#crow son

Kageyama’s hair was like charcoal silk, spread out on the pillow case. His face was flushed with sleep, his lips parted and his breath soft. His eyelashes fluttered as he dreamed. Kei watched him for a moment, his edges blurry and soft until he reached over to the nightstand for his glasses.

The early morning light streaming through the window painted Kageyama’s skin gold. He was completely nude, Kei knew, but he was covered from toe to navel by Kei’s sheets, leaving only the beauty of his well-muscled torso and shoulders exposed. Kei went hot, remembering how that torso and those shoulders had stained red with a flush, how those hands that lay so sweet and open on the pillow and on Kageyama’s stomach had gripped the sheets, had gripped Kei’s hair. Kei trailed his own hand over Kageyama’s shoulder, feather-light, then drew his hand away again.

Kei noticed the very moment Kageyama shifted from sleep to wakefulness, if only because he was watching for it. It was a stirring of breath, a scrunching of brows, a slight twitch of the hand. Kei watched Kageyama’s eyes slide open, then shut and open again. He squinted at the ceiling, and frowned.

“No, this isn’t your room,” Kei said, his voice low and soft and stained still with sleep. Kageyama looked at him, and, miracle of miracles, he smiled.

“I noticed,” he said. He stretched, luxurious, and smiled wider. “You’re still here,” he said.

“I’m still here. This is my room, after all.”

“I know that,” Kageyama said with a scowl. “I just thought-”

“You thought I would leave you after last night,” Kei finished for him. “You thought I would fuck you and dump you, that that was all I wanted.” Kageyama nodded. “That’s what I thought too.”

“But?”

“But I saw you this morning, sleeping in my bed, looking so beautiful in the dawn. And I changed my mind.” Kei forced himself to keep eye contact with Kageyama, to not run away from this. “Something changed last night, and we can’t pretend it didn’t.”

“What if I want to pretend?” Kageyama whispered.

“Then you’re a bigger coward than I pegged you for,” Kei said with a smile.

“I don’t want to pretend,” Kageyama decided.

“I know you don’t. I don’t either.” Kei reached out and trailed his fingers along the dip of Kageyama’s collar bone. “I don’t want to pretend this is anything less than what this is.”

“And… what is this?” Kageyama sounded hopeful, but guarded, like he was waiting for Kei to snatch away something beautiful that he had only glimpsed and wanted desperately. But Kei was in a giving mood, not a taking one. So he crawled over until he was perched above Kageyama on his hands and knees. He lowered himself slowly until he was pressed on top of Kageyama from shoulder to shin, their foreheads resting together and their lips inches apart.

“This is whatever you want it to be,” Kei said.

Tee hee.

Kei was ready to rip whoever was at the door a shiny new asshole. He stormed out of his bedroom and down the hall to the front door, tearing it open and putting on his best glare. It dissolved when he saw Tanaka, looking crestfallen and soaking wet. There was no rain outside.

“What the hell happened to you?” Kei asked. Tanaka flinched.

“I know it’s late,” he said, “but I didn’t know where else to turn.”

“Come in,” Kei found himself saying. Of course he would let Tanaka in, with no consideration to how difficult it was to hide what he was thinking. “You know where the shower is. I’ll try to find some clothes that fit you.”

Tanaka nodded and slopped off toward Kei’s bathroom. As soon as the door closed, Kei clutched lightly at his chest. Tanaka had looked on the very verge of tears, biting his lip and keeping his hands stuffed in his pockets. And now he was in Kei’s shower, probably letting go the tears he never allowed himself in Kei’s presence. Kei sighed and went off to the bedroom to find some clothes for Tanaka.

When Tanaka was dried and dressed, he came slouching into the living room with a repentant look on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and Kei cocked his head.

“What on earth for?” he asked, and he knew Tanaka knew it was really Kei asking what had happened. Tanaka slumped onto the couch and sighed.

Tetsurou could hear the struggle from the living room. His brow furrowed and he set his book aside, not sure if he should go investigate or not. But there was another thud and his curiosity and worry won out. He padded to the bedroom, where a tangle of limbs and fabric met his eyes.

