#meliae.fic

(Too busy trying not to look at Sawamura’s bed too hard, she’s here with her friends, after all, they’d never miss such a thing, and after not missing it they’d never let her live it down.)

“I knew you were as human as the rest of us!” Sugawara shouts, diving for Sawamura’s pillow. It’s then that the rest of them seem to catch on to what he’s found, just the corner of something red adding a splash of colour to the grey on grey on different shade of grey.

Sawamura catches Sugawara before he can reach the pillow, but Sugawara does not still his efforts to make Daichi simply a man. Sawamura’s face blooms red, as can only be expected, Azumane’s does too— “Why would you? You knew we were coming.” —half sentences about all he can muster in the face of second-hand embarrassment.

Yui feels her own face heat too. Half wanting to see, half never wanting to know. Beneath that pillow, between the pages of a red magazine, is information she’s been waiting half her life for.

(Nearly going on six years is close enough for her to not count it as an exaggeration.)

What is Sawamura’s type? Does she have a chance? Or is he unlikely to ever look her way?

Nearly six years of pining on the boy across the gym and this is the closest she’s ever come to having an answer. She kind of wants to see, she kind of also doesn’t — Sugawara is right about it showing that Sawamura is human too, Yui’s not sure she’s ready to see such a thing.

Her friends, the only reason she’d been able to get herself firstly all the way to Sawamura’s house and then secondly all the way to Sawamura’s room for the study session, look just as eager to see what Sawamura is hiding in the pages beneath his pillow. Yui has to catch them both by the elbow to hold them back. Something Sawamura seems almost to thank her for with one small glance.

A glance small enough but long enough to move his attention from Sugawara for just a moment too long.

“Hah!” He cheers, landing face first onto Sawamura’s bed but seeming more than happy about it. “And with girls coming over and everything Daichi, my you might be the worst of us all!” Sugawara cackles, evilly, and Sawamura rather than trying once again to stop Sugawara just sits down at the table unfolded in the centre of his room as if thinking that if he simply ignores the boy behind him then the problem will disappear.

Even more unbelievably, it does.

Sugawara lifts the pillow, and whatever it is on the magazine he finds under there has him quieting right away. “That was… underwhelming,” he says, and Yui wishes she had caught a glance before the pillow returned to its place because while Sugawara seems disappointed in his find Sawamura is only getting darker by the second, blush creeping to the edges of his face, down his neck and into the collar of his shirt.

Yui wants to know desperately what it is that can do such a thing to him.

Chizuru and Mao don’t seem to be curious at all about what was beneath the pillow. Instead, they seem to have grins equal to something often found on Sugawara’s face.

“Let’s get to studying shall we?” Sawamura says stiffly.

“But—“

“It’s fine, I’m sure Shimizu won’t mind catching up, she’s already apologised for being late.” Sawamura punctuates the words by slapping his books onto the table, amazingly not any of the books still littering his desk.

“That isn’t even what I was going to say,” Sugawara grumbles, sliding down from the bed and pulling out his own study materials next to Sawamura. The rest of them follow suit.

Soon enough the equations and history lessons and book passages are all that’s on her mind.

Until what has to be hours later (turns out it’s only been two) when Sugawara’s phone rings out. “Shimizu’s here.”

The doorbell rings soon afterwards and Sawamura rushes off quickly to let her in.

Azumane groans as he pushes his own books to the side, “break time.”

“Food time!” Mao sighs, dropping her hands to her stomach for a timely growl.

“Conbini?”

“Yes please!” Yui stretches her arms up and behind her head, “I’ve been sitting still for too long.”

It is with sighs and creaking joints that they all stand up. Only for Sawamura and Shimizu to make it back up to them.

“Turn around, we’re heading out for food,” Mao directs.

“I brought some snacks with me,” Yui almost feels bad for Shimizu, actually does. But she wants the walk and the fresh air more than the food.

“Great! We’ll eat when we get back!” Sugawara pushes at all of their backs to get them through the door. “Michimiya! Wait, before you head off, I have something for you.” Yui pauses, while everyone else files down the stairs. Sugawara moves back over to Sawamura’s bed, falls onto it, grey hair joining the grey on grey on different shade of grey. “For your fantasies!” He chimes in a saccharine voice and lifts up the pillow that had so intrigued her earlier in the day.

Beneath it is not a magazine, not anything particularly incriminating. Still, Yui feels her face set aflame.

Small and secure and almost protected beneath the pillow lies the charm she had gifted to the boys' team — to Sawamura if she’s really being honest. A splash of red on top of grey and grey and grey.

It’s like Akaashi glows from within.

Tetsurou tries to tell himself it’s just an unflattering thing. It’s the middle of summer, after all, Akaashi is glowing because he is sweating, it’s his sunscreen, it’s not a magical presence that makes it near impossible for Tetsurou to turn his eyes away.

Not magic, a curse.

Cursed to be somewhat in love with his best friends best friend.

He’s started running into Bokuto and wanting first to know about a person that is not him.

It’s just that… somewhere between long summer nights filled with tests of courage and ghost stories and haunted cabins— all things Tetsurou is too smart to be scared of— and teasing Bokuto for his high-pitched screams, Tetsurou had begun to see beneath the cool exterior he had only ever seen before.

Akaashi is a burning flame, covered in ice but wanting desperately to break free and burn everything in his path instead of being burdened with the heavy cloak of responsibility.

It gets more dangerous when Bokuto isn’t there to be the bridge between them.

It’s warmer when Akaashi is driving and Tetsurou is in the passenger seat and there’s nothing but the yellow glow of street lamps flashing through their window.

Tetsurou’s heart beating out a fresh melody every single time.

Because already, things have changed.

Their mouths are silent but an entire conversation passes between them through the flexing of fingers, through the swiftness of a turn, through the road that’s picked, through the songs they alternate picking through on Akaashi’s phone.

Well, they’re meant to alternate, Akaashi only reaches for his phone when red lights flood the street around them and they’re stopped for just one, two, three—

Not enough other cars around when it’s the wrong side of the witching hour for the stops to last too long.

And Tetsurou never knows where they’re going.

Doesn’t care where they’re going.

Doesn’t want the magic spoiled.

Doesn’t want to uncover too much of the Akaashi who’s become a new mystery in front of him. One he thought he’d solved on the first read through.

Two weeks ago on a Friday night, Akaashi had driven them through the city and its lights and the people who spent time under them while the sky was dark. Dropping Tetsurou home only after the streets had emptied and the morning sky had already rushed to greet them.

(He’d spent the entire day after dead on his feet working his part-time job. He hadn’t complained once. Not to anybody, in fear of word somehow getting out.)

One week ago, a Thursday night, they’d ended up in one of his childhood memories — if he takes away the breaking and entering part. Akaashi had simply hushed his complaints and leapt with a grace Tetsurou had been unable to replicate across the barrier keeping them from the juiciest peaches he’s ever had his lips around.

(Akaashi’s lips really had shone then, under the lights in the dark, with the morning sun, and if Tetsurou were a braver man he’s sure they would have been the sweetest thing to ever touch his tongue.)

