Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Practice had just ended, the sharp squeak of shoes and the echo of volleyballs finally giving way to a lingering hush. The gym lights hummed faintly above them, casting a tired, golden glow over the court. Tendou was mid-stretch, hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, when he sensed someone approaching from his left.

He didn’t need to look to know it was Reon—there was a certain calm to the guy’s presence, a solid, grounded kind of energy (which was probably why he was one of the Vice Captains, second only to Ushijima). But something was off.

Reon had a towel draped loosely around his neck, shirt damp with sweat and sleeves rolled halfway up his arms, like always. But the expression on his face? That was new. His features were relaxed in a way that felt just a bit too calculated. He had the look of someone trying very hard to seem like they weren’t up to anything at all — which, in Tendou’s experience, usually meant they absolutely were.

“Hey,” Reon said, nudging Tendō lightly with his elbow. “You got anything coming up in the next few weeks?”

Tendō blinked at him. “Like… emotionally? Existentially? Or are we talking dinner dates and dentist appointments?”

Reon gave a soft chuckle, the kind that sounded rehearsed. “Just… y’know. Regular stuff. Events. Plans. Anything we should know about?”

That set off a minor alarm bell in Tendō's head. Normally, Reon only asked questions like this when he was trying to coordinate something— like a team dinner or checking for conflicts before planning an extra training session. But they hadn’t mentioned anything lately.

Still, Tendō shrugged, grabbing his water bottle. “Not really. School, practice, snacks. Same old routine. Why?”

“No reason,” Reon said quickly, almost too quickly. He smiled—a little too light, a little too practised—then nodded like that answered everything. “Cool. Thanks.”

And then he just walked away.

Tendō watched him leave, brows furrowed. Something weird was definitely going on.

But he didn’t have the energy to chase it down. Not yet.

___________________________________________________________________________

Just out of Tendō's line of sight—around the far corner of the gym—Reon turned the moment he was sure he was alone. Yamagata was already waiting there, leaning casually against the wall, a knowing look on his face.

Reon grinned.

They wordlessly high-fived, the soft slap of their palms muffled by the walls and distance. Yamagata bumped his shoulder against Reon’s, chuckling.

"Smooth," he whispered.

Reon just nodded toward the cluster of figures waiting further down the hallway—Semi, Shirabu, Ushijima, Goshiki, and Kawanishi all peeking around the corner with barely contained excitement.

When Reon gave them the all-clear with a subtle thumbs-up, the effect was instant. Semi fist-pumped quietly. Shirabu smirked, arms crossed but eyes gleaming. Even Ushijima gave a small, approving nod.

The group reconvened quickly, huddling in tight, all of them trying (and failing) to whisper quietly .

"Okay, okay," Goshiki whispered way too loudly, "this is gonna be so cool."

“Did he suspect anything?” Kawanishi asked Reon in a low voice.

Reon shook his head, smug. “Not a thing.”

Shirabu rubbed his hands together like a cartoon villain. “Perfect. We’re gonna be amazing at this.”

A ripple of excitement passed through the group—grins, shoulder nudges, barely-suppressed laughter. For once, they all agreed on one thing: they were going to pull this off.

And Tendō's had no idea what was coming.

Chapter Text

It was one of those cool, whispery evenings where the air clung to the skin like silk and carried the scent of damp earth and fading summer. The park was draped in twilight, the sky painted in soft streaks of indigo and amber, while golden lamplight spilled in gentle halos across the winding path. Trees swayed lazily in the breeze, their leaves rustling like quiet applause, and somewhere far off, a dog barked once before settling again into silence. Crickets chirped rhythmically from the underbrush, and the occasional gust of wind stirred little flurries of dry leaves across the cobblestone.

Tendō and Suga sat close on an old, weathered bench, its wooden slats cool beneath them and creaking slightly with every shift. Their ice cream cones dripped lazily in the chill air, forgotten for a moment as they gazed out at the sleepy park, the soft glow of lamplight catching in their hair like stardust.

Suga's head rested gently against Tendō's shoulder, the kind of gesture that needed no invitation and carried years of quiet understanding behind it. Neither of them spoke. There was no teasing, no dramatic flailing or sarcastic remarks—just the kind of silence that only exists between two people who’ve grown up knowing each other’s rhythms, griefs, and laughter like their own breath.

They had met at three years old, two curious, wide-eyed boys navigating the sterile halls of the same orphanage. They'd held hands in the dark when nightmares came, stolen extra bread rolls for each other at lunch, and invented games that made the concrete courtyard feel like an entire world. When Suga was adopted at seven, the goodbye had been tear-soaked and wordless—just clutched fingers and the knowledge that something sacred was being torn apart.

Years passed. Letters stopped coming. Faces changed. But the ache never did.

And then, in their second year of high school, by some miracle or the quiet tenacity of Takeda-sensei (coincidentally Suga's adoptive father all those years ago), they found each other again. That reunion had been messy and loud and full of tears that neither of them tried to hide.

Since then, they’d made a promise: one visit every month. No excuses.

Now, as Suga leaned into him, ice cream softening in their hands and a cool breeze threading through the trees, Tendō didn’t need to say anything. The silence between them wasn’t empty—it was full. Full of history, of comfort, of love that didn’t need defining.

They weren’t just childhood friends. They were something older, deeper . Home in human form.

Then, out of nowhere, Sugawara decided to distrub their peace, with a question that sounded oddly familar to Tendō:

“So, Tori-kun,” Suga murmured, voice soft but laced with mischief, “are you doing anything next week?”

Tendō didn’t even look at him. “No? Probably just more volleyball. Waka-chan said he has something he wants to try out, but first he needs to ‘perfect it’ or whatever. Which, honestly, makes no sense, because literally everything he does is perf —”

Suga sat up a bit, brows lifting. “Wait. You’re not doing anything special next week?”

Tendō blinked. “Kou-kun. No, I am not.”

Suga grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. “Ahhh… that makes earlier make a lot more sense.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing, Tori-kun. Nothing at all.” His tone was sing-song.

Tendō turned, narrowing his eyes. “Koushi. Tell me right now what that meant.”

“Nahhhhh,” Suga said, stretching his arms out dramatically. “It’s nothing you need to worry your very long limbs about.”

“Koushi.” Tendō's voice dropped into mock authority. “As your older brother I’m telling you: tell me. Now.”

Suga stuck out his tongue. “You’ll find out when you’re older.”

“Oh, you little—!”

But before he could lunge, Suga was already on his feet, laughing breathlessly as he bolted toward the line of trees at the edge of the park . Tendō shouted after him, ice cream forgotten, launching off the bench with a grin tugging at his lips.

He chased after Suga, long legs tearing across the dimly lit path and onto the open green. The grass was cool and slightly damp from the day’s earlier drizzle, clinging to their calves in little flecks of moisture and sticking to their shoes as they sprinted. The wind nipped at their jackets, tugging at their hair as laughter echoed behind them—sharp and boyish and wild.

Beneath their feet, the earth gave slightly with each step, soft and uneven in places where roots pushed up through the soil. Branches rustled above them, casting moving shadows in the golden spill of lamplight. Suga ducked past a low-hanging limb, glancing back with a triumphant grin, and Tendō could only laugh harder as he gave chase—two figures moving like they were ten years old again, like nothing had ever changed.

