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***
A red richer than any one of the thousands of roses growing in his grandfather’s garden bloomed across Tsukishima’s face. Tobio watched in awe as the pretty hue turned pale cheeks pink and brown eyes golden. Counting every lash as they twitched and quivered in tandem with the rest of his body. He’d never been good at reading cues, or understanding what’s unspoken, but it couldn’t be more clear that Tsukishima Kei was flustered..
“Tsukki!” Yamaguchi yelled, dropping the balls he’d been holding in pure shock.
He looked like someone had quite literally dishonoured his entire bloodline and perhaps he was fair to feel so.
The whole club had gathered around, all holding various pieces of equipment, getting ready to clean up and leave for the day, and here they were: him and Tsukishima, staring at each other as one of them burst like a long-overdue volcano. Red, hot magma.
Tobio would laugh at his face, if he weren’t the cause for it. He hadn’t expected a reaction so timid, much less passive. A fist to the nose, yeah, or a hard slap at the very least—or if nothing else the stinkiest stink-eye he could muster (and he could muster a lot, as they were all painfully aware of)—but what he hadn’t accounted for was this. This… fumbling. Tsukishima didn’t fumble. He didn’t fluster or stutter or trip over his own words. Words never fell short to him. Actions even less; perfectly composed regardless of the situation.
And yet he was looking at Tobio like he’d molested him and not simply kissed him on the cheek. You know, as friends do… Right?
“Are—are you okay…” he trailed, hesitantly raising his hands between them in what he hoped looked like surrender. Like inching towards a wounded animal, or a hissing cat. He’d had his fair share of experiences with that, but Tsukishima wasn’t hissing at him, that, at least, he knew how to handle. He was staring at him, eyes wide and disbelieving.
“I think he short-circuited,” Hinata supplied helpfully from somewhere to their left. He hadn’t even noticed him approach.
“This was your stupid idea,” he said, turning to the fiery redhead with an accusatory finger raised in his direction.
“What! You agreed to it! I wasn’t being serious!”
“Yes, you were! Don’t play dumb! You get a kick out of this!”
“And you’re getting your meat-buns so I think we’re even!” he retorted, huffing and puffing like a puppy barking in the face of a Rottweiler.
Tsukishima still said nothing as he turned back to him, but his expression had changed, and when he rushed out of the gym—net forgotten in a tangled heap on the floor—Tobio had the distinct feeling, the sudden realisation like a shower of ice-cold water—that he might have, potentially, fucked up… somehow.
The first and second years stared at him, frozen in shock. Yamaguchi was the first one to snap out of the daze.
“I don’t know what’s going on but you better go apologise for ambushing him like that!” he yelled, gesturing towards the now gaping entrance. Cool winter air seeped in through the wide opening. In the volleyball club a freezing quiet had settled.
“I get it,” he muttered, pushing past the crowd of gaping fish and stepped into his doom.
See, he’d never been very good at the whole… feelings, thing. He still wasn’t—was painfully aware of his shortcomings—but he’d hoped it at least wouldn’t interfere with his relationship with Tsukishima. As much as they hated each other’s guts, Tsukishima understood his mechanisms on a level no one else did. Behind the barbed wire defence and the snappy commentary he fundamentally had a full grasp on Tobio’s personality, as shocking as that was, and as discomforting it was to admit it. It was how some sort of… mutual agreement had come to blossom between the two of them in their third and final year together. A forced acceptance that while they were made to share air and room they’d at least try to tolerate each other, and maybe to a degree even understand each other. Tsukishima was much better at it than he was. Figures. But he’d thought that he’d at least figured some of it out. Like how he shouldn’t take his comments to heart, and see them as friendly jabs and shitty jokes solely, or how he didn’t really hate his guts as passionately as he thought he did, and that therefore he wouldn’t throw him off a cliff given the chance. A mutual respect was what it boiled down to. Tobio respected his cool intellect, and he reluctantly admitted to admiring Tobio’s unnerving drive to succeed.
