Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The rhythmic squeak of sneakers against polished wood used to be the soundtrack of my life. The sharp whistle of a referee, the roar of the crowd, the exhilarating rush of a fast break.

Those things used to define me. But now, they’re just echoes of a life I can’t have anymore.

I stare out the window of my classroom, watching as a few students race up and down the outdoor courts, their laughter traveling through the breeze. My fingers curl around the hem of my sweater, a dull ache forming in my chest. I should be out there. I should be running, jumping, playing.

Instead, I sit here, only just returning to school after weeks of recovery. The injury had taken more than just my ability to play. It had taken away my identity. Physical therapy had been grueling, but nothing compared to the emotional weight of knowing I would never step onto the court again as a player.

My teammates had called at first, but as time passed, their messages dwindled. It wasn’t their fault. I was the one who pushed away, unable to face them knowing I no longer belonged.

Every morning, I wake up and have to remind myself that I’m not the same person I was before. The crutches are gone, and I can walk without pain most days, but the stiffness lingers, a constant reminder of what I lost. The limp is barely noticeable to others, but I feel it in every step. Every time I pass the gym, I have to force myself to look away.

The memory of the accident is burned into my mind. The harsh fall, the unbearable pain, the way my teammates' faces had morphed from excitement to horror. One wrong step. Just one. And everything I had worked for was gone.

The doctor’s words had been final: “Your leg won’t ever fully recover. You’ll need to be careful.” I hated those words. I hated that they defined me now.

“Hey, are you even listening?”

I blink and turn to see Yachi peering at me with a mix of concern and impatience. She’s been one of the few people who hasn’t tiptoed around me since the injury. Most of my teammates…former teammates have stopped trying, too unsure of what to say or how to act around me now that I’m no longer “one of them.”

“Sorry,” I murmured, rubbing the exhaustion from my eyes. “What were you saying?”

She pouts slightly before pulling up a chair next to me. “There’s a practice match this weekend. Karasuno is playing at home, and I thought… well maybe I could sneak you in?”

I hesitate, scanning the paper. Volleyball. It’s not basketball, but it’s close enough to make my stomach twist. I can already picture it—players soaring through the air, moving with the kind of passion I used to have. The thought of sitting in the stands…of watching someone else chase their dreams while mine have been ripped away, makes me feel sick.

“I don’t know, Yachi…”

“You’ve been avoiding games, haven’t you?” She says it gently, but it still stings. “I just thought… maybe it’d be good for you. No crowd, no officials, just pure sport. You don’t have to say yes right now, but think about it, okay?”

I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to admit how much I miss it. The feeling of belonging, the rush of competition, the sheer love of the game. But Yachi is looking at me with hope in her eyes, and I know she’s only trying to help.

“…I’ll think about it,” I say at last.

And later that night, as I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, I realize that for the first time in months, I actually mean it.

The gym is alive with movement. Sneakers squeak against the polished floor, the sound of hands smacking the ball echoes through the space, and voices call out plays in quick succession. Yachi stands beside me, smiling as she watches the players move seamlessly across the court.

I grip the strap of my bag tightly as I watch Karasuno in action. The way they jump, dive, and chase after every ball. It reminds me too much of what I used to love. My chest tightens, but I can’t look away.

Then, Hinata launches himself into the air, his body twisting as he spikes the ball straight down onto the opponent’s side. The force sends a shockwave through the gym, and a rush of energy surges through me.

Ukai’s whistle blows, and as the teams reset, I feel Yachi’s gaze on me. “It’s exciting, isn’t it?” she asks softly.

I exhale, realizing my hands have clenched into fists. “Yeah… it is.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel something other than loss. The familiar pull of competition, the way my body reacts instinctively to the movement on the court—I thought I had buried those feelings, but they’re still there, waiting beneath the surface.

Maybe… just maybe… I still belong here, somehow.

Chapter Text

The gym is still buzzing with energy when Yachi turns to me, her eyes practically glowing with mischief. I know that look. It’s the look of someone about to drop an idea that will make my life harder.

“You know,” she starts, her voice way too casual, “you could help out as a temporary manager.”

I blink. “I’m sorry, I could what?”

She shifts on her feet, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear like she’s trying to act all innocent. “I just… I see how much you still love being around the game, even if it’s not basketball. And I know you miss being part of a team.”

I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yachi, volleyball and I have exactly zero things in common. Unless you count jumping. And last I checked, I’m not exactly doing much of that anymore.”

She doesn’t even hesitate. “You understand sports. You know teamwork, discipline, strategy. That’s more than enough.”

I cross my arms. “Right, because the last thing I want is to be the tragic ex-athlete standing awkwardly on the sidelines while everyone looks at me like I’m about to crumble.”

Yachi frowns. “That’s not how they’d see you. And even if some people do, who cares? What matters is what you want, not what they think.”

I stare at the floor, lips pressing into a tight line. I want to shut this whole conversation down, but the annoying part? A tiny piece of me wonders—what if she’s right?

Yachi, sensing my hesitation, pounces. “Just talk to Coach Ukai. No pressure.”

I sigh dramatically. “Fine. But if this turns out to be a disaster, I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’ every single day.”

Standing in front of Ukai’s store feels vaguely like standing in front of a courtroom where I’m about to be sentenced. Yachi walks in first, and his usual gruff voice greeting us.

Coach Ukai looks up from his register, raising an eyebrow when he sees me. “Didn’t expect to see you here. What, Yachi finally convinced you to join her in the trenches?”

Yachi nudges me forward. Traitor. The scowl on my face quickly shifts as I meet his eyes.

“Well, uh…” I clear my throat. “She said you might need an extra hand. Maybe a temporary manager, or something.”

Ukai studies me for a moment, then shrugs. “Yeah, we could use the help. You know how sports work. And I’m assuming you can at least hold a clipboard without breaking it?”

“Debatable,” I mutter. “But sure, I’ll give it my best shot.”

I shift my weight onto my good leg. “Look, I just… I want to make sure this actually matters. If I do this, I want to contribute, not just stand around while people act like I’m some fragile relic.”

Ukai snorts. “Kid, nobody here’s got the time or energy for pity. You help out, you work like everyone else." He takes a puff of his cigarette. "You slack off, I’ll be the first to tell you to get lost.”

Yachi nods encouragingly, like she knew this would happen all along.

Ukai leans forward, arms resting on the counter. “I get it, though. Change sucks. You think I planned on ending up coaching high schoolers? But life doesn’t give a damn about our plans. You either sit around feeling sorry for yourself, or you find another way to stay in the game.”

I swallow, his words hitting a little too close to home. I hesitate, then let out a slow breath. “…Alright. I’ll give it a shot. But just temporarily.”

Ukai smirks. “Sure. Temporary.”

The next afternoon, I find myself back in the Karasuno gym, standing near the entrance with a clipboard in hand, already questioning my life choices. The sounds of sneakers squeaking, volleyballs thudding, and players yelling fills the air. I watch as Hinata practically defies gravity, sending the ball slamming onto the other side of the net like he was born to do it.

“Glad you showed up,” Yachi says, handing me a sheet of notes. “Coach thought it might help if you just observe for today.”

“Observe? Wow, what a thrilling job,” I deadpan, flipping through the notes. “Do I at least get a fancy clipboard? Or is that a privilege I have to earn?”

She giggles. “Maybe later.”

A few of the players glance my way, some curious, others just focused on the game. Before I can slink further into the shadows, Yamaguchi jogs over, looking a little hesitant, his captain’s armband barely noticeable under his uncertain expression.

“Hey, uh, welcome aboard,” he says, his voice polite but a little nervous. “Yachi told us you’d be helping out.”

“Uh, yeah,” I fix my posture. “Just temporarily.”

“Temporary or not, um, we—we appreciate the extra help,” he says quickly, nodding. “If you, uh, have any questions, just ask. No pressure! Really.” Then he ducks his head slightly and jogs back to the court, clearly relieved to escape the interaction.

I watch for the next hour, taking in the way the team moves together, how they communicate without words, how their energy practically vibrates through the room. And, okay, fine…maybe volleyball isn’t as simple as I thought.

By the time practice ends, my notepad is covered in messy notes. Things I noticed, things I don’t understand, things I want to ask. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the worst decision I’ve made.

As I help Yachi gather stray volleyballs, I catch Ukai watching me with that same knowing smirk. “Still thinking it’s temporary?”

I hesitate, glancing back at the team as they laugh and joke with each other. There’s a warmth there, an easy solidarity I haven’t felt in a long time.
I don’t have an answer yet. But for the first time in months, I don’t feel completely lost.

“Guess we’ll see,” I say finally.

Ukai chuckles. “Yeah. We will.”

Before I can dwell on it further, I realize something. I haven’t even properly introduced myself to the team yet. Most of them still don’t know my name. That thought lingers as I watch them interact, and judging by the way Yachi is eyeing me, that’s about to change whether I’m ready or not.

Chapter Text

The sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished wooden floor and the rhythmic thud of volleyballs echoed throughout the gym. You stood off to the side, still gripping your clipboard, watching as the team wrapped up their practice session. Sweat dripped from their brows, their breaths coming in heavy pants as they finished their final drills. It was your first official day as manager, and though everything was new, it had gone surprisingly well.

Coach Ukai clapped his hands together, drawing everyone's attention. "Alright, that’s it for today! Before you all clean up, I want to introduce your new manager officially."

All eyes turned to you, and you straightened your posture, willing yourself to look more confident than you felt.

"This is y/n," Ukai continued. "They’ll be managing the team with Yachi from now on, so if you need anything, don’t be an idiot. Ask them."

Hinata was the first to react, practically bouncing in place. "Whoa! That’s awesome! Welcome to the team!"

"Hope you can handle all these morons," Yamaguchi added with a good-natured smile.

"Oi!" Hinata and Kageyama protested in unison.

Tsukishima let out a small scoff, barely looking up from where he was adjusting his knee pads. "Another one signing up for babysitting duty, huh?"

Your eyes narrowed slightly at his dismissiveness, but you let it slide—at least for now.

"Don’t mind Tsukishima," Yamaguchi whispered. "He’s just like that."

Kageyama studied you for a moment before raising a brow. "Aren't you from the basketball team?"

"Kageyama!" Hinata snapped, elbowing him in the side. "You can’t just bring that up!"

You tugged at the bottom of your shirt, trying to compose your response before speaking up. "Not anymore, but I'll do my best here."

The silence was broken by Ukai instructing the underclassmen to introduce themselves. Down the line, you tried your hardest to memorize each of the players.

"Thank you for helping us!" They all exclaimed as they bowed in unison. The interaction surprised you, but you replied with a smile. "Thank you for having me!"

As practice wrapped up, the team began picking up stray volleyballs and putting things the nets away. Hinata and Yamaguchi approached you, both looking eager to chat.

“So, what do you think of the team so far?” Hinata asked, tossing a ball in the air and catching it, practically vibrating with energy.

Yamaguchi gave you a small nod. “Yeah, everyone’s really friendly. It’s nice how we all work together.”

You smiled, still feeling a bit lost in the new experience, but glad to be part of the team. “Yeah, everyone’s been really great. You’re all truly amazing out there”

Hinata’s grin widened. “Awesome! Maybe I can teach you that jump serve next time! The higher, the better!”

There was a moment of silence as everyone seemed to pause, and you awkwardly shifted on your feet, trying to hide your discomfort. The whole school practically knew about your injury by now, and you weren’t sure how to respond.

“Uh… yeah” you replied with a nervous chuckle. “Jumping isn’t really in the cards for me at the moment.”

Hinata blinked, looking slightly taken aback. “Oh… right.” His excitement faltered for a moment, and he quickly recovered with a nervous laugh. “Sorry, I forgot. I just… well, I’m always thinking about jumping.”

Yamaguchi, noticing the awkwardness, gave you a gentle smile and quickly changed the subject. “Don’t worry about it. There are plenty of other ways to help the team out.”

You gave a small laugh to lighten the mood, feeling the need to make things less awkward. “I guess that’s just part of being a manager, huh? Staying on the ground while everyone else jumps around doing their thing.”

Kageyama, who had been quietly observing the exchange, glanced over and nodded. “Just take it easy on your leg. We’re gonna need you.”

Hinata’s enthusiasm returned, and he clapped you on the back. “And when you do jump again, we’ll have a competition to see who gets the highest!”

“You’re on!” You chuckled, the awkward moment now behind you. Despite the brief discomfort, the team’s support made you feel more at ease.

However, as the others continued talking, Tsukishima, who had been standing off to the side, finally spoke up. His usual indifferent expression hadn’t changed, and he wasn’t exactly the type to get swept up in the group’s chatter. With a slight smirk, he casually leaned against the wall.

"I give it a week before you quit," he said, his voice flat but cutting through the air with an unexpected sharpness.

The group fell silent for a moment, unsure how to react to his blunt comment. Your eyes flicked to him, and you crossed your arms. "Good to know you'll be keeping track. I’ll make sure to last just to disappoint you."

Tsukishima simply shrugged. "We’ll see."

Though the comment lingered in the air, you didn’t let it get to you. Instead, you focused on the fact that today had gone well. There was still a lot to learn, but for the first time, you didn’t feel out of place.

Chapter Text

The days that followed your official introduction as the team’s manager were a blur of learning, adjusting, and finding your place among the players. At first, it was overwhelming. Keeping track of water breaks, making sure towels were ready, organizing schedules, and paying closer attention to practice than you ever had before. But slowly, you started finding a rhythm.

Each practice, you learned something new. At first, volleyball had just been a game. A bunch of people hitting a ball back and forth. But as you observed more closely, you started recognizing patterns, strategies, and the intricacies of the sport. The way Kageyama set the ball with precise control, how Hinata’s speed was his greatest weapon, and how Yamaguchi’s jump float serve had an unpredictable sharpness. You were beginning to appreciate the game in a way you never had before.

"Here," Yamaguchi said one afternoon, handing you a folder of papers with a few simple charts. "I noticed you’ve been watching the rotations a lot. This might help you understand them better."

You took the paper, scanning over the diagrams and notes. "Oh wow, this actually makes sense. Thanks, Yamaguchi."

"No problem!" he said with a grin. "You’re picking things up pretty fast."

Not everyone was as encouraging, though.

"Figured it out yet, or do you still think volleyball is just ‘hit the ball over the net and hope for the best?’" Tsukishima’s voice drawled from behind you.

You turned to see him adjusting the tape on his fingers, his usual expression of mild disinterest fixed on his face.

You rolled your eyes. "I don’t know, Tsukishima, do you still think being insufferable is a personality trait? Or are you just naturally gifted?"

There was a pause. Just a brief one, but enough for you to see the flicker of surprise in his expression. He hadn’t expected you to bite back. Hinata, who had been drinking from his water bottle nearby, nearly choked as he stifled a laugh.

Tsukishima exhaled sharply through his nose, giving you a sidelong glance before muttering, "Hah. Took you long enough."

You weren’t entirely sure what he meant by that, but the slight quirk of his lips as he turned away almost looked like amusement. Almost.

From that moment on, something shifted. Tsukishima’s remarks didn’t stop, but they became more pointed. It was like small tests, waiting to see if you could keep up. And you did. Each time he threw a sarcastic jab, you threw one back, matching his dry tone with your own sharp-witted responses.

The rest of the team noticed too.

"Oh no," Yamaguchi groaned one day, watching as you and Tsukishima exchanged increasingly sharp remarks over a discussion about blocking techniques. He leaned slightly toward Hinata, who was grinning at the exchange. "Now there’s two of them. This is my worst nightmare."

Hinata let out a cackle, nudging Yamaguchi with his elbow. "Nah, this is great! I’ve never seen anyone go toe-to-toe with Tsukishima like this!" He turned to you with an exaggerated look of awe. "You might be the chosen one."

Tsukishima scoffed, crossing his arms. "Don’t be ridiculous. If anything, they just have too much time on their hands."

You smirked, tapping your chin in mock thought. "Or maybe you’re just finally facing some well-deserved competition, Tsukishima."

Yamaguchi groaned louder, dragging a hand down his face. "Great. Now they’re feeding off each other."

Despite Tsukishima’s occasional antagonism, you continued to settle into your role. You started noticing which players needed encouragement and which needed a firm push. You anticipated when Kageyama would get lost in perfecting a set and forget to hydrate, or when Hinata would push himself too hard without resting. You even learned to differentiate Tsukishima’s genuine disinterest, from the moments when he was actually paying attention.

One evening, as you were gathering up the last of the water bottles after practice, Ukai walked by and gave you a nod. "You’re doing good work. They trust you more than you think."

You blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected praise. "I guess I just… didn’t want to be useless."

Ukai scoffed. "If you were useless, Tsukishima wouldn’t waste his breath bothering you. That kid doesn’t talk unless he thinks it’s worth his time."

You glanced over at Tsukishima, who was standing by the gym doors, lazily scrolling through his phone while Yamaguchi talked beside him. As if sensing your gaze, he glanced up, raising an eyebrow before turning back to his screen.

You exhaled, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. Maybe Ukai had a point.

You were starting to find your place here.

Chapter Text

As days turned into weeks, you started noticing something about Tsukishima. Unlike the others, who pushed themselves relentlessly, he always seemed to hold back just enough. Never overexerting, never giving more than what was necessary. It was subtle, but now that you had caught on, you couldn’t unsee it.

During water breaks, while Hinata and Kageyama argued about techniques and Yamaguchi listened attentively, Tsukishima stood off to the side, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded as if the entire thing bored him. Even in games, his blocks were effective, his positioning sharp, yet there was always an underlying feeling that he wasn’t giving his all. And that realization bugged you.

“Hey, Yachi,” you asked one afternoon as the two of you organized some equipment together. “What’s Tsukishima’s deal?”

Yachi blinked. “Huh?”

You gestured toward the court, where the team was practicing receives. “He’s good. Really good. But he never seems like he cares. Why is that?”

Yachi hesitated, fiddling with the strap of one of the ball bags. “It’s… complicated. I mean...he doesn’t hate volleyball, but he doesn’t love it either. At least, not like the others do.”

