it if Kuroo hadn't already hurt him, hadn't made him fear the dark and taken pictures of it. I think I like this one the most. He can still see the screen, the still image of himself with his face dripping with tears and semen. Kuroo leans back then, until the weight of the older boy is no longer crushing his legs, he half hopes that the older boy will leave, slide through the door and open the path for him to see Kenma. Instead, he gets stinging on his hip, sliding slickness that he tries to move away from only for his thigh and shoulder to get pinned down by heavy fingers. Kuroo's gaze calls to him and he meets it without meaning to, looks down at his own form, scarred and angry skin half blocked by messy hair and tan skin.
It's paralyzing being under Kuroo, under long limbs made of hidden muscle that make his shoulders and back rub into a too flat desk. The older boy keeps smiling, little slices of sharp teeth and crinkled eyes, that's terrifying too, made worse when the older boy decides to sink against him again, low enough that he can feel Kuroo breath on his skin, against half healed bruises. The Nekoma captain sinks down, Shouyou watches the lines of Kuroo's teeth separate before continuing to sink lower and lower. Kuroo's teeth are sharper than his smile, cold and stinging, also enough warning for his chest to seize into a firm stillness. His lungs aren't taking in air and he only notices when Kuroo leans back minutely to mutter against his skin, "Breathe, Shouyou-chan." Kuroo laughs again, a muted rendition of the one Suga-san must have heard. Against his own command, he draws in a breath, a deep inhale that stutters on the way out. He watches Kuroo's lips quirk into menacing steel against his skin, chin resting against his thigh, only just sharp enough to tingle.
Kuroo nips a line across his stomach, barely dodging his belly button in the process and ends up over another bruise. "Did he do this to you, Shouyou-chan?" He thinks it's a stupid question, that this situation, everything about this situation, is stupid. "Yes." He confirms, only because Kuroo is staring at him and the weight of it is like cement settling on his skin. "Oikawa Tooru." Shouyou flinches away, knocking his head into the desk and his knee against Kuroo's icy warmth. The older boy gives him a look, a frown turning into an expression he's never seen before and has no idea how to name. "I'll get him, Shouyou-chan." He thinks that's what scares him the most, though he's certain that the words hadn't been said for his benefit. "Then you'll be ours, right, Shouyou?" Kuroo asks, nails tapping against his hip like the older boy is getting impatient for a question he just asked. "Yes." He says, unsure himself if it's a lie or not. Kuroo nods, tracing another awkward line of nips and bites across his chest until they land on one side of his neck, lapping and sucking until it goes numb to sensation beyond a blunt it's there. Slickness drags over his lips when Kuroo pulls back, his jaw worked open with rough fingers until he tastes blood. His blood, he knows, too familiar with the taste and that knowledge makes his stomach twist, acid sliding against his throat until he swallows it down.
The taste lingers after Kuroo pulls back, he's dazed enough to barely feel that numb sensation working into the other side of his neck, sucking and biting mixed with odd noises that seem to come from another room, he really wishes that they were. "Make me feel good, Shouyou-chan." Kuroo commands, softly enough to be a whisper but that deadly quality still lingers in the sharp assessing quality in Kuroo's eyes that almost looks like pleading. He nods. Kuroo moves, morphing their positions until it's him on top of Kuroo, he still feels blocked, pushed into a corner in the dark. He waits for flashes of light that never come while Kuroo shifts scarlet shorts down a fraction, just enough for his hardness to be shown. He thinks it's stupid, being scared of a thing, but knowing that thing belongs to Kuroo, the boy who made the darkness swallow him, he thinks that's why he's terrified, why his fingers are turning into a blurring mess as he reaches for it.
Kuroo makes an odd noise once they make contact, it's the first thing that he notices, the second being how warm it is, a different kind of burn than the one Kuroo usually provides. It's almost not bad, different and still crippling. He could be running, knows that he should at least be resisting. Mine, Kuroo's mouth says without even moving, mine mine mine, he focuses on the skin and muscle under his fingers, on the boiling under the surface and hopes that this will be something he can forget, that he can scream and black out to wake up in someone's arms, Kenma's, Daichi's, Tsukishima's, he doesn't really care. Mine, Kuroo's fingers squawk with sharp prods to his shoulder, pulling him into blackness that doesn't bring the amnesia he begs for. The fingers move, sliding across the exposed region of his back once his face is settled in heavy musk, lips forced apart and tongue cradling dry heat that makes him gag. Kuroo moans. "Shouyou-chan." Gasped into the air like Kuroo doesn't hate him in that instance.