They’d grown comfortable enough with each other to where physical contact wasn’t so strange anymore. They’d even hugged that one time when Tsukishima had jumped half out of his skin at the discovery of a whole clump of spiders in the corner of the storage. (A clump he’d tried to dust away, mind you). Tobio had happened to be the closest lifeline and he’d clung to him like his life depended on it. Tobio wasn’t sure whether that actually, in truth, counted as a hug, but it was definitely the closest they’d ever been to each other, and since then standing close to each other in circles and during practice wasn’t such a bother anymore. They even sat next to each other at lunch. Willingly.
All in all, they’d grown much closer. A reluctant friendship, a white flag in an empty battlefield—whipping to and fro in the strong pull of the wind.
So why on Earth had he reacted like Tobio had done the unspeakable to him? What the fuck could have prompted a reaction like that? The only reason he’d agreed to Hinata’s stupid bet had been because he’d known, been certain, that Tsukishima would dramatically gag and rub at his cheek, feign a level of disgust even he was incapable off, and then possibly slap him across the face or jab his fingers into his side.
You know, as he does.
But he didn’t… He… blushed. Freaked out.
In the club room he found him, sitting hunched over at the edge of the bench. He hadn’t noticed Tobio’s presence yet, made obvious by the way he flinched and nearly fell off when he sat down heavily next to him.
“Sorry,” he said, not knowing where else to start.
Tsukishima frowned. “Save it. It’s alright, I don’t care. You just caught me by surprise,” he said. “Warn me next time,” he added.
It was Tobio’s turn to frown. “Next time? It was a bet—“
“You know what I mean,” he cut him off, tongue like a whip in the wind. Hissy and quick and deadly. Tobio decided he would have to tread carefully.
“Right…” he began, which was the wrong thing to say because Tsukishima groaned and buried his face in his hands.
“You’re insufferable,” he muttered, “Why the fuck would you embarrass me like that. Do you have no shame at all?”
“Why should I be ashamed?” he asked, genuinely dumbfounded.
That made Kei look up at him, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. As if Tobio had just told him the grass was pink and the moon made of cotton candy. “Why you should— Seriously? You just, kiss people, at random? No problem? None at all?”
“C’mon, that was hardly a kiss.”
“Hardly—?!”
“I said I’m sorry, didn’t I!?”
Silence. Tsukishima dove back into his hands.
“Christ, you must be the densest person I’ve ever met.”
He frowned, gingerly patting him on the shoulder. “I didn’t mean to make you so uncomfortable,” he said, honestly remorseful. Tsukishima must have caught it in his tone.
He sat up straight again. “You’re forgiven,” he said, adjusting his glasses as though nothing had happened, but the blush still sat high on his cheeks. “
“Really…?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure…”
“I said yes, didn’t I?”
“If you wanna hit me to retaliate I won’t get mad,” he heard himself say. Tsukishima looked at him once again like he’d lost his head. He cleared his throat, then added, “I was sort of anticipating it anyway…”
“No, I’m not doing that. You didn’t make me uncomfortable, okay? Drop it already.”
He stood, then, and began to undress.
“Okay, if you say so… Sorry, again. I won’t do it again.”
Tsukishima’s broad shoulders stiffened at that.
“Ju-just give me a heads up when you do stuff like that, okay?”
Now he’d truly lost him.
“Huh?”
“Tell me!” he yelled—screeched, really—then reeled himself in before repeating, quieter: “Tell me before you… do something like that. So that I know it’s coming,” he said, “I’ll keep it from Hinata so you can win your stupid bets just… don’t ambush me like that. I’m not good with surprises.”
Tobio chuckled. “Yeah, I can tell.”
“Shut up!”
“But now I know you blush like a schoolgirl and I’m definitely using it to my advantage. That’s your heads up,” he said, grinning, nothing more than a lighthearted joke. An attempt to lift the mood.
But Tsukishima’s expression was serious, golden eyes staring right through him. His eyes were glued somewhere else, not really looking at Tobio where he stood, shirt in hands.
“Yeah, sure,” he said, and that was the end of it.
***
To say Kei was in hell would be an understatement. It was torture, nothing less.
Since the fiasco at the club a few days ago, Kageyama had turned into a monster. Every chance that presented itself to torture Kei he took like a fish to bait. Turns out, flirting comes easily to Kageyama because he simply doesn’t understand the weight of it, or how much it affects Kei in particular.