They were still those two little kids from the orphanage sometimes— just with longer legs and louder hearts.

And for a moment, the world felt simple.

___________________________________________________________________________

Later that night, Suga flopped onto his bed, hair still damp from a shower, cheeks pink from running through the park, and heart full in the way only a night with Tendō could make it. He stared at his ceiling for a moment before grinning and grabbing his phone.

He didn’t even wait for a hello.

“ Yo fuckers, I’m in. ”

Loud cheers erupted on the other end of the line—Shirabu yelling “YES!” way too close to the mic, Goshiki cheering like they just won a game, and Reon laughing quietly as someone (probably Kawanishi) told Semi to lower the damn volume.

Semi’s voice finally came through the noise. “Took you long enough, sugarcube.”

Suga rolled his eyes fondly. “I was busy making him laugh so hard he tripped over a root and almost face-planted into a bush, thank you very much.”

“He okay?” Reon asked, amused.

“Of course. He’s fine. Dramatic about it, but fine.” Suga smiled to himself, voice softer. “He has no idea.”

The team on the other end of the line collectively hummed with satisfaction.

And Tendō? He really didn’t.

Because somewhere between Suga’s ridiculous teasing and the sprint through the park, he had completely forgotten about the strange conversation he’d had just the day before —when Reon, uncharacteristically casual and weirdly nosy, had asked him if he had any plans for the next week.

At the time, it seemed like nothing.

Now?

Now it was just one more piece in a plan that was falling into place better than any of them could have imagined.

Chapter Text

Ushijima crouched by the edge of his desk, brows furrowed in concentration as he carefully unpacked a small but absurdly full cardboard box someone had labelled in messy marker: "NOT SUSPICIOUS." He opened the flaps with methodical precision, revealing a chaotic treasure trove of decorations. Streamers in a tangled mess of deep red, gold, and lavender—the exact shades Tendō always insisted looked “dramatic and magical”—spilt out first. Beneath them was a folded mini-banner, the kind meant to be strung across a wall. Semi had surprisingly hand-lettered it in crisp, sharp calligraphy that read: “Happy Freakin’ Birthday, You Beautiful Cryptid.” Ushijima had raised a brow at the wording but hadn’t questioned it.

At the bottom, nestled in tissue paper, sat a roll of ridiculous, shimmering star-shaped confetti that Yamagata had found online at 2AM and declared absolutely essential. Ushijima hadn’t understood its purpose, but he’d dutifully added it to the box anyway. Everything about the pile was loud, mismatched, and vibrant—very Tendō. And Ushijima was determined to make sure it was perfect.

The plan was simple right now: get the decorations out, assess that they were up to the quality standard that Ushijima required, then hide everything again before Tendō got back from the shower. Easy.

Excep t—Tendō  was not in the shower for as long as Ushijima anticipated.

The door creaked open behind him, and Ushijima stiffened like a statue mid-mission, half a streamer dangling from his hand. He turned, eyes wide, caught in the act like a criminal.

And there stood Tendō.

Shirtless, towel draped loosely around his neck, Tendō stood in the doorway with an ease that felt both unintentional and devastating. His damp hair hung in soft, uneven curls that clung to his forehead and the nape of his neck, still dripping faint trails of water that slid down the line of his jaw and over the hollow of his throat. The harsh overhead light of their dorm room cast a pale gold sheen across his skin, making every drop shimmer and catching on the high points of his collarbones. His shoulders were lean but defined, and as he shifted his weight casually against the doorframe, the faint curve of his abs tightened ever so slightly—just enough to send Ushijima’s already-fragile brain spiralling and short-circuiting. There was something completely unguarded about him in that moment—natural, comfortable, radiant—and Ushijima could only stare, caught between awe and disaster.

Without thinking, without logic, without warning, Ushijima blurted:

“I love you.”

But it hadn’t started with the words. It had started the second Tendō stepped through the door.

Ushijima’s heart had also stuttered. So while that was on, his brain was trying to overcompensate (and failing) with one part of his brain screaming, He can’t see what’s behind you, while the other was still too distracted by the sight in front of him to move properly. Instinctively, he straightened his back and subtly shifted to block the box behind him with his body—his legs bracing, arms frozen at his sides like a rookie on his first match point. He told himself to act normal, to be casual, to just say something inconspicuous.

But that command in that one part of his brain was obliterated when Tendō, still standing in the doorway, decided to put push his hair back with one of his hands, allowing the front pieces of his hair to frame the redhead's face in just the right places; and pair that with the slight smile on that he had on his face as if he had any idea what he was doing to Ushijima’s self-control made Ushijima's body suddenly feel very faint as suddenly all the blood in his body travelled South. The lighting above continued casting soft shadows along Tendō's torso, defining the faint outline of muscle Ushijima most definitely knew by heart but still somehow found distracting, was most definitely not helping his body or brain to work in the way it was supposed to (which was most definitely lustful images of his boyfriend underneath him).

So instead of subtlety, instead of strategy, instead of a well-timed excuse about reorganising his desk—

He panicked.

“I love you.”

Tendō raised an eyebrow, grinning. “I know, baby. We’ve been dating since our first year. Now, can I please get my shirt?”

Ushijima blinked. Processing. Processing…

His gaze unintentionally dropped to Tendō's collarbones again, really soaking in the curve of his waist, the way the water glistened along his neck—and suddenly his brain took a hard left (that his body had been trying to say for multiple seconds already).

“But… I like you shirtless.”

He panicked. It just came out...or did it...

Tendō paused. Then his grin turned feral. He leaned a little closer, eyes glinting.

“Oh wow,” he purred. “So you’re in that kind of mood?”

Ushijima had to actually reboot. His face flushed a deep, betraying red, mouth slightly open but no words queued up behind it. His hands, still holding the streamers, drooped by his sides as he simply stared.

Tendō tilted his head, towel shifting, droplets of water sliding down his chest. There was a playful confidence in him that Ushijima had never quite built resistance to.

Something in Ushijima snapped, hearing the other giggle. The last thread of logical thinking burned to ash.

He crossed the remaining distance in two strides and kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was urgent , all heat and tension and the kind of desperation that built up when you’ve been trying so hard to focus on anything else—decorations, secrets, schedules—and failed the moment you saw the person who undid you without trying.

Tendō let out a surprised sound that melted into a pleased sigh against his mouth, hands gripping at Ushijima’s bare shoulders as if daring him to keep going. His fingers curled, nails lightly dragging down the slope of muscle with deliberate slowness, drawing a low sound from Ushijima’s throat—a sound he rarely made, but one Tendō had always secretly craved.

Ushijima responded without hesitation, one hand coming up to cup Tendō's jaw, thumb brushing along the sharp edge of his cheekbone. His other arm slid around Tendō's waist, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them, only heat and damp skin and the rush of breath exchanged between open mouths.

Tendō kissed back harder, lips parted, his grin slipping into something darker, hungrier. He murmured something smug against Ushijima’s mouth—something like “You’re really bad at hiding things, you know that?” —but Ushijima didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

His hand moved lower, fingertips trailing across the dip of Tendō's back, grounding him, wanting to memorise every inch all over again. Tendō arched into him instinctively, eyes fluttering shut, and for a brief second, there was nothing else — no birthday plans, no decorations, no looming risk of being found out.