"Good boy." The older boy says, voice and grip more steady than before. Kuroo's body shifts then, leaning up until warm skin is blunt against the top of his head, he can feel that gaze again and wonders when it left. "Suck, Shouyou-chan." A command, soft but firm and not Kuroo. He sucks, drawing in pressure through the seal Kuroo forces into his mouth. The older boy moans, pushing his hips forward while hands cling to his hair, pressing him down until his vision starts fading, "More." Shouyou isn't sure how to take that, what more he could give when he belongs to Kuroo, when he forgave the older boy. "More." Kuroo repeats, blunt nails dragging across his scalp like a feral beast. Kuroo pulls him off by his hair, tilting him back with a flick of his wrist until his neck strains, chopper glances down at him, darker an wider than they should be. "You can do better, Shouyou-chan." Kuroo says, commands, requests, with another crooked grin, "Be a good boy." Good boy. His opportunity to respond is pulled from him with a sharp jerk of Kuroo's fist, one hand tugging on his hair and the other on his neck, pushing him down into a sheet of black as quickly as it removes him, blurs of tan skin are all that exist in his vision, blurs that turn into almost nothing once the older boy is fully settled inside of him, docking in his throat with a burning that spreads into his lungs. "Good boy." Kuroo moans, hips twisting, edging minute millimeters into him, breaking off any chance he had of breathing.
The older boy holds him down though his squirming, through every resistance that he can manage with his lungs burning and nothing to fill him. His groan -his beg- is muffled by Kuroo's moan, flat notes drawn out that makes him think of Kenma's piano, of the first piece the older boy played for him, deep and thrumming, alive in a way that shouldn't be possible. Shouyou is pretty sure he sees the same Tokyo sunset through mess of Kuroo's hair and his dotting vision; the older boy pulls him up when it starts getting too vivid, when he can make out the different hues of a dying sky, "Shouyou." Kuroo says, shocking him back into the classroom, to the too flat desk, "Big breath." Commanded and he's not sure why he's glad to lose the ability to breathe, even if knows why, so he can see music and hear a sunset, to think of Kenma while he's trapped under tanned fingers that aren't the right size. It's longer this time, the period in which Kuroo is inside of him, throbbing in his throat like a muscle that he shouldn't be able to feel, Kuroo twists, easing purple into a too bright gradient. "I'm close." He pants, grip tightening until Shouyou can feel knuckles grinding against his scalp while Kuroo tugs his head to his will.
Throbbing brings a sour taste, more and more as Kuroo continues to twist, moaning that cuts off with pants brings the finale, Kuroo's fingers stop, smoothing out until his entire head is being loosely held onto the dying arousal. Liquid lingers in his throat, sticky and cooling, he wants to vomit, to spit it out and turn away from it. He swallows, using his nose to take in half a breath that isn't stopped, Kuroo's stomach slows under his forehead but the older boy's pulse is still racing, still beating with warmth that he didn't know could be found in the older boy. In this moment, with Kuroo's release sliding into his stomach, with the older boy's too big fingers sliding in his hair - touch that he hates - and Kuroo's feet locking his knees in place, he thinks he can still forgive. For Kenma's sake, for us and ours.
"Sorry." He says, once he's up, once his mouth belongs to him and he can take in a big swallow of air. "Good boy." Kuroo says, sliding fingers through his hair, ruffling the blob of messy locks and pushing them back, "You belong to us, Shouyou, right?" Kuroo says, rasped but still softer than he's ever heard the older boy. He takes another look, across tan skin, ignoring grey shadows that gleam with sweat, past too sharp teeth that are trained into a neutral expression. "Yes." He says with the forgiveness and apologizes attached. "My Shouyou-chan." Kuroo states, pulling him into tanned skin that radiates what they had just done. "We'll love you forever, promise." Kuroo adds, twisting his limp frame until his back is pressed against Kuroo's folded front, he can feel Kuroo's heart against his ribs, slowing with each second. "Want to see Kenma now?" He hates that he has to think about it, that he has to find a balance in their dynamic, that he has more than one protector. Ours. "Yes." Kuroo laughs, nudging him with his still bare crotch. He slides off of the desk, out of Kuroo's grasp and finds the floor under his feet to be wobbly. Kuroo catches him under his arms, holding him up until his feet are ghosting under the ground, "Shouyou?" Kuroo asks, easing forward until he can see the older boy's nose in the side of his vision. "Sorry." He says again, shy smile that makes Kuroo laugh again. "Let's go see Kenma." The older boy says, setting him down on his still trembling feet and grabbing onto his hand, leading him towards the door, towards Kenma.