Only a few days ago, Akaashi had taken him out to Chiba, to the docks, to watch the fishing boats come in, to watch the sun rise as early as they could from this close to home. From further away from home than Tetsurou had ever been at the crack of dawn with birds singing in the day and a mysterious boy with an entire face burnt orange as it reflected the star rising oceans and worlds away from them.

(“Catch of the day,” Akaashi had said, leading him by the hand through the stalls laden with all the goods they’d just seen hauled back in, “I hear it’s your favourite!” 

He’d smiled then, and all Tetsurou had wanted to say was ‘no, you are’.)

Tonight they aren’t anywhere.

Tonight after moving slowly through light after light. Through parts of the city he knows, through back roads he never even knew existed. Past lit up stores that feel like they should only exist in a memory, they end up back at an apartment block.

Tonight Akaashi gets out of the car and walks around to open the door for Tetsurou too.

Tonight Akaashi looks at him almost expectantly, “Bokuto’s made me sit through enough movies to know that three dates is plenty. Unless that’s not something you’re interested in?”

Tetsurou only wishes he’d known that all along he could have gripped at the hand shifting gears, could have tasted the sweetness on his lips, could have asked Akaashi what his favourite things were too.

A teacher would not walk past the door multiple times, stopping only a few steps to either side before walking past again. A teacher would not occasionally jiggle at the handle, as if testing to see whether or not the door will open.

Kiyoko is not scared of much, but this makes the list.

The boys are probably practicing, still. Some of them, perhaps all of them — but that doesn’t mean they would see a message for help. Their phones are probably buried beneath clothes at the bottom of bags still waiting in the clubroom and very much not on them.

Kiyoko messages Suga anyway. He’s the one most likely to take a break from practice and stretch his limbs somewhere outside of the gym. He’s also the one most likely to do damage to whoever it is that’s still pacing outside.

Are they waiting for her to leave to ambush her?

Kiyoko lets out a breath. If the case really is as such, as long as she doesn’t leave, an ambush can’t happen. Simple. And it’s not as if she’s in a hurry to leave. The only reason she wants to leave is because of the person trying at the door handle again.

Pulling it open.

Kiyoko clutches her phone tight in her hand, still open on the message to Suga. If she needs to, she can call him. If she needs help, all of it is no good.

But Kiyoko recognises the person that walks through the door. Almost drops her phone from her hands with how much she relaxes.

“Sorry!” Michimiya cries, “I didn’t mean to startle you! I just wanted to come in and it was open but I didn’t know if I should come in because I’m not really on the team anymore and they stopped letting me have the key and I didn’t know if anyone in here might know that and—“

“It’s fine,” Kiyoko interrupts, because it is, and also, she’s spent too much time with Hitoka to know how rambling of this kind ends. It’s probably why she thought someone was trying to ambush her in the first place too.

“Oh, Michimiya freezes all of her motions, arms still held placatingly out in front of her. She drops them and beams. The smile bright and wide and shining. “Thanks, Shimizu!”

“It’s no problem,” but she is curious, “are you not allowed back now that you’ve retired?” Kiyoko can’t picture Sawamura, Sugawara, and Azumane leading everybody alone just because of a word like retire. Sawamura would want to make sure everyone was behaving, Sugawara would be too much of the reason they weren’t, Azumane would probably be the only one of them not to turn any kind of future practice into a farce and be beneficial — after all, there are not many on the team who can spike like he can.

“I used to be allowed,” Michimiya says, and Kiyoko focuses all of her attention back on her. She’s dressed in sports gear, practice gear. Which is strange considering she thought she was going to be chased away. “But there’s not too much practice you can get done with one person and I think our supervisor walked in one too many times on me crying into the volleyball bin and that was that!”

Michimiya smiles while she tells her story, plays it for a joke. Kiyoko sees that the reality is anything but. She wonders how many times this ‘one time too many’ really is. More occasions than there should be, sure, but also not more than is necessary.

Michimiya is a third year just like her, but did not play in the Spring Tournament, did not get a second chance. She was the captain but now she has no team. Just herself, and too many thoughts that lead to tears it seems. Kiyoko can somewhat understand, she has a team now, and when they lost in the summer it felt like she hadn’t prepared them enough, hadn’t done enough, even when she couldn’t play on the court with them.

She can’t imagine what that feels like when even being on the court isn’t enough.

Kiyoko can’t actually say any of this.

“We’re here nearly every day,” her fingers trace a yellow line on the play book in front of her. She has other things to do, her time is already taken up, but really the decision has already been made. “The boys usually stay late but if you don’t mind staying later I can play with you.”

Michimiya bounces over to clasp Kiyoko’s hands, “I always knew you were my favourite!”

A lie, Kiyoko thinks.

But then, the way Michimiya — “you can call me Yui!” — smiles at her when she runs her hand over the volleyball Kiyoko passes her reminds her that things don’t always stay the same. Yui tosses the ball in the air to her, Kiyoko does her best attempt at a set, and Yui spikes it across the net.

Shinji closes his eyes, hoping to put it all off until later but instead, his phone rings out its alarm on the table next to him, adding to the symphony already playing in his head. All of it is just Not Good.

Sawamura’s smile speaks at an even higher volume than the music and Shinji is so not ready for any of this.

He needs at least another week of sleep to be ready for waking up and dealing with Sawamura, needs probably another few weeks based on the pounding in his head.

“Go away,” he grunts, turning back to the blissful dark of his pillow— wait— he flips it over and settles in a second time into the cool darkness of unconsciousness.

Sawamura can wait, Shinji will deal with him later.

Except he settles down too. Nice but too warm. Adding too much heat to Shinji’s bed and Shinji’s body when his arms reach around to pull Shinji closer from behind. It’s nice, it’s not nice, it’s too warm and all he wants right now is a cool peaceful slumber. It’s too much effort to push him away though. The pressure of Sawamura at his back is as welcome as his warmth is not and Shinji knows despite how much he might sweat through his sleep that he wants Sawamura here to slumber with him. It’s too rare an occasion to push onto another time, another morning.

He does at least kick the covers off of himself, off of both of them probably, and the fresh air against his skin pulls him even further away from the burden of consciousness.

He should have had something to drink.

It’s Shinji’s first thought when he wakes for the second time that day. His throat feels broken, cracked, far too dry. It was bad earlier and now it’s even worse. He’s an idiot, he knows this, now it’s more than simply a fact.

At his side, Sawamura is still sleeping. Mouth open, limbs spread across the bed and cheeks slick with drool… pooling on his pillow— Shinji’s pillow.

Ew.

At times like these, it’s almost hard to remember why Shinji puts up with him. Almost, because his cheeks still appear to have a healthy flush—from the night before or because of sprawling across Shinji to sleep he’s not sure— and a smile is etched into his face even in slumber. He doesn’t look to be suffering the effects of last night the way Shinji is. Something he still considers to not be fair at all.

Shinji slides from the bed, escaping Sawamura’s wayward limbs with a practiced ease, and dashes out to the dining hall.