You furrowed your brow. “Why?”

She bit her inner cheek before sighing. “I think you should ask him that yourself.”

That answer didn’t satisfy you, but you let it go for now. You moved on to your next task, leaving Yachi to finish up the last bag. Your conversation lingered in your mind for the rest of practice.

Later that evening, as you finished collecting stray volleyballs, you realized the gym had mostly emptied out. The sounds of sneakers and chatter had faded, leaving only the faint hum of the overhead lights. You were about to grab your bag when you noticed someone else still lingering.

Tsukishima stood near the door, one earbud already in, staring at his phone as if waiting for something. You considered ignoring him, but something about the quiet, the way the gym felt oddly still, made you pause.

“You’re still here?” you asked, stepping closer.

He didn’t look up. “Obviously.”

You huffed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. "You really don’t seem to care much about volleyball."

Tsukishima finally glanced at you, his usual disinterested expression in place. “What gave it away?”

You crossed your arms. “You aren't even breaking a sweat out there.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, he let out a dry chuckle. “And?”

You searched his face, but as always, it was unreadable. His eyes held nothing worth analyzing “It just seems like a waste,” you muttered. “To be talented and not care about it.”

For the first time, Tsukishima actually looked at you...really looked at you. His gaze was sharp, but there was something else there, something you couldn’t quite place.

“Not everyone gets to love the things they’re good at,” he said finally, voice quieter than usual.

You exhaled, turning your gaze toward the empty court. “Yeah...I guess that’s true.”

Another pause. Then, before you could stop yourself, you added, “It hurts, doesn't it? Losing something you love.”

Tsukishima stiffened almost unnoticeably. You weren’t even sure why you said it. It wasn’t like you knew the details of his past. But somehow, the words felt right.

When you looked back at him, his expression was unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes held something heavy. Something almost painful. Something I wanted to understand.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, just as quickly as it had come, the moment passed. Tsukishima scoffed, shaking his head. “You talk too much.”

You smirked slightly. “Always have, always will.”

His lips twitched, just a little. Instead of leaving, he sighed and sat down on the gym floor, leaning back against the wall. "If you're going to keep prying, you might as well sit too."

Surprised, you hesitated before joining him, the quiet gym suddenly feeling a little less empty.

A comfortable silence settled between you, the distant echoes of past games lingering in the empty gym. Tsukishima tapped his fingers idly against his knee, eyes focused somewhere beyond the court. "You're stubborn," he muttered.

You chuckled. "And you're difficult."

He huffed, but there was no real bite to it. "Maybe. But you’re the one still sitting here."

You tilted your head, considering that. "Maybe I don’t mind difficult things."

He finally glanced at you, something unreadable in his expression. Then, with a shake of his head, he exhaled. "You're a moron."

You grinned. "Takes one to know one."

This time, he didn’t scoff. Didn’t roll his eyes. Just sat there, letting the quiet settle between you both, not quite comfortable, not quite tense. Something in the air had shifted. It was small, but noticeable.

And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

The quiet between you and Tsukishima stretched on, but for once, it wasn’t uncomfortable. He had stopped tapping his fingers against his knee, his gaze still trained on the empty court. Something about the way he was sitting. Less rigid, less guarded. It made you realize that this conversation had somehow shifted something between you both.

You were the first to break the silence. "Is holding back in practice a strategic choice, or do you just enjoy pretending you don’t care?"

Tsukishima let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

You smirked. “Not when I see potential being wasted.”

His golden eyes flicked toward you, narrowing slightly. “You’re annoying.”

“You keep saying that, but you’re still talking to me,” you shot back, arching a brow.

His lips twitched, but he quickly masked it with a scoff. “You’re misinterpreting. I’m just too lazy to get up.”

You hummed in amusement, stretching out your legs in front of you. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke again, but this time, it wasn’t a battle of wills. It was almost…comfortable. The distant hum of the gym lights and the faint echo of past games settled around you, a quiet reminder of why you were both here in the first place.

Tsukishima exhaled through his nose before finally speaking, his voice quieter than before. “You think I hold back because I don’t care.”

You tilted your head slightly, waiting. He wasn’t looking at you now, his gaze fixed on the polished wooden floor.

“I used to care too much,” he finally admitted. “It didn’t exactly work out in my favor.”

The weight behind his words lingered between you, an unspoken history filling the gaps. He wasn’t giving you everything, but it was enough to understand. Something in the past had taught him that caring too much hurt more than it was worth.

You hesitated before replying, careful not to push too hard. “And now you think it’s better not to try?”

Tsukishima scoffed, but there was no real edge to it. “Better not to expect anything.”

You studied him for a moment before shaking your head. “That’s a shame.”

He finally looked at you, eyes sharp. “Why?”

“Because you’re good,” you said simply. “And whether you admit it or not, you care more than you let on.”

Tsukishima didn’t reply immediately, his expression unreadable. But he didn’t argue, either.

Tsukishima exhaled through his nose before finally pushing himself to his feet. “You coming or what?”

You blinked up at him. "Wow, didn’t think you had it in you to acknowledge my presence."

“Unfortunately,” he muttered, grabbing his bag. “I figured if I leave you here, you’ll start over analyzing everything I say and decide we had some ‘deep moment’ or something.”

You laughed as you stood, slinging your own bag over your shoulder. “Too late for that.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, instead matching your pace as you both made your way out the door. The walk down the darkened trails of the school was quiet, nothing but the faint crunching of the dirt beneath your feet. As you neared the front gate, you glanced at him sideways.

“You know,” you started, “I think you do care.”

Tsukishima scoffed. “About what?”

“Volleyball.”
He clicked his tongue, looking away. “That’s a bold assumption.”

“But not a wrong one.”

He didn’t respond immediately, and for a second, you thought he’d ignore you completely. But then, just as you stepped out onto the sidewalk, he muttered, “You don’t know everything.”

You grinned. “Not yet. But I’m learning.”

He side-eyed you, his expression unreadable. “Tch. Annoying.”

You only laughed, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction at the interaction. There was something oddly fun about pushing Tsukishima’s buttons, about the challenge of getting under his skin just enough to make him react.

As the two of you reached the point where your paths split, you hesitated for a moment before glancing at him again. “See you tomorrow, Tsukishima.”

He adjusted his bag on his shoulder. “Not if I see you first.”

With that, he turned, walking off without another word.

You shook your head with a small smile before heading in your own direction. Despite the usual irritation that came with talking to Tsukishima, you couldn’t deny that something felt different.

Somehow, you had gotten through to him. And, whether he wanted to admit it or not, maybe he was starting to see you as more than just an annoyance.

The next day at practice, the shift in Tsukishima was subtle, but noticeable.

He was still sharp-tongued, still made his usual sarcastic remarks, but something about his effort on the court was different. His blocks were more precise, his reactions quicker, his presence more engaged. Even the team had started to pick up on it.

“Yo, Tsukishima, you're on fire today!” Hinata called out, hands stretched out in the air.

“Shut up, dumbass,” Tsukishima replied, but there was no real venom behind it.

Kageyama narrowed his eyes at him. "You've been landing your blocks better. Finally decided to start doing something?"

Tsukishima scoffed, adjusting his glasses. "Or maybe you just started paying attention."

"Doubt it," Yamaguchi muttered under his breath, sending you a knowing look. You only shrugged, pretending not to notice.

Practice went on, and as you observed the drills, you caught Tsukishima glancing your way a few times. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to tell you that something had shifted. He wasn’t just going through the motions anymore—he was paying attention, analyzing, applying. Trying.

By the end of practice, you were gathering stray volleyballs when Tsukishima passed by, stopping just long enough to say, “You know, you’re not completely useless as a manager.”

You froze, blinking at him. “Was that… a compliment?”

He smirked slightly. “Don’t get used to it.”

And with that, he walked off, leaving you standing there, stunned.

Yachi wandered over, raising an eyebrow. “Did he just—?”

“I think so,” you muttered, still processing.

She grinned. “That’s, like, a huge deal coming from him.”

You huffed, shaking your head. “Weird.”

But despite yourself, you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

Challenge accepted, indeed.

Chapter Text

Practice had been brutal.

The gym was thick with exhaustion, the sound of sneakers scuffing against the floor and heavy breathing filling the space. Coach Ukai had pushed the team hard today, and by the end of it, everyone was feeling the strain, including Tsukishima.

You noticed it immediately. His movements had been sharper, more aggressive than usual. He snapped at Hinata more than once, scoffed at Kageyama’s instructions, and even brushed off Yamaguchi when he tried to lighten the mood. The tension rolling off him was visible and no one dared to call him out on it.

Until he directed it at you.

“Are you just going to stand there, or are you actually going to do your job?” His tone was clipped, words laced with irritation as you handed out water bottles.

You froze for a moment before narrowing your eyes. “Excuse me?”

Tsukishima grabbed a bottle from your hand, his glare sharp. “You heard me.”

The gym went silent. Yamaguchi looked between the two of you with barely concealed concern, and Hinata and Kageyama, mid-bickering, had stopped to watch the exchange. Even Ukai, who was gathering the training equipment, glanced over.

You exhaled slowly, keeping your voice steady. “I don’t know what your problem is, but don’t take it out on me just because you’re in a bad mood.”

Tsukishima scoffed. “Right. Because you know everything, don’t you?”

“I know you’re being a coward,” you shot back before you could stop yourself.

That got his attention. His jaw clenched, and something flickered in his golden eyes, something dangerous. “What did you just say?”

You crossed your arms, stepping closer. “You heard me. You act like you don’t care, like none of this matters, but it does. And the second things get hard, you lash out at everyone around you instead of dealing with it.”

His fists tightened at his sides. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” You held his gaze, refusing to back down. “I see the way you hold yourself back. How you refuse to give a fuck all because you’re afraid of what happens if you do.”

Tsukishima’s expression darkened, but he didn’t interrupt. So you kept going.

“You act like you’re above all of this, like you’re just here because you have to be, but if that were true, you wouldn’t be trying so hard lately. You wouldn’t be pushing yourself. You wouldn’t be-”

“Shut up.”

The words were quiet, but there was something raw in them.

For the first time since you met him, Tsukishima looked… tired. Not just physically, but emotionally. Like he was holding onto something too heavy for too long.

You didn’t move, waiting.

Then, almost too quiet to hear, he muttered, “What’s the point of giving everything… if it doesn’t change anything?”

Your breath caught in your throat. His words carried weight, an unspoken history that he wasn’t ready to share—but for once, he had let something slip. Something real.

The fight drained out of you, replaced with something softer. Understanding.

Before you could say anything, he exhaled sharply and turned away. “Forget it.”

Practice ended shortly after, but the tension from the argument lingered.

You were packing up when Tsukishima walked past, hesitating for just a second before mumbling, “Don’t forget your bag.”

It wasn’t much. But from him, it was something.

A subtle truce.

The walk home was quieter than usual, thoughts swirling in your head. For all his walls, Tsukishima had let something slip tonight, something real, something personal. And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to understand why he kept them up in the first place.

As you passed a convenience store, you noticed a familiar tall figure inside. Tsukishima, scanning the shelves with his usual disinterested expression. Without thinking, you stepped inside.

“Stocking up after a hard day?” you asked, grabbing a drink from the fridge.

He glanced at you, unimpressed. “What do you want?”

You shrugged. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you always look that grumpy, or if it’s just for me.”

A soft snort left him, barely audible. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Nope.” You leaned against the counter, watching him pick out a protein bar. “But I do know you’re not as indifferent as you act.”

Tsukishima didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he paid for his things, then turned to you as you both walked out.

“I don’t get you,” he admitted. “You push and push, even when people don’t want you to.”

You grinned. “And yet, here you are, still talking to me.”

He clicked his tongue, but there was no real bite behind it. “Annoying.”

“You’re welcome.”

The two of you walked in silence for a while. It wasn’t tense, wasn’t awkward—just quiet. But in that quiet, something settled between you both, something unspoken yet understood.

At your street corner, you stopped. “See you tomorrow?”

Tsukishima exhaled, looking away. “Yeah… whatever.”

He turned to leave, but not before you caught the faintest ghost of a smile on his face. It was small, fleeting, but it was there.

And somehow, that felt like a win.

Chapter Text

The school day passed in a blur. There was an energy in the air, a quiet excitement buzzing through the halls as Karasuno’s upcoming match loomed closer. You could see it in the way the team members carried themselves. So focused, determined, but also eager.

Even outside the gym, volleyball was all anyone seemed to talk about. Students whispered about the upcoming game, teachers offered words of encouragement, and the team’s reputation seemed to grow with each passing moment. It was strange, in a way. You’d never expected to care this much about a sport you never played. Yet here you were, feeling just as anxious and hopeful as the players themselves.

During lunch, you sat with Yamaguchi and Hinata, listening to their excited chatter about strategies and key plays. Tsukishima sat across from you, eating in silence, only offering the occasional sarcastic remark when Hinata got too enthusiastic.

“You’re thinking too hard about it,” Tsukishima said flatly, stabbing a piece of food with his chopsticks. “It’s not like you’re suddenly going to jump five inches higher just because you’re hyped up.”

Hinata scowled. “It’s called visualizing! Right, (y/n)?”

You hummed, amused. “I mean, confidence is important.”

Tsukishima gave you a look. “You would say that.”

You grinned. “What, is it annoying that I actually believe in you guys?”

He scoffed, looking away. “Obviously.”

Despite his words, you didn’t miss the way his fingers tapped idly against the table. A nervous habit. Even Tsukishima, as cool and detached as he tried to appear, wasn’t completely unaffected by the pressure of the upcoming match.

The rest of the day went by quickly, and before long, you found yourself back in the gym, watching as the team went through their final preparations. Every movement, every drill, every stretch was done with purpose. They were ready. And so were you.

After a quick team meeting, everyone grabbed their bags and headed for the bus that would take them to the match. The ride was filled with a mix of nerves and excitement. Hinata practically vibrated in his seat, Yamaguchi looked deep in thought, and Kageyama stayed silent, focused. You sat a few rows behind them, observing quietly, feeling the anticipation settle in your chest.

Tsukishima sat by the window, earbuds in, pretending not to care. But when you caught his reflection in the glass, you could tell he wasn’t as indifferent as he wanted to appear. The subtle way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers tapped against his knee. It was all there.

As the team gathered before heading in, you felt a familiar presence beside you. “Try not to embarrass yourselves out there,” you teased lightly.

Kageyama rolled his eyes, Hinata grinned, and Yamaguchi gave you a thumbs-up. Tsukishima, however, just stared at you for a moment before muttering, “You’re way too invested in this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Funny, you complain, but you’re still standing here.”

He sighed, but there was no real annoyance behind it. “Just don’t get your hopes up.”

You smirked. “Too late.”

As the team made their way to the court, Tsukishima glanced back at you. It was brief, so quick that if you hadn’t been watching, you might have missed it. But in that moment, there was something unspoken between you. A silent acknowledgement.

Then, the game began.

Karasuno played with everything they had. The energy in the gym was electric, the crowd roaring with every point. And you? You were loud. Loud enough that even Hinata glanced at you in amusement.

“Geez, (y/n),” Yamaguchi chuckled between points. “I think the other team can hear you over their coach.”

“Good,” you shot back, hands cupped around your mouth. “Hey! Tsukishima! Jump higher, you string bean!”

He shot you an unimpressed glance before turning back to the game, but you swore you saw the corners of his lips twitch.

The match was intense. Each rally stretched longer, sweat beading on the players’ brows as they pushed themselves past their limits. You were completely absorbed, shouting encouragements, barely able to stay still.

At one point, Tsukishima made a crucial block, and you jumped up instinctively. “YES! THAT’S RIGHT! SHOW ‘EM WHO’S BOSS!”

Tsukishima glanced your way for the briefest moment before rolling his eyes, but the way he straightened his posture told you he heard you loud and clear.

You watched, heart pounding, as each rally grew more intense, each play showcasing just how much effort the team had put into this moment.

Tsukishima was focused, sharp. His blocks were perfectly timed, his movements precise. And yet, every so often, in the brief seconds between plays, you caught him glancing toward the sidelines.

Toward you.

It was strange, feeling this connected to something again. After everything, after losing what you once thought was your path, you had found a new purpose. You weren’t the one playing, but you were part of this team in your own way. And that mattered.

The final point was won in a spectacular fashion, with Hinata making an impossible save and Kageyama setting up the perfect spike. The gym erupted into cheers, and Karasuno secured their victory.

You found yourself cheering louder than anyone. “THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!”

Afterward, the team was exhausted but elated. The team room buzzed with excitement, voices overlapping as they celebrated. You stood off to the side, watching with a fond smile.

Then, Tsukishima approached you.

He hesitated for a moment before muttering, “Maybe having you here isn't completely terrible.”

You blinked, surprised. Then, slowly, a grin spread across your face. “Wow. High praise. I’m honored.”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

You crossed your arms. “Too late. I’m putting that in writing.”

“Tch.” He looked away, but the corners of his lips twitched. “You’re seriously annoying.”

“Well, someone has to keep things interesting.”

He let out a sigh, but there was no real irritation behind it. “Whatever.”

You watched as he turned away, joining the rest of the team in their celebration. A quiet warmth settled in your chest. Maybe you hadn’t just found a new purpose.

Maybe you’d found something even more important.

A place to belong.

And maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as alone in that feeling as you thought.

Chapter Text

Class was dragging.

You tapped your pen rhythmically against your notebook, eyes glazed over as you stared at the chalkboard without really seeing it. Your teacher’s voice droned on monotonously, blending seamlessly into the background noise of classroom shuffling and quiet murmurs. Your mind, though, was somewhere else entirely.

More specifically, your thoughts had annoyingly drifted to a certain blond-haired blocker. Again.

Tsukishima.