Just this. Just them.

And the way Tendō whispered his name like it was both a joke and a prayer.

This night could go very well.

And if the streamer checking had to wait another hour or two?

So be it.

___________________________________________________________________________

The dorm hallway was dark and quiet, save for the soft hum of the vending machine at the far end. Ushijima blinked blearily as he stepped out of his room, the door clicking softly behind him. His hair was slightly mussed, his hoodie zipped halfway in an uneven rush, and there was a faint pink mark just under his jaw that he hadn’t noticed—and wouldn’t have cared about even if he had.

At the end of the hall, his entire team stood in a stiff cluster . All of them. Even Reon, who was normally calm at the worst of times, was fuming silently with arms crossed, and Yamagata—still holding an extra roll of streamers—had the most disappointed face Ushijima had ever seen.

Everyone turned at the exact same time.

“You were supposed to meet us thirty minutes ago, ” Semi hissed, arms flailing slightly, “to go over the room layout and lighting!”

Ushijima blinked once. “Ah,” he said simply .

“You forgot, didn’t you?” Shirabu narrowed his eyes accusingly.

“…No,” Ushijima said, with the flattest, most unconvincing voice known to man. “I checked the box.”

“You did?” Reon arched a brow. “All of it?”

“…Yes.” A beat. “Most of it.”

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. And oddly, he didn’t feel the usual flicker of anxiety about forgetting something. Deep down, some part of him trusted them—knew they’d take care of everything, even if he slipped up. His focus had been, well, understandably diverted.

Just as the team sighed in exasperation and started muttering amongst themselves , a quiet voice piped up from the back.

“Ushijima-san…” Goshiki stepped forward cautiously, eyes wide, innocent, and deeply concerned. “Are you okay?”

The second and third years paused, collectively glancing at each other.

“Yes?” Ushijima tilted his head.

“It’s just…” Goshiki hesitated. “I passed your door earlier—like, two hours ago—and I thought I heard… um… groans? And, uh, yelping?” He flushed. “Were you hurt or—?”

A silence fell like a bomb.

The first-years looked confused.

The second and third years, however, were suddenly very red.

Reon visibly winced. Semi’s entire face went scarlet as he froze in place like he’d just buffered. Shirabu dropped his clipboard. Yamagata choked on nothing. Soekawa looked like he wanted the Earth to just swallow him whole right there and then.

Then another realisation hit Semi and Shirabu at the exact same time.

“YOU—”

“YOU ABSOLUTE—”

Two simultaneous smacks echoed as both of them slapped Ushijima on the back of the head in perfect synchronisation.

“ That’s why you were late!?” Semi barked.

“I hate you!” Shirabu cried. “You were—?! During a school week?! In the fucking dormotries?! THE SAME DORMS THE FIRST AND SECOND YEARS ARE ALSO ON?! ”

Ushijima didn’t flinch. He blinked slowly. “We- well actually more me- lost track of time.”

There was a pause.

The hallway erupted again, mostly only the second and third years who were still in shock and still very disgusted by even the idea of their usually stern, uptight, serious captain, doing...that; especially with their team's most unserious member.

Ushijima calmly turned back toward the door. “We can talk more about the layout tomorrow, as many of you can guess, I am quite tired, so you all are dismissed. Goodnight, don't do anything stupid,” he said, before slipping inside and closing it behind him.

Shirabu and Semi screamed into their hands. Yamagata turned away. Reon was silently laughing so hard his knees buckled.

Goshiki remained confused and traumatised.

Practice was going to be very awkward tomorrow.

Chapter Text

It started, as most things in Tendō's life did, with bickering.

Across the gym, Shirabu was arguing with Semi again. Nothing serious—just the kind of passionate, half-muttered debate that involved a lot of eye rolling and exasperated sighs that were usually about tempo control and “you always rush that set” ( though Tendō couldn't tell what today's arguement cause was as he was standing just a bit too far out of eavesdropping range). Their usual rhythm. Semi had his hands on his hips and Shirabu was doing that thing where he narrowed his eyes like a cat about to lunge.

Tendō leaned over to the first-year beside him, watching the scene unfold like he was at a movie theater with popcorn.

“Cute, aren’t they?” he said casually.

Goshiki blinked, confused. “Who?”

Tendō gestured vaguely with his water bottle. “Shirabu and Semi. They fight like an old married couple. I definitely ship them.”

"Wha-" He was interrupted by Tendō, who had aggressively put his arms around the younger student, continued with his astute observation.

Tendō grinned like the Cheshire Cat, arms tightly wrapped around Goshiki’s shoulders as he whispered, “You see that? That right there is enemies-to-lovers realness. I give it two weeks.”

Goshiki groaned, trying to wriggle free. “Please stop narrating my senpai’s love lives like it’s a fanfic!"

"God if they fucking kiss I'm gonna buy the whole team take out."

"Tendō-San!? You can't just say that about people!" Goshiki had the weirdest face on right now of pure fear, shock and horror that it actually made Tendō laugh in a way he hadn't in a while. Goshiki continued to stand there looking petrified while Tendō was basically wiping away tears of laughter.

It took a good few moments for the readhead to collect himself, but when he did, he decided to continue this, to break Goshiki even more, after all, he thought to himself, " YOLO"

Tendō placed a hand dramatically over his heart this time. “God. Enemies to lovers. They’re living the trope. I really need popcorn.”

Goshiki looked like he might combust. “ Please stop talking like we’re in a drama club production!! ”

"Oh, but don't lie to me and tell me you don't see the sexual tension underlying, well, all that," Tendō was now aggressively waving his hands in Semi and Shirabu's direction.

Goshiki nearly choked. “T-Tendō-san! You shouldn’t ship your underclassmen like this! It’s not like we’re in some BL anime or something!”

Tendō turned to him with an exaggerated look of offense . “ Shouldn’t? Goshiki-kun, all the third years do it . ”

Goshiki looked genuinely horrified. “W-What?!”

“Yup,” Tendō continued, unfazed and a little too gleeful. “We even have a bet running.”

“A bet?!”

“On you , specifically.”

Goshiki paled. “ ME?! ”

Tendō beamed. “We’re betting on how long it’ll take for you to fall in love, or realise you’re in love, or confess. It’s a whole thing.”

Goshiki’s brain visibly short-circuited. He grabbed Tendō by the arm, eyes wide and frantic. “Wait—wait wait wait—who do you all think I’m going to fall in love with?! I—I don’t even—there’s no one like that!! I don’t—!?”

Tendō tilted his head, smirk growing with every frantic word Goshiki spat out.

“You’ve never met him,” he said calmly.

“WHAT?!”

“But we have. And trust me—” he leaned in slightly, voice lower, smugger, “—all the third years agree. You’d be amazing together.”

Goshiki looked like he was physically glitching. “Wait—wait wait wait—WHO? Who is it?! What do they look like?! Do I know them?! Why haven’t I met him?! ”

Tendō took a step back, clearly enjoying every second. “He’s kind of an idiot,” he said airily, but there was fondness in his voice. “Black and yellow hair, like someone gave a highlighter too much sugar. He’s loud, kind of everywhere at once, laughs too much, talks way too fast—but it’s charming, in a weirdly chaotic way. You’d like him. Honestly, I think you’re the only one who could keep up with him.”