He chokes down two glasses of water to slick his throat, and then reaches for more. More and more and more until he feels like he’s going to be sick. More than just feels like it.

When was the last time he ate? What is there to feel sick on?

He can’t recall anything which means it’s only alcohol which means he’s an even bigger idiot for giving into so much of it last night.

As if he’d given in, Shinji knows for a fact he that last night involved him willingly reaching out for more than his fair share of poorly mixed drinks.

He definitely needs food. Real food. Not whatever snacks he might have had to nibble on during the night, but given the state of the dining hall he’s already missed breakfast. How late did he sleep?

Eleven.

Thirty.

He almost slept through to the afternoon.

He hasn’t done such a thing in years—as much as he’s sometimes wished he could in the early pre-dawn hours of the morning with three alarm clocks ringing in their wake-up calls.

The experience is not as delightful as he had wished for it to be. He could have done without a lot of the things he’s woken up to, but honestly, that probably comes down to the night before. Probably. It’s not the first time he’s woken up to Sawamura, feeling deeply dehydrated and desperate for water and something to eat—something that at this point he should really be able to prevent, but... Sawamura has a way of waylaying his thoughts.

The worst thing about sleeping in though has to be the fact that he’ll now have to wait for lunch to get some food.

He heads back to his room through an eerily quiet campus disappointed in himself and clutching at his stomach. He might actually be sick. He doesn’t want to be but he can feel his insides churning unpleasantly. His first time overindulging in alcohol might turn out to be his last because feeling like this is terrible. Shinji can’t remember the last time he properly threw up but if it turns into today because of drinking he’ll never forgive himself.

He’ll tough it out. He’ll be weak for just one day. Sit still in the dark and under the covers of his blanket and hope he won’t be missed.

Sawamura is still asleep. In his bed. An interesting thing to note given that the other beds in the room show signs of having been slept in. They don’t usually make a habit of sharing a bed in an occupied room. Shinji guesses their open secret has now been simplified into just free information. It’s not necessarily information he wants out and open but given the circumstances, there’s not much he can really do to change that. Shinji doesn’t even know if it’s his roommates that had slept in those beds last night.

He could go back to bed, but he doesn’t want to. He could too easily curl up back around Sawamura—now taking up the entirety of Shinji’s bed—and fall back to sleep, but he doesn’t want to. Instead, Shinji plonks himself down at his desk, pulls down notebooks and textbooks to prepare for the end of summer, leans back in his chair and rests his eyes on the ceiling. He feels too much like shit to do anything. The illusion of studying will do for now.

Time is also an illusion. Shinji isn’t aware of it passing, only aware that in time, a bubbly Sawamura obscures his analysis of marks in the ceiling. A task he didn’t even know he had undertaken until it was interrupted.

“And why are you so happy?” Shinji can only ever dream of waking up in such a good mood himself.

Sawamura doesn’t answer the question. He presses his forehead to Shinji’s for a few too short seconds and then pulls away, pulling Shinji with him, declaring it time for lunch.

The good thing is he hasn’t whiled away another meal, the bad thing is the abrupt movement reminds Shinji of how much water is gushing around his stomach with not much else and how much his stomach wants to protest this very fact. He wants food but also he doesn’t. He really doesn’t feel like it can be kept down.

He should have just climbed back into bed with Sawamura and slept until his body sorted out this whole thing by itself.

On the way to the hall, eyes are following him. Not in a paranoid way, but definitely in a way that Shinji worries for something he’s done. Wide grins and laughing eyes are not the looks he’s used to receiving, definitely not from a majority of the team. The first string team, the managers, others who were brave enough to face down the coaches wrath if they got caught drinking and—

he freezes.

Sawamura hurries him along. Pulls at his elbow, his wrist, his hand, then collects a tray. He piles it up with enough food for the both of them then finds a seat. Sawamura doesn’t even seem to notice Toujou’s and Kominato’s too happy faces, just jumps straight into conversation with them.

Shinji doesn’t touch his food. He drops looks over his shoulder and catches too many pairs of eyes stifling too many laughs behind hands and mouthfuls of food. Shinji turns back to stare at his own.

There’s an answer for this, an easy one. An answer Shinji is fine simply knowing of.

He thinks.

At least, he thinks he doesn’t want to actually know.

What did he do last night?

It can’t have been bad. This is his reason for not needing to know. If it was bad he definitely would have heard about it. If it was bad he wouldn’t be walking around corners to muffled laughter and smiles too wide to have a hope of being hidden—no matter how much the bearers try.

It can’t have been bad because Sawamura is clingier than usual. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. If anything it’s kind of nice. It’s nice to have done away with barriers overnight so Shinji doesn’t have to over analyse how many touches are too many, how close is too close or if people have noticed that somehow he always manages to drag Sawamura’s name up in conversation.

It can’t have been bad because Sawamura is very vocal about things he doesn’t agree with. Whatever Shinji had done last night is clearly something he’s happy with, something that makes him happy at least. Therefore, Shinji reasons, it can’t have been too bad.

“We’ll leave you two alone.”

Shinji nods slowly at the statement, Sawamura beams, “so considerate!”

“We’ll be gone all night, but we’ll be back to grab our stuff in the morning.”

Sawamura nods sagely like he’s been given all the answers to a pop quiz a day in advance and is committing them to memory. “Noted.”

All Shinji notes is that he’s lost. It’s like everyone around him has started speaking in a code nobody bothered to teach him. And why would Sawamura have a code with Shinji’s roommates that he doesn’t know about?

The door swings shut, the lock clicks into place, and in the blink of an eye, Sawamura is on his lap. In another blink, they’ve both fallen down onto Shinji’s bed, his head bashing into the wall and Sawamura’s face crashing down on his shoulder.

“That wasn’t how that was meant to go...” Sawamura deliberates, picking himself up, manhandling Shinji further down the bed and slotting into place against his side. “I expected it to be more romantic.”

Tick, tick—

boom.

“That’s what they left for!?” Shinji’s face burns, he tries to turn around but Sawamura is gripping tightly to him, locking him in place. “What did you tell them?” It doesn’t matter what Sawamura told them, Shinji is never going to be able to face them again. Not without him thinking that they’re thinking about what he’s doing with Sawamura behind closed doors and... he could never.

“I didn’t tell them anything!” Sawamura pouts, “they were just being considerate.”

“I told you,” Shinji presses a finger down on his lips, “you’re not allowed to do that.”

Sawamura opens his mouth, sucks Shinji’s finger in, and it’s so far beyond what he expected that he flinches back.

Out of Sawamura’s grip.

“No,” he says, “no, no, no.”

He’s off the bed and across the room, fighting with the lock of the door under Sawamura’s heavy gaze—funny, that he’s been so happy all day and now Shinji is ruining it for him.

But no, he can’t.

He can’t go from trying to pretend he and Sawamura are just friends straight into the entire team thinking... thinking... his face burns and the lock twists and he’s out. Gone.

He’ll have to face up to Sawamura eventually.

Face Sawamura and his tears and his pout and more of him questioning whether Shinji likes him at all or just said yes out of pity, but that will come later.

