Chapter Text
October 2018
Don’t react. Yet. Wait, observe, listen.
Kei looked through the net and absorbed every piece of information, watching as the ball went from receive to set to spike.
Jump, hard. Finger tips, finger tips, finger tips.
His thoughts turned to actions instantaneously.
Calm, rapid logic mixed with just a bit of athleticism—that’s all it took to be an efficient blocker. Indifference and analysis came naturally, even if the physicality had taken practice. But he had committed himself to that too. There was no room for the fear of failure, despite the significance of the match.
The ball shoved its way through his recently taped fingers, causing a familiar bruising, stretching sensation as it went.
“One touch!”
“Got it!” The veteran libero of The Sendai Frogs called out before Kei’s feet had even touched back down on the floor.
Approach distance, approach distance.
The moment his sneakers squeaked against the floorboards he was moving. He wouldn’t call for the toss, but his effort to make the run-up would be enough for Koganegawa to know that Kei was ready if he needed him.
“Left!” Kyoutani—who luckily had gotten into the habit of calling for the ball since his dangerously rambunctious high school days—hollered wildly.
Less than a split second later, Koganegawa zipped the ball across the length of the court to him.
Then, it was just the smack of the ball against Kyoutani’s palm, its roar through the air, and the shriek of the whistle to signify that the whole thing was over.
The clamor of the crowd came rushing back into Kei’s ears, his uniform clinging to his body in patches of sweat.
They won.
“Nice last block there, Tsukishima. Not bad for your first match,” Kyoutani huffed as he patted Kei on the shoulder. “Did you see the look on that guy’s face when you got a hand on it again? Ha!”
“I just did the same thing I’d done all game.” Kei shrugged, holding back a smirk. Halfway through the first set, he had noticed that Kyoutani was in a not-so-subtle glaring contest with one of the Motor Spirits’ outside hitters—Daishou something. They had been marking each other all game, and Kei had used that knowledge to his advantage by shifting his stance over to better tap the balls that Daishou was subconsciously sending over to Kyoutani.
“Hell yeah! And what you did pissed him off!”
Kei’s almost-smirk softened. It had been extremely satisfying to watch Daishou’s glaring eyes slowly turn more reptilian with annoyance as the match went on.
The whole team gathered around and joined in Kyoutani’s laughter. Kei smiled weakly as each of his new teammates took a turn slapping him between the shoulder blades.
Amidst the cacophony of the crowded arena a faint “Tuskki!!” cut through each congratulatory smack. Kei turned to remind Koganegawa not to call him that when he realized his new setter was standing right next to him, completely absorbed in the high of their victory with everyone else.
It was like Kei had missed a step going down the stairs. That obviously hadn’t sounded anything like Koganegawa. Briefly, Kei contemplated the possibility of his own diminishing brain capacity due to over exposure to volleyball, before he turned to confirm the actual identity of the voice.
Standing at the edge of the court just beyond the barrier—all of them dressed in a disgusting amount of bright green—were Yachi, Akiteru, and Yamaguchi. Yachi had the sense to only purchase one of the Frog themed baseball-style caps, while Kei’s brother and Yamaguchi had gone all out, both wearing matching fan versions of Kei’s jersey.
Unsurprisingly, Akiteru looked like a crying blubbering mess pulling out his phone to take pictures while Yamaguchi continued waving one arm frantically above his head. His other hand was cupped around his mouth as he called out to Kei with all his might.
Something that felt begrudgingly like fondness washed over Kei as he stared at them flatly. He offered a single nod of acknowledgement. Yamaguchi’s face scrunched up even further into a blinding smile and Kei turned back to his team before he could see his brother hiccup into another pride-bursting sob.
They lined up to take their bows and shook hands with the other team—Kei spied an intense lingering grip between Kyoutani and Daishou and made a mental note to see how far he could exploit Kyoutani’s apparent penchant for hot-headed rivalries—before they were expected to sign autographs and greet fans.
It was easily the worst part of the post-game ritual, pretending to swap niceties with strangers who knew nothing about him other than their perceived idea of him based on trivialities like his height or whatever he had listed as his favorite food in the player handbook. All he really wanted to do was lay down somewhere quiet and not move for an hour.
Yachi and Yamaguchi were still whooping their cheers and Kei clamped down the threat of embarrassment. Avoiding the scene, he wiped his face with a towel and waited for them to quiet down before he started toward the barrier that separated players from the crowd.
Yamaguchi’s eyes were alight with mischief when they caught Kei’s gaze. He was clearly aware that their enthusiasm was needling at Kei, but going ahead and doing it anyway.
Kei glared back. His resolve to stay quiet until he was at a more sensible distance was beginning to wane when someone much closer called out to him and pulled his attention away from Yamaguchi completely.