It was beyond irritating. You clenched your jaw, gripping your pen tighter until your knuckles whitened. You shouldn’t care. Shouldn't even notice these stupid, meaningless details that kept surfacing in your mind. It shouldn't matter how the fabric of his shirt stuck to his back after practice, accentuating the lean muscle beneath. Or how perfectly defined his jawline was, sharp and tense whenever he was deep in thought, his eyes narrowed in concentration. Nor should it matter the way his hands moved so confidently, his long fingers spreading wide as he effortlessly blocked spikes that seemed impossible to reach.

Yet, all of it mattered. And it infuriated you.

You didn't want to notice him at all. Especially not like this. But your traitorous mind refused to cooperate.

You sighed softly, scribbling meaningless patterns into the margin of your notebook. Of all people, why did it have to be him? The tall, smug, frustratingly clever middle blocker who somehow managed to consistently worm his way under your skin?

Worst of all, you were sure he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

Lately, he’d taken to acting even more deliberately obnoxious around you. Subtle touches that were entirely unnecessary, like brushing against your arm as he passed by despite the ample hallway space. He’d lean into your personal space while delivering snarky remarks, his voice dropping into a low, teasing tone that made your pulse spike embarrassingly. It was all so calculated...so intentional...and you hated how effectively it worked.

Finally, the bell rang, snapping you out of your frustrated thoughts. You gathered your belongings quickly, eager to escape the stifling classroom and the distracting thoughts that came with it. The familiar walk to the gym offered a brief moment of relief, though your heart began thudding faster as you neared the doors.

Inside, the gym hummed with activity. Players moved around, chatting and warming up. Hinata’s cheerful voice rang through the air as he energetically greeted everyone. You offered a small wave, slipping into your routine of setting up for practice. Organizing towels, filling water bottles, setting up the nets. All simple tasks you'd done countless times. And yet today, they felt strangely charged.

You felt his gaze before you even saw him.

Glancing across the court, you spotted Tsukishima standing near the net, arms folded casually across his chest, eyes following Hinata’s rapid movements with practiced boredom. Your stomach did a full 360 when he glanced in your direction, holding your gaze for a fraction too long before looking away with a faint smirk.

Heart hammering, you quickly busied yourself again, determined to ignore him. You approached the supply area, reaching out for the volleyballs stored neatly in a rolling cart. But just as your fingers curled around the brim, another hand brushed against yours.

It was warm, firm, familiar. It was his.

Your breath hitched, your hand frozen in place. Neither of you moved right away. Instead, his fingers lingered gently against yours, barely touching yet undeniably intentional. Heat crept up your neck and into your cheeks. You risked a glance upward, only to find him already staring at you, amber eyes holding an unreadable, almost smug expression.

“You gonna move?” you managed, your voice quieter than intended.

“Am I in your way?” he replied calmly, not even slightly troubled.

“Obviously,” you mumbled, finally pulling your hand away, leaving the cart to him.

He chuckled softly, a low, almost amused sound that sent an unwanted shiver down your spine. "Sure."

Refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing your flushed expression, you turned away, busying yourself with the rest of the supplies. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't ignore the lingering warmth on your fingertips where his had touched yours.

Practice began shortly afterward, and you settled onto the sidelines, clipboard in hand. Tsukishima moved across the court with his usual grace and precision, your eyes involuntarily tracking every flex of his muscles, every subtle movement. The familiar irritation surged again, accompanied by something else. Something you subconsciously ignored.

“(y/n), you alright?” Yamaguchi’s gentle voice snapped you from your thoughts.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just lost in thought.”

He gave you a knowing look, one that had your cheeks heating again. “You sure about that?”

“Positive,” you lied smoothly.

Thankfully, Yamaguchi didn’t push further, returning his attention to the court. But your save was short-lived. After practice, as you packed equipment away, you sensed Tsukishima approaching from behind. You stiffened slightly, refusing to turn around.

“Something on your mind today?” he drawled quietly, his voice dangerously close to your ear.

You nearly jumped out of your skin. “Not at all,” you replied evenly, forcing yourself to maintain your composure. “Did Yamaguchi say something?”

“No, just wondering why you’re so jumpy,” he said with obvious amusement. He reached past you to place a volleyball into the storage bin, deliberately pressing himself closer than necessary.

You stepped aside quickly, cheeks burning. “I’m not jumpy. You're making shit up.”

He hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head slightly. “Right. Keep telling yourself that.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, though your heart pounded wildly. “Whatever, Tsukishima.”

He smirked once more before walking away, leaving you standing there flustered and irritated...mostly at yourself.

Stupid. Absolutely, undeniably stupid.

But despite your internal protests, you knew it was more than just irritation now. You hated noticing. And you especially hated that deep down, you didn't actually mind as much as you pretended to.

Chapter Text

The library was unusually quiet that afternoon, even for a place meant for silence. Sunlight streamed lazily through the windows, bathing everything in a warm glow and creating a cozy, almost sleepy atmosphere. You sat at one of the tables, textbooks and notes spread out in front of you. Your gaze was focused, or rather, desperately trying to focus on the pages before you.

With exams approaching fast, Yachi had convinced you to join a study group in the school library, a group that, unfortunately, included Tsukishima and Yamaguchi. Initially, you'd thought you'd manage just fine; after all, Yachi was there, and Yamaguchi was pleasant company. Tsukishima, however, was another matter entirely.

When they all arrived, you cleared up the table and waved them over. After catching up for a moment, they removed their writing utensils and textbooks from their school bags.

At first, things seemed to be going smoothly. Yachi nervously mumbled notes to herself, diligently highlighting important points, while Yamaguchi quietly worked through practice questions, occasionally whispering questions to Tsukishima. But it wasn’t long before your main source of distraction became the tall, blond annoyance seated far too close beside you.

Tsukishima initially appeared indifferent, earbuds dangling loosely around his neck as he flipped through his textbook. But gradually, you realized he'd been inching closer, subtly leaning into your space under the disguise of looking over your notes. Every time he leaned in, you felt the gentle warmth of his breath brush against your ear, causing your pulse to quicken annoyingly.

"Hey," Tsukishima murmured suddenly, leaning in again. "That answer’s wrong."

You jumped slightly, heart hammering in your chest. Turning your head, you found him irritatingly close, his face just inches from yours. You tried desperately not to notice the way his breath lightly tickled your cheek or how his proximity made your stomach flip.

"What?!" you stammered, quickly glancing at your paper.

He reached over, tapping the error with a long finger, intentionally lingering too close to your own hand. "You mixed up the formula here," he explained casually. "See?"

Your breath hitched, but you forced a neutral expression. "Dammit. Thanks."

He chuckled softly, leaning back in his seat, a faint smirk on his lips. He clearly knew exactly how much he unsettled you.

Determined, you tried once again to focus on your notes. Yet, despite your efforts, your resolve crumbled each time Tsukishima leaned in under the impression of checking your work. Every movement seemed deliberately calculated, every whispered comment meant to distract.

At one point, he stretched his arms overhead, rolling his shoulders lazily as his shirt rode up just enough to expose an intriguing glimpse of toned, smooth skin and the subtle definition of muscle beneath. You couldn't help but stare, momentarily captivated by the sight, before reality snapped you back into place. Now embarrassed, you quickly tore your gaze away, your cheeks burning fiercely as heat spread across your face and down your neck, fully aware he'd caught your brief lapse in attention.

"See something interesting?" Tsukishima teased, his voice casual yet filled with amusement.

"Nope, not at all," you muttered stubbornly, refusing to meet his eyes.

Yachi glanced at you briefly, noticing your flushed cheeks, but wisely chose not to comment, quickly turning back to her notes with a nervous cough. Yamaguchi, deeply engaged in his work, seemed blissfully unaware of your troubles.

Eventually, Tsukishima leaned close again, his voice dropping to a quiet murmur. "You're spacing out again," he observed, clearly entertained. "Having trouble concentrating?"

You shot him a sharp glare, voice low. "Maybe because someone won't respect my personal space."

He tilted his head, eyes glinting mischievously. "Hah? What’s got you so tense?"

"You're insufferable," you snapped quietly, turning back to your notes and forcing your attention onto the paper in front of you.

Tsukishima merely chuckled again, clearly pleased with himself as he returned to his own materials, giving you some semblance of peace at last.

When the study session finally ended, you hurriedly packed your things, muttering quick goodbyes to Yachi and Yamaguchi. You practically fled the library, Tsukishima's quiet laughter following you out the door.

Later that night, lying awake in bed, you stared at the ceiling, your thoughts stubbornly drifting back to Tsukishima. Every fleeting touch, every teasing word replayed in your mind.

You hated how much he affected you. You hated that you couldn't simply ignore him.

Yet, despite your annoyance, your mind wandered deeper, replaying how his fingertips had lingered near yours, the warmth of his breath on your ear, and the smooth skin revealed by his stretched shirt. Your pulse quickened again as you imagined letting yourself lean into his touch, closing the gap between you, feeling the heat of his body against yours. You imagined the slow drag of his fingers along your skin, his lips brushing softly against your neck, leaving heated trails in their wake. Your breath hitched, warmth pooling low in your stomach as the vividness of these fantasies made your skin flush.

Frustrated and overwhelmed by these unwanted desires, you let out a shaky breath, sliding your hand slowly down your stomach, your eyes fluttering closed as you finally allowed yourself to indulge in these forbidden thoughts. You knew it was wrong to feel this way, knew it was foolish to let him invade your mind like this. Yet, as your hand slipped beneath the waistband of your pajamas, the guilt faded away, replaced by a growing urgency. You bit your lip to suppress a soft sigh, imagining his touch rather than your own, picturing the intensity in those amber eyes locked onto yours, the smirk that would curl at the edge of his lips, smug and knowing, as his fingertips explored your body with deliberate slowness. You envisioned the way he'd whisper teasingly into your ear, voice low and husky, drawing out every sensation until you were completely undone, surrendering entirely to the sensations that only he could inspire.

When the tension finally eased, leaving your body warm and limp with relief, you lay there, breathing heavily, conflicted emotions swirling within you. Most of all, you hated the fact that, despite everything, part of you craved these forbidden moments. Craved him. More than you'd ever admit.

Chapter Text

The gym was peaceful now, bathed in the soft, golden light of the setting sun filtering through the high windows. It was filled only with faint goodbyes and the echoing footsteps of the players departing outside. Their laughter and chatter gradually faded into silence as they eagerly escaped the heavy, humid air to head home after the rigorous training session. You stayed behind, moving methodically through the space, picking up stray volleyballs, reorganizing scattered equipment meticulously, folding towels neatly, and carefully double-checking every detail to ensure everything was perfectly ready for tomorrow’s practice.

You didn’t expect company. Least of all Tsukishima.

He lingered by the entrance, his bag slung lazily over one shoulder, his eyes narrowed slightly as he observed you gathering towels scattered along the benches. It was unusual for him to hang around after practice, especially since he typically seemed eager to leave the moment practice ended.

“Need help?” he asked, voice dripping with his usual sarcasm but oddly tinted with something softer, something almost resembling genuine concern.

You glanced up, surprised by the unexpected offer. Tsukishima rarely volunteered for extra tasks, especially ones that involved staying late. Still, you weren’t about to turn down assistance, especially considering Yachi had just left to drop off some papers at the main office.

“Sure,” you replied cautiously, watching him step closer, your pulse subtly quickening.

He dropped his bag to the floor, sighing dramatically as though he was doing you an enormous favor by offering his help. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

You rolled your eyes at his theatrics but pointed toward a large box sitting near the storage closet. “Could you put that on the top shelf, please?”

Tsukishima picked up the box effortlessly, moving toward the storage room with measured steps. You followed closely behind, carrying another smaller crate filled with practice jerseys. The air felt thicker inside the storage room, heavy with lingering humidity from hours of intense practice, mingling with the scent of wood polish and old gym equipment. Your breath caught slightly as Tsukishima stretched upward to place the box on the high shelf, his shirt lifting just enough to expose a tantalizing glimpse of smooth, toned stomach, muscles shifting gently beneath his pale skin.

Your eyes widened involuntarily, and you quickly averted your gaze, heat rapidly spreading across your body. But before you could fully compose yourself, Tsukishima turned around.

And suddenly, you were far too close.

His face hovered mere inches from yours, golden eyes locking onto yours with an intensity you'd rarely encountered. Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. The silence hung thickly between you, charged with electricity that made your pulse quicken and your chest tighten. Every second stretched painfully, each heartbeat echoing loudly in your ears.

You swallowed hard, acutely aware of how close his lips were, how easily you could bridge that tiny, tempting gap. Your heart pounded furiously, your breathing shallow and uneven. His gaze flicked briefly downward, lingering on your mouth before returning to meet your eyes, unspoken questions and unreadable emotions flickering in their amber depths. You could sense the faint warmth of his breath against your skin, beautifully close.

Your mind raced, thoughts tangled and blurred. Part of you desperately wanted to lean closer, to finally erase the careful distance that always lingered between you. The other part was frozen in place, uncertain, fearful of what might happen next. This fragile moment, filled with so much potential yet also so many unspoken barriers, left you immobilized.

“(Y/N)! Are you still here?” Yachi’s voice suddenly called from outside, slicing through the tense silence like sharp knife.

Tsukishima blinked first, visibly startled, pulling back abruptly with a huff and bumping into the shelves. “You're in the way,” he muttered sharply, slipping past you and brushing your shoulder as he moved toward the door.

Yet, as he brushed by, you noticed it. The tense set of his jaw, the way his shoulders were rigid and stiff, betraying emotions he refused to openly acknowledge. His usual mask of indifference had slipped, even if only for a fleeting moment, revealing a glimpse of vulnerability beneath his cool exterior.

“I'll be right there!” you called back to Yachi, forcing your voice to sound steady despite the turmoil inside you. You lingered in the storage room a moment longer, pressing a hand to your chest, begging your heartbeat to slow down and your breathing to even out.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped back out into the main gym area, eyes drifting toward the exit through which Tsukishima had disappeared moments before. You exhaled slowly, still feeling the lingering warmth of his proximity, the ghostly imprint of his breath against your skin. Your mind replayed the intensity in his gaze, the closeness you’d almost breached, and the hidden meaning you knew lay beneath his carefully guarded expressions.

You knew something had just shifted irrevocably between you, and it terrified you as much as it thrilled you. The uncertainty of what came next was daunting, yet there was a strange excitement mixed with anxiety. Whatever the outcome, it was clear things would never be quite the same again.

Chapter Text

The school grounds buzzed vibrantly with excitement, bright banners and colorful streamers draping elegantly from every hallway and classroom door. Cheerful music flowed through strategically placed speakers, blending seamlessly with the infectious laughter and animated conversations of students enjoying the festival. You and Yachi had spent the early hours cheerfully greeting classmates and visitors at your volleyball team booth, enthusiastically handing out flyers and explaining the need for a new manager, since this was your final year. Occasionally, members of the volleyball team dropped by, their playful teasing and lively banter injecting even more energy into the atmosphere as they eagerly helped promote the booth.

Throughout the morning, Tsukishima lingered nearby, casually leaning against a pillar, his typical indifferent demeanor firmly intact. Yet, you couldn't ignore how his eyes occasionally lingered in your direction, an unspoken curiosity hidden beneath his usual bored expression. Each glance your way sent warmth flooding through your cheeks, your mind flickering with vivid memories of recent, charged interactions between you.

When your booth shift finally ended, Yachi eagerly linked arms with you, her enthusiasm contagious as you both joined Hinata and Kageyama to explore the festival's other offerings. Your laughter mingled with theirs as you sampled sweet treats, cheered Hinata’s energetic efforts at various games, and playfully teased Kageyama's attempts at concealing his excitement. For a short while, the festive mood swept away your lingering anxieties, allowing you a brief respite from your worries.

However, your carefree mood abruptly faltered when your group stopped in front of a relay racing booth. The bright banner promoting the race, the sound of cheers from participants, and the excitement of your friends brought forth a sharp, painful awareness of your limitations. Your leg throbbed, echoing the silent frustration you constantly fought to ignore. You watched helplessly as others easily jumped into position, laughing as they prepared to race, an activity you once cherished. The harsh reality crashed over you, the realization that no amount of determination or rehabilitation would ever let you join such races again. Memories of your former self, energetic and unburdened by injury, surged forward, choking you with a deep, profound sadness that tightened your throat painfully.

“I-I’ll catch up with you later,” you hastily mumbled, swiftly slipping away into the crowded pathways before your friends could notice your distress. You pushed aimlessly through the swarm of smiling faces, your breath quickening and your vision blurring with bundled tears. Your heart raced frantically, anxiety bubbling fiercely as you stumbled through the festival.

Distracted and overwhelmed, you suddenly collided into a tall, sturdy figure. Looking up from the ground, you were immediately captured by familiar amber eyes framed by glasses...Tsukishima. A brief flash of irritation crossed his expression before swiftly shifting into concern as he took in your visibly shaken state.

“Tch. Stay close,” he muttered quietly, averting his eyes. “I don’t feel like looking for you later.”

His tone was gruff, yet the subtle concern beneath his words warmed your chest. Without awaiting your answer, he began moving steadily through the crowd, silently expecting you to follow. Relieved despite his blunt delivery, you fell into step beside him, the lingering tension simmering softly beneath your shared silence.

After several quiet minutes, Tsukishima glanced at you briefly, his expression unexpectedly gentle. “Are you alright?”

The unexpected softness of his voice caught you off guard, causing your defenses to slip away. “Honestly? Not really,” you admitted quietly. “I thought I'd moved past this, but clearly, I haven’t. Seeing everyone do things I can’t...it hurts. And I just don’t know how to move on.”

Tsukishima remained quiet for a long moment, his gaze thoughtful and introspective. Finally, he spoke again, his voice surprisingly earnest and sincere. “It's never easy. Pretending that it doesn’t affect you only makes things worse. You have to acknowledge it, accept it, and then find something new to pursue. That’s how you move forward.”

Surprised by his heartfelt advice, you looked up at him curiously. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because it’s obvious,” he replied softly, glancing away. “And because I understand, in a way.”

The rare honesty in his words sent comforting warmth through your chest. You managed a small, appreciative smile, feeling the heaviness in your heart ease slightly for the first time in a long while.