To some degree, Kei supposed he was aware of what he was doing, but he wasn’t fully there in his actions. Like he didn’t think anyone would actually read further into it, or feel anything towards him that’s even remotely romantic, and Kei would fling himself off the roof before ever admitting that he does. A lot. He feels a whole lot of things, mostly romantic, and lately, mortification.
Because Kageyama wraps his arm around him like breathing, invades his space like he’s always been there. Shares lunch with him—dramatically extending his chopsticks towards his lips as though they’ve always done that, shared food like two lovebirds. And it is, in part, not even his fault because Kei allowed it. Agreed to it. Allowed it because deep down, behind the flustering and fumbling and embarrassment, behind the feigned resentment, he did crush on the boy, and getting to even pretend that those feelings are mutual was like a blessing in disguise. He knew Kageyama was doing it because it was a fun, new way to rile him up, to throw Tsukishima off balance, and it was partially his fault for being so pretend-stable in everything he did all the time. He got a kick out of it and, probably, considered it payback for all the snarky comments and King of the Court jokes.
Because there was a pattern to it, the flirting. It always happened when he wanted to have the upper hand. Whenever Tsukishima pushed his buttons or irritated him, whenever he didn’t push as hard as his majesty would like him to, whenever he did anything not to his liking—he’d pull out some new, shockingly embarrassing tactic to make him fumble and trip all over himself. Because Kageyama is dangerous when he’s just himself, but Kageyama deliberately flirting? Deliberately trying to garner reactions like that? Lethal.
And Kei wasn’t sure how much more of it he could take before he bursts.
A month into it, he caves.
“King.”
Kageyama turns, shooting daggers at him as usual, but they both know at this point that it’s not genuine in the least. Neither is Kei’s teasing. Somehow, neither of them are willing to bring that to light, so they pretend there’s hostility where there’s none. Still. Because they cannot seem to just grow up. Not when it comes to the other.
“I need to talk to you for a minute, will you grace me with your presence?” He asks, and turns, not waiting for a reply. He knows Kageyama will follow without a word, and he does. He’s become good at it—at sensing when the situation’s serious.
“What’s up,” he says, hands in the pockets of his black joggers.
He looked good in them. Long legs accentuated by the draping of the soft fabric, thick enough to be comfortable and yet thin enough to where one could see his muscles shift with every movement. Kei could already feel the first sparks of heat crawling up his neck. This would be a lot harder than he’d thought.
They didn’t have much time left and, quite frankly, Kei couldn’t handle much more of… whatever Kageyama was doing to him. With him. Against him? It was agony, and so the options were leave it and let your feelings fester or, confess and get it over with because he’s certain to reject you.
The later seemed easier somehow. Like he could accept his fate for what it was and not read into Kageyama’s every action, not look at him in shitty, wash-worn joggers and think about his legs, not feel him draped across his side and squirm in poorly-concealed delight at being so close to him, feel his warmth against him.
Yeah, it was easier to confess, he’d concluded, except standing in front of an expectant Kageyama had him swallowing back his tongue every time he tried to speak.
“I, uh,” he fiddled and clasped his hands in front of him, thumbs rubbing circles in his skin nervously. Where to even begin?
‘Hi, yes, king? I think I might have, possibly, been in love with you for a few years now and your playful flirting is not helping me pretend I’m not’.
Too much work. Exhausting. Everything to do with Kageyama was exhausting and yet—
“Are you gonna say something or can I go?” The airhead asked, cutting through his inner cynicism like a hot knife.
Kei could feel his eyebrow twitch. “My apologies, your majesty, that this lowly peasant is consuming so much of your precious time but could you for once just shut up and listen?”
Kageyama tilted his head at that, the way he always did whenever something got particularly confusing, and Kei cursed himself for thinking it adorable. ‘Adorable’ and ‘Kageyama’ were two things that often didn’t go well together.
Unless you were Kei. Poor, unfortunate, cursed Kei. What could he have possibly done in a previous life to deserve this?
“Kageyama, I unfortunately like you.”
***
Oh my God, I can’t believe it.