As they get closer, he gets more and more shaky, unsure and frightened. He nudges Kuroo, asking for permission and the older boy accepts, pushing the bathroom door open. The floor is still sticky and the lights are still too bright, his footsteps turn into echoing blurs like trains swishing by while he works his way towards the closest sink. He's unable to keep Kuroo's gaze when the older boy's reflection starts to stare at him, he focuses on his own skin, his hands that doesn't feel like his own. He scrubs. Softly at first, with suds that turn into a foaming puddle in the basin, then harder, then even harder. "Shouyou." Whizzes past his heard, a breeze that somehow exists in a small room. He scrubs instead of responding, only pulling his palms from steaming bundles to gather more soap, only to get cleaner. He sees the sun setting again, past a blanket of white, though know it seems like somewhere else, because it only rains in Tokyo. Shouyou thinks of home, of where he came from, of that porch and the owl that screeches when he gets to close. It's gone as soon as he's pulled into its details, "Shouyou!" A screech, but not the one from his childhood, the last one before his father died. From Kuuro, with narrowed eyes and tugging fingers, he lets himself be pulled from it, from a portal that leads to too many years ago. "Yuukio Hinata." He sighs, letting Kuroo hold onto him, leading him through his numb hands.
"Yuu- What?" Kuroo asks, pulling open a door that doesn't feel like a door when he walks through it, the older boy leads him to another door that slides open, he sees his protector then, sees a blob of yellow that blocks his view of gold. "Kenma-" Kuroo gasps, pushing him in front, a grip on his shoulders to lead him to Kenma. He goes, stumbling under Kuroo's too fast pace until he's in range to climb into Kenma's lap. The older boy grunts when his thighs are crushed, "Kenma." He gasps, feeling another layer of calmness force itself around a subtle ball of panic. It trembles, shaking for release and he's not sure what to do. "Shouyou?" Kenma asks, quiet and half shocked. He can't meet the other boy's eyes and he can't lift his hands from where they're limp by his sides, can't let himself stain Kenma with Kuroo's touch, with Kuroo's pleasure. He still feels icky, like Kuroo's skin is still under his, crushing him without being close. "Shouyou." Kenma says, displeased and tucking knuckles under his chin, he follows, different from following Kuroo, even if they are on the same side- the same something. That scares him more than it should, not being able to name something.
Kenma's eyes are golden still, but darker than usual, almost matching the sunset he's pretty sure was real. Almost, he thinks it would be a perfect match if not for him, for his disorder. "Kenma." He says, more dazed than he actually is. "I'm sleepy." He says, even though he's not, is pretty sure that he couldn't sleep if he tried. "Tired." Kenma corrects. Shouyou focuses on Kenma's lips and can't bring himself to lean closer, lean forward like Kenma is doing right now. "Sorry." Kenma shrugs, still close enough that Shouyou can smell freshly washed hair. "You hung out with Kuroo?" The older boy asks, flitting gold and Shouyou thinks they land on the boy -the threat- behind him. Good boy, Kuroo's eyes glint when he looks too, another smile, barely a tilt of the lips that's still makes his heart stop, even in a brightly lit room. "Sure did." Kuroo says, filling up the air meant for his response. "Good." Kenma concedes. Shouyou lets his eyes fall back on his protector, on warm red that glows where his shadow isn't touching. His hands are still hanging and he's pretty sure that Kenma notices that when the older boy grabs onto one. He makes an attempt at not recoiling, not flinching away because his hands are burning and still unclean. "Your hands are wet." Kenma observes, casual but questioning makes his eyebrows arch. "Sorry?" He says, making to wipe them off, a way out that closes when the weight of Kenma's arm follows his hand.
"It's fine, Shouyou." Kenma says like always, even when everything is not fine, he curls up around that thought, letting it fester in the connection his hand shares with Kenma's while he shrinks on the older boy's lap. He's not sure what there is to say, if he should even say anything that would threaten the plan, the countdown ticks again, clicking seconds while Kenma follows his spine with his free hand. It's nice, calming when he shouldn't be calm. Kuroo's still around, like something he can smell, but his eyes are closed before he notices; Kenma doesn't say anything, Kenma will protect him until he wakes.