"Is that my shirt?" Tetsurou fought hard to keep the laughter out of his voice, but it was a lost cause. Ushijima looked wounded, but in that puppy-dog way that told Tetsurou that it was probably not as bad as it seemed. He just couldn’t help it. Ushijima looked so hilarious with his arms caught up above his head and just his nose and eyes poking out of the head hole of Tetsurou’s shirt. “Babe,” Tetsurou said. “You’re never gonna get that on.”

“It seemed much larger when I was holding it,” Ushijima mumbled.

“I’m touched, I really am, that you would want to do the boyfriend shirt thing with me,” Tetsurou said, padding over to where Ushijima was all tangled up. “But maybe let’s try it the other way around? With me in your shirts? They fit me much better than mine fit you.” He tugged on the fabric, hoping to get Ushijima untangled without ripping any seams. Ushijima’s shoulders slumped and something went pop! and Tetsurou couldn’t help it. He let out a laugh.

“I am sorry,” Ushijima said, his voice full of guilt and anxiety. Tetsurou shook his head and tugged again.

“It’s not my favorite shirt, don’t worry,” he said. “Let’s just see about getting you out of it without hurting yourself.” Tetsurou took hold of the bottom hem of the shirt and pulled, and all at once it came free. Tetsurou stumbled backwards, landing on his ass on the floor with the stretched-out, rumpled, pathetic little shirt in his hands. He laughed harder.

“Oh my god,” he said. “Your hair- You look ridiculous.” Ushijima’s hair, normally neatly combed and flat against his head, was sticking up worse than Tetsurou’s. His face was red and he still had his arms in the air. Slowly he lowered them. Tetsurou smiled, and crawled over to where he was still sitting slumped, looking utterly defeated.

“I am sorry,” he said again, and Tetsurou shook his head, crawling into Ushijima’s lap.

“You are the love of my life, do you know that?” he asked. He ran one hand up Ushijima’s bare chest to wrap around the thick of his neck. “You’re perfect in every way conceivable, and little mishaps like this only serve to remind me that, despite everything, you are just as human as me. It’s comforting, you know?”

“You can borrow mine”

Tobio swore. He dug through his bag again. He swore again.

“What is it?” Tsukishima asked lazily.

“I don’t have my pencil, and I have an English test next period,” Tobio said.

“That sucks,” Tsukishima muttered. Yamaguchi elbowed him in the side.

“You can borrow mine,” said Yachi. Tobio looked up at the thin pencil she was offering him. It was pink and sparkly and had a teddy-bear-shaped eraser.

“But it’s your lucky one,” Tobio said. “I won’t have time to give it back to you before you have English.”

“That’s okay,” Yachi said, smiling sweetly at him. “I’d much rather know you have a pencil than keep mine out of selfishness.”

“But Yachi-san, if you don’t have a pencil, how will you take your test?” Yamaguchi asked.

“I’ll just ask Hamada-sensei if I can borrow one of his,” Yachi said. “He likes me, and won’t think I’m some unprepared slacker, like he would Tobio.”

“Ouch,” said Yamaguchi.

“Savage,” said Tsukishima.

“What did I say?”

“Nothing, Yachi-san,” Tobio said, blushing. He took the pencil from her and slipped it carefully into his bag. “I’ll get this back to you before practice today.”

“Okay!” She smiled at him, wide and trusting, and his heart flip-flopped in his chest. He attempted to smile back, and she giggled.

“You’re getting better at that,” she said.

“Yeah, it only looks like you want to murder her, not consume her flesh in some horrifying ritual,” Tsukishima said.

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi chided, but he was smirking.

“You’re both horrible,” Tobio muttered.

“Yeah, but you love us,” Yamaguchi said.

“I do,” Tobio said, rolling his eyes. The bell rang and they packed up their lunches, lingering in each other’s presence for just a moment longer.

It was always like this, whenever two or more of them could be together. Tobio still didn’t fully understand what it meant for all of them to be so close, but he knew he liked it. As he slipped into his classroom and waved goodbye to Yachi and Yamaguchi, he thought that he would trade just about anything for a moment longer with them.

It was a scary feeling. As he pulled Yachi’s pencil out of his bag, he realized with a start that she felt the same way. He didn’t know what to do with all the emotion welling up inside of him, so he glared at the board in front of him and tried not to explode.