“Tsukishima-san!” It was a petite girl, probably around his age, with long hair. She pointedly swiped it over her shoulder to show off the number 17 that adorned the front of her newly-bought jersey.
Great. He held back a sigh of reluctance. “Hello,” he said neutrally, bowing his head in greeting.
With how short she was it was no wonder he hadn’t seen her waving to him sooner.
“Would you like an autograph?” The words left his mouth unnaturally. He had never really gotten the hang of the idea that strangers would be interested in anything he had to offer.
“Oh, um.” She looked up at him like she was searching, waiting for something before she seemed to shake herself out of it. “No, I just wanted to give you this and congratulate you on a great game! I never got the opportunity to go to any of them when you were still on the university team!”
Kei’s eyebrow twitched microscopically. The gift bag she held out was small and, of course, green. Kei desperately hoped there wasn’t something inappropriate inside it. But he bowed his head again and thanked her politely as he took it.
“My baby brother!” Akiteru’s voice cut in, the three of them having come over sometime during Kei’s exchange with the girl. “Getting gifts on his very first match!” The tears on Akiteru’s cheeks seemed to have dried, but his voice was still watery and full of sentiment.
“Nii-chan,” Kei admonished, while ignoring Yamaguchi’s snickering. As much as he didn’t enjoy small talk with strangers, he did feel bad that his over-emotional brother was unintentionally embarrassing this poor girl.
“Ah, it’s okay! Please enjoy your time with your family!” The girl shook her hands out in front of herself apologetically, before offering another congratulations and heading on her way.
Kei hooked the strap of the small gift bag over his wrist and turned to face the others. “I told you guys not to come.”
“Like you actually thought we were going to listen to that.” Yamaguchi rolled his eyes. “That was seriously a great game, Tsukki! Way more intense than any of your college games!”
“Yeah, I can’t believe you play on the same team as Mad Dog! His spikes look even scarier than they did back in high school—he chases after the ball like he wants to bite its head off!” Yachi rushed the words out, holding her hands to her cheeks in concern.
Kei huffed out a short laugh, looking over to where Kyoutani was signing an autograph card for a very nervous looking young kid and his overly enthusiastic father. “He’s a better player now and his attitude has actually toned down a lot since back then.”
Turning back, Kei saw a familiar excitement in Yamaguchi’s eyes that meant he had a million questions to ask. But he seemed to hold himself back for now and just continued smiling.
“Kei,” Akiteru finally sounded serious instead of weepy. “I’m so proud of you. I’m going to make sure Mom comes to the next game too.”
“Ugh, nii-chan please don’t”—but Akiteru was already reaching across the barrier to wrap Kei up into a soul-crushing hug. There was a small swell of feeling in Kei’s chest as he let the embrace happen. At least his sweat was probably seeping into Akiteru’s shirt.
Yachi and Yamaguchi giggled, and that was Kei’s signal to push away.
“We’re going to have a big celebration dinner soon—no getting out of it!” Yachi said in her firm, managerial voice.
“It was going to be tonight, but Yacchan has a big project due and Akiteru-kun has to be at work early, so it’s just you and me for drinks tonight,” Yamaguchi interjected before Kei could protest.
He nodded in understanding, a small tug of relief settling into his shoulders. Dinner with just Yamaguchi was much more preferable to enduring any more of his brother’s overbearing praise.
They talked for a few more minutes and Kei thanked them all for coming before he flashed a sliver of a smile and headed for the showers.
Once he was back in the locker room getting changed, he let out a breath. With the intense conditioning training for the Frogs the last month and his museum internship that started a few months before that, it had been a long time since he’d had an interaction felt so familiar.
“Tsukki! Was that a smile I just saw!?” Koganegawa exclaimed as he entered the room.
Kei’s shoulders tensed. Koganegawa was enthusiastic, observant and honest. Harmless.
But still, it was annoying feeling like he had to explain himself.
“We just won our first professional match, Kogane,” Kei responded with just a hint of bite. “I’m allowed to smile.”
Koganegawa let out a single, boisterous laugh. “Heck yeah!”
The fondness from earlier still lingering, Kei rolled his eyes at Koganegawa’s ever present simplicity. It was a quality that used to make Kei want to tear his hair out. Hinata, Bokuto, and Koganegawa—they all shared that disturbing aura of unwavering transparency. Like if they expressed every single desire that happened to pass through their head that it would actually come true.
And disturbingly enough, for them, it usually did.
But it didn’t bother Kei like it had when he was sixteen and he was constantly bombarded by the easiness of their unfiltered emotions. Instead, it simply served as a reminder of something Kei would probably never learn to possess.