“TENDŌ-SAN—!!” Goshiki practically wailed, “Who is that?! That doesn’t sound like anyone I know!”

“Exactly,” Tendō grinned, already turning on his heel. “You haven’t met him yet.”

But Tendō was already walking away, humming to himself with his hands behind his back, looking far too smug.

Goshiki stood frozen in place, processing absolutely nothing, rebooting like a broken vending machine.

Ushijima passed by quietly with a towel over his shoulder. “Is Goshiki okay?” he asked.

“Nope,” Tendō replied brightly without looking back. “He just met fate.”

__________________________________________________________________

"You’re seriously going with chocolate?” Shirabu deadpanned, arms crossed as he stood next to the gym bench with a notepad. “That’s so basic.”

Semi, who had just confidently declared that of course Tendō would want a rich chocolate cake with ganache and a dramatic swirl of cream, turned to glare at him with his hands aggressively on his hips, grabbing onto his white-shirt so it showed a bit of his collarbone, something that Shirabu was trying his hardest not to trace with his eyes.

“It’s classic,” he shot back. “He likes dramatic stuff, doesn’t he? Chocolate’s bold.”

“Bold would be something like raspberry-lemon with rosewater icing,” Shirabu replied, clicking his pen pointedly. “Not... supermarket birthday party cake.”

Semi raised an eyebrow, arms folding across his chest. “Right, because you know him better? Please, you’d bake him some overly complicated pastel mess and call it ‘elevated.’”

“Better than dumping cocoa powder and sugar together and calling it a cake.” Shirabu’s tone was sweetly condescending. “He’s not twelve.”

“He acts like it half the time,” Semi muttered.

Shirabu snorted. “Says the guy who once played ‘Happy Birthday’ on his guitar like it was an acoustic ballad.”

Semi smirked. “He cried. Don’t pretend it wasn’t a top moment of his year.”

“Because he was laughing , Semi.”

Their eyes locked, a long moment stretching between them. Neither moved. Neither blinked. The tension simmered like a pot left on high heat—frustration, sarcasm, and something else they both refused to name.

“You’re impossible,” Shirabu said finally, voice quieter.

“And you’re annoying,” Semi replied just as softly, lips twitching. “But I guess we’re stuck with each other.”

“Don’t remind me.”

They both turned away at the same time, flushed and muttering under their breaths.

From a few meters away, Tendō grinned like the Cheshire Cat, arms wrapped around Goshiki’s shoulders as he whispered, “You see that? That right there is enemies-to-lovers realness. I give it two weeks.”

Goshiki groaned, trying to wriggle free. “Please stop narrating my senpai’s love lives like it’s a fanfic!"

“But seriously,” Shirabu huffed, tapping the notepad against his thigh, “Tendō has a weird palate. He once ate an entire box of wasabi-flavored chocolates and said they were ‘an experience.’ Why are we acting like ‘bold’ equals safe ?”

“Because no one wants a wasabi cake , Shirabu,” Semi replied, eyes rolling. “We’re not trying to poison him, we’re celebrating his birthday. There’s a difference.”

“I never said wasabi,” Shirabu snapped, nose wrinkling. “But he’d appreciate something weird. Like matcha-black sesame. It’s earthy, complex—like him.”

Semi raised an eyebrow. “So you want to give him a cake that tastes like grass and sand.”

Shirabu inhaled sharply. “You are so infuriating.”

“I aim to please.” Semi grinned. “Besides, it’s not like you’ve ever baked a cake in your life. You’d probably set the kitchen on fire trying.”

“At least I wouldn’t use a box mix like some kind of culinary war criminal.”

“I use box mix efficiently ,” Semi replied, mock-offended. “Some of us have lives.”

“Oh, and what are you doing with yours? Rehearsing how to dramatically throw your hair during guitar solos?” Shirabu’s tone dripped sarcasm, his eyes narrowed.

Semi stepped closer, smirking, and his voice dropped just enough to be felt. “Jealous?”

Shirabu blinked. “Of what? Your musical mediocrity?”

“No, of Tendō,” Semi said casually, but his gaze sharpened. “You sure you’re not putting this much effort in because you’re trying to impress him ?”

Shirabu’s jaw tensed. “Maybe I’m just not half-assing it like some people.”

They were nose to nose now, the notepad forgotten, the cake completely irrelevant, and the gym lights overhead casting that soft, golden glow that made every inch between them feel like a live wire.

For a beat, neither of them spoke. It was quiet, except for the distant echo of a ball bouncing and Tendō's delighted cackling in the background as he whispered something else to Goshiki, but neither of them noticed that, too caught up in the current moment.

Then Semi leaned in just a fraction closer, eyes half-lidded.

“…You really want to fight me over cake?”

Shirabu’s breath hitched—just a bit.

“…Yes.”

“Good,” Semi muttered. “I like you when you’re pissed.”

Shirabu’s lips twitched, dangerously close to a smirk. “I hate you.”

“Sure you do.”

They didn’t kiss—but they might as well have. The tension was that thick.

Tendō placed a hand dramatically over his heart this time. “God. Enemies to lovers. They’re living the trope. I need popcorn.”

Goshiki looked like he might combust. “ Please stop talking like we’re in a drama club production!! ”

Chapter Text

Tendō squinted from the water fountain.

Everyone—and he meant everyone —was huddled suspiciously close around the coaches like they were planning a military operation or plotting a high-stakes heist. The air around them practically buzzed with tension and barely-contained chaos. Semi stood front and centre with his hands firmly planted on his hips, looking like a disgruntled assistant manager trying to keep a bunch of toddlers in line. Shirabu was aggressively waving a clipboard in the air, eyebrows scrunched like he was about two seconds away from yelling at someone for breathing too loudly. Goshiki was vibrating on the spot, bouncing from foot to foot like a carbonated can of soda someone had shaken too hard—his excitement was so obvious it was almost painful. And in the centre of it all stood Reon, exuding that rare calm dad energy —arms loosely crossed, nodding thoughtfully, the picture of serenity that only appeared when things were either very serious ... or very stupid . Honestly, Tendō couldn’t tell which it was.

And Tendō was not invited.

He slurped his water dramatically and tilted his head. “Do they not know I can see them?” he mumbled to himself. “Is this, like, a surprise inspection? Did I forget I’m in trouble? Am I dreaming? Is this how coups start? ”

Curiosity piqued, he casually strolled over, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, all the while preparing to announce his presence with something chaotic and vaguely poetic.

But before he could say a word—before he even got within range of earshot—everyone froze.

Like, full freeze-frame anime opening moment. Heads turned. Shoulders stiffened. Shirabu almost dropped his clipboard, why had he always holding a clipboard for the past few days?

Tendō slowed down, squinting. “…Hello?”

There was a beat of silence. Awkward. Heavy. Thick with the panic of fifteen people trying to mentally reset like their brains were glitching.

Then, out of nowhere, like some sort of divine intervention—

“ Satori, would you like to go out for dinner tonight? ” Ushijima’s voice cut through the tension like a sword.

The team collectively blinked.

Ushijima stood straight, unfazed as ever, but with the faintest flush to his ears.