He's pretty sure it worked, Kenma's protection, when his eyes open and he can draw in a big breathe. It smells like dread, fear wrapped in oxygen. The dark isn't helping and he squirms, nudging his way out of warmth until he's standing on top of someone, they groan but barely shift. Shouyou stares at the wall, where Kenma is, where he was, and where Kuroo is. His protectors -his protector and Kuroo- are leaning against the wall, Kenma's body is shifting, a byproduct of his morning something. He steps off whoever is under him, wishing he wasn't wary of being near Kenma, that he wasn't carefully calculating the way he slides next to the older boy, careful to keep on one side and away from Kuroo. Kenma would notice when he awakens, Shouyou is sure of that, but he lets himself relax, lets himself try to relax while his head settles into the nook between Kenma's shoulder and tilting hair. Good boy lingers, stretches longer than shadows and twice as dark. Good boy. Kuroo's presence says without a mouth. He can't go back to sleep and he can't move.
Until he can. His hands shift, scrubbing without soap or water but with cause, to escape Kuroo, to escape good boy. He scrubs until his hands are wet, dripping and still not clean. He moves then, when his face is dripping in time with the heartbeat in his fingers, dodging stray legs and headless pillows until his feet on are on sticky tile, his feet smack while he approaches the sink, it's the only sound, besides the dripping, and the sobbing. Shouyou takes a look at his face, the action feels odd and the response is almost nothing until his reflection starts moving even though he does not. He watches for a long moment, taking in red cheeks and the bleary trickle of things he should be over, be done with, because the deal had been made, because Kenma wants him to.
He scrubs again, with soap even though it stings, makes that trickle turn into bubbly crimson that settles into the sink and won't disappear. The water is cold against his skin, freezing to the point where it burns and he lingers until he can take a step without good boy whispered into his ears by voices that aren't there. Shouyou steps out of the bathroom before the urge to scrub returns, before his numb skin starts to itch, calling itself unclean and screaming until it burns, he can't quite bring himself to return to his protector, knowing that Kenma seeing him dripping and crying would give the older boy a bad morning, would make him ask questions. Why, when they both know that he can't say. Instead, he makes his way to his own team, like walking towards a different kind of warmth, with no threats, that strange thought lingers while he scoots himself next to his captain. He thinks of deals then, of ours, of whore until it all leads back to Kuroo, a brand of poison that was starting to make him scared of someone he loves, and maybe for someone he loves. Kuroo promised that Kenma wouldn't be involved, that he wouldn't know and now he's both.
Daichi shifts eventually, seconds-minutes-hours, he's not sure, the sun is there, on the wall across from him, turning it almost orange. A hand, warm and rough settles on his side, over a bruise that doesn't quite hurt, he thinks of Kuroo's tongue, claiming him, it was stupid to think that would only last in that moment, trapped by a desk and a deal. Tomorrow was their last day in Tokyo, he's not sure how it got past him that it was closer to two weeks than three when he's been counting every other second, tomorrow they would pack up and ride back to normal, away from Tokyo, towards something nobody but him knew about. It's something, something he can't explain no matter how many words come to mind, nothing seems to fit the terror-relief-anticipation-fear-regret swarming in his blood and threatening to tear everything apart. Considering one thing he shouldn't be thinking about leads to another, Natsu, and another, his mother, and another, Sato, he wonders if he should say something to them, something like goodbye, a real one, the one Yuukio didn't give him or his sister.
"Stupid." He mutters into the futon separating him from the floor, the cushion shifts with his words and replies, "It's too early for stupid." It says, sounding too much like his captain. He laughs, something soft enough to hide in the fibers between them. "What's on your mind?" Shouyou shrugs the shoulder closest to his captain, Daichi knows he has too much stuff on his mind, always. The older boy grunts, then clears his throat, then coughs hollowly, "I'm too old for this."
"It's too early for old." Shouyou retorts, scooting closer to the older boy, preserving the moment and the furnace like waves his captain always emits. Daichi moans again, "You're the one talking to yourself at-" Another shift and a small click, "Seven in the morning." He shrugs again, unapologetic and only a fraction embarrassed at being caught. Not that Daichi needed to know that. "Just thought I'd share my genius with my teammate." His captain makes a weird noise, both acknowledging and dismissing him.