As you continued walking, you passed a fortune teller’s booth. The older woman behind the table smiled warmly, offering a gentle wave. “You two have an interesting dynamic. Would you like a reading?”

Tsukishima immediately scoffed, clearly skeptical, but you gave him a playful nudge, curious despite yourself. “Come on, it might be fun.”

He sighed dramatically but didn't resist as you stepped forward. The fortune teller briefly studied you both, then spoke kindly. “You share a strong bond, though stubbornness might complicate things. There's certainly a connection worth exploring.”

You felt your cheeks warm slightly, and Tsukishima glanced away, a faint color rising in his own face. “Interesting,” you murmured softly, offering a polite smile as you stepped back.

Moving away, the earlier tension thickened subtly between you. Your thoughts spun gently, filled with curiosity and cautious optimism as you navigated the crowded festival together.

As you entered a particularly crowded alley filled with enthusiastic students, Tsukishima’s fingers suddenly wrapped firmly around your wrist, swiftly pulling you protectively against his chest to avoid a bustling group. You froze instantly, your breath hitching sharply as your heart hammered in your chest.

For a prolonged, breathless moment, you both stood pressed closely together, hearts pounding in sync, breaths intertwining. His fingers tightened fractionally around your wrist, betraying his own internal conflict, and you hesitantly lifted your gaze to his. The intensity of his amber eyes sent your pulse racing further. Uncertainty and longing clear in his expression as his eyes flickered briefly to your lips.

But the moment passed faster than it occurred. Tsukishima released your wrist, stepping back quickly and slipping his hands into his pockets without a word.

“Let’s go,” he murmured quietly, turning swiftly and moving ahead through the crowd, back towards our booth.

You followed more slowly, absently rubbing your wrist where his fingers had been moments ago, heart still racing with unresolved emotion.

Chapter Text

It started as a whisper.

A slow, creeping awareness that settled into the edges of your mind and refused to leave. It wasn’t just about the way Tsukishima looked at you anymore, or the way he sometimes touched you, barely, like he was testing a boundary, daring you to react. It wasn’t even about the things he said. It was the way he said them. The slight drop in his voice when you were alone. The way his gaze lingered just a second too long, sharp and unreadable. The way he said your name like it meant something, even though he always acted like it didn’t.

You wanted him. More than you should.

And it was driving you insane.

At first, it had been easy enough to brush off. He was Tsukishima, after all. Gruff, distant, continuously unimpressed. But once you noticed it, you couldn’t unsee it. Couldn’t unfeel it.

You caught yourself watching him during practice, even when you were supposed to be focused on organizing gear or tracking drills. Your eyes betrayed you constantly, drifting to him when he wasn't even doing anything noteworthy. The way his fingers curled around the ball, the way his jaw tensed when he was concentrating, the glimpse of toned skin when his clothing rode up while stretching and playing. All of it had your thoughts spiraling in directions they absolutely shouldn’t.

It wasn’t just attraction. It was want. Deep, complicated, and aggravating want. You could feel it simmering under your skin, coiling in your chest, a pull that grew stronger every time he so much as glanced in your direction.

And the worst part?

You didn’t think it was one-sided.

There were moments. So many of them.

Moments when his eyes caught yours across the court and didn’t let go. Moments when he brushed past you and his hand lingered just a second too long. Moments when his sarcastic remarks carried a weight they didn’t used to, like every word was a mask covering something else. Something heavier. Something real.

It would’ve been easier if he’d just been indifferent. If he had looked through you like you didn’t matter.

But he didn’t.

And lately, he’d been off his game. More irritable than usual. He snapped at teammates more often, rolled his eyes at things he used to just ignore, sighed dramatically at even the smallest inconveniences. You’d caught him clenching his fists during drills, barking corrections even when no one asked. Kageyama had given him side-eyes more than once, and even Hinata seemed cautious around him.

“What’s up with Tsukki?” Hinata whispered one afternoon, watching Tsukishima throw down his towel and stomp off toward the bench.

Yamaguchi just chuckled, knowingly. “He’s on edge.”

Tsukishima had been talking to him more lately, not in any overly emotional way, but in clipped comments and muttered frustrations. He’d complain about how distracting you were, how annoying your voice could be, how you were always "in the way". But then he’d bring up specific details about things you’d said, the way you laughed, or how focused you looked during practice. Yamaguchi had picked up on it quickly. Tsukishima didn’t just notice you...he was constantly thinking about you, even if he refused to admit it.

So, as they reached the water cooler, Yamaguchi nudged him with a quiet smirk. “Why don’t you just do something about it already?”

Tsukishima scoffed like it was ridiculous.

But his grip tightened around his water bottle until the plastic creaked.

You didn’t hear the exchange directly, but you saw the way Tsukishima glanced in your direction right after. The way his expression flickered with something he quickly buried.

That night, you lay in bed replaying everything in your head. Every glance, every subtle touch, every word that felt like it meant more. You hated the way your chest tightened, the way your thoughts refused to quiet. But mostly, you hated how much you wanted something to happen.

You were unraveling. And so was he.

And sooner or later, something was going to break.

Chapter Text

The storm rolled in faster than expected.

One minute, Tsukishima was leaving the clubroom, annoyed at forgetting his phone. The next, the sky had cracked open like it was holding a grudge. Rain came down in sheets, cold and relentless, soaking him through before he even made it halfway across the courtyard.

“Great,” he muttered, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, which was now slick with rainwater. Everything was soaked. His hoodie clung to his skin, heavy and miserable.

He wasn’t in the mood for this. Not today. Not when he’d already spent the better part of practice snapping at people and doing his best to pretend you weren’t there.

You were, of course. Always around. Always close.

He didn’t know when you’d gotten under his skin, only that now, every sarcastic comment he threw your way felt a little too sharp. Like he was deflecting something he couldn’t name.

He finally reached the gym again, pushing the doors open with more force than necessary, water dripping off his sleeves and hair. You looked up from where you were crouched beside the bench, organizing the last of the gear.

His breath caught. Just for a second. You looked up at him with that quiet little smile, that tilt of your head like you were surprised but not unhappy to see him.

“You’re soaked,” you said, standing quickly. “Hang on-” You reached for one of the clean towels left from practice and handed it to him without hesitation.

He took it, wordlessly. His fingers brushed yours for a second. Just one second. But it was enough to notice the warmth in contrast to the cold that had settled in his skin.

“Thanks,” he muttered, rubbing the towel roughly through his hair.

A distant rumble of thunder echoed outside. You both walked toward the doors, standing under the shallow overhang just outside the gym. The rain poured down in front of you, creating a silver curtain against the evening sky.

“Well,” you said after a pause. “We’re not going anywhere for a while.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, still damp and cold. “Figures.”

He didn’t look at you. Not right away. Because he could feel it. The shift. That thing that always happened when the two of you were alone for too long. Like the air got thinner. Louder.

You were close. Not touching, not saying much, but close. Your shoulder just inches from his. He stared out at the rain, but all he could feel was you.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw your hand move. Gently, slowly, like you were afraid you’d startle him. And then, your fingers brushed a damp strand of hair off his forehead.

He froze.

The touch was light, barely there, but it short-circuited something in his brain. His chest tightened. The towel hung forgotten around his neck.

He turned to look at you.

Your hand dropped back to your side, and you were already pulling back, but it didn’t matter. He was looking at you now, really looking.

The way your lips parted just slightly. The way you were shivering, arms wrapped around yourself like a barrier. But your eyes. Your eyes didn’t look like they wanted to leave.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice low and rougher than he meant it to be.

You swallowed. “I don’t know.”

He watched you for a long moment. Longer than he should’ve. He leaned in, just slightly. Not enough to close the distance. Just enough to test something.

Your breath hitched.

And just like that, he felt it. The weight of everything between you. The months of tension, the almost happens, the unspoken things tangled between sarcasm and glances. It was all there, just barely out of reach.

Then the rain slowed.

The pounding sound softened into a whisper, and the moment shattered.

He clicked his tongue, stepping back just enough to remind himself that nothing had actually happened. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he turned away.

“Let’s go.”

He didn’t wait to see your reaction. Didn’t trust himself to.

Because something had almost happened. And if he stayed one more second, he wasn’t sure he could stop it next time.

Chapter Text

The gym pulsed with the energy of victory.

The final set had been intense and relentless. Karasuno was facing off against Nekoma, and everything about the match had been a grind. Lev, in particular, had been a problem. Tall, unpredictable, and annoyingly effective. His blocks came out of nowhere, and he’d managed to shut down several of Hinata’s best spikes early in the game. The teams knew each other too well, every tactic met with a counter, every rhythm disrupted just as quickly as it settled. Karasuno had clawed their way back after a shaky first set, their rhythm messy but passionate. Every rally was a battle. The crowd was on edge, clapping and shouting with every save, every desperate dive across the court. The thud of the ball echoed like a drumbeat, each hit carrying the weight of months of practice and pressure. Sweat soaked through jerseys, shoes screeched across the polished floor, and no one, on or off the court, could look away.

Hinata had soared like he had wings, pulling off spikes no one should’ve been able to reach. Kageyama’s sets were surgical, timed perfectly, feeding Hinata and the others with a precision that looked effortless but wasn’t. Yamaguchi had stepped in for a tense serve sequence and nailed it, even if his nerves were high. And Tsukishima, he’d been everywhere. Blocking, reading the other team’s spikers like he knew them personally. He wasn’t just playing well. He was fighting. Sharper, meaner, more degrading than usual.

When the final whistle blew, Karasuno scraped by with a two-point win.

The bench exploded. Yachi screamed. Hinata leapt onto Kageyama. You were loud, louder than usual. Even for you, yelling praise with no filter, heart still hammering from the final rally. Coach Ukai tried and failed to hide a smile. Yamaguchi pumped a fist in the air and nearly tripped over himself trying to reach the others. The court blurred into a swirl of high-fives, towel whips, and collapsing laughter. It was everything a win should be.

And yet, even with all the noise, you couldn’t focus.

The celebration around you felt distant, muffled, like you were underwater. Karasuno had just claimed another victory, but something gnawed at your chest. Tsukishima was nowhere to be found.

Hinata was practically vibrating with energy, reenacting his final spike to a grinning Kageyama. Yamaguchi rattled off snack options for the convenience store run, already pulling on his jacket with one arm while texting with the other. You should’ve been right there with them. Cheering. Laughing. Basking in the win.

But your eyes kept drifting to the gym doors.

He’d vanished the second the match ended. No tired smirk. No sarcastic jab. Not even a glance in your direction. Just...gone. And it unsettled you. Because the way he’d played, the fire behind his eyes, the sharpness in his movements, it hadn’t just been adrenaline. It had been something else. Something heavier.

So you slipped away.

The hall was quiet, lined with shadows, the echoes of celebration growing fainter behind you. You moved on instinct, your steps soft on the floor. The equipment room was half-closed, the door left slightly ajar.

You pushed it open gently.

He was there.

Leaning against the far wall, his jersey clinging to him, hair damp, shoulders tense. His arms were folded tightly across his chest like he was holding himself together by force. His jaw worked, clenched and set, like he was chewing on something he couldn’t spit out.

“You disappeared,” you said softly, stepping inside and letting the door close with a quiet thud behind you.

His eyes opened slowly, focusing on you like he hadn’t expected anyone to follow. “You noticed,” he muttered.

“You don’t usually skip out on post-match celebrations.”

He let out a sharp exhale, fingers twitching slightly at his sides. “You’re annoying.”

You didn’t even blink. “Then stop looking at me like that.”

Something shifted.

His head tilted slightly, like he was trying to figure out if you were joking. But his eyes. His eyes darkened. Slowly, silently, like a storm rolling in. He straightened up from the wall, taking one step, then another. Your heart thudded.

And then he was close. Too close.

His eyes dropped to your lips, to your throat, to the rise and fall of your chest. He wasn’t hiding it anymore. The heat. The pull. The thing you’d both danced around for far too long.

The room felt suffocating.

Then. Something broke.

One moment, there was still space between you. The next, you were pressed back against the door, his hands gripping your waist like it was the only thing grounding him. The impact was gentle, but his hold wasn’t. He was breathing hard, forehead brushing yours, his entire body tense with restraint.

His mouth hovered just above yours. So close. One breath away.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, voice low.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Your hands found the front of his jersey, fingers curling into the fabric like a lifeline. You didn’t move, didn’t speak. The air between you begged.

And in that fragile space, you knew.

There was no going back.

Chapter Text

The room was silent except for the sound of your breathing.

Everything that had led to this moment felt like a blur. Every sarcastic remark, every brush of hands during water breaks, every lingering look that didn’t quite last long enough. It had all been leading here. To this.

You stood with your back to the door, chest heaving slightly from the tension that hadn’t yet broken. Tsukishima had you pinned there. His hands already on your hips, firm and grounding. His body hovered just close enough to make your pulse thunder. You could feel his restraint, the way his fingers flexed slightly against you, like he was still deciding if this was a terrible idea.

His eyes were dark behind his glasses, flicking from your lips to your eyes and back again. You could feel the conflict in him. Hesitation, frustration, want. It was written in the way his jaw tensed, in the tight line of his shoulders. For a second, he looked like he might walk away.

But then his hand moved, slowly and deliberately, settling against the small of your back.

You didn’t stop him.

Your fingers were already curled onto the fabric of his jersey, holding on like it was the only steady thing in the room. The soft cotton was warm beneath your touch, stretched slightly from how hard your hands gripped it. His heart beat fast under your palms, steady but unmistakably loud. There was a pause. A thick, electric second where the only thing louder than your breath was the silence between you, and everything in your body screamed for what came next. Waiting.

Then he leaned in, breath ghosting over your lips, and gravity took over.

It started with a kiss. Desperate, like holding your breath for too long and finally breaking the surface. It wasn’t sweet or hesitant. It wasn’t slow. It was messy, all heat and want and the raw edge of months of buried tension finally breaking free.

Tsukishima kissed like he argued. Sharp, intense, relentless. His hands gripped your waist like you would disappear if he let go, fingers digging into your skin through your Karasuno jacket. The door at your back was solid, grounding, but everything else spun.

Your hands found his shoulders, holding on because the force of it made your knees weak. It was all tongue and clashing teeth, like neither of you knew how to slow down, and neither of you wanted to. There was too much between you. Too many what-ifs and unspoken things, and it all poured out here.

When you gasped against his mouth, his answer was a low groan, the sound rough and harsh. It made your spine arch, your fingers clench. It made your entire body feel like it was on fire. His hands slid beneath your shirt, calloused fingers brushing against bare skin, moving with purpose but not pressure. Just exploration. Testing. Reverent and impatient all at once.

You shivered.

"You’re so obnoxious," he muttered against your skin, lips trailing from your jaw to your neck. His breath was hot, the words tangled in the space between a growl and a sigh. He found your pulse and sucked lightly, just enough to make your breath catch.

You barely managed to bite back a moan. "Then stop."

His grip tightened. His lips parted against your skin.

"No."

That one word unraveled you.

Because it wasn’t just a refusal. It was an admission.

He couldn’t stop.

Not anymore.

And neither could you.

You pulled him back in with shaking fingers, and he came willingly—mouth on yours again, arms wrapping around you like he meant to keep you there. And for the first time, you didn’t want to fight it.

Not the kiss.
Not him.
Not the feeling blooming rapidly inside your chest.

It slowed eventually. Your mouths parting, breaths mingling in the close space, both of you blinking like you'd just surfaced from deep water. His forehead rested briefly against yours, his hands still firm on your hips, your fingers still tangled in his hair. Neither of you spoke.

Then, your phone buzzed in your pocket.

You pulled back just enough to fish it out, glancing at the screen.

Yachi: "Bus is leaving in 5. Where are you??"

You blinked, then showed him the screen. "We have to go."

Tsukishima exhaled, something between a sigh and a curse under his breath. He didn’t move right away, just looked at you for a second longer before nodding and stepping back. You straightened your shirt, smoothed your hair, trying not to look as dazed as you felt.

The kiss was over. Though something else had started.

But...the next morning, nothing had changed.

Not technically.

The world moved like it always did, crowded hallways, half-listened-to lectures, and lunch with Yachi filled with familiar chatter. Volleyball was the same too, practice drills, banter, the squeak of shoes on gym floors. Nothing obvious had changed. But under the surface, something subtle had shifted.

Tsukishima still rolled his eyes when you teased him, still muttered his usual dry comments, still pretended not to care when the team joked about the two of you arriving late together.

"We’re not dating," he grumbled under his breath, brushing past you in the hallway.

You just smirked. "Sure, Tsukki."

He scowled at the nickname, but his hand lingered on the small of your back as he walked by. No one saw, but you felt it.

Later that night, when the gym was empty and the sky outside turned soft with dusk, you found yourselves alone again. It hadn’t been planned. You were finishing up folding towels near the storage shelves, and he lingered behind under the excuse of re-lacing his shoes.

The silence was familiar, almost comfortable now. You could feel him watching you, the weight of his gaze as you worked. When you turned around, he was already standing closer than expected. Close enough that the space between you thrummed with the same charged feeling from the day before.

This time, there was no hesitation. He stepped forward, hand lifting to your cheek, thumb brushing lightly along your jaw. You met his gaze, and something passed between you. Quiet and certain. You leaned into his touch without thinking.

And then he kissed you.

Slower this time.

Like he wasn’t afraid of what it meant.

His hand cradled your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he was memorizing it. Like he wasn’t trying to win anymore. Just feel.

Maybe you weren’t official.

Maybe you weren’t ready to name it.

But you both knew.

Whatever it was, it was real.

Chapter Text

The moment in the equipment room didn’t fade.

If anything, it clung to you. Like the scent of his cologne on your jacket or the phantom pressure of his hands on your waist. It followed you into the next day, trailing behind you in the hallways, in the locker room, in every second of volleyball practice.

Tsukishima barely looked at you.

He wasn’t ignoring you, well not exactly. He passed you water when you needed it, stood in line beside you during warmups, responded with his usual dry sarcasm when you asked him a question. But his gaze never lingered, never met yours for longer than necessary.