Now... now he just needs time to think and come to terms with the fact that the... the laughing and the eyes trained on him all day is because of this.

Now he has to overanalyse what the eyes and the laughs and the smiles mean.

Why did this have to happen? How did this happen? Why did he not get a say in this and... oh...

Sawamura has been happy. Radiant and bubbling and clingy and...

Shinji is the one who told. He’s the one who told.

He told... he... “No, no, no, no, no.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m freaking out,” Shinji says, “in case that wasn’t obvious.”

Toujou hums theatrically, “now that you mention it, the rocking and chanting do give it away a little.”

Shinji grunts a reply. It could mean anything. And after all these years he’s hoping Toujou can translate it into something helpful.

“So—” great, Shinji thinks, a lecture. “What is your actual problem with people knowing?” He stays silent. “Because I’m not going to lie, most of us have known for a while.”

“What!”

“According to your classmates—”

“According to my classmates what?”

Shinji can guess without asking what, he’s aware of the discord. Between Kanemaru Shinji, captain of the baseball team and Kanemaru-kun, just another baseball idiot.

“You spend a lot of time together—”

“We’re in the same class, of course we do!” If he wasn’t there Sawamura definitely wouldn’t have made all the way through to his final year of high school.

“You spend all of your breaks together—”

“If it weren’t for me Sawamura would be happy getting thirties on his tests!”

“Reading manga?”

“I’m not a tyrant!”

“Holding hands?”

He doesn’t have an answer for that. Not for Toujou. He has a lot to say to Sawamura about that because he’s the one who insisted that ‘beneath the desk, nobody can see us anyway’. Cute little bastard.

Shinji’s hands come up to cover his face again and Toujou does him the honour of sitting down next to him. A hand on his shoulder, but any sympathy is shown only in silence.

Eventually, they move. Eventually, Shinji dusts off his pants and moves, feels the need to move. Eventually, through the settling but still audible gurgling of his stomach and the worried glances Toujou gives it, Shinji moves. They don’t move anywhere in particular. Shinji only knows that he needs to keep moving to put off the eventuality of going back to his room. He doesn’t know which is the better option finding it empty or finding Sawamura there, so he’ll put it off.

They wander through the empty campus. Sunday—and god, Shinji thinks, it’s the afternoon now, how has he wasted so much of the day?—means it is blessedly empty of people to continue staring at him or laughing at him but full of corners to duck around as soon as it seems like he and Toujou might not be the only ones out here wandering around.

Time slips away from him again as they walk silently together until Toujou finally gives in. “Not that this isn’t fun, but I do actually have things to do today.”

“So do I!” Shinji says.

“—we know—”

“Do you think I planned this? And no! No! You don’t get to joke about that because now... because now people will always think...”

“They already did think it.”

“I know, but now they know!”

“It really isn’t anything that was unknown before you know?”

“But... but...”

“But...?”

“But earlier, Seto left because he thought... they thought...” Shinji can’t even get the words out. All he feels is his face flame as mortification takes over at what people think he is doing right this very moment.

“Because he thought you and Sawamura wanted some private time together.”

“Yes.” Shinji breathes, quietly, like he’s trying to keep a secret.

“To have sex.”

“Ah!” Shinji shouts, covering up Toujou’s mouth, forgetting for a moment that he’s half in hiding. “Oh my god what if somebody heard you?”

“There’s nobody around,” Toujou says, not even bothering to remove Shinji’s hand. “Also, nobody cares.”

“I care, everybody who was laughing at me today cared.”

“Everybody was laughing because you guys are the newest gossip and also you were kind of out of your mind last night.”

“I wasn’t that drunk,” Shinji says, knowing very well based on the state of his non-existent recollection of last night and the way in which he’s spent the day so far, that he very much was that drunk.

Toujou laughs. Just laughs. “Good one, we’ll just pretend you didn’t ask Sawamura if he was single last night. We’ll just pretend it didn’t nearly make him cry. We’ll just pretend your attempt— I think it was an attempt anyway— to woo him and describe in great detail how carefully he should be looked after and treated didn’t make him actually cry until the two of you were making out in front of everyone.”

“Holy shit.”

“So yeah, that’s why they’re all laughing.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I... what the fuck.”

“You actually don’t remember.” Shinji thinks his wide eyes and horrified stare must do enough to give it away. “Wow, fuck.”

“Sit down,” he says, and Mitsuki sits across a lone bench in the centre of the room — how the entire team is meant to exist in here at once she has no idea. Another way in which this room is different than expected.

This afternoon is different to anything Mitsuki had expected when Asakura asked her to stay until the end of practice. A rare day off from work and Mitsuki, instead of going home, had stood with Reina and a crowd of other girls, watching the boys and the team practice to the too loud noise of Reina’s camera and girls calling out for attention.

The quiet of the clubroom, now the team has gone, now the observers have made their own way home as well, is a nice change. Asakura’s ever present calm is a nice change.

Until, with what Mitsuki thinks is his phone in hand, he sits down next to her. Sits close, more than close, closer than usual, and hasn’t that been an ever-changing thing recently.

He crosses one leg, knee crossing over Mitsuki’s own thigh, elbow knocking into her arm until she moves it and he takes it as an invitation to move even closer. To take up more of her space. Mitsuki can’t say that she minds only that this is new, different, moving a step closer yet again. Another moment in which she feels like something is changing but come tomorrow morning it will be like none of it ever happened, like to Asakura none of it meant anything.

She doesn’t get her hopes up for it meaning anything.

The message doesn’t always get through.

Her breath catches, her heart races, Asakura doesn’t notice, simply moves to unlock his phone.

It is his phone. A pile of cats on the screen are ones Mitsuki recognises only from the stories she’s heard of them.

“I have something to show you.”

At this point, Mitsuki could have worked that out for herself. There’s been nothing to say she’s here for any other reason. Why here are why now are questions she has but won’t voice; because her hopes are high that with everybody else gone they will be able to go home together. It’s been a while. She’s missed it.

Asakura sifts through his phone, an app, an album, and then he hands it over to her. “Here…” He starts, he stops, he takes a deep breath that catches the strands of her hair, then starts again. “Swipe through.”

It starts with a picture, a picture Mitsuki knows well. A picture Rui had snuck onto her phone, a picture Asakura had discovered as her wallpaper, a picture she now keeps hidden in the depth of her phone’s memory card. She doesn’t know how Asakura managed to get it. She hopes he doesn’t know that she still has it.

Asakura doesn’t say anything about it, she clicks on the screen.

Another picture, one from the night they set off fireworks.

He says nothing. So Mitsuki taps again.

More pictures. Always pictures. Of Mitsuki, of Asakura, of their friends, of this little circle that she’s become a part of. Of his world opening up to include her and her own world expanding drastically.

The pictures are nice, that Asakura keeps them in an album on his phone, close, on hand, is sweet. This… entire afternoon is a gesture she’s trying not to get too swept up in, but at this point, it’s probably far too late.

Each tap on the screen makes her chest pull tighter, has warmth spreading from where their limbs overlap.