Out of all the people in the world, what is the likelihood of jumping out of my life and into yours?
***
For a second, all one could hear was the spring breeze fluttering the leaves above their heads, and Tsukishima’s mortified noises that to Tobio reminded him of a dying cat a little too much for his comfort.
Tsukishima likes him?
“Hardly,” he says, which makes Tsukishima go a few shades pinker as he crumbles, teeth grinding in frustration.
“God, you’re so—! Fucking moron! What the hell is that!?”
“The hell is what!?”
“That! Who says something like that when they get confessed to!?”
“I’m sorry!?”
They stand there, breathing heavily. Tsukishima with disbelief plastered all over his face. He looks a little like a bird whose feathers got ruffled; hair on end, cheeks pink, glasses askew on his face.
Tobio straightens and closes the distance between them. Tsukishima stills, pink turning more scarlet for every passing second. Like a chameleon trying to blend into the sunset. He begins to worry for his wellbeing. Would he faint? Get a nosebleed? He sure hoped not.
‘Here goes nothing’ he thinks and reaches out, adjusting his glasses as gently as he can. Tsukishima, to his credit, does not faint nor bleed all over the two of them, but he does remain in absolute paralysis, mouth gaping like a koi.
“I don’t think I can return your feelings,” he says, looking into those golden eyes—brightened by the color in his cheeks and the adoration he keeps bottled and that he cannot hide if his life depended on it. He could see it now, the obvious infatuation bleeding out of his every pore.
“Sorry, if I gave you the wrong idea, or made you uncomfortable,” he says, frowning, “But I don’t have anything against dating you, if you’d like that.”
That seems to snap him out of his stupor. He splutters.
“What!? No way! I’m not letting you pity me!”
“It’s not pity.”
Tsukishima slaps his hand away.
“Right. Well. I don’t care, so don’t worry your empty little head about it. I just wanted to get it off my chest.”
But those golden eyes betray him. Hidden behind thick glass they may be, but they reflect the sun all the same, and in that bright sunlight Tobio unquestionably spots sparking tears, yet to fall. He was trying to hold himself together, to keep up the cool facade, and was failing miserably at it.
“You’re an idiot if you think I’d fall for that obvious lie,” he says, reaching up again to wipe away the tears that gathered in the inner corners of his eyes. Tsukishima squeezes his eyes shut on reflex when Tobio’s fingers gently press in.
“You’re cruel,” he says, “Tyrannical, asshole king,” he adds, for flavour.
Tobio laughs. “Yeah, maybe. Sorry. It’s just how I am. It’s not pity, though, I’m serious. I might not feel what you feel towards me, but I wanna try anyway.”
Tsukishima gives a half-hearted shove at that, but Tobio stays firm.
“Listen to me. I don’t feel it—“
“Yeah, you’ve made that very clear, thanks. One time was traumatising enou—“
“I don’t feel it because I’ve never felt it. With anyone!” He looks away, “I don’t think I can,” he adds, lamely, pocketing his traitorous hands that keep itching to wipe away tears and readjust clunky frames on delicate noses.
Tsukishima blinks at him. “I don’t follow.”
“That’s new—“
“Shut up!”
He chuckles and kicks away a pebble, suddenly self conscious.
“I guess I’m just… different… but I don’t mind being with you. I mean, you’re insufferable and a massive jerk—“
“Gee, thanks.”
“—but I’ve kind of gotten used to having you around, and seeing you fumble and shit is really endearing. I wouldn’t mind making it official.”
When he looks back at him, Tsukishima is—very poorly—repressing a smile. It’s wobbly and uneven and so uncharacteristic and yet so endearingly him that Tobio can do nothing else other than lean in and kiss him.
His lips are warm, a little chapped, and he’s way too stiff, but a second later he’s kissing back and pulling Tobio closer to him, arms around his waist.
They break apart when Tsukishima cups his hand over Tobio’s lips.
“Just because I like you doesn’t mean I don’t hate you anymore,” he says, breathing heavily, wobbly smile plastered on his cheeks.
Tobio returns it with a grin.
“Wouldn’t dream of having it any other way, Shittyshima,” he says.
***