And still, when it did, something in it had changed.

There was an edge there. Tension, maybe. Maybe restraint. You couldn’t tell. You didn’t know what you wanted it to be. You weren’t sure he did either.

You weren’t any better.

You fumbled twice during drills, nearly dropped a towel during cool-down, and snapped at Hinata without meaning to. Yachi raised an eyebrow, but thankfully didn’t ask. You’d barely been able to concentrate, your mind flickering back to the way he’d looked at you, the way he’d said “no” like he meant it, the way his mouth felt against your neck. The way you didn’t want him to stop.

All day, your body remembered things you weren’t ready to think about.

That night, you lay in bed, the room quiet except for the hum of your fan. You weren’t asleep. Not really. Your phone buzzed once on your nightstand.

You reached for it, heart skipping without permission.

Tsukishima: Are you awake?

You stared at the message for a second, maybe longer, chewing on your bottom lip. No emoji. No punctuation. Just three words.

You: Yeah.

You pressed send before you could overthink it.

Fifteen minutes passed. Maybe less. Maybe more. You weren’t sure. But then there was a soft knock at your door.

You knew it was him before you even looked through the peephole.

He stood there in a hoodie, hood up, hands shoved deep in his pockets, as if trying to look like he wasn’t standing in front of your door at nearly midnight. When you opened it, he didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you with that same unreadable expression you’d caught glimpses of earlier.

You stepped aside.

He stepped in.

The door slightly hung open behind him, chilly and grounding. The house was quiet. Your dad was working the night shift, gone until morning. You didn’t have to worry about explaining anything. Still, your heart pounded as you turned to face him.

He looked around once, like he hadn’t expected to actually come inside.

You swallowed. “I’m alone. Just…you know. In case you were wondering.”

Tsukishima nodded slowly. “I wasn’t.”

But the way his shoulders relaxed said otherwise.

Nothing about this was simple.

But that didn’t stop you from wanting him here.

Chapter Text

Tsukishima leaned against your doorway, arms crossed, expression too carefully blank. Too neutral. Like he was trying to pretend nothing about this was strange. Like he hadn’t just texted you in the middle of the night and then shown up minutes later.

"This is stupid," he muttered, not meeting your eyes.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms to mirror him. "Then leave."

His jaw clenched. He didn’t move.

Seconds passed. Tense. Heavy.

Then he shifted. Leaned back slowly. The door clicked shut behind him.

That sound made your heart skip.

Still, neither of you said anything. Tsukishima stood there for another moment, his hand still resting on the doorknob, his shoulders tense like he might bolt, but he didn’t. You moved first, brushing past him toward your room, the quiet sound of your footsteps were the only thing heard. You didn’t have to look back to know he followed.

The hallway was dim, washed in soft shadows from the streetlight leaking through your windows. When you pushed open the door to your bedroom, it felt like crossing a line.

You turned around to say something, anything, but the words never came.

He kissed you again before you could speak.

It was rougher this time. Hungrier. Like the walk had only made him more certain of what he wanted.

He guided you backward, your hands already fisting in the front of his hoodie as he stepped closer. When your legs hit the bed, you sat without thinking, then scooted back as he followed you down.

His mouth never left yours.

And once he was over you, hovering with a weightless kind of tension in his frame, it all unraveled.

You pulled him in by the collar. He answered with a sound you hadn’t heard before. Low, desperate, like he’d finally let himself want this.

Hands roamed. Breath hitched. Fabric shifted. Every move felt like a decision you’d both already made.

And then there was nothing but heat and skin and want. Him.

Nothing about it was slow.

And neither of you wanted it to be.

You broke apart only slightly, just enough to breathe. His breath was hot against your cheek, eyes flicking down to your lips, then lower, his hand still resting low on your back.

He hesitated, but only for a second.

Then he kissed you again, harder, more certain. And you responded without thinking, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging gently until he groaned into your mouth. His hoodie came off in a rush, followed by your shirt, clothes discarded like afterthoughts.

His lips moved down your neck, open-mouthed and hungry, and you arched into him when his hand traced over the curve of your waist. "Kei-" His name slipped from your lips in a whisper, almost involuntary. It made him freeze, just for a moment, before he pressed his forehead to yours and exhaled like he was trying not to lose control.

You guided him back down, fingers dragging across the bare skin of his back, pulling him closer, anchoring him to you.

His hands explored, devoted and rushed, sliding over every inch of you. It was heat and friction, soft moans against skin, your bodies moving in sync without needing instruction. He was quiet, but every now and then, you caught the way his breath stuttered, how his hands trembled slightly when you touched him just right.

The moments blurred together. Neither of you trying to slow down or stop. There was no going back.

There was a beat of silence, thick and electric. Neither of you moved. Both of you were very aware of what this looked like. What this meant. What it could become.

Tsukishima exhaled, sharp and almost frustrated. "Screw it."

He leaned down, his mouth finding your neck again, leaving small love bites as he worked his way down to your chest. His hands slid down to your thighs, gripping them firmly as he pushed them apart.

Low growls escaped his lips as he positioned himself between your legs, his body flush against yours. He looked down at you, his eyes dark with lust.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

He began to grind against you, his movements slow and deliberate. His hands moved to your hips, guiding your movements to match his rhythm. He broke the kiss, panting against your ear as he whispered snarky comments.

"You're so much less annoying like this." He nipped at your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin.

Your body was on fire, every nerve ending alight with pleasure as Tsukishima continued to thrust against you. His hands gripped your hips tighter, his own hips bucking forward with more urgency. Your breath hitched in your throat, and you let out a low moan as you looked up at him.

He looked down at you with half-lidded eyes, a mixture of lust and passion on his face. "I've been wanting to do this." he groaned, his voice strained.

He increased the pace, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own release. His breathing grew ragged, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his moans muffled against your skin.

You could feel the electricity surging through your body as you began to feel yourself reaching the brim.

"I'm almost..." he panted, his fingers digging into your skin almost painfully. He could feel you trembling beneath him, and he knew you were just as close as he was.

With a few more impactful thrust you could feel his body tense up in your hands. His breath hitched and you could feel the warmth drip through his briefs, onto your black underwear. The overwhelming reality of what was really happening almost set you off.

Tsukishima kept going, his movements slower now, but still full of purpose. He knew he was sensitive, but he didn't care, he wanted to make you feel just as good.

He pushed himself up on his elbows, watching your face intently as he continued to grind against you. His eyes were glazed over with exhaustion, but he was determined to bring you over the edge.

"Come on now. Don't keep me waiting" Voice hoarse and sharp.

His words finally pushed you over the edge, and you cried out as you finally released, your body arching up against his. He continued to grind against you, helping you ride it out until you were completely spent.

He slowed to a stop and collapsed beside you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. He kissed your forehead and sighed tiredly.

"That was...amazing." Almost dumbfounded at how, why, or what had just happened.

There was no going back now.

But, they could both sense that there was a lot more to come.

Chapter Text

The room was quiet.

Muted morning light filtered in through the curtains, soft and gray-blue, casting lazy stripes across the floorboards and walls. The kind of light that made everything feel slow, like the world itself was still half-asleep and not quite ready to face the day.

Tsukishima lay on his back, the covers pulled just past his waist, one arm tucked under his head, the other lying stiffly by his side. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling above him, wide awake.

What the hell did I just do?

The thought wasn’t new. It had been spinning in his mind for the last hour. Maybe longer. He hadn’t checked the time. He didn’t want to. His body was warm from the blankets, the lingering heat of you next to him, but his thoughts felt cold. Disjointed. Like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit anymore.

The events of the night before played back in flashes. Your mouth, the sound of your breath hitching when he touched you, your fingers tangled in his hair, the desperate way you’d whispered his name against his skin. It didn’t feel real. But the ache in his muscles and the burn still lingering in his chest said otherwise.

Beside him, you stirred.

Just a small shift. A soft, sleepy sound, followed by the rustle of the sheets sliding lower as you turned onto your side. One arm draped lazily over the pillow between you, your shoulder and part of your back now exposed to the cool air. It was too quiet to be awkward, but too charged to be comfortable.

He should leave.

That was the logical thing. Get up, get dressed, say something cold and dismissive, and go before this could turn into something it wasn’t supposed to be. But logic felt far away right now, somewhere beneath the weight of everything he didn’t want to admit.

Instead, his fingers moved, Hesitant at first, then more certain. He reached out and let them trail softly along your shoulder, tracing an absent pattern along your upper arm. Then, his hand drifted upward, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. He watched the way your lashes fluttered in sleep, the way your breath rose and fell steadily. Carefully, almost without thinking, he tucked the hair behind your ear and let the backs of his fingers glide along your cheek. Your skin was warm under his touch, smooth, familiar now in a way that made his throat tighten.

You didn’t flinch.

You cracked an eye open, blinking against the light, and caught him mid-motion. There was no fear or regret in your face. Just the kind of sleepy amusement that made his chest ache even more.

Tsukishima didn’t look away. Instead, he just watched you. Quiet, unreadable, but there. Present in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.

He dropped his hand and glanced away. "Say something," he muttered, voice rough from sleep and something else he didn’t want to name.

You stretched beneath the covers, your body brushing gently against his, making the air between you shift again. Your grin was lazy and shameless. "Good morning to you too."

He scowled, rolling onto his side to face away from you, hiding his face in the pillow. "You’re such an idiot."

But you didn’t miss it. The faint pink that bloomed across the tops of his ears, the way his fingers curled tightly into the blanket like he was trying to keep himself grounded.

You stayed like that for a few quiet minutes, the silence now softer, more breathable.

Eventually, you shifted again, this time closer, letting your hand rest lightly on his back. He stiffened slightly, but didn’t move away.

The unspoken question hung between you.

What now?

Neither of you had an answer. Not yet.

But for the first time, Tsukishima didn’t seem in a rush to figure it out.

Eventually, the soft ticking of the clock on your nightstand broke through the haze. You glanced toward it and blinked.

"My dad’s shift ends soon," you said quietly, brushing hair from your face as you sat up.

Tsukishima made a small noise of acknowledgement but didn’t move immediately. Then, with a sigh, he pulled the blanket off and sat up beside you, the two of you now facing the soft light creeping in from the curtains.

There was no rush in your movements. Clothes were gathered silently. His hoodie from your floor, your shirt draped over your chair. You each dressed in the quiet, broken only by the rustle of fabric and the occasional glance that lingered too long.

When he tugged his hoodie over his head and turned to you, there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Something softer. He looked like he wanted to say something. Maybe even a lot of things, but none of them made it out.

You grabbed your own hoodie from your dresser and pulled it over your head as he adjusted the sleeves of his. You both moved slowly, like speaking too loudly might shatter the strange calm that had settled over everything.

You walked him to the door, your steps quiet on the floor.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, one hand on the knob, the other fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. His shoulders were drawn tight, tension lingering just beneath the surface.

You leaned against the frame, glancing at him sideways. "Guess this is the part where things get weird, huh?"

He shrugged. "Wouldn’t be us if it wasn’t."

You gave him a lopsided smile. "At least you're consistent."

"At least I didn't steal the blanket," he muttered, not quite looking at you.

You rolled your eyes. "You're not gonna let that go, are you?"

He smirked slightly. "You absolutely did."

You smirk. "As I should."

He shook his head, letting out a soft breath. "You’re annoying."

You stepped in, grabbing a fistful of his hoodie to steady yourself, then leaned up and pressed a small kiss to his cheek. "Yeah, but you like it."

Tsukishima didn’t move for a beat, eyes flicking to you with something warmer than usual.

“Go,” you whispered, nudging him toward the door. “Before my dad gets home and decides to interrogate you, or worse.”

He sighed but nodded, tugging his hood up. "See you later."

You opened the door for him, and he stepped out into the soft Saturday morning, pausing at the steps to glance back once.

The door clicked softly behind him.

And you stood there, hoodie sleeves tugged over your hands, lips tingling just a little, wondering when later would come.

Chapter Text

You didn’t see Tsukishima all weekend.

There hadn’t been any games or scheduled practices either. Coach Ukai had canceled everything last minute because the gym needed emergency repairs after one of the overhead lights came loose. The school had blocked it off for safety checks, and there was talk of replacing a few ceiling panels. No one was exactly upset about the two day break. It gave everyone an excuse to relax.

But in your case, it gave you too much time to think.

Neither you or Tsukishima had made plans, and after everything that had happened, maybe space was necessary. Still, your phone lit up a few times with his name. A sarcastic comment about a manga you both followed, a random meme, and once, a “You better not be late to class Monday.”

You’d responded to all of them. Sometimes within seconds. Sometimes with emojis that maybe gave away more than they should’ve. You kept rereading the threads, overanalyzing every period and response time, wondering if he was doing the same. Probably not. He didn’t seem like the type.

But still, he texted you. And that had to mean something.

It wasn’t awkward. Not yet. But it wasn’t normal either.

By Monday, things were…weird.

Practice started as usual, with Coach barking instructions and the team going through warm-ups. You moved through your typical routine. Tying the net, lining up water bottles, double-checking equipment. Your clipboard was in hand, but your mind wasn’t entirely on the task. It kept drifting.

Because you felt it.

Tsukishima’s eyes.

You caught him glancing at you during stretches. Again during drills. And again when you walked past the bench. Every time your gaze met his, he looked away like nothing had happened, his face a blank slate of practiced indifference.

But you knew better.

There was something in the way he moved a little stiffer, how his ears flushed slightly when you were near, how he barely spoke unless spoken to. His usual snark was toned down, not gone, but dialed back like he was trying to play it cool and utterly failing.

It was driving you a little insane.

Unfortunately for him, Yamaguchi was observant.

“Did something happen?” Yamaguchi asked casually while they were switching sides during a scrimmage.

Tsukishima clicked his tongue. “Mind your business.”

Yamaguchi jogged alongside him, not letting it go. “I’m just saying, you’ve been weird since this morning. And don’t act like I haven’t noticed you staring.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Please,” Yamaguchi cut him off with a grin. “I’ve known you since we were kids. You don’t look at people like that unless somethings up.”

Tsukishima stayed quiet, eyes fixed ahead.

Yamaguchi bumped him lightly with his shoulder. “You’re not denying it either. So? What went down?”

Tsukishima let out a quiet exhale. “Drop it.”

Yamaguchi smirked. “Fine. But just so you know, I’m definitely right.”

Across the court, you were dealing with your own problems.

Specifically: Yachi.

She kept watching you like a hawk, her brows drawn together like she was solving a mystery she already knew the answer to. At first, you tried to ignore it, busying yourself with cleaning up spills and checking bottles.

But after the third suspicious glance, and the fourth time she hummed under her breath. You cracked.

“What?” you hissed, turning to face her.

Yachi leaned in a little, like she was about to share classified intel. "You’re being weird. Not bad weird- just...not like usual."

You blinked. "That’s descriptive."

She ignored your tone, eyes narrowing. “You’ve been zoning out since you got here. And don’t think I didn’t catch that look you gave him during warm-ups.”

You opened your mouth to protest but came up empty.

Yachi smirked. "So, are you two a thing now or are we still pretending there’s nothing going on?"

You coughed. Loudly. Dramatically. “No. It’s not- there’s nothing.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Okay. So you’re just red in the face because it’s emotionally draining to pass him a water bottle?”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Can we not do this here?”

“Sure,” she said, biting back a grin. “But I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’ later.”

You glared at her, but it was weak.

Yachi gave you a knowing smile and turned away, victorious.

You scowled and turned the other way, ears burning.

Across the gym, Tsukishima glanced your way again.

You caught it. The quick flick of his eyes, the way his shoulders stiffened slightly when your gaze met his.

He looked away like it meant nothing.

But it did. Your stomach flipped, and you hated how much you didn’t hate it.

Chapter Text

They told themselves it was a one-time thing.

A moment of adrenaline. Curiosity. Weakness, maybe. Something spontaneous and irrational. Something neither of them would repeat, because they weren’t that kind of reckless. Because it didn’t mean anything. Because it couldn’t.

Except it did.

And then it happened again.

And again.

And again.

There was never a plan. No pattern. Sometimes, Tsukishima would show up at your door just past midnight, hoodie damp from the rain, jaw tight like he’d argued with himself the entire way over. He’d stand there with that familiar scowl and say nothing, but the moment you stepped aside to let him in, his shoulders would relax. Like he was home. And he hated that it felt that way.

Other times, it was you. Pulling him into the nearest empty classroom right before practice, fingers already tangling in his collar before the door even clicked shut.

Sometimes it started with an argument. Sharp words exchanged too close, tension snapping between you until it spilled over into something else. Something faster. Hotter. More desperate.

It was rough. Rushed. Messy. All teeth and breathless gasps, hands gripping, fingernails digging into skin like someone was trying to stay grounded. Clothes were tugged and lifted, fingers fumbling in the dim light. His mouth would crash into yours like he was starving, desperate to consume the parts of you he couldn’t get to fast enough. You’d press him against a wall, or he’d pin you to a desk, breath mingling in heated bursts. His hands roamed with purpose. Under your shirt, around your waist, up the curve of your back. The sounds between you were unfiltered. Soft moans, hitched breaths, the grinding of fabric, and the rhythmic and muffled smack of skin meeting skin in short, hurried bursts. Each press of his hips into yours sent another wave of heat spiraling up your spine, your name falling from his lips in a breathless rasp. The colliding of skin echoed quietly against the walls, chased by murmured curses and shuddered gasps. Your legs wrapped around him tighter, pulling him closer, chasing something neither of you dared to name. And when he dropped his head to your shoulder, lips brushing your skin with more care than you expected, your fingers slid into his hair and held him there. Caught between the ache of want and something dangerously close to need.

And yet, even in the heat of it, there were moments, brief and unguarded, where he’d slow. His mouth would find the curve of your shoulder, teeth grazing gently before soft lips soothed the sting. His hand would slide into yours for a fleeting second, your fingers tangling before gripping tight again, like neither of you could decide if you were holding on or letting go.