Mitsuki knows, knows too well that come tomorrow it will be like nothing ever happened. Because the laws of the universe only allow her to be affected by every little thing Asakura does while he remains blissfully unaware of the effect he has, blissfully unaware of the fact that Mitsuki would like to be able to affect him in the same way.

“Why do you have all of these?” Why are they organised like this, is another question she isn’t brave enough to voice.

“They’re nice memories.” The next photo is the banner she painted, followed by a photo of the wristband she signed. “Special memories.”

Mitsuki can’t be blamed for the fluttering of her chest, for the hitch in her breath. Too many people would want to hear such words directed at memories they share with Asakura, but he’s just here, just here with her, saying his memories of her, with her, are the ones that are special.

Well… not just her, the others are there too.

“They are,” is what she finds herself replying. An unnecessary addition really, but she wants him to know the memories are special to her too. “But why now?” Why show them now?

“Just with everything going on, I wanted you to know how valuable you are.” Something Mitsuki would never even dream of being said. She wants to pinch herself to make sure it's real, but she also doesn’t want to wake up if this is a dream. 

She knows as well. That this time is only for now. In only a moment the culture festival she’s been agonising over will be here. She’ll get to see how much all her work has paid off, if it will pay off. And following that Asakura will be preparing for the winter tournament, he won’t have time to stop by the cafe every afternoon. This is another special moment, a special memory, not one photographed or documented but one she’ll have to lean on in the coming weeks.

“I just wanted this before everything else gets in the way, because I’m comfortable with you, more than with anyone else, I think. I like that. You’re different to other people, you don’t have expectations of me, but even when you do, I never feel like I’ll be letting you down. It makes me want to give you everything you’ve ever wanted because that’s what it feels like you give to me.”

Asakura taps on the screen this time, his fingers winding their way in between her own. A picture from the day they all went to the park during summer vacation.

“But I know you’re working hard to do that on your own.”

A picture of her, with the friends she had made all on her own. Friends who were friends not just in the space of a school building but friends she could see whenever she wanted.

“It’s like you glow brighter with every new challenge you set, with each one you overcome. It’s like,” he pauses, and Mitsuki feels her heart in her throat because these are words she would have never expected to hear, not from anyone, not from him. “You’re like air to me, the very atmosphere when I’m with you changes. I want to fill everything with you, every part of me, of life. You make things better.”

“I… What…”

“You see,” he says, eyes on hers, soft and serious all at once, “I actually like you Mitsuki.”

She’s definitely in a dream. She’s in another one of her dreams. She’s in a dream because she opens her eyes to the ceiling, her back against the soft— nope, hard, definitely hard— not her bed but on the floor, the floor of a room she doesn’t know. A room she doesn’t know but with Asakura’s face looking down on her, pulling her up, off the floor, back to sitting, in the middle of the clubroom— right, that's where she is.

A place she’s never been but— I actually like you Mitsuki— a place she’s never going to forget from now on.

“Not that,” Kuroo says, “but also congrats on that, by the way, did I say that yet?” Kuroo keeps going, Bokuto’s mouth opens, a question on his lips and even though Kuroo wants answers from him he keeps going. “Okay, so less of a what the actual fuck, maybe more of a who/ the actual fuck— Don’t look! He’ll see!” Kuroo turns Bokuto’s head back towards him. “I’ll tell you, look— Oh my god he’s looking— Don’t!”

Bokuto does anyway. He twists his head from Kuroo’s grip—where realistically, as soon as Bokuto wanted out Bokuto was going to get out, Kuroo doesn’t have the muscles to stop him—and waves—fucking waves—at the prettiest boy Kuroo has ever seen in his life. Like ever. This life, his next one, and all previous lives combined.

What God decided this boy grace should be able to grace lowly humans such as themselves the pleasure of his face?

The modern marvel of humanity waves back and before Bokuto can add a scream to where he already has the attention of their local deity. “Okay, so— him— okay—“

“Akaashi?”

“Akaashi, wow yes, wow. Him. Akaashi. Bokuto, my buddy, pal, man, friend, I repeat: what the actual fuck?” Kuroo shakes his hand in wonderboys direction.

“What did Akaashi do?” Kuroo wants to tear not only his own hair out but Bokuto’s too. It would probably be satisfying, initially. It’s definitely not something Kuroo would be happy about long term but Bokuto needs to catch on to what Kuroo is not saying quicker, easier, because Kuroo doesn’t want to actually say that he now believes in love at first sight when all these years he’s been shaking his head at Kenma’s stupid otome games. Now he’s living one out; the new guy at school, the transfer student, except none of those because they attend different schools. It is like he’s transferred into their friend group because Bokuto has been hanging out with the guy all morning. Talking between matches and sometimes Kuroo has been present, a quick wave, a quick word, and all the while wondering why in the fuck Bokuto didn’t share earlier that he’s friends with this heavenly creature named Akaashi.

He would have like a little more warning.

He would have liked a name, a mail address, a date and a time.

Friends, like Bokuto, should be there to hook friends, like Kuroo, up with his new friends, like Akaashi. It’s just the way friendship works.

And if it’s not, Kuroo thinks it’s the way it should work.

“What do you mean what did he do?! Fuck!” Kuroo needs to keep quiet. He needs not to shout. Firstly because that’s Bokuto’s thing and secondly— and probably more importantly right now— Akaashi might hear. “Have you seen him? Look at him—”

“Okay.” And Bokuto, bless his giant soul, just looks at him. “What am I looking for?”

“At. Look at him!”

“Yes.”

“And?” Kuroo stresses. Is stressed. What wavelength does Bokuto's mind run on?

“And… what? Was he mean to you? He probably didn’t mean it that's just the way he comes off.”

Kuroo growls, actually growls. He stomps his foot, half way to having a tantrum. Why can’t Bokuto understand? It’s simple.

“Akaaaaashi!” No tantrum. No nothing. Bokuto definitely just yelled that out. Kuroo pulls down Bokuto’s hands from where they’re cupped around his mouth and watches, heart stopped and frozen in fear as Akaashi stops talking to Konoha and with what must be the biggest eye roll the world has ever seen, glares at Bokuto, but then, seemingly contrary to the glare, also walks over to them.

Bokuto shakes out of Kuroo’s grip, meets Akaashi half way, and before Kuroo has time to think and to run Akaashi is making eyes—meeting, meeting his eyes— over Bokuto’s shoulder and there’s nothing he can do. This is it. His life is flashing before his eyes, he’s about to ascend from this plane of existence and—

Oh shit, he's walking over—

“Hey!” Smooth, he can do this.

“Hello to you too.” Kuroo did not expect his voice to sound like that. Wow.

“Hi.” A sigh.

“You said that already Kuroo-san.”

“Right of course, hi—“ Kuroo pinches his thigh through his shorts. He needs to just not talk. But also Akaashi is biting down on his lip in a way that looks like it is being done in order to not smile and Kuroo might be feeling ten degrees warmer under his collar and still feeling the aftereffects of what might have been a minor heart attack but this is something he can work with. Besides, “you know my name?” Kuroo can work with this, this means he’s not the only one looking, not the only one interested. He can definitely work with this. He smirks, he puts a hand up, he pops a hip and leans into the wall.