Tendō lit up like a Christmas tree. “ YES I DO. ” He practically launched himself at Ushijima’s arm, wrapping around it like a koala with a crush. “Look at you, being spontaneous! That’s so hot. I’m going to make this night very memorable. ”

Ushijima just nodded, letting Tendō cling to him like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Okay.”

They walked off, Tendō talking a mile a minute, arms swaying, hair bouncing, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he left the gym.

The second the door closed, the team collectively exhaled .

Reon clapped Semi on the back. “That was dangerously close.”

Shirabu rubbed his temples. “Ushijima really pulled through with that save.”

Yamagata nodded. “That was almost… natural? Like he had a plan.”

“Man’s learning,” Yunohama whispered, awed.

They all smiled at each other, silently basking in the cuteness of the moment and the absurdity of their lives.

Then Washijō, who had been standing off to the side this whole time with his usual unimpressed stare and notes tucked under one arm, finally spoke up. He tilted his head ever so slightly, squinting at the now-closed gym doors like he was trying to solve a math problem that didn’t compute.

Arms crossed, brows furrowed, he muttered, completely serious:

“Wait… are they dating or something?”

It wasn’t sarcastic. It wasn’t rhetorical. It was genuine confusion, the kind that only made it worse coming from a man who’d watched them share water bottles, nap on each other during training camps, and once caught them tangled together in a hoodie, claiming it was “an accident.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

A single volleyball rolled across the floor in the distance.

Yamagata's mouth dropped open. Goshiki visibly short-circuited. Shirabu froze mid-eye roll, as if unsure what dimension he’d just been sucked into.

And then all hell broke loose.

“ARE YOU SERIOUS??”

“ COACH?! ”

“THEY’VE BEEN TOGETHER SINCE THEIR FIRST YEAR!!”

“THEY PRACTICALLY RADIATE HOMOSEXUALITY—”

“It’s visible. Like an aura.”

“Ushijima let Tendō put glitter on his nails during training camp!! What did you THINK was going on?!”

“I walked in on them cuddling in a laundry basket once!!... They said it was a team-building exercise!!”

“THEY WEAR MATCHING SOCKS!”

“They literally have pet names for each other in the team group chat!”

“Don't they literally share a toothbrush?!”

“THEY MADE OUT DURING A TIMEOUT AND CALLED IT ‘BREATHING PRACTICE!’”

“THEY ONCE WATCHED A ROMANCE ANIME AND REENACTED THE CONFESSION SCENE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE GYM ONCE"

“One time they shared a single hoodie for an entire day. Not took turns. Shared. Like one arm each.”

“THEY’VE SHARED ONE BED FOR THREE TOURNAMENT!”

“They have a framed selfie of the two of them in their dorm. With mood lighting.”

“I saw them slow dance in the locker room once. No music. Just vibes.”

“Coach, they kissed behind you last week during stretches. You just didn’t turn around.”

“They bought a rice cooker together. A RICE COOKER. That’s commitment !”

“I heard them arguing over who loves who more—like, genuinely. It lasted twenty minutes .”

"THEY SYNCED THEIR CLASS SCHEDULES SO THEY COULD WALK TO LUNCH HOLDING HANDS!"

"They’ve been together since first year, Coach! First. Year!”

"THEY MADE OUT DURING A WATER BREAK LAST MONTH!”

“They literally have a couples’ Spotify playlist called ‘Spiker x Blocker 4 Life!’”

“One of them kissed the other’s ankle after practice last week. ANKLE. WHO DOES THAT?!”

“They have matching lockscreen photos of each other IN BED, COACH!

“ HOW DID YOU NOT KNOW? ”

Washijō blinked, eyes narrowing slightly as he muttered, “…Oh.”

A beat of silence.

“OH?!?!” the team screamed in unison, pure chaos echoing through the gym.

Saitō blinked slowly. “I, and I think Washijō-San also thought they were just... close friends.”

Everyone groaned so loudly it echoed.

__________________________________________________________________

The team clustered tightly around the coaches in the corner of the gym, their voices low but urgent.

“Coach, um… would it be possible to borrow the gym tomorrow night?” Shirabu began, clipboard in hand, eyes flicking between the coaches.

The coaches exchanged glances, eyebrows raised. “Borrow the gym? For what purpose?”

“It's for Tendō's birthday party,” Yamagata said quickly, trying to sound casual but failing spectacularly. “We want to surprise him.”

There was a brief silence.

Washijō frowned slightly. “A party, huh? In the gym?”

“Yeah, and we thought maybe… you might want to come? Join us?” Reon added, eyes hopeful.

The coaches looked hesitant—part amusement, part skepticism.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Shibata piped up, his usual calm tone carrying unexpected enthusiasm. “We’ll handle everything.”

After a moment of back-and-forth, and a few nods, the coaches finally relented.

“Alright,” Saitō said with a small smile. “But only because it’s Tendō's birthday.”

The team’s faces lit up instantly.

“Okay, streamers are stashed in the equipment closet and behind the third-year jerseys—don’t ask,” Shirabu said, flipping through his clipboard like a pro.

“Decorations are all colour-coded and sorted by theme. We made a no-go zone around the ceiling lights because someone almost got themselves tangled up last time,” Yamagata added, smirking directly at Umeda who just turned away, embarrassed.

“Reon nearly made a full-on mood board with cake flavor mood rings. We stopped him before it turned into a PowerPoint presentation,” Shirabu grinned.

“Speaking of cake, it’s chocolate, no doubt about it. Tendō gave an impassioned speech about it last month, so it’s unanimous,” Semi said proudly, folding his arms like he’d just won a debate.

“Suga’s confirmed for the playlist. He’s even promised to throw in some of Tendō's favourite songs—and no, not just anime openings,” Reon clarified with a rare smirk.

“We’ve got the snack table organised too—protein bars for the health nuts and candy for the rest of us,” Semi chimed in.

“Seriously, this party is going to be amazing,” Goshiki said, eyes bright with excitement as he glanced around at the team.

The coaches exchanged one last look and chuckled.

“Looks like you’ve got it all under control.”

“Absolutely,” the team chorused, buzzing with excitement for the big night ahead.

Chapter Text

Morning practice started like any other—with the sound of sneakers squeaking on polished gym floors, the occasional bark from Coach Washijō, and Tendō dramatically yawning his way through warm-ups.

That is, until Washijō called out, “Tendō. Ten extra laps. Now.”

Tendō froze mid-stretch. “Huh? Wait, what did I do?”

He glanced around to see if anyone else got the same sentence, but no— only him.

“You know what you did,” Washijō said cryptically, eyes squinted in vague amusement. Even the assistant coach was fighting back a smirk.

“…Do I?” Tendō muttered, confused but oddly resigned. He sighed, already trudging toward the baseline. “Guess I probably did something…”

The rest of the team was barely hiding their grins as they continued drills, occasionally glancing over to where Tendō was jogging in circles with the expression of a man paying off karmic debt.

The team’s master plan was simple: make Tendō believe it was just another normal, boring day— while simultaneously confusing the hell out of him at every turn. From the random extra laps assigned by the coaches to the weird way everyone kept glancing at him (but not too obviously), their goal was to throw him just enough off balance that he wouldn’t suspect a thing. It was psychological warfare via birthday surprise, and they were thriving .