But it was never just that.

Not really.

Because sometimes, afterward, he wouldn’t immediately pull away. He’d stay close, his fingers trailing slow, lazy patterns over your side, your arm, the curve of your hip, like he was tracing the memory of you into his skin. Sometimes he’d rest a hand over your stomach, thumb moving in absent circles, his touch grounding in a way that made your chest tighten. He’d lie there in the quiet beside you, unmoving but undeniably present, eyes fixed on the ceiling like he was sifting through thoughts he’d never say aloud. It was quiet, but never empty. There was always something unsaid in the air, something soft, something fragile, that neither of you dared to name.

And sometimes, when he thought you were asleep, he’d brush a strand of hair from your face or press a barely-there kiss to your cheek. Like saying something without saying it.

And you? You found yourself waiting.

Waiting for his name to light up your screen. Sometimes hours after you last saw him, sometimes when you least expected it. For the dry one-liner that made your lips twitch despite your usual composure. For the oddly specific meme that somehow matched your mood a little too well. For the late-night "you up" that arrived without context, no punctuation, but with all the weight of everything left unsaid between you.

Neither of you talked about what it meant.

Not during. Not after.

It wasn’t a relationship.

It wasn’t casual.

It was somewhere in between. Too much for nothing. Not enough for something.

But with every glance across the gym, every brush of hands in the hallway, every time it happened again, the silence between you got heavier.

Chapter Text

The more it happened, the harder it became to pretend it meant nothing.

Neither of you said that out loud.

But it lingered. In the pauses between conversations, in the way your fingers brushed when passing a towel, in the quiet space after the gym emptied and neither of you moved to leave. It was in the silence that came after practice when you caught each other’s eyes and quickly looked away, pretending it was just coincidence. It was in the texts sent too late at night and read too many times.

So when you both agreed to take a short break, just a few nights, you told yourselves it was for practical reasons. You needed rest. Your leg, the one you tried so hard to forget had ever failed you, had started to ache again. Not bad, not enough to worry Yachi or Coach Ukai, but enough that Tsukishima noticed the way you sat more than you stood. He said nothing at first, only watched. And then finally. “Take a break,” he muttered one evening, tugging his hoodie over his head. “You don’t have to push yourself for anyone, especially not me.”

And Tsukishima? He would have a game. Not just any game. The Interhigh qualifiers against Date Tech. A defensive powerhouse known for their infamous iron wall blocks and relentless pressure at the net. Everyone would expect it to be a grind: long rallies, exhausting volleys, and mental warfare disguised as strategy. It would demand patience, precision, and control, qualities Tsukishima had been honing for years. There wouldn’t be room for distractions, not when even the smallest hesitation could mean giving away the momentum. The gym would be thick with tension, the kind that hums under fluorescent lights and buzzes just beneath the cheers of warming crowds. The third-years would sneak glances into the stands, whispering about scouts and university coaches who might be watching from the shadows. The pressure wouldn’t just exist, it would wrap around the team like heat, clinging to skin and coiling beneath nerves. And for Tsukishima, it would settle deeper, like a second heartbeat pulsing against his ribcage. So you would agree: a few nights. Just to reset.

It made sense.

It was logical.

But it didn’t stop you from missing the weight of his touch when no one else was looking.

And it didn’t stop him from wishing you’d text first.

By the time game day arrived, the gymnasium buzzed with anticipation. The team was dialed in, their focus sharp, the atmosphere intense. You moved around the sideline like always. Supporting, watching, doing your job, but your chest felt tighter than usual.

Tsukishima, meanwhile, was all control.

Focused. Measured. Each step was deliberate, each motion toward the net calculated. He gave no outward sign of nerves, but anyone who knew him could see it in the set of his jaw, the way he rolled his shoulders between rotations. His mind was in the game. His body was ready.

The whistle blew.

The match started like a storm, fast and fierce. The other team was strong, aggressive, and quick. Karasuno kept pace, digging deep, pushing hard. Tsukishima’s blocks were clean and brutal. He read the hitters like he’d written their playbook himself. He didn’t celebrate the points he scored, just turned, nodded to his teammates, and reset.

But then-

A hard swing from the opposing wing spiker. A tight set. A perfect read.

Tsukishima jumped. Arms up. Hands strong.

The ball slammed down onto the other side of the court with a satisfying smash.

Cheers erupted from the stands, but Tsukishima didn’t revel in the moment. His eyes searched. Scanned the bench.

They found you.

You were already looking.

And the smile on your face, wide, beaming, a break in the usual cheering and hollering that typically came from you, landed in his chest like a weight.

A good one.

Something warm. Something dangerous. Something that made his breath catch just for a second.

He didn’t realize how long he was staring until Yamaguchi’s voice cut through the noise.

“Tsukki!”

He blinked. The next play was already moving. The setter was calling, the ball was in motion.

He jumped into action just in time, his hands barely brushing the ball as he deflected a one touch.

But his focus wavered. For a second, he wasn’t entirely in the game.

The heat at the back of his neck didn’t fade.

And neither did the memory of your smile.

Even as the ball tipped off Tsukishima's fingers and floated to Karasuno's side, the team sprang into action. It was the perfect setup, unintentional but timed like muscle memory. Kageyama called for a synchronized attack, his voice clear and steady above the chaos. A play they’d drilled endlessly. Hinata darted forward, drawing the blockers with him, while a second year shifted wide to pull attention. Tsukishima lagged half a beat, then surged forward, timing his step just right. As Kageyama set the ball from the back row, clean, high, and fast. The opposing blockers followed Hinata, just as planned.

But the set wasn’t for him.

Tsukishima stepped into the spike with quiet fury, precise, explosive. His hand slammed against the ball, driving it through the narrowest opening in Date Tech’s famed Iron Wall.

The ball smacked the floor.

The crowd erupted. Shocked silence followed by roars of surprise. Even the Date Tech libero blinked in disbelief.

Tsukishima didn’t say anything. Just turned, face unreadable, until his eyes darted back, once more. to where you sat.

Still watching.

Still smiling.

And for the first time all match, he didn’t know what to do with what he felt.

Chapter Text

The room was dim, lit only by the dull orange glow of the streetlights spilling through the window blinds. The faint hum of traffic outside blended with the low whir of the heater, creating a quiet white noise that filled the silence. Your breathing had evened out, slow and steady, and for a moment it almost felt like time had stopped. The only movement came from the soft flutter of the curtain in the breeze and the slight rise and fall of your chest.

The heat of the moment had faded, replaced by something heavier. Something that settled between your bodies like a question neither of you had the courage to ask. The tension had changed. Not sharp, not loud. Just quiet, constant, and undeniably present. It filled the cracks where creaks and heavy breathing once lived. It made the space feel smaller, like the air was pressing down on both of you, waiting.

Tsukishima didn’t move to leave.

That in itself wasn’t always unusual, but it wasn’t consistent either. About half the time, he would just leave. He’d sit up within a minute or two, mutter something about practice or schoolwork, pull his hoodie over his head without meeting your eyes, and disappear before the sheets had a chance to cool. It was the routine. Familiar. Detached. Safe.

But the other half? He stayed. And those nights felt like borrowed time.

Tonight, he stayed. One arm lay lazily draped over your waist, fingers tracing idle, barely-there circles into your skin. His body was warm beside you, but distant in a way that wasn’t physical. He exhaled through his nose, eyes unfocused, like he was somewhere far away, like he was already halfway out the door in his mind even if his body hadn’t moved.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he. Not yet.

But the silence between you was loud.

The longer it stretched, the heavier it grew.

“You don’t always have to run away, you know,” you murmured, voice hazy with sleep but heavy with meaning.

His fingers stilled against your skin, pausing mid-circle.

“I’m not running,” he said after a moment, voice low, guarded, but quieter than usual. Like even he didn’t quite believe it.

You exhaled a soft sigh, one hand curling slightly into the blanket. “Then what are we doing?”

There it was.

The question that had been building for weeks, maybe longer. The one you kept shoving down every time he touched you like he meant it but never said it. The one that lived in the space between texts, in the weight of glances exchanged during practice. The one that clawed at your chest when he left without saying anything more than a quiet "see ya."

He didn’t answer.

You opened your eyes again, staring into the faint shadows on the ceiling, heart pounding even though everything else was still. His arm slipped from your waist as he rolled onto his back, a long exhale leaving his chest. He looked like he was bracing himself, fists curling lightly in the sheets.

“I don’t know,” he admitted finally, voice quiet but tight.

You turned toward him, sheets rustling, your cheek pressing into the pillow as you watched his face in the dim light. His jaw was tight, brows drawn slightly. That same thoughtful expression he wore during tough games, when he was analyzing his opponent. But this wasn’t a match. And you weren’t the enemy.

“Would it be so bad if we called it something?”

He didn’t answer that either.

But his silence felt like one.

His jaw clenched. He still didn’t look at you.

You waited. For a second. Then another.

And still, nothing.

So you sat up.

The sheets slid down your bare skin, pooling at your waist as you hugged them close. You didn’t rush. You didn’t cry. You just breathed. It was the calm before something inevitable. It was the moment right before a storm you could already feel coming.

“I don’t want to just be convenient for you, Kei.”

His breath hitched at the sound of his name.

You rarely used it, never like that. Never when you were vulnerable. Never when it was meant to cut deeper than silence. But it did. You could see it in the way he finally looked at you.

His head turned, eyes finally locking with yours. But the look he wore wasn’t anger. It wasn’t irritation. It was a slow unraveling of something he didn’t want you to see. Uncertainty, fear, something raw and quiet. His mouth parted slightly like he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t find the words.

He opened his mouth. Then closed it. His hand twitched slightly against the mattress, like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure he should. Wasn’t sure you’d let him. And the fact that he hesitated, that he still couldn’t decide, was enough of an answer.

You looked at him for another moment. Memorizing that expression. That hesitation. That silence. You tucked it away, somewhere deep. Somewhere you wouldn’t forget.

Then you stood.

Your movements were slow, methodical. You crossed the room and gathered your clothes from the floor. You dressed quietly, your back to him, the rustle of fabric the only sound left in the room. The stillness between you screamed with everything neither of you said.

“I think you should go,” you said softly, not looking back.

The bed creaked slightly.

A pause.

He didn’t argue.

Didn’t say a word.

The shuffle of footsteps. The rustling of clothes being pulled back on, his hoodie sliding over his shoulders, the quiet zip of his pants. The soft click of the door.

Then nothing.

Just silence.

And for the first time, you let yourself feel the hollow it left behind.

Chapter Text

For the first time since this started, Tsukishima didn’t text.

Not because he didn’t want to.

Because he couldn’t.

He stared at his phone more than once. He even typed something. Once, twice, too many times, but deleted it every single time. Every word felt wrong, too stiff or too vulnerable. What was he supposed to say? "I'm sorry." "I shouldn't have left like that." "I miss you, even if I don’t know what to do about it." "Was it better when I left?" "Do you regret it?" "Or do you just regret me?"

So instead, he said nothing.

He didn’t knock on your door. Didn’t glance at you during warmups. Didn’t hover near the bench waiting for a sarcastic excuse to speak. He didn’t even pretend to be annoyed when Hinata was too loud. He just...shut it all off.

He kept his head down and played.

Because if he looked at you, even once, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to look away. And if he didn’t look away, he might do something stupid. Something like say the wrong thing. Or worse, say exactly what he meant.

It was easier this way.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

But the silence wasn’t as quiet as he thought it would be.

He noticed everything. How your laugh lost its edge. How you kept looking like you were about to say something and then didn’t. How you hung back after practice, fussing with supplies that didn’t need organizing. How you stopped cheering as loudly, but never stopped smiling, as if forcing yourself to.

It got to him.

And it wasn’t just her silence that worried him. It was how hard she kept pushing herself. She did everything, every little task, even ones she usually let go. Like she needed to stay busy just to keep herself standing. She stayed longer than everyone else, moving like someone trying to outrun their thoughts. He saw how she slaved over clipboards a little too long, how she cleaned things that didn’t need cleaning, how she stayed on her feet even when her body clearly wanted her to stop. She winced when she stood up too fast, brushed off concern with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and pretended she wasn’t tired when it was obvious to everyone but her. It was like she was trying to prove something, to herself, maybe, or to him, and it made something tight coil in his chest.

He told himself it shouldn’t. That you were fine. That this was what you both needed. A break. Some space.

But he kept glancing up when he thought no one noticed. Kept listening for your laugh even when he told himself he didn’t care. And when he caught Yachi handing you a water bottle with a worried look in her eyes, it twisted something in his gut.

It wasn’t like he didn’t care.

It was that he didn’t know what to do with how much he did.

Tsukishima was good at distance. At coldness. At letting people believe they didn’t matter to him. But that only worked until someone like you came along and called his bluff without even realizing it.

And now everything felt off. Unbalanced. Like his entire rhythm had shifted without you there to meet his gaze across the gym.

The rest of the team noticed. Of course they did.

Hinata, oblivious as he usually was, kept sneaking glances between the two of you. Kageyama watched quietly, like he was doing mental math. Even Coach had furrowed his brow once or twice when you didn’t take notes with your usual energy. Yachi’s concern was the loudest, though. The way she hovered by your side, like she was waiting for something to crack.

But it was Yamaguchi who finally broke the silence.

Practice had just ended. Players were filing out, tossing towels, joking in low voices. Tsukishima had packed up fast, hoping to slip away unnoticed.

He didn’t get the chance.

Yamaguchi stepped in front of him just outside the gym doors, arms crossed, jaw set.

“You’re miserable,” he said flatly.

Tsukishima sighed, adjusting the strap of his bag. “Get out of the way.”

“You should talk to her.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he snapped, a little too quickly.

Yamaguchi raised an eyebrow. “You just telling yourself that?”

Tsukishima’s glare didn’t waver, but his silence did.

Yamaguchi took a step closer. Not aggressive, just firm.

“Maybe you shouldn’t stay silent if you aren't ready to lose her.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve.

Tsukishima froze. Not visibly, not entirely. But his hand tightened on the strap of his bag. His jaw flexed. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor like it had all the answers.

There was nothing to say.

Because Yamaguchi was right.

And Tsukishima hated how right that felt.

So he walked past without answering.

But the silence, thick and heavy, followed him all the way home. It spoke louder than anything he could’ve said.

Chapter Text

It had been a few days since the last time you saw Tsukishima outside of practice. Since that night when everything came crashing down and you asked him to leave.

You didn’t mean to push yourself this far.

But it was easier to keep moving than to sit still with your thoughts. Thoughts led to questions. Questions led to him. And the moment you lingered too long on him, everything else you’d been trying to keep together started to unravel.

So you did more. Carried more, stayed longer, filled every second of your day with something. Anything. You offered to help the first-years with drills. You reorganized the supply closet even though it didn’t need it. You ran water bottles back and forth like it was a marathon. You memorized stat sheets you didn’t need, stayed after everyone left, made yourself useful in every possible way.

Because if you were busy, you couldn’t think. And if you didn’t think, you wouldn’t feel that awful twist in your chest every time Tsukishima walked past you without a glance. Every time he chose silence over anything else. Every time it felt like you didn’t even exist.

You told yourself it was fine. You weren’t here for him. You were here for the team. For the game. For the dream you’d almost lost once already, and the version of yourself you were still trying to become.

But your body was telling a different story.

The aching in your leg had returned with a dull persistence, like a warning you didn’t want to listen to. The pounding in your head had grown stronger with every skipped break, every ignored warning sign. Your hands shook when no one was looking. You felt off-balance, overheated, like the air never quite filled your lungs. But still, you pushed it all down.

Because admitting it would mean stopping.

And if you stopped, you were afraid everything would fall apart. Or worse, he would notice.

So you pushed through it. Again. And again. Like it was a badge of honor. Like if you just kept moving, everything would settle. That if you were irreplaceable to everyone else, it would matter less that you felt disposable to him.

Practice had started like any other. You arrived early, your bag slung over your shoulder, already running through a mental list of tasks. You set up cones for warmups, filled water bottles with shaky hands, checked the lineup board three times. You jotted notes in the margins of Coach Ukai’s roster, even though he hadn’t asked. When your head spun as you stood from crouching, you gripped the edge of the bench until the dizziness passed. You laughed it off when Yachi asked if you were okay.

You always said you were fine.

Still, you smiled.

You always smiled.

Until you couldn’t anymore.

One second, you were walking toward the bench with a towel in hand, the clipboard tucked under your arm.

The next, your vision turned white.

Your knees buckled.

You didn’t even feel yourself hit the floor.

But you heard it. The sharp gasp from Yachi, the drag of sneakers halting mid-play. The dull thud of a volleyball hitting the court and rolling away. The rustle of bodies shifting in alarm. And the sound of someone shouting your name, shaky, strained.

Then. nothing.

The first thing you registered was warmth. Someone holding your hand tightly.

Then Yachi’s voice, cracking with panic. "Hey-hey, can you hear me? Please wake up."

Coach’s voice followed, firm and clipped, ordering someone to grab a towel, water, anything.

And then-

“Idiot.”

His voice. Rough and tight and unmistakably close.

You blinked slowly.

The world came back in pieces. The gym lights above you blurred into a halo. The chatter around you sounded like it was underwater. Your body felt heavy.

But you saw him.

Tsukishima was kneeling beside you, his face drawn and pale. His brow was furrowed deep, his jaw tight, and his hand rested against your cheek with a gentleness that didn’t match his expression.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he muttered, his voice low and raw.

You tried to speak, but your throat was dry.

“I’m fine,” you whispered.

“No, you’re not.”

He said it too fast, like he’d been holding it in. Like he needed to get it out before you slipped away again.

Coach was already barking instructions. Yachi hovered just behind Tsukishima, her face pale and panicked. Players stood frozen a few feet away, unsure if they should approach. Hinata looked stunned. Kageyama clutched the ball in his hand like he forgot how it got there. Yamaguchi stared like he was waiting for something to break.

No one moved closer.

Except him.