That is not there.

Kuroo trips. He stumbles and nearly falls, but the important thing is he doesn't because he catches himself and Akaashi has reached out to steady him. Akaashi, whose teeth are still pressing into his bottom lip, whose eyebrows are high on his face; Akaashi who might be trying to hide his laughter, but Kuroo can see it all. Can read the amusement gleaming in his eyes. They’re sparkling with the laughter he’s not letting out, not all emotions can be hidden after all — and Kuroo prides himself on his observation.

Like the way Akaashi’s hands are still gripping onto his arms, skin darker than his own, hold tighter than it probably needs to be. Continuing to steady Kuroo for longer than he needs to now that he is standing up straight again.

“Are you okay Kuroo-san?” He prides himself on his observation skills except for where he failed to observe that he is standing outside, a good ten metres, probably, from the nearest wall; there isn’t even a tree nearby that he could have mistaken for a wall to lean on. “Is the sun getting too much for you? Do you need to sit down?”

Not the sun, but a good out nonetheless. “Yes.”

“Hmmm,” Akaashi puts a cool, calloused hand to Kuroo’s head and maybe this time he really will pass out. “You don’t feel too warm but I’ll get you some water and a cold towel. That last set of punishments must have been one too many.”

Kuroo sits, right where he is. He pulls up his knees and burrows his head between them and tries not to scream about how much of an idiot he is. About how much he really fucking loves the fact that in the midst of caring for him Akaashi has somehow managed to throw in a jibe about Kuroo’s team losing to his own just before they broke for lunch. Ouch but also yes.

“I’ll be right back.”

For weeks now, Shirofuku has been talking about babysitting Akaashi. For weeks now, Tetsurou has not been able to put two and two together.

The only reason he’s been able to put two and two together is having every single thing laid out in front of him for him to piece together. Today, Shirofuku had invited Tetsurou along to babysitting, he had only caved with the utterance of the words ‘there’ll be food’ because Tetsurou will take whatever he can get. The words had been enough for him even knowing that Shirofuku saying there’s food is not a guarantee that Tetsurou will be able to get food because… well… Tetsurou knows her.

So it is, weeks— almost a month and a half— of hearing about the Akaashi that Shirofuku babysits and Tetsurou follows as she lets herself— lets them both— into a place that is not her own. She opens the door to the smell of food cooking and a shout of “trouble has arrived!” and all the while Tetsurou is left in the dark.

Until a voice Tetsurou hadn’t expected at all— in the way that he kind of thought they’d been breaking in, not that hearing this voice, in particular, was a surprise— responds, “about fucking time”.

Shirofuku pauses at the words, Tetsurou worries once again that they’ve broken in somewhere they shouldn’t be, but then she hangs her head, wipes a non-existent tear from beneath her eye, and mutters so low it’s probably just to herself “they grow up so fast”. She continues then, up a set of stairs and through a doorway at the top and it’s here that Tetsurou is able to put a face to the voice.

He actually can’t believe he needed to see the face to know who the voice belonged to. He should have already known.

Been able to put two and two together.

Although, if Tetsurou is being honest with himself, most of the time he has spent with Akaashi in the past was spent with Bokuto and Akaashi and Bokuto has apparently drowned out most of the parts where Akaashi was present in his memory. Even now, trying to remember Akaashi’s voice and how he should have been able to recognise it all that is coming to mind is Bokuto’s voice, shouting out, for a toss, for attention, for extra food… for Akaashi. Okay, so Tetsurou definitely should have remembered.

It’s like meeting up again has thrown them into each other's orbits. And quite literally so. Tetsurou has been seeing him everywhere and by all accounts, Akaashi has been attending the same university for weeks before Tetsurou ran into him but now he’s everywhere, actually everywhere. It’s astounding.

Tetsurou has passed him in the corridors and seen him walking in and out of some of the local shops. Tetsurou is pretty sure they even share a lecture theatre, he’s positive he saw Akaashi leaving the very same one he was about to go and sit in for fifty minutes of his life but without actually having the guts to call out to who he thinks was Akaashi he can’t really be sure. Tetsurou is pretty sure they once passed by each other in the bathroom too but for obvious reasons, Tetsurou did not want to look too hard on that occasion.

It’s probably just being able to pick out a face he’s known basically what feels like forever compared to the strangers that he recognises but does not know. But still, Tetsurou wonders how they never crossed each other's path before now. Has he just never been looking? Are there more people he knows around, friends of friends, or acquaintances who now have the potential to be more such as Shirofuku had become?

It’s the middle of the afternoon on a Thursday, every Thursday when Tetsurou knows for sure that it is Akaashi. For Tetsurou it’s a designated lunch time squeezed in after all the lectures he had attempted to have as early in the day as possible this year. It must also be a similar kind of break for Akaashi. Tetsurou always— now always— notices Akaashi sitting elsewhere in the food hall with a smattering of other people.

Today is the first time it feels like Akaashi has noticed him back because today is the first time Akaashi has asked to join him.

Tetsurou has always considered himself observant but this entire situation with Akaashi has told him he is anything but—

“—is anybody in there? Is this space free?”

—Tetsurou apparently can’t even focus on Akaashi talking to him. Instead, too hell bent on figuring out where Akaashi has been hiding all this time or when it is he lost the ability to focus on more than one thing at a time.

“Yes sure, sit!” And Tetsurou wishes he could pay more attention to more things because then maybe getting flustered and being caught daydreaming wouldn’t end up with half his food plastered across Akaashi’s chest.

Tetsurou is getting better at this.

“So,” he starts, “honestly this time, did you like, just transfer in?”

Shirofuku glares at Tetsurou like this is the most offensive thing she’s ever heard. Akaashi just looks at him, confused, before turning his bewilderment onto Shirofuku.

“It’s okay,” she says, “you don’t actually have to listen to him. Pretend he’s an art piece you don’t understand; you look, you nod, you move on.”

“Oi!”

Akaashi holds up a hand to Tetsurou’s protest and Tetsurou swallows down whatever words he hasn’t even thought through saying. “It’s okay,” Akaashi says to Tetsurou, “I understand,” he says to Shirofuku.

“Oi!” Tetsurou shouts this time. “I am sitting right here and I will not tolerate this happening right in front of me!”

“Oh,” Akaashi says, “I apologise, I will keep the talking about you to whilst I am away from you. Unrelated, I feel like a drink.”

“Me too!” Shirofuku pipes up, jumping to her feet before Akaashi has even made an attempt to push his chair out.

“Me—“

“What would you like?” Akaashi cuts across him. “Never mind, I’ll pick something out for you!” Akaashi smiles, smirks, and it’s only now that Tetsurou realises he’s being played.

“No! No, I’m definitely coming!” But they’ve already gone. Whispering conspiratorially together, glancing back over at him. And he has to stay, because they’ve left all their things at the table with him and Tetsurou, despite whatever things they may think of him, is kind enough to not let it all get stolen.