July 2012
Even late at night, the Tokyo air had a weight to it. Its heaviness came with a silence that muddled the distant sounds of other students doing their late-night practices. With his kneepads shoved lazily down around his ankles and his old hand-me-down volleyball shoes tucked under his arm, digging uncomfortably into his side, the nearness of Kei’s own steps echoed around him like he was in a solitary, metallic bubble as he made his way back toward the classroom that served as Karasuno’s dorm for the week.
Between Yamaguchi yelling at him, Bokuto’s over-zealous speech about "volleyball moments," and Kuroo’s insistence on more blocking practice on top of that, Kei was exhausted mentally and physically.
Everyone was working so hard.
It was to be expected of the volleyball freaks who never stopped to think about anything else. But then there was Yamaguchi who was purposely risking all this effort just for a chance at proving something to himself.
It was an equation Kei couldn’t solve. And both Bokuto and Yamaguchi’s solutions were just as frustrating as the problem itself.
Moments and pride. Tch.
They were unquantifiable.
Bokuto’s idea of a single instance changing his entire perspective was intriguing, but ultimately elusive. There was no guarantee—when watered down, Bokuto’s advice was really just “well why don’t you just keep playing and maybe eventually you’ll get better and like it.”
And “pride” was just a word Kei’s brother had been throwing around his whole life. It would splash out of Akiteru’s eyes when Kei did anything mildly successful in volleyball, or streak down his cheeks when Kei got a decent grade on a test. And every time it rolled off Kei’s skin insignificantly, like he had built up a natural resistance to it.
As soon as Kei reached the shared sleeping quarters, he pulled his headphones tightly over his ears and got ready for bed while the concepts continued twisting and turning in his mind. No matter what angle he looked at them from, he couldn’t quite get them to form into something meaningful. Something worth trying for.
But the passion in Yamaguchi’s eyes had been so captivating, so convincing. There had to be something to it that Kei was missing. And if he cared enough to find out, then for now he’d just have to trust that the two of them knew what they were talking about.
He sighed as he laid down on his futon and took off his headphones. The sound of his breath mixed in with everyone else’s soft snores and the blanket rustled when he pulled it up to his shoulders. His glasses folded up with a muted “click,” and he placed them in the inch of space between his and Yamaguchi’s futons before he slipped his sleeping mask over his eyes.
Moments and pride. At least they were similar.
There was an unseen thread that tied them together. A connection that Yamaguchi, and Bokuto of all people, could understand.
Annoying. He grumbled silently to himself, exhaustion finally settling into his bones and dragging him to sleep.
Hours later, a piercing coolness slowly seeped through the soft cotton of his t-shirt, tugging him back toward consciousness. The morning light was just barely peeking through the gap between his eye mask and his cheekbones, and the slowly growing cold spot on his chest was accompanied by a heavy weight and the scent of dimly nostalgic shampoo.
It wasn’t the first time Yamaguchi had rolled over and used Kei as a pillow in the middle of the night. But after Yamaguchi had hit his growth spurt in their second year of middle school, sharing a bed during sleepovers had become impractical, so there hadn’t been much need for Kei to unceremoniously shove Yamaguchi off of him and complain about the dried drool crunching up his shirt anymore.
But now they were surrounded by a room full of their obnoxious—and surprisingly observant—teammates, so Kei stayed still.
He feigned sleep and assessed the situation. Yamaguchi hadn’t totally octopussed himself around Kei this time; his face was more shoved onto Kei’s ribs than anything else. His own arms were clamped down by his sides and their legs were nowhere near each other, so they at least had plausible deniability against cuddling.
This solution was simple. Tread the line of indifference.
“Yamaguchi.” Kei sat up just enough to jostle him, pulling up one side of his eye mask to look at down at him. “You’re drooling on me.”
“Wuh,” Yamaguchi grunted. Bleary-eyed, he looked down at the small off-colored stain on Kei’s white shirt, then back up to Kei’s impassive, but ever-so-slightly pointed face. “O-oh! Sorry, Tsukki!”
Kei shrugged and sat up fully to reach over and grab his glasses. He wished he was still sleeping.
“Aw! That’s it!? Where was the big explosion of anger?” Tanaka bemoaned from where he and Nishinoya were sat like two dogs begging for scraps, watching the exchange with rapt attention.
“Too early for this,” Kei said with a yawn.
“I bet Stingyshima is too worn out from all that super cool extra practice he did with Fukurodani’s ace last night so his sarcasm just hasn’t kicked in yet!” Hinata’s volume was an affront to respectable human ears. “And he didn’t invite me, again!”
“Does he have a snooze button?” Kei directed his rhetorical question toward where Yamaguchi was now gathering up his things to get ready for the day, earning Kei a snort of laughter.
“Grr, Tsukishima! I know Bokuto-san taught you something cool! I’m gonna find out what it is!” Hinata’s growls grew quieter as Kei and Yamaguchi made their way to the bathrooms.