“Is this because of the time I replaced all the team’s water bottles with sparkling grape soda?” he muttered under his breath . “Wait—no, that was last semester…”

After practice, he collapsed face-first onto the gym floor with a loud, dramatic groan. “I’m gonna feel that in my soul.”

Ushijima leaned down, offering him a hand. “You did great.”

Tendō accepted it with a lopsided grin, instantly brightening. “Aw, thanks, Wakatoshi-kun~ Even if I’m slowly dying, your compliments bring me life.”

Ushijima blinked. “You’re not dying. You’re walking with me to class.”

“Cruel,” Tendō whispered dramatically as he let himself be hauled to his feet.

Later in class, things mostly returned to normal . Except for one odd thing.

Tendō started to notice more people than usual glancing his way. A few students even did the double-take head-tilt combo before whispering something to their neighbour.

Tendō furrowed his brows for a moment before running his hand through his hair.

“…Ah,” he nodded to himself. “Yeah. I do look good today.”

With a smug little hop in his step, he leaned toward Ushijima and whispered, “Babe, do I look extra hot today or is it just me?”

Ushijima, without missing a beat, said, “You always do.”

“Ugh, you’re too sweet,” Tendō groaned happily, dramatically flopping against his arm as they walked to their next class together.

Behind them, several classmates watched them go with varying degrees of amusement, horror, or admiration . None of which Tendō noticed.

He was too busy telling Ushijima about his idea for a horror movie where volleyballs came to life and sought revenge on their players. Ushijima nodded thoughtfully. He’d heard weirder.

---------

Tendō was lounging on his bed in the dorm room, one leg dangling off the side, phone hovering above his face as he mindlessly scrolled. His muscles ached in that dull, post-practice kind of way—especially his calves from the unusually long set of laps he’d been made to run that morning. Every time he shifted, he winced just a little, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from dramatically flopping into new, equally uncomfortable positions. Homework was glaring at him from his desk like an unspoken threat, but he—very bravely—chose to ignore it. A part of his brain was itching, though, like he was forgetting something vaguely important. Maybe a deadline? Maybe he’d promised someone something? Whatever. He brushed the feeling off and kept scrolling. His playlist softly played in the background, and he was halfway through sending Semi a TikTok he absolutely knew would make him uncomfortable when—

SLAM.

The door flew open with such force it bounced off the wall.

Tendō slowly lowered his phone and blinked over it to see Ushijima standing in the doorway.

Wide-eyed. Stiff. A bead of sweat trailing down the side of his temple.

Like he’d just seen a ghost . Or was currently being haunted by one.

Maybe both.

“…Baby?” Tendō asked cautiously, “Are you okay? Did someone die? Wait— did I die?”

Ushijima took one slow step into the room. “You need to come with me.”

Tendō sat up a little straighter. “Uh. Why?”

Silence.

“…Wakatoshi?”

Ushijima’s lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. His jaw clenched, then shifted, as if he were physically chewing over a dozen words he couldn’t quite form. He glanced down at the floor, then back up at Tendō, his eyes darting like he was searching for a safe exit from a burning room. His fingers twitched uselessly at his sides. You could see the inner debate play out on his usually unreadable face—like he was cycling through several terrible plans in real time and realising, one by one, that they were all just variations of equally bad decisions. His shoulders were tense, his posture stiff, and if you looked closely, you could spot the exact second he realised there was no dignified way out of this.

Finally, in a voice too loud to be natural, he blurted:

“Because I want to have sex with you in the gym!”

FLASHBACK — 10 minutes earlier.

The entire team was clustered in the gym, stringing up the final decorations. Balloons were taped in place, streamers draped across the beams, and the cake had finally been delivered after three scheduling disasters. Everything was ready.

Everything except the actual birthday boy.

“So… how are we gonna get Tendō here?” Semi asked, sweat on his brow as he untangled two confused-looking party hats.

Everyone paused.

Panic began to rise.

Goshiki, bless his well-meaning soul, raised a hand. “Didn’t Ushijima-san get him out yesterday? Like, super easily?”

The entire room turned to look at Ushijima, who was holding a paper plate like it had personally offended him. His brows were furrowed in deep, philosophical contemplation, as if this thin, flimsy circle of paper had challenged his worldview. He held it delicately between his fingers— thumb and forefinger pinching one edge— as though worried it might disintegrate or explode. For a moment, it genuinely seemed like he was considering asking if it was strong enough to support the weight of cake .

“…You’re saying we send Ushijima again?” Reon asked, eyeing the clock.

Goshiki nodded. “He’s the only one who can do it. Tendō trusts him the most.”

“Yeah,” Shirabu muttered. “And he’s the only one he doesn’t immediately question when he says something dumb.”

Before Ushijima could argue (or process), he was handed a mission.

“GO!” someone yelled, physically shoving him out the gym doors.

PRESENT .

Back in their dorm room, Tendō was now standing on the bed, eyes wide, phone abandoned.

“You—what— you wanna WHAT? ”

Ushijima stiffened even more, if possible thinking . “… It was the only thing I could think of .”

To his complete and utter surprise, Tendō grinned wide and leapt into his arms like a koala. “Well damn, Wakatoshi-kun. I didn’t know you were feelin’ that bold today.”

“I—um—”

“Lead the way, captain,” Tendō said with a wink. “We’re about to desecrate some bleachers, huh?”

Ushijima short-circuited.

Still, with Tendō clinging to his arm, he managed to walk them both out of the dorm. Slowly. Carefully. Regretting every word.

He was so focused on trying not to combust that he didn’t even notice the dozens of texts lighting up in the ' Operation: Tendō's BD ' group chat:

Shirabu: IS HE COMING???

Semi: Did you say it?

Semi: What did you tell him??

Yamagata: Did he fall for it omg

Reon: Remind me to give Ushijima the MVP award later

Akakura: Lmao frr

Goshiki: They’re taking so long

Goshiki: Are they making out or something?

Shirabu: GOSHIKI STOP FUCKING TYPING AND GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE AND HELP ME WITH THESE FUCKING STREAMERS

Soekawa: Such colourful language omg-

Akakura: Bro stfu we aint gonna pretend like we didn't hear u just curse out the wall 5 minutes ago

Soekawa: ತ_ತ

Reon: NOT U CALLING HIM OUT

Shirabu: ISTG IF ALL OF U DONT GET OF YOUR DAMN PHONES AND GET BACK TO WORK IM GONNA MAKE COACH MAKE U RUN EXTRA LAPS TMR U SHITHEADS

Semi: Goddamn

---------

As soon as Tendō stepped into the gym, he blinked at the sudden darkness. The doors closed behind him with a soft click , leaving the vast space ahead shrouded in pitch black. “So…” Tendō drawled, turning his head toward Ushijima with a lazy smirk, “where and how do you wanna do this?” He waggled his brows dramatically, fully committed to the bit—until

Click.

The gym lights exploded to life in a bright cascade, nearly blinding him. Tendō flinched, arm instinctively rising to shield his eyes—but what he saw next rooted him in place.

The entire gym was transformed.