Tetsurou doesn’t drink. There’s no reason for it, no family history of alcohol abuse, no bad night that tainted the substance for him. He simply doesn’t drink. He might when he’s twenty, he might go his entire life without touching it, he might give into it and fall off the deep end. His history is clean and his future is uncertain but in this moment Tetsurou has never touched alcohol, never tasted it beyond the dishes cooked with it where the actual alcohol is cooked out.

He doesn’t drink which places the queasy feeling in his stomach on something other than the feeling of intoxication and that’s worrying.

It’s not that he’s hungry — even though he should be, one muesli bar for breakfast was not enough to get him through the day and now that he’s followed Shirofuku out to a party, hours after classes and his last lab and with no other food to really sustain him until then it should be from hunger. But it’s not, it’s not hunger, it’s not something he ate, it’s something else.

“I think I’m getting sick.”

Tetsurou didn’t expect the excuse to work, not when he doesn’t really believe it himself.

What he actually thinks, is that this whole house party thing is not for him. Not when he doesn’t drink, not when the only few people he knows here are drinking. Not when a guy he’s kind of somewhat known since he was fifteen is downing cup after cup of who knows what with barely a blink in between and with each cup is cozying up to some guy Tetsurou is pretty sure has been making eyes at Akaashi since he walked through the door with Tetsurou and Shirofuku earlier.

Tetsurou doesn’t even know where Shirofuku ended up. Part of him isn’t sure he even wants to know.

He’s definitely convinced he doesn’t want to come to a party again. He doesn’t need to see Akaashi—can that really be called dancing?—hanging off of some stranger Tetsurou doesn’t know if he even knows.

He wants to pull Akaashi aside and take them both home, but when he tries to do so Akaashi whines and complains and the stranger Akaashi hasn’t known since he was fifteen ends up telling Tetsurou off, and Akaashi thanks the guy and Tetsurou has to just walk back across the room and keep an eye on him, on both of them, shaking off drinks all the while.

It’s not his job and Akaashi hasn’t asked him to but Tetsurou is not going to let him go home with some stranger.

Tetsurou keeps seeing him. Occasionally them. Together. Apart. It doesn’t really seem to matter. Either way, it makes Tetsurou angry and there’s no real reason as to why.

Not really, Tetsurou keeps thinking on it but he can’t seem to find one.

Outside of a lecture theatre waiting to go in, they both exit, heads pushed together, whispers shared. Tetsurou feels a frown pull at his features until they’re gone from sight, until a while after they’re gone from sight. Until they’re gone and his mind gets distracted by needing to focus on his own lecture.

He sees them outside of a coffee shop. Sure, there are books surrounding them, pens in hand, but the way they sit, on corners close to each other instead of opposite each other makes Tetsurou’s gut churn. The guy leans over, tucks a strand of hair behind Akaashi’s ear— a stupid motion that doesn’t do anything, it doesn’t make the hair sit, it doesn’t keep the rest of Akaashi’s hair from his face, and Tetsurou only feels slightly better when Akaashi runs his hand through his hair afterwards undoing the pointless gesture anyway.

He’s there at lunch the next week. Again. Tetsurou was hoping it was a one-time thing but here he is again and Akaashi doesn’t say a thing about the guy sitting down next to him. The guy doesn’t excuse himself either, he throws a nod at Tetsurou and Tetsurou feels like growling but keeps it in and regrets it for the rest of the time he’s eating.

Through all of it, Tetsurou can’t figure out what it is that makes him hate the guy. Sure, there was one night where Tetsurou saw him pushing himself on Akaashi but on that night and all of these occasions since Akaashi hasn’t seemed adverse to the attention. All he can put it down to is a gut feeling, the guy is bad news, and somehow, some way, it’s Tetsurou’s job to let Akaashi know.

“Well… shit.”

Thunder cracks overhead the lights flicker on and off a few times, but then there’s nothing. Tetsurou can hear Akaashi moving around in the kitchen where he was supposed to be making food, but if the lights are gone, the stove top is probably gone as well.

“It’s okay,” Akaashi’s voice sounds melodious beneath the crash of thunder and beating rain overhead, soft, warm, comforting. “I’m prepared for this, it just might take longer.

The hiss of a match, a candle being lit, Akaashi’s face is thrown into contrast against the flame and Tetsurou follows him as he moves from the kitchen area to where he is sitting on the floor. A few more candles are lit, and tucked beneath Akaashi’s arm is a portable stove.

“Amazing,” Tetsurou says, because he doesn’t know anyone their own age who would buy cooking equipment that isn’t what they’re gifted with in their accommodation. Then again, it’s also Akaashi, “guess you won’t let anything get between you and a meal, hey?”

Akaashi smiles, laughs into candlelight, into the hiss of gas, beneath cracks and booms.

And oh, realisation dawns on him like he’s never really known what the day really looked like before.

He knows now, Tetsurou knows now what he never quite knew earlier.

Why he’s never known how to react when his friends in class had pulled out magazines and Instagram accounts of busty models in swimsuits and less. He knows now why his go to had been ‘long hair’ because nothing else about girls had ever stood out to him— long hair was all there was because the girls Tetsurou knew with long hair got to iron it flat or curl it out and Tetsurou had always wished he had the ability to manoeuvre his hair in such a way. But that’s really the only wonder he had ever seen in it. In them. In girls. Simply the ability to change their hair, to change their hair, day to day if they so pleased.

In conversation Tetsurou had always agreed, that Kyouko was the prettiest girl in class, followed by Karen, by Chiyo, by Mina, by Reina, and so on; simply because he had heard these things paired with these names and agreeing was easier than coming up with something— with someone— on his own.

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

The answer changing but always the same. He wanted to play volleyball ball. He wanted to focus on his studies. The two were always going to come first. He’s a captain now: his team focusing on volleyball and on their studies was always going to fall into place next. He doesn’t have time for other people. He’s not going to put them above himself and the goals he’s already had set in place for years.

(The— if only brief— falling out between Daishou and his girlfriend was enough to tell Tetsurou he had it right).

Again…

Again, he said these things because they were lines he had heard before and they were better for him, in his own opinion, than simply telling the truth: he just plain wasn’t interested.

Tetsurou didn’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings but he was never interested in the girls in his class or the ones hanging over the barricade at games, in the ones who sometimes he thought were watching after him whenever he found the spare time to just hang around.

His life would sort itself out first.

Tetsurou had always been convinced that when he had settled down into himself, into a job, into hobbies, into preparing for a future, that would be when he found someone who would fall into place as his partner. It had never been a long sought out dream, it was just the way he thought things went: when he hit a certain age he would inevitably have a wife and family and somewhere between then and now he would finally understand what everyone in school had been so obsessed with.

“Late bloomer” his father had called him.

His mother had called it “waiting for the right one”.

Tetsurou thinks that now, in this moment, both could be right.

Actually, what really seems to have happened, it that he was never made aware that this was also an option.

Then again, there’s something to be said for purposely turning his head in the club room, for always keeping a respectable distance even when he’s friends with people who seem not to believe such a thing exists, for keeping his limbs and blankets firmly in place on his own futon at training camps and sleepovers, for always making sure to keep his head up when conversations in the baths turned to tan lines and muscle definition.