“Hey, Tsukki…” Yamaguchi rubbed his hands over his forearms. “Why did you do that?”
“It should be illegal for someone that small to be that loud. Especially this early in the morning,” Kei stated.
“No, not Hinata.” Yamaguchi’s chuckle bounced around the empty corridor. “You hate when I fall asleep on you.”
Kei blinked. “Path of least resistance.”
Yamaguchi hummed. It was a drawn out, contemplative sound. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
His eyes had a far off look in them for a moment and Kei wondered if Yamaguchi was going to press the matter any further.
“I didn’t get a chance to talk to you after you went back into Gym Three last night...”
Right. He probably thinks I'm mad.
The memory of Yamaguchi’s fingers fisted into his collar as he yelled at Kei for the first time in their friendship flashed before his eyes. Kei had been so tired after everything he had forgotten that when he last spoke to Yamaguchi, he had left him confused and shocked in the middle of the open-air hallway.
Yamaguchi’s confidence in his declarations about pride as self-motivation was both surprising and impressive.
But it shouldn’t have been.
Kei had been silently watching Yamaguchi turn off their usual route home to practice serves with Shimada for weeks now. Of course he was learning more on his own. He had been getting cooler right in front of Kei’s eyes, and somehow, Kei had missed it happening.
But, repeating all of that to Yamaguchi now would be redundant.
“Well,” Kei angled his head so he was sure Yamaguchi could read his expression. “You did completely stretch out my shirt and I had to listen to Kuroo-san lecture me about the importance of fabric softener for fifteen minutes. So, I do think I deserve some compensation for that,” Kei continued seriously.
Yamaguchi paused. There was a flicker in his eyes as he looked from Kei’s passive expression down to the loosely hanging collar of his shirt and the now fully-dried stain of drool right beneath it. His face cracked into a smile before he laughed outright. “I’m surprised Kuroo even knows what fabric softener does.”
The corner of Kei’s mouth twitched. “I don’t know what was more disturbing—that everything he said was actually right, or how ridiculously passionate he was about it.”
Yamaguchi snorted and promised to buy Kei a new pack of plain t-shirts in apology. His laughter no longer bounced harshly against the plaster walls but instead filled up the space warmly as they continued down the hall and geared up for another long day of training.
October 2018
Like everything else that had been issued by the team, Kei’s brand-new sports bag was comically green. Thankfully both the lightweight windbreaker and the heavy-duty jacket they had given him were more streamlined with streaks of white to break up the obnoxious color. But even so, wearing either of those right after a match was just asking for attention.
He pulled a plain, long-sleeved crew neck over his head, ran a hand through his recently showered hair and lifted the bag strap up onto his shoulder. With a nod of acknowledgement to his lingering teammates, he narrowly avoided another slap on the back from Koganegawa and managed to escape the locker room.
At the end of the hallway, leaning with one shoulder against the wall, was another glaring beacon of green. This time it had Kei’s family name on it, staring back at him with big bold letters from beneath a familiar head of hair.
The cotton t-shirt version of Kei’s jersey fit Yamaguchi well. He had pulled it on over an old flannel, and the heavier fabric layered beneath it did something to make Yamaguchi’s shoulders appear broader. For a brief, unsettling moment, Kei almost hadn’t recognized him.
“You look ridiculous,” he greeted.
“Come on, Tsukki! You know I had to buy one!” Yamaguchi turned to look up from his phone, unsurprised by Kei’s seemingly sudden appearance. “Aaand, it looks great in pictures!”
Ugh, pictures. Kei scrunched his nose and leaned in to see the post Yamaguchi was showing him. It featured Yamaguchi and Akiteru with their backs toward the camera and their heads looking over their shoulders to face the lens. They were both enthusiastically pointing with their thumbs to the “Tsukishima” written across their shoulder blades.
Akiteru was apparently barely keeping it together even then, with a wobbly expression and solid streams of tears streaking his cheeks, while Yamaguchi’s whole face was bunched up into an embarrassingly fond smile.
Someone else must have taken the picture because Yachi was also standing between them, looking exceptionally short and just as excited in her new Frogs’ hat as she threw a peace sign up.
Yamaguchi swiped across the photo to reveal a second picture. Kei recognized it as a faraway picture of himself immediately. He was all limbs, jumping into the air with his arm pulled back and hand flat, about to make contact for a jump float. It was taken diagonally from behind with his jersey on full display, obviously matching the one Yamaguchi was wearing in the previous photo.
Kei blinked, something sticking in the back of his throat. “You better take that off before we get to the restaurant.”
“What, you mean you don’t want everyone to know we just came from a Sendai Frogs match? I never would have guessed,” Yamaguchi teased.
“Shut up,” Kei said half-heartedly.
Yamaguchi smirked, and started toward the exit of the gymnasium. “Come on, I’ll drive!”