As the gym lights burst to life, Tendō's eyes widened—first in confusion, then in something like awe. The entire space had been transformed into an explosion of color and warmth. Long swaths of streamers hung from the rafters, cascading in layered spirals of red, gold, and white, curling through the air like celebratory ribbons caught in a breeze. Metallic balloons bobbed gently near the ceiling, some shaped into letters that spelt out “HAPPY BIRTHDAY,” others shining with foil images of volleyballs and goofy caricatures of his face. Handmade signs lined the walls and bleachers, drawn with varying degrees of artistic talent—some adorable, some questionably terrifying—but all of them unmistakably him , down to his favourite expressions and that ridiculous “Guess who~” finger-gun pose.

Tiny fairy lights were woven around the bleachers and the net posts, casting a soft golden glow that gave the whole gym a dreamy, surreal warmth.

Right in the centre stood the team—all of them grinning, several barely holding back laughter. Semi and Shirabu were next to each other, somehow still mid-argument even with party hats on. Reon gave a sheepish wave. Yamagata elbowed him in the ribs for it. Goshiki looked like he might explode from excitement. Even Ushijima, now just behind Tendō, wore the faintest, most contented smile.

To the side stood the coaches, arms crossed but smiling in their own way (even Washijō, though his expression looked suspiciously like someone who’d just lost a bet). And beyond them, a few of Tendō's classmates waved from a snack table, clearly roped in by the team to be part of the chaos.

Tendō was still trying to process the sheer volume of color and noise and joy when a pair of hands suddenly slipped over his eyes.

“Guess who~?” came a voice, playful and teasing.

Tendō's breath caught. It couldn’t be. That voice—it couldn’t be—

He froze for a second— until his mind caught up with his ears, and he immediately spun around with a shout.

“ Koushi?! ”

He spun around, and there he was.

Standing there with a smug, warm grin was none other than Sugawara Koushi himself, dressed down in soft party clothes and holding a single cupcake with Tendō's name carefully piped across the top. Tendō didn’t even blink—his heart leapt to his throat and something in his chest cracked open. He surged forward like a shot, wrapping his arms around Suga in a hug so fierce and desperate it knocked the older boy slightly off balance. His breath hitched, eyes suddenly stinging with the kind of joy that made your ribs ache. He’d actually come. Suga was really here.

Suga laughed breathlessly as he caught him. “Happy birthday, you absolute menace.”

Tendō's voice cracked as he tried to respond, but all he could manage was a laugh that sounded suspiciously close to a sob.

“K-Koushi ! You're here?! Like... ACTUALLY HERE!”

“Of course I am. It's your birthday after all,” Suga laughed into his shoulder, “wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

---------

Intent on "elevating the flavor profile," Shirabu attempted to enhance the fruit punch with some lemon slices. Unfortunately, he grabbed the wrong bag — it was full of sour candies.

The punch fizzed like a volcano on a sugar bender, foaming and bubbling violently. Everyone screamed.

Tendō took a sip.

“This is liquid chaos,” he declared, raising his cup like a toast. “It’s perfect.

---------

Someone — probably Yamagata — had turned a quiet gym corner into a war zone of glitter and bad fashion choices. A massive cardboard cutout of Tendō's face was mounted on a stick, surrounded by props like plastic mustaches , sparkly cat ears, devil horns, and a pink cowboy hat. A Polaroid camera sat on a stool with a note: "Use at your own risk."

Within minutes, it became ground zero for chaotic shipping evidence. People were posing in every combination imaginable — including one shot of Ushijima and Goshiki both wrapped in pink feather boas, gazing into the lens like co-stars of an aggressively glamorous shampoo commercial. The resulting photos? Legendary. Blackmail material for years to come.

---------

Once the shock of the surprise had worn off and Tendō had finally let go of Sugawara—after multiple attempts by Ushijima to pry him off like a very clingy barnacle—the gym descended into full chaos.

Music blared from a portable speaker someone had aggressively borrowed from the broadcasting club. The team swarmed the snack tables like they’d just come out of a week-long training camp with no food, stuffing their mouths with cupcakes and gyoza in equal measure. Every corner of the gym had someone doing something stupid—Reon and Yamagata were trying to get Goshiki to floss (he could not) , while Shirabu and Semi argued over whether their perfectly iced cake needed more sprinkles while simultaneously shoving fries into each other’s mouths mid-debate.

Tendō was in heaven.

At some point, he, Suga, and Semi ended up in a loose circle near the edge of the gym, sipping non-alcoholic fizzy drinks from plastic cups that were aggressively labeled "TOTALLY NOT BEER" in sharpie , courtesy of Shirabu’s dry sense of humor .

“Alright, Semi,” Tendō said, poking him with a pink party straw, “how the hell did you get him here?”

He jerked a thumb at Suga, who just raised his cup in mock salute and smiled innocently.

Semi raised an eyebrow like it was obvious. “Saw you two once. In town. Eating ice cream. You were being surprisingly nice to each ither and he was wearing a Karasuno uniform.”

Tendō blinked. “That could’ve been any silver-haired high school boy.”

“You offered to buy his drink for him, Tendō. Yeah, there aren't that many grey-haired Karusuno boys that you're nice to.”

Suga snorted into his drink.

“Fair,” Tendō muttered.

Semi shrugged. “When we started planning this thing, I reached out to a friend from middle school. She’s in Karasuno’s third year. Asked her if she could maybe help me get in touch with a medium-haired boy with silver hair and too much patience. Took a bit, but bam—number acquired, Sugawara-Kun summoned.”

Suga raised his drink again. “I do what I must for my friend and birthday cake.”

Semi spotted the first-years across the gym attempting to fit an entire spring roll and a rice ball into their mouths at the same time and excused himself with a sigh that screamed "I am so done."

As soon as he was out of earshot, both Tendō and Suga exhaled in unison, shoulders sagging.

“ Okay so... no one here actually knows?” Suga asked in a low voice, referring to both their relationship and past at the orphanage and also that Sugawara himself was actually on the Karusuno Volleyball team as well.

“Nope,” Tendō confirmed. “And let’s keep it that way. For now.”

---------

Washijō approached Tendō like he was delivering a sacred scroll, only to hand him a tiny bonsai tree.

“You remind me of it,” he said, deadpan. “Chaotic. Takes forever to grow. But oddly balanced.”

He walked away without explaining further. Tendō stared after him, muttering, “Okay… cool? Zen?”

Saitō, the usually quieter assistant coach shuffled forward next, clearly battling some internal war with the concept of small talk. He held out a sleek metal keychain in the shape of a volleyball, Tendō's jersey number etched into it.

“For luck,” he muttered.

Tendō blinked. “Wait… you speak out of practices ?”

---------

The dance floor was still thumping behind him as Tendō stumbled off it, red-faced and breathless. His hair was sticking to his forehead, shirt a little wrinkled from being tugged in every direction by various teammates during a dance line he was 90% sure someone made up on the spot. He was glowing — not just from sweat, but from that post-surprise adrenaline rush that hadn’t yet worn off.

He was mid-sip of “Chaos Punch” (still fizzy, still unidentifiable in flavor ) when a familiar shadow blocked the overhead lights.

Ushijima.

He looked calm, composed as ever, but his hands were twitching slightly by his sides — the only real tell he had when he was nervous. “Did you enjoy the party?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual . Like it was just for Tendō.