Tsukishima stayed kneeling. One arm eased behind your back, the other bracing your shoulder as he helped you sit upright. His movements were careful, practiced even, but you could feel the tension in his hands. The tremble he was trying to hide.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t look at anyone else. His eyes stayed on you, watching for any sign that you were slipping again.

When the towel arrived, he was the one to press it to your forehead.

When the water bottle was handed over, he held it steady until your hands could grip it on their own.

When Coach scolded you for overworking yourself, for not saying anything, for not resting, Tsukishima didn’t argue. He just stayed there, grounded and unmoving.

Even when practice cautiously resumed and the gym began to buzz again with life, he never left your side.

Not once.

You sat on the floor icing your side, dazed and burning with embarrassment, but you couldn’t stop glancing at him. At the way his shoulders hunched forward like he was ready to catch you if you so much as swayed. At how he kept watching you even when others spoke to him.

And he never stopped glancing back.

He watched you like he wasn’t sure what would happen if he looked away.

Like he was afraid that this time, you really wouldn’t get back up.

And in that moment, even though he said nothing, you realized something you weren’t sure you were ready for.

He cared.

Maybe not the way you wanted yet. Maybe not with the right words.

But it was there. In every quiet gesture. In every second he stayed.

And the thought hit you harder than the fall.

Because if this meant nothing to him,

He wouldn’t still be here.

Chapter Text

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

Tsukishima lay on his back, staring blankly at the ceiling, phone resting on his chest, screen still glowing like it was waiting for something. The room was dark except for that soft blue light, which cast cold shadows across his face. It flickered slightly in the reflection of his glasses, still on, though he hadn’t registered he was still wearing them. He hadn’t moved in nearly an hour. Just laid there, stuck, because messaging you would break this no contact situation you two had been going through.

He hadn’t texted all day. Not since practice, when the tension in his chest refused to leave. Not since Coach dismissed them with a stern reminder about hydration and rest, his words aimed mostly at the silent weight of what had happened.

Not since you’d dropped to the gym floor in front of everyone, and his entire body had gone cold, his mind blank, heart stopping for just a second. In that moment, it wasn’t just shock. It was fear. Pure, unfamiliar fear that clawed its way up his spine and left him breathless. He didn’t remember running toward you, only the way the gym felt too quiet, too far away, like he was underwater and the world had tilted sideways. His feet moved before his thoughts could catch up. All he knew was that you weren’t moving, and it had felt like something in him cracked open with it.

The image wouldn’t leave his mind. Your knees buckling, the dull thud of your body hitting the floor, the way everything in the gym seemed to freeze for half a second before chaos kicked in. The sound of Yachi’s voice, panicked and cracking. The way he moved without thinking, ignoring the pounding in his chest, the heat crawling up his neck. Just the overwhelming need to be near you. To make sure you were still breathing.

You were home now, resting, supposedly. Yachi had sent an update in the group chat saying you were okay, just exhausted. Coach had ordered a full day off for you. No exceptions. Everyone agreed it was best. You needed the break.

But Tsukishima knew you. Knew you wouldn’t just rest. You’d pretend everything was fine, even if your leg ached and your head throbbed. You’d roll your eyes at concern and shrug off offers to help. You’d bury everything you were feeling because that’s what you did when you didn’t want to feel weak.

And maybe that’s what scared him most.

He could see it so clearly in his mind. Your stubborn expression, arms crossed, blanket half-draped over your legs, probably texting Yachi or scrolling on your phone, refusing to admit how badly your body was begging you to slow down. You’d tell yourself you were just tired. That it was no big deal. That everyone was overreacting.

But he wasn’t overreacting.

His fingers hovered over your name in his contacts.

The screen dimmed. He tapped it, lighting it back up, the name still glowing back at him.

He didn’t press send.

The words were there, stuck somewhere between his chest and his throat. Too many, too much. Everything he could say felt wrong. Or worse, felt like it wouldn’t be enough. What were you supposed to hear from him now?

"Are you okay?"
"I’m sorry."
"I was scared."

He didn’t even know what he wanted to hear back. Didn’t know if he deserved anything at all.

He hated it.

He hated the tightness in his chest. The way it felt like something inside of him had been rattling ever since you hit the floor.

He hated that he kept replaying the moment in his head. The way everything slowed down. The way your hand slipped off the clipboard, how your body slumped sideways, and how all he could think was “move”. Not “what happened” or “is she okay”. Just “move”.

He hated how real it felt.

He hated that he hadn’t done more. That he’d waited too long to speak. That it had taken something like this to make him admit, even silently, that you mattered more than he wanted to believe. That he'd let silence sit between you for so long it turned into something jagged.

He hated that he cared.

He hated that he missed you.

He hated that, for the first time in his life, he actually wanted something he didn’t know how to ask for. That he wanted you.

Because wanting meant needing.

And needing meant being vulnerable.

And vulnerability? That was never something he was good at.

He dragged his hands over his face, exhaling harshly through his nose. The ceiling didn’t have answers. Neither did his phone.

He wanted to call you.

He wanted to show up, just to make sure you were actually okay. Not because of Yachi’s update. Not because Coach said you were resting.

But because he needed to see it for himself. Because nothing had settled in him since you hit the floor.

Tsukishima shut off the screen and tossed the phone onto his nightstand. It landed with a dull thud, face down.

He rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket higher over his shoulder like it might smother the noise in his head. But it didn’t. The silence wrapped around him, thick and suffocating, filling in the cracks left by everything he didn’t say.

His pillow smelled like laundry detergent and nothing else. Nothing comforting. Nothing like you.

The weight in his chest only deepened.

And still-

You were there. In every corner of his mind. In every breath he held without meaning to. He could still see the shape of your eyes when they opened after you collapsed. The tremble in your voice when you insisted you were fine. The sheer exhaustion you tried to hide behind a smile.

And somehow, that haunted him more than the fall itself.

Because maybe what scared him the most wasn’t the moment you fell.

It was how close he came to realizing what it would feel like to lose you.

Chapter Text

Practice was over. It was your first day back after resting, Coach’s orders, not that you had a choice. And for once, you actually felt okay. Physically, at least. Your body had stopped screaming at you. Your leg didn’t ache. The dizziness was gone. You were rested, steady on your feet again, the color back in your face. It felt like breathing normally again.

But the heaviness hadn’t completely lifted. Not where it counted most.

There was still something tight in your chest. A coil of uncertainty that hadn’t loosened since Tsukishima stopped texting. Since he pulled away. Since everything between you shifted into something undefined and fragile. Your thoughts didn’t spin the way they had before, but they lingered.

He lingered.

The gym was half-cleared, the echo of bouncing balls and squeaking shoes fading into background noise. You slung a small ball bag over your shoulder, quietly saying goodbye to a few teammates before heading toward the supply room.

It had been another long day, routine, but slightly off in a way you couldn’t name. The rhythm of it all felt the same, but something in the air between you and Tsukishima pulsed with something heavier. A silence that wasn’t just quiet. It was heavy, stretched thin over too much distance with not enough answers. You hadn’t spoken to him all practice. Not because you were avoiding him, but because he hadn’t looked at you. Not once. Not even in passing.

You were beginning to accept that maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe all the things left unsaid had hardened into a kind of finality, and you were the only one who hadn’t caught up. You told yourself not to overthink it, but the ache in your chest didn’t care.

You felt his absence even when he was standing just feet away, like the space between you had grown heavier. Every glance he didn’t give, every step he took away instead of toward you, built a wall neither of you seemed ready to climb. And despite everything, despite how much time had passed and how much you tried to stay busy, your eyes still flicked toward him when you thought no one noticed. You wondered if he did the same.

Then-

Fingers curled gently around your wrist, stopping you mid-step at the center of the gym. You spun around, nearly dropping the bag that was in your grasp.

The smell of fresh sweat and polished wood still clung to the air, and a stray volleyball rolled gently in the distance, tapping against the bleachers. Your footsteps had just begun to echo in the emptying space when you turned.

Tsukishima stood there, right in front of you at the center of the gym, the bright lights above casting long, clean shadows beneath your feet. His posture was stiff, like he’d frozen mid-decision, and his expression unreadable. Jaw clenched, mouth pressed into a firm line like the words were struggling to break through. His brows were furrowed, like he was frustrated, not just with you, but with himself, with how long it had taken him to say anything at all. The echo of bouncing balls had faded completely now, and the gym felt too big around the two of you.

His grip on your wrist was hesitant but grounding. There was a quiet urgency in it, like if he didn’t hold on, he might lose his nerve entirely. He didn’t look like he had a speech planned, or even a clear idea of what he was about to say. Just the raw, messy weight of something that had been building for far too long.

“I’m not good at this,” he muttered.

You blinked, caught off guard by the abruptness of his tone. "At what?"

His grip tightened slightly. Not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you from walking away. You could feel the tremble in his fingers, subtle but unmistakable. His jaw twitched like he was biting back more than he meant to say.

"At…this. At you."

Your breath caught in your throat. The gym might as well have gone silent. Even though you could hear muffled voices distantly from the club room, nothing registered beyond him. Everything else blurred at the edges. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, but even that sound was swallowed by the way your heartbeat roared in your ears.

You were staring at each other now. Fully. No dodging, no deflecting. Just raw, quiet honesty that felt too big for the space around you.

“Kei-”

“I don’t want this to be nothing,” he said, cutting you off, voice low and a little rough around the edges. He swallowed, like each word was a struggle. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be someone who says the right things. But I know I don’t want to stop.”

His shoulders were stiff, hands twitching as he released your wrist from his hold. He still wasn’t looking you in the eyes, his gaze stuck somewhere around your shoulder. He looked like he was bracing for rejection, like he expected you to shake your head and walk away. But you didn’t move.

You stared at him, stunned. You hadn’t expected this, not from him. But something about the way he stood there, tense and honest and just a little scared, made your chest ache.

Your heart pounded.

The ball bag gently hit the floor, the impact overpowered by the beating from your chest.

You reached up slowly, brushing your fingertips against the back of his hand. His fingers twitched at your touch, but didn’t pull away. It was rare to see him like this, unguarded. And you didn’t want to let him talk himself out of it.

You didn’t hesitate. “Then don’t.”

His eyes finally met yours again, and something shifted in his expression. Like the tension behind his eyes finally cracked. The smallest breath escaped him, like he’d been holding it this whole time. You could almost see the weight he carried fall just enough to let something else in. Something softer.

He stared at you for a long moment, like he didn’t quite believe you’d said it. Then his shoulders relaxed, just slightly, like something inside him finally gave way. You didn’t need to say anything else. You’d already said enough.

“Good,” he muttered.

And then-

He kissed you.

This time, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t messy or desperate or born out of confusion.

It was slow.

Intentional.

His hands moved to your waist, gentle but secure, like he was trying not to push too hard, like he was afraid you’d pull away. Your fingers snaked their way up his shirt and rest on his shoulders, holding on as the world narrowed to just the two of you. The buzz of the fluorescent lights, the sound of distant voices, the shuffle of sneakers on gravel, all of it faded into nothing.

It didn’t burn, it melted. Warm and patient and full of everything he had never said out loud.

Steady hands. Soft lips. A quiet press of feeling that said everything he hadn’t known how to put into words.

Something real.

You kissed like time didn’t exist.

Like this moment had been building for weeks, maybe longer.

His lips moved with certainty but not force, and yours responded in kind, matching the rhythm, the quiet language between you. You tilted your head slightly, deepening it, and he didn’t flinch. His hands tightened just a bit around your waist, grounding both of you. Like he needed the closeness to remind himself that you were real.

It was the kind of kiss that said I missed you.

The kind that whispered I see you.

The kind that lingered, even as it slowed, and made the rest of the world feel far, far away.

When he finally pulled back, just a little, your foreheads touched. His breath was warm against your face, and his hands didn’t move. He didn’t let go.

His eyes were still closed. Yours were, too.

And for a moment, there was nothing else.

Not the team, not the noise, not the complications.

Just this.

Just you and him.

You felt the curve of a small, reluctant smile at his lips. He didn’t say anything, but you knew. You could feel it in the quiet space between your breaths.

You didn’t need to hear it.

Neither of you said anything.

You didn’t need to.

Because somehow, this, whatever it was, was the only thing that made sense.

Things didn’t change overnight though.

Tsukishima still rolled his eyes at you in public. You still teased him endlessly. To anyone else, you might have seemed back to normal. The sarcasm. The snark. The quiet glances that never stayed long enough.

But when no one was looking, his fingers would linger at your wrist. When he walked past you, his hand would brush yours, brief, but always intentional. When he sat next to you during breaks, his knee would rest against yours and stay there.

And when he kissed you, it wasn’t out of frustration. It wasn’t heat or desperation.

It was because he wanted to.

There was no official definition for what you were. No labels. No rules. It didn’t need to be loud or declared.

But at night, when the world was quiet and the gym lights were off, and it was just the two of you again, those moments felt different now. When he pulled you against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world, lips brushing over your shoulder, breath warm against your skin, there was a tenderness in it that hadn’t always been there. When he whispered half-formed thoughts into your hair or fell asleep with his fingers still laced through yours, it wasn’t just closeness, it was comfort. Steady and present.

The nights between you didn’t feel rushed anymore. Every touch was deliberate, every glance a quiet promise. There was no urgency behind the way he pulled you in, no lingering hesitation in his fingertips when they brushed your skin. It didn’t feel like something stolen in the dark or drenched in lust.

It lived in quiet spaces. In the soft hush of late nights, in the way he reached for your hand without looking, in the way he let his guard down in pieces. And when you laid beside him in bed, nothing between you but the sheets and the warmth of his skin, it didn’t feel awkward or uncertain anymore. Being bare with him, both physically and emotionally, felt natural. Familiar. Like an extension of something you’d both grown into without realizing.

Even his aftercare had changed. Where he used to avoid eye contact or mumble something half-hearted before making his exit, now his hands lingered. He wiped you down carefully, murmured quiet reassurances you almost didn’t catch. He wrapped his arms around you afterward, fingers absentmindedly drawing patterns into your side as if to make sure you were still there. He didn’t rush to sleep. He didn’t pull away.

This wasn’t a secret or a slip. It was something slowly built, carefully kept. It felt earned. It felt gentle. And most of all, it felt like something true. Something that stayed, even in the silence.

Whatever this was, it was yours.

And for once, that was more than enough.

Chapter Text

Spring ended fast, too fast. One minute the gym was buzzing with drills, game prep, and sharp commands. The next, everything had fallen quiet. No more practice schedules. No more weekend matches. Just empty courts, a quiet gym, and the ache of something ending.

Before that, it had been nonstop. Interhigh, then straight into prelims. Back-to-back games that left the team bruised, sore, and clinging to adrenaline more than anything. They pushed through exhaustion, injuries, late-night strategy meetings, and long bus rides, chasing the dream with everything they had.

The final match had come and gone, the court now just a memory beneath their shoes. Karasuno had fought hard, but it hadn’t been enough to make it to nationals. The loss hit deep. There were tears, quiet hugs, and a bittersweetness that clung to the air like the last spike had never really hit. For a team that gave everything, it felt like the end of a chapter no one was ready to close.

Volleyball was over.

And the silence that followed in the days after felt like a strange sort of grief. The halls of the school were quieter without post-practice banter. The gym seemed too big, too still. People still passed balls during free period and wore team hoodies, but the purpose felt different now. Like they were already reminiscing.

There was an unspoken shift afterward. People started packing up their futures. Universities, jobs, big dreams in faraway cities. Everyone was moving on, and graduation crept closer with each passing day. Yearbooks were being signed. Uniforms turned in. Final tests. Last goodbyes. And the future, once a distant blur, was beginning to sharpen into something tangible.

And while everyone talked about the next chapter like it was just another step forward, you were clinging to a secret.

Because you had made a decision.

A huge one.

One you haven't told Tsukishima.

Yachi nearly screamed when you told her. “You what?!”

You couldn’t help but beam. “I got in. Same university as him. I committed yesterday.”

Her eyes widened before she launched herself into a tight hug, nearly knocking you over. “Oh my god! You have to record his reaction,” she whispered against your shoulder, giggling.

“Oh, I will,” you smirked, already planning which moment would be best to drop the news.

Yamaguchi was just as excited when you told him, though a little more composed than Yachi. Still, he grinned wide.

“He’s going to act like he’s annoyed,” he said, nodding as if he could already see it happening. “But just watch, his ears will turn bright red.”

“That’s the goal,” you laughed.

Yachi and Yamaguchi were the only ones who knew. And they loved being in on it, throwing you sneaky glances every time Tsukishima walked by or brought up his plans post-graduation.

“Dorm’s on the edge of campus,” he’d mutter one day while checking something on his phone.

“I hope you get a decent roommate,” you’d respond casually, hiding a grin.

“Doubt it,” he’d mutter, not noticing the way Yachi was stifling a laugh nearby.

You hadn’t told him a thing. Not after the final game, not during the last week of school , not during your quiet walks home where his fingers would brush yours and linger just a little longer than they used to. It wasn’t out of spite. It wasn’t even nerves. You just wanted to see his face.

There was something about the idea of surprising him, really surprising him, that made your chest warm. You’d seen every shade of his usual stoicism, all his softest reactions buried behind sarcasm or silence. But this? This would be new.

You wanted to be the one to catch him off guard. To show him that you weren’t going anywhere. That despite the end of volleyball, despite the future pulling everyone in different directions, you had chosen to stay with him.

Because the truth was, it hadn’t felt like an option. It felt inevitable. Natural. The idea of being far from him, starting over without him in your daily life, had made your chest ache in a way you didn’t want to explain.

So the secret stayed between the three of you. And every time Tsukishima mentioned his new dorm, or how many books he’d already packed, or how peaceful it would be not to have Yamaguchi nagging him all day, you had to bite your tongue to keep you from laughing.

Because little did he know, you were going to be right there.

And when he found out, you were going to have your phone ready, recording everything.

It would be worth the wait.