"...Daichi?" He asks eventually, after listening to too many snores with too many thoughts rattling in his head. The older boy clenches the arm around his waist and it takes too much effort not to make a noise after the pressure leaves the mark on his hip throbbing, he takes a moment to find himself, "Do you ever think something bad is about to happen?" He shifts, taking in the profile of his captain's face while he waits for an answer and manages to catch the tail end of a yawn and the blooming of a wry grin, "Like my first year dating the 'enemy'?" Said with enough emphasis that Daichi's fingers seem too obvious. "Enemy." He repeats, blunt and almost too loud. He tries for a moment, to think of Kenma, his protector, as an enemy, in the same way that Grand King is, or that Kuroo is, maybe. Kenma doing the exact opposite of everything he's done; holding him, loving him, feeding him, housing him. Not the opposite, the same but not the same, Kuroo and Grand King offered those things, love, touch and somewhere to live. It's odd. Thinking about it like that. Wrong on too many levels after everything that Grand King and Kuroo did to him.
Daichi drags him to breakfast with those things just sitting there, growing and taking nasty shapes, making him imagine gold twisting into something vile in the dark, making Kenma become everything he knows the older boy isn't. He can't eat the rice today, too many harsh thoughts twisting and locking his throat up to think about the past, to the things that mattered too much and now don't even feel real. "Daichi?" He asks, trying to pull himself out of a tangle of insults and contusions. "You never answered my question." He says without looking up from his bowl of fermented soy beans. Daichi grunts around a mouthful of something, "I don't really know what you mean, to be honest." Shouyou nods, uncomfortable and cautious, "Is something bad going to happen?" Daichi asks, giving him a long glance that he reflects with a curtain of bangs. "I dunno." He says honestly, as honestly as he thinks he can manage. He's not sure what to feel about this, about Grand King or Kuroo's deal. It's sickening and chilling and someone is going to notice if he keeps talking like that. "Never mind, it's probably nothing." A shrug and half smile make Daichi's face twitch when he manages a look at the older boy. "Right." His captain says, like he doesn't believe him and Shouyou is pretty sure that he doesn't.
He sits with Daichi even after he's finished eating, waiting for something and pretending to not be avoiding something, including the curious gaze of the boy beside him, Suga-san shows up after the third round of avoiding intense eye contact. There's a smile on the setter's face, so he's not really sure why he gets this weird feeling, like the older boy is frowning through the happy tilt of his mouth, "Morning, Suga-san." He offers with a wave, Suga-san's gaze settles on him after a slow blink, like the older boy is finally seeing him instead of just staring at him. "Good morning, Shouyou, Daichi." Cheery but distracted is all he can discern from the tiredness masking Suga-san's voice. "Something wrong?" Daichi asks with more rice on his cheeks that he remembers being there a minute ago. Suga-san blinks again, mouth contorting into something more like a smile. "Kageyama is still being strange."
He thinks of the staring, like an endless, creepy ocean with a side of staring. The weird grumbling and the staring. "Did you figure out what's wrong with him?" He asks, only half guilty that he asks for his sake more than his setter's. Suga-san takes the empty seat next to him, slouching and yawning before replying, "I don't think he's said a word since yesterday." Shouyou blinks, remembering Kageyama's greeting and he's unable to recall the taller boy saying a word, even through their practice and penalties. "Strange." He echoes, feeling weird, Kageyama wasn't good at feelings but the dumbass was never far from the setter's lips. "It's probably nothing." Daichi says, sounding like he has everything under control even if they have no idea what's going on. "Should we?" He asks, not quite sure how to say it, trying to talk with Kageyama usually lead to him having fingerprints pressed into his skull and being pulled back to times he can barely remember. I think I figured out your problem. "I think he wants to be alone." Suga-san says, something crooked and disturbing making his eyebrows twist in almost amusement. The words seem like an invitation after Suga-san refuses to elaborate on the subject and he is, unfortunately, the closest one to Kageyama.
Finding the setter is easy enough, approaching him is like walking into a hurricane of moodiness and he's pretty sure that's enough of a sign that he should back off, to join the rest of their team and warm up for practice. "Kageyama?" He asks, earning him an empty glance half concealed with creased eyebrows. "Uh- everything okay?" He asks instead of I know something is wrong. The taller boy remains silent, staring at him like a twisted predator. He's too familiar with the feeling to remain still for long and, against his better judgement, takes a spot against the wall, maintaining a careful distance between them. "Practice is starting." He says only for something to say, because he knows that Kageyama knows that. The setter nods, eyes darting to the knees that are getting closer to his chest, "It's nothing, dumbass." Dark but lacking the respectable viciousness that Kageyma is known for. Not that he respects the setter. At all. "I-" Kageyama starts, informal speech that quickly dissolves into muttering that he can't understand.
"I hate you." Kageyama says, loud enough for him to hear, loud enough to echo while the taller boy walks away.