Tendō just blinked at him, wide-eyed and blank for a moment. Then—

He burst out laughing .

Big, messy, chest-shaking laughter that made him almost drop his cup and required him to lean on Ushijima’s arm for balance.

Ushijima looked vaguely concerned, like he wasn’t sure whether he should feel proud or insulted.

“ I— I’m not laughing at you,” Tendō said quickly through gasps, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “It’s just… you’re asking me if I liked the party? Wakatoshi, my dude. I completely forgot it was my birthday today somehow, so I thought I was being kidnapped today when I saw all those people all of a sudden. I was ready to get railed in a dark gymnasium. And now there’s, like, fifty people here and streamers in my socks .”

Ushijima opened his mouth , closed it again. “I see.”

But Tendō's grin softened then. The punch cup was set down somewhere — it didn’t matter where. His eyes turned warm and focused as he stepped close, arms slowly reaching up to wrap around Ushijima’s neck.

“I loved it,” he whispered, smile melting into something gentler. “I loved all of it.”

And then he pulled him into a kiss.

It wasn’t the wild, dramatic kind. No dip, no twirl. Just a slow, melting kind of kiss, soft but full of every ridiculous emotion Tendō had no idea how to say out loud most days.

When they finally pulled away, Tendō rested his forehead against Ushijima’s for a second, eyes fluttering shut. “This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

Ushijima looked at him, quietly overwhelmed, but managed, in his usual blunt tone, “You know… if you still want to actually do what we originally came here to do … we can later.”

There was a pause.

Then that sparkle lit up behind Tendō's eyes again — that familiar glint of mischief and anticipation. His lips curled into a slow, sinful smile.

“Oh,” he purred, slipping his hands out of Ushijima’s grip as he turned away. “I thought you’d never ask.”

And with a little sway of his hips and one last coy glance over his shoulder, he walked off — confident and smug.

Ushijima watched him go, blinking once.

---------

A rogue streamer tangled itself around Semi’s head during cleanup, but instead of removing it like a normal person, he chased Reon across the gym like a half-decorated banshee. The streamer dangled from his ear like an earring.

“COME BACK AND FACE YOUR PAPER CRIMES!”

No one intervened. Everyone recorded.

---------

Ushijima was finally enjoying a rare moment of stillness.

He stood off to the side of the gym, back resting against the wall, a cup of some mystery fruit soda in hand, watching the party buzz around him. Tendō was currently arm-wrestling one of the second-years over a slice of cake they weren’t supposed to eat yet. Streamers hung in wild angles from the ceiling, a disco light flickered from someone’s speaker setup, and every few minutes, a different first-year ran by with a balloon animal or a headband they’d stolen off someone else.

It was chaotic.

But it was a good kind of chaotic .

Ushijima allowed himself a small, satisfied sip of his drink.

That is, until Semi appeared beside him, hands casually in his pockets, wearing that same smug look he always wore when he knew he was about to cause trouble.

“So…” Semi said casually, glancing around before lowering his voice, “what exactly did Tendō mean when he walked in and said, ‘So where and how do you wanna do this?’ ”

Ushijima choked.

A full spit-take.

His drink sprayed out of his mouth in a spectacular arc, narrowly missing a group of third-years passing by. He doubled over slightly, coughing, eyes wide in panic.

Semi didn’t even flinch.

“Oh, so it was what I thought,” he said, patting Ushijima’s back like he was being helpful.

“I—he didn’t— we obviously didn’t do anything ,” Ushijima managed, voice stiff with mortification, ears bright red.

Semi just chuckled, stepping away. “ Uh huh . You’re lucky I turned the lights on when I did, Wakatoshi. Otherwise this birthday bash would’ve gone from PG to rated something else real fast.”

He shot Ushijima a wink over his shoulder and walked off without another word.

Ushijima stood frozen, face burning, trying to regain composure and pretend like he hadn’t just been publicly exposed and emotionally steamrolled all at once .

In the background, Tendō's laugh rang out again — sharp and delighted — and Ushijima instinctively glanced toward him.

Of course, Tendō was looking right back at him, wiggling his eyebrows like he knew exactly what had just happened.

Ushijima sighed into his cup.

There was no recovering from this, but hey, at least the light of his life was having the best birthday ever, and that's all that matters to Ushijima.

---------

Semi handed Goshiki a cupcake with suspicious enthusiasm. “Mystery flavor ,” he said with a wink.

Goshiki bit into it. The wasabi hit instantly.

Moments later, he wandered into the center of the gym, visibly sweating. His eyes unfocused.

“I see the future…” he whispered hoarsely. “And it’s spicy.”

Then he keeled over onto a bean bag, muttering something about flavor betrayal.

---------

The chaos reached its final form when the lights dimmed again — not for drama this time, but to usher in the long-awaited moment everyone had somehow still managed to delay for hours: the cake cutting.

The chocolate cake stood proudly in the centre of the table, adorned with bright red strawberries, gold candles, and a decoration that definitely looked like someone had piped "Happy Birthday, Gremlin King" in icing with their non-dominant hand.

“Let the birthday boy cut the cake!” someone shouted — it was probably Reon — and the crowd erupted in cheers .

Tendō, now wearing a glittery party hat that nobody remembered putting on him, approached like a knight to his throne. He cut a slice, took a dramatic bite, and moaned loud enough to make everyone uncomfortable. “Mmm~ this is the exact kind of chocolate-rich decadence I deserve.”

“Oh, please ,” came Semi’s voice, loud and smug from somewhere in the crowd. He was already holding a slice. “Of course he loves it. I told you guys. I said he’d want chocolate cake.”

He turned, grinning, arms crossed in that older brother who knows everything kind of way and stared directly at Shirabu, with a smug smile plastered on his face, who just stared back with the most rage ever, that Semi recently found out that he apperantly finds attractive

And then Shirabu, with zero hesitation, stepped forward and smashed a full handful of cake directly into Semi’s face.

“HOW DARE YOU BE RIGHT,” Shirabu snapped, grabbing a napkin with the flair of someone who’d waited for this.

Semi staggered back, chocolate frosting dripping from his chin, his expression unreadable.

A slow, dangerous smirk spread across his cake-covered face.

“Oh. You wanna go, Clipboard Boy?”

And just like that — Round Three of The Semi vs Shirabu Saga began.

Chairs were nearly overturned. Someone yelled “GET THE SPRINKLES!” and no one knew what that meant. Shibata was shielding the gift table like it was sacred. Reon and Yamagata stood off to the side together, leaning on each other, taking increasingly blurry photos, and laughing together at the people collapsing around them. Someone — probably a first-year — accidentally let off a party popper so loud it sent the slightly out of it second and third years shriek like little children.

Tendō, wisely stepping back from the dessert-fueled deathmatch, made his way through the crowd, past the balloons, past the glitter, and past whatever dark ritual was happening near the photo booth.

He stopped next to Goshiki, who was hunched behind a stack of paper plates, clutching a juice box like it was his lifeline.

Tendō leaned down, cupped a hand to his mouth, and whispered with a sing-song lilt:

“BL anime~~”

Goshiki didn’t even flinch.

He just looked up at Tendō, dead inside, and whispered back, “ Please stop. I’ve suffered enough. ”