Chapter Text

Tsukishima hadn’t expected to see you again, not anytime soon, anyway. He’d already said goodbye in the best way he could manage. An awkward hug behind the school after graduation, where he let you lean into him for longer than he probably should have. A hand at the back of your head, fingers curling slightly into your hair like he wasn’t ready to let go. And, just before you pulled away, a kiss. Quick and quiet, but full of things he didn't wanna say out loud.

It was rare for him. Vulnerable. But in that moment, it was everything.

That had been his goodbye. A soft one. A real one. And he truly thought it would be the last.

He thought that was it. That you'd be off in some distant prefecture chasing your future while he chased his. Maybe you’d text once in a while, maybe not. He told himself he was fine with that. After all, people moved on. That was life.

Now, with graduation behind him and Karasuno in the rearview, he had slipped into something close to a new rhythm. University life was...fine. Structured. Predictable. Classes filled his days, and volleyball, yes he’d joined again, despite telling everyone he wouldn’t, filled the evenings. He liked the familiarity of the court, even if the players were new and the stakes different. And in between, there was the part-time job at the local museum, where he could sort fossils in peace and keep his earbuds in without anyone bothering him. It was quiet. It was manageable. It was enough.

He didn’t think about you every day.

Only most of them.

Little things would trip him up. A song playing in a café that made him think of you. A sarcastic comment someone made that wasn’t nearly as sharp as yours. An empty seat next to him during a movie he didn’t want to admit he wished you were watching with him. But he swallowed it all, like he always did. He told himself it would fade eventually.

It was a normal afternoon, sunny with that early autumn breeze that made everything smell like useless textbooks and fresh coffee. The leaves were just starting to change, a whisper of gold and red brushing through the trees that lined the quad. He’d just finished practice and was walking back across campus with his duffel slung over his shoulder, earbuds in, mind somewhere between his schedule and whatever take-out was in his fridge.

“Hey, Kei.”

He froze mid-step.

The voice hit him like a brick to the back of the head. Familiar. Unmistakable. Impossible.

His brain short-circuited. That couldn’t be. There’s no way.

He turned around slowly, one earbud slipping out.

And there you were.

Standing in the middle of the pathway, casual as anything, like you belonged there. Which, apparently, you did.

You were wearing his old Karasuno hoodie. The one you used to steal during tournament weekends. Your hair was a bit messy from walking across campus, and your backpack was slung lazily over one shoulder like you had just left from class.

You waved, completely unfazed. "Miss me?"

His jaw actually dropped. He blinked once. Twice.

"What...the hell?"

There were so many things he could’ve said. So many reactions he could’ve had. But all that came out was confusion, and awe, and something that sounded like the beginning of a smile.

From behind a nearby pillar, a loud snort gave away Yamaguchi, who was doubled over, barely holding the phone steady as he recorded every glorious second. He caught your eye and gave you a thumbs up before slipping away, quietly, respectfully, leaving you two alone in the quad.

You took a few steps forward, fighting back a grin. “Surprised?”

He stared at you like you were a ghost. Then his brows furrowed, and he muttered, “You’re an idiot.”

But he didn’t walk away.

And you knew that meant everything.

“Yeah, yeah,” you replied with a smirk. “But I’m your idiot, right?”

He rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful. “Shut up.”

Still, he didn’t stop the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Before either of you could say anything else, you crossed the remaining distance and wrapped your arms around him. It was instinctive, natural. He stiffened for a heartbeat, but then, without a word, he melted into it. One hand came up to rest on your upper-back, the other curling around your waist like he'd never let go again. You could feel the way his chest rose and fell a little too fast, like the air had been knocked out of him.

Then, slowly, he leaned back just enough to look at you. His gaze flickering from your eyes to your lips and back.

He shook his head with a faint huff, eyes narrowing in mock irritation. "You’re impossible," he murmured. No bite behind the words, just quiet affection. And before you could throw a comeback, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, and it wasn’t hesitant. His hands didn’t tremble. Your feet didn’t shuffle awkwardly. It was steady. Intentional. A kiss that had been waiting patiently in his chest, tucked away behind every sarcastic remark and narrowed glance. It said everything he’d never managed to put into words.

When he finally pulled back, his hands still resting against your back, he didn’t move far. His forehead pressed gently to yours, his breath warm between you.

“You're here,” he murmured. Not a question. Just quiet disbelief.

You nodded, smiling against him. "I wasn’t really planning on leaving for good."

He huffed out the smallest laugh. "Yeah. Guess I should’ve known."

His arms gave you one more gentle squeeze.

"Come on," he said, voice low. "I'm starving."

Worth it.

Chapter Text

The kiss still buzzed in the back of Tsukishima’s mind as he walked beside you, his steps just a little faster than usual, his expression more unreadable than ever. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, and although his jaw was set like he was annoyed, the pink in his ears said otherwise. He didn’t say anything for the first few minutes, just kept walking with a tight-lipped silence, leading you off the main path and through a quieter part of campus. His silence wasn’t cold, though. It was more like he was too busy thinking, dissecting everything that had just happened.

Only when you passed a group of students hanging out near the quad did he mutter under his breath, "Too many people."

You didn’t comment. You just followed him with that amused glint in your eye, letting him lead you without question. You knew him well enough to understand that when he got like this, the best thing to do was give him space to sort through his thoughts. And honestly, you were enjoying watching him try to process everything.

Eventually, you ended up at one of the smaller dining halls tucked behind a lecture building. It wasn’t crowded, thankfully, and the hum of soft chatter made for a comfortable backdrop. Tsukishima pushed the door open for you without saying a word, his brows furrowed like he was still pretending to be irritated, and you had to fight the urge to grin.

Once inside, as the two of you made your way toward the food line, he finally spoke.

“You planned this,” he said, not accusing exactly, but not neutral either. More like he was still trying to wrap his head around it, trying to understand why you'd gone through all the trouble.

You didn’t even try to deny it. "Obviously."

He gave you a long, squinting stare, like he was trying to read your entire thought process on your face. “Why?”

You tilted your head slightly, eyes bright with mischief. “You really need me to say it?”

Tsukishima let out a sharp exhale, like he was annoyed, but his gaze had already dropped away from yours. His hand went up to rub the back of his neck, and you didn’t miss the way his ears flushed deeper. The way he avoided your eyes said more than anything.

“Idiot,” he muttered. But it lacked every ounce of bite it usually had. It was practically a term of endearment now. Soft, familiar, and just a little embarrassed.

You didn’t flinch. You just stepped forward and bumped your shoulder lightly into his. "Shut up, I know you missed me."

His mouth twitched, like he was trying to suppress a smile. Instead, he turned away and grabbed a tray.

There was a short lull as you both moved through the food lines, grabbing drinks, rice bowls, and whatever looked least suspicious. At one point, he handed you a pudding cup without asking if you wanted it. The gesture was small, but it made your chest warm.

Then, as he reached for utensils, he added casually, “At least tell me you’re not majoring in something stupid.”

You let out a snort. "Guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out."

He shot you a sideways glance, and you caught it. Just the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips before he masked it again. He mumbled something under his breath, probably another insult turned term of affection.

After scanning the room, the two of you found a table tucked into a far corner by a window. It overlooked the quad you’d surprised him in just earlier that day. He set his tray down with the same rigid grace he did everything else, then sat across from you.

The silence was comfortable now. Familiar. He didn’t rush into conversation, and you didn’t push it. But his gaze kept flicking toward you between bites, like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real. That you were here. That you’d actually done all of this just to stay near him.

Eventually, you looked up and caught him mid-stare.

“What?” you asked, smiling.

He shook his head slowly, picking up his drink. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re welcome,” you said, raising your cup in a fake toast.

He rolled his eyes.

But he clinked his cup against yours anyway.

This was just how he was.

So perfectly, unmistakably Tsukishima.

Chapter Text

University life with Tsukishima wasn’t what you expected, but maybe that was a good thing.

You were no longer sneaking glances across the court or slipping away behind buildings. There was no need to hide anymore. You were together, and everyone knew it. That kind of openness came with a strange sense of peace. Simpler, quieter, but not boring. Never boring. It gave the both of you space to breathe, to exist as yourselves without the pressure of secrecy pressing down. To argue in public, to laugh loudly in coffee shops, to walk side by side without worrying about appearances.

Your relationship had shifted into something softer, steadier. It didn’t need sparks and drama to feel real. The small things carried the most weight now. The way he handed you your favorite snack without comment, the way he adjusted his stride to match yours when you were tired. You found comfort in routines, in shared silence, in knowing he’d always listen even when he acted like he wasn’t paying attention.

Days passed in easy, familiar rhythms. Morning coffee runs before class, shared notes scribbled with sarcasm, and long hours in the library where his leg brushed yours under the table just enough to remind you he was still there. Sometimes you studied. Sometimes you didn’t. Sometimes you spent an entire afternoon pretending to read while he made dry comments about the people walking past the library windows.

In between classes, you’d meet in the commons or outside lecture halls, falling into step without saying a word. On weekends, you’d find yourselves sprawled on his dorm floor, playing card games with worn decks or bickering over which documentary to put on in the background. He liked routines, and you liked finding your place in them. And when the days got too long or the coursework too overwhelming, he was always just a text away.

You had your own spaces, your own schedules, your own lives, but the edges of them blurred in all the places that mattered. He didn’t cling, and neither did you. But you always showed up. And that counted for something. That was the foundation, showing up. Choosing each other, over and over. Whether it was walking you home in the rain without admitting he was worried, or letting you borrow his hoodie for the third time that week. He made sure you knew he cared, even when his words didn’t say it directly.

That didn’t mean Tsukishima was any less of a grump though.

One afternoon, as you left the campus bookstore, you shoved a stack of books into his arms without warning.

He looked at you like you’d just suggested he grow a third arm. “You’re really making me carry your books?”

“You’re tall,” you replied with a shrug, already walking ahead. “It’s ergonomically efficient.”

“That’s not a real thing,” he muttered, adjusting the books with a dramatic sigh. But he didn’t give them back. His fingers flexed like he might, just to prove a point, but he carried them all the same.

You grinned, slowing your pace until he caught up. When he did, you bumped his shoulder with yours. “You love it.”

“I tolerate it,” he corrected, though his voice had lost all edge. You could hear the smile tucked behind the words, even if he didn’t show it outright.

You passed by the quad, the sun beginning to set behind the library building and casting a warm glow across campus. Leaves rustled in the soft breeze, students drifted past in every direction, and the world felt wide, but he stayed right beside you.

“I bet you’d carry my books every day if I asked nicely,” you teased.

“I bet I wouldn’t,” he replied.

But you knew he would.

That evening, the light faded, and the air turned cool. You stopped for dinner in the dining hall, sitting across from each other and talking about everything and nothing. He asked if you’d started that paper due next week, and you scoffed and pretended to be offended he’d even ask. He smirked but offered to send you his notes anyway.

Later that night, you curled up on your bed, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, your hair still damp from a shower. The lights were off, only the faint glow of your screen lighting the room, when a message buzzed in.

Tsukki:
"don’t forget to charge your laptop this time. not sharing mine again."

You:
"sure, tsukki. you’re all talk."

Tsukki:
"i’m serious. this is your final warning."

You:
"is this the part where you act mean so i forget you’re actually nice?"

Tsukki:
"no. this is the part where i stop enabling your incompetence."

You:
"you mean the part where you show up with a charger tomorrow like always?"

Tsukki:
"i could let you suffer just once."

You:
"no you couldn’t. your guilt complex would eat you alive."

Tsukki:
"...i hate you."

You:
"aw. you always get mushy at night. goodnight, keiii"

Tsukki:
"sleep."

You:
"dreaming of you <3"

He didn’t reply.

But the next day, when you stepped out of your building, he was already waiting, coffee in one hand, charger in the other, headphones looped around his neck. He didn’t say anything, just handed you the coffee and nodded toward the sidewalk.

The morning light caught in his hair. You fell into step beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Tsukishima might not have said much.

But he never had to.

Because every quiet gesture, every dry comment, every time he waited without being asked, it was him showing up.

And this felt like the real beginning. The version where things weren’t rushed or hidden, but steady and sure. A beginning that didn’t need a dramatic moment to mark its start, just quiet presence and the choice to keep showing up.

It felt exactly right.

Chapter Text

It was late. Not obscenely so, but late enough that most dorm lights had dimmed and the steady hum of campus life had softened to a murmur. The cool air settled against your cheeks as you crossed the quiet quad, hands buried deep in your sweatpants pockets and your pace slow, like your body already knew where it was going before your mind had fully committed.

You didn’t really have a reason for showing up. Not one you could justify. You hadn’t left anything behind. You weren’t bored or particularly lonely. But something about tonight, it made your chest feel heavy and restless all at once. The stillness of your dorm had felt too sharp, too quiet. And in your mind, the only place that felt like relief was him.

When Tsukishima opened the door, he looked almost exactly how you’d imagined he would. Hair slightly tousled like he’d been running his fingers through it, glasses low on his nose, a faint crease between his brows like he’d been mid-thought. There was a book in his hand, but it was open in a way that suggested he hadn’t really been reading it.

“Let me guess,” he said, voice low and dry as ever. He leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, giving you a once-over. “You ‘forgot’ something?”

You lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug, offering the faintest smile. “Not really. Just wanted to see you.”

There was a beat of silence. Barely a pause. Then, without another word, he stepped aside.

You walked in like it was second nature. Because it was. You’d been in this room so many times that your body moved on instinct. Shoes off by the door. Bag dropped against the wall. You padded across the carpeted floor and flopped onto his bed, tugging the edge of his blanket over your lap like it belonged to you.

Because it did.

His room was neat, like always. Books in alphabetical order, wires tucked cleanly out of sight, surfaces clear except for his laptop and a single mug that was probably filled with leftover coffee. It smelled faintly like laundry detergent and the minty soap he used. Familiar.

Tsukishima didn’t say anything at first. He just stood by the door, watching you the way he always did, quiet, thoughtful, unreadable. Like he was trying to puzzle you out all over again, even though he already knew every piece.

Eventually, he moved. Set the book on his desk, pushed his glasses up his nose, and ran a hand through his hair.

“You’re annoying,” he muttered.

You glanced up from your place on the bed, a smirk playing at your lips. “Yeah, but you’d miss me if I wasn’t here.”
He scoffed. Turned away like he was about to refute it. Like he had something sharp to say in return.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he crossed the room, grabbing the hoodie you liked to steal and tossing it onto the bed beside you without looking.

You pulled it into your lap with a quiet smile, fingers curling into the fabric.

“Thanks,” you said.

Tsukishima didn’t answer. He just sat at the edge of the bed, close enough that your legs brushed. He stared at the wall for a long moment, then down at his hands.

“You always just show up like this,” he said finally, voice quieter than before.

“Do you want me to stop?”

His jaw twitched. He didn’t answer.

You nudged him lightly with your foot. “Didn’t think so.”

He sighed, but it wasn’t annoyed. Just tired. And maybe a little resigned.

You leaned back against the pillows, tugging his hoodie over your shoulders. He watched you settle into his space like you were made to fit there.

He stayed sat at the edge of the bed beside you, and for a moment, you thought he might just stay like that. Silent, unmoving, distant in the way only Tsukishima could be.

But then, without a word, he shifted again.

He turned, bracing one hand on the mattress, and moved slowly, deliberately, like the silence between you was something fragile that he didn’t want to break. You felt the blanket lift and the subtle shift of air as he eased in beside you, his legs stretching out until they were lined with yours, his body warm even through the fabric of his shirt.

He didn’t say anything, just adjusted until his arm slipped behind your neck and his other hand found your waist. The pull was gentle but certain, an invitation and a claim all at once.

Your cheek found its place against his arm, your breath syncing slowly with his as the comfort settled between you. His palm moved in quiet circles against your back, steady and grounding. You could feel his heart beneath your hand, a constant hum that slowed the longer you stayed pressed against him.

His breath vibrated the top of your head as he murmured, “Stay.”

You did.

You tucked your legs around him, and he shifted in tandem, wrapping himself around you with a kind of familiarity that made your chest warm. His thumb brushed slow, comforting lines along your spine. Your hand slipped under the hem of his shirt, resting against the bare skin of his side, just because you could.

Neither of you spoke.

There was no need.

This was the kind of quiet that said everything.

Months passed, and somewhere along the way, neither of you questioned it anymore.

You were there. With him. Not just occasionally, but always. Through late-night study sessions, early morning coffee runs, and lazy afternoons curled up on the couch, limbs tangled, bickering over who got the last bite of takeout.

It wasn’t something that needed defining. It just was. Something steady. Something lasting.

Tsukishima never said the words, not out loud, not yet. But the way he brushed your hair back when you were too tired to move, or the way he always made sure to save you a seat in lecture halls without admitting it, or how his fingers always found yours without hesitation. It all spoke for him.

One night, after a home game, you waited outside the gym, sleeves pulled over your hands as the night settled around campus. The team trickled out slowly, voices fading into the chill air. Then, he appeared. Bag slung over his shoulder, hair damp, brows furrowed in that way that meant his head was still half in the game.

But the second he saw you, his steps didn’t hesitate.

He dropped his bag at your feet, tilted your chin up with one hand, and kissed you, right there, in the open, like he didn’t care who saw. And maybe he didn’t anymore.

When he pulled back, his voice was soft, certain.

“I love you.”

You grinned, lips still inches from his. “Took you long enough.”

He rolled his eyes and you quickly replied before he could walk off.

“I love you too.”

His fingers laced with yours as you turned and walked away.

And this time, he didn’t let go.

What began out of bounds, messy, complicated, uncertain, had somehow found its way into something whole. The weight of what you’d been through, the ache of what you thought you lost, had slowly softened over time. Even the pain that once lingered in your leg, the constant shadow of everything you thought you’d lost, had finally faded. There were no more aches to brace for when you climbed stairs, no more hesitations before a quick turn, no longer any tightness in your chest when someone mentioned basketball. The limp was gone, the ache quieted, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you moved without fear. Without second-guessing.

And now, standing beside him, hand in hand, you knew this was exactly where you were meant to be.