A lot of times, a lot of instances, but none of it had really sparked this realisation within him.

But life before now has never been like this. It’s never been candlelight reflected in Akaashi’s eyes, preparing dinner in what is nearly darkness because not even a storm can keep him away from his food. A passion like no other.

One Tetsurou is starting to understand.

Not for food, but for a person. For this person.

A passion that has kind of sprung from nowhere.

Or maybe one slowly simmering, building up ever since they first collided back into each other’s worlds.

Realising that he wants to live out the after credits of the movies he’s never quite understood with Akaashi is strange. Nothing has changed. Not in the way they speak to each other, not in the amount of time they spend together, not even in how they interact, The strange thing is that Tetsurou now spends ten minutes for every second he spends with Akaashi wondering if he was too much, too obvious with his new found feelings. Has he put Akaashi off? Has Akaashi caught on and somehow, in some miraculous twist of fate, he feels the same?

And as if he could hear the conversation turning towards him Kintarou waves his racket in their direction from the court. “You promised, remember!”

Sakuno fists at the hem of the hoodie he loaned her. Tomoka elbows her in the side. Ryoma steps in to stand next to her at the fence and Sakuno can’t quite figure out if she’s uncomfortable because he’s too close or not close enough. Especially considering what it is she promised in exchange for the hoodie.

She takes a breath to compose herself. “Good luck Kin-kun!” She calls out, voice only wavering a little to betray the embarrassment she feels as people start turning in her direction. There are barely twenty people watching this spur of the moment pick-up game, but Sakuno feels like she’s under a spotlight when they all look her way. Four more well wishes to go.

She hopes Ryoma doesn’t get the wrong idea.

“How come you aren’t down there?” Tomoka cuts in front of Sakuno to talk to Ryoma, pointing down at the courts where a few other people are sitting around with rackets sitting between their knees. Sakuno wonders why she didn’t think the same thing when Ryoma first showed up. They’re only here because Tomoka heard about the pick-up games through someone in her Echizen Ryoma Fan Club group chat. Watching Ryoma play tennis was the only thing that got them out of their heated homes to brave to cold.

Tomoka promising to help Sakuno with the promise to herself to be assertive and brave is the entire reason Sakuno accepted Kintarou’s hoodie when he offered it to her because apparently, ‘just looking at you is making me cold’.

“I’m not allowed.”

Sakuno chuckles at Ryoma’s answer, the childishness in his tone enough to push her nerves to the side. She really needs to stop being nervous. She risks a peek because she can picture Ryoma’s face in her head but she wants to know if she’s right.

She is.

Sakuno has to cover a new bout of giggles with her hand. Ryoma frowns, his eyes seem to roam from where the sleeve of Kintarou’s hoodie drapes over the tips of her fingers then back up to her eyes, frown still in place. “I have a meeting next week and dad doesn’t want me injured before I go to it.”

Sakuno’s giddiness dims, her chuckles cease. “Good luck!” She calls out to Kintarou again, she doesn’t even know how he’s doing. She should care but she doesn’t. Meeting is what Ryoma called it, but Sakuno is fairly sure this is what her grandmother has been talking around for a few weeks now: Ryoma being offered a scholarship to an overseas university to play tennis. His needing to be uninjured for a meeting/, his actually following the advice… it has Sakuno thinking it’s the same thing.

This is why she needs to be brave, why she needs to be assertive. If she’s complacent in what she feels for too much longer Ryoma will be gone. Gone from her every day, gone from this city, gone from the very country in which she lives.

Sakuno shakes the thoughts away, the future is the future, now is now.

“Shame, Kin-kun would have liked to play you while he’s in town.” And it really is a shame, if Ryoma was on the court playing against Kintarou the game would be much better to watch. More entertaining. Some people enjoy a grossly one-sided match but Sakuno prefers the heart-stopping moments present only in a close game. Even when she’s the one playing she prefers it. Although, if Ryoma was down there playing Sakuno would feel a lot more conflicted about cheering for Kintarou.

Kintarou wins a point. It’s the first one Sakuno has really seen of this game, although it’s less Kintarou winning a point and more his opponent losing it. “This is easy Kin-kun, you’ve got this!” She almost feels bad for cheering, simply because it seems unnecessary. It takes a rare person to beat Kintarou in a match, and one of those rare people is standing next to her. “How come you came if you aren’t allowed to play?”

Ryoma looks at her, frowns at her— frowns down at the hoodie she’s wearing. Sakuno turns away, tugs at its hem, tries to pull it down although it doesn’t seem to want to stretch any further than halfway down her bare thighs. Her eyes track the wires of the wires of the fence but at the continued silence she casts her eyes back to Ryoma. Catches his eyes moving back up to her own. “Toyama wanted me to come. He said he had something for me.” Ryoma frowns again, this time at the embroidery across her left breast, then he turns away, seemingly lost in thoughts while following the ball down on the court. “I thought it was…” Ryoma trails off.

Sakuno chalks it up to him talking to himself but turns to Tomoka instead — her awkward, not quite wingman for the day — hoping for insight. Tomoka is usually her go-to when miracle of miracles she ends up messaging Ryoma. It’s harder to do the same thing in person and she might not have insight into Ryoma specifically but Tomoka’s far greater experience, with people in general, is what Sakuno is counting on to help.

Tomoka hunches her shoulders at Sakuno’s questioning look. Not much help at all in the end.

Sakuno wants to turn away, to give up for the day, to try something again on another day. Tomoka’s attempt to dress her to impress him have fallen to the wayside given the blustery cold and the subsequent wearing of Kintarou’s hoodie before she froze on the spot. Sakuno feels far more comfortable with the hoodie on than she felt earlier with half her body bared ‘to catch his attention’ with ‘something different’, but she also feels a little bad about how much time Tomoka spent planning the outfit for her — although Sakuno has to admit to herself that Tomoka’s clothing suggestions seemed a far better fit for a summer outing than one mid-January — and planning today for her.

Sakuno doesn’t think anything is going to come of it. It’s probably her fault. Her and Tomoka had been here first. Ryoma had approached them, approached her, chosen to watch the game by their side but then Sakuno is the one with no idea how to carry a conversation when nobody is aiding her and she hasn’t had adequate time to prepare herself in advance. Nothing of what they’ve barely talked about today has been a conversation she’s practiced in the dead of the night with Tomoka.

“He’s looking at you,” Sakuno looks to Ryoma who said it, who’s looking back but nods his head towards the court.

“Oh,” she says, “you’re amazing Kin-kun!” Kintarou stares a moment longer before serving. Yeah, even Sakuno can admit that one was weak. There’s nothing amazing about the way he’s playing in this match. If they were playing with different rules his opponent would have been chased from the court a while ago. As it is, it turns out this is the last point and Sakuno fell behind on cheering, fell through on her promise, Kintarou shakes his opponent’s hand and leaves the court stopping on the other side of the fence.

“Sorry,” Sakuno says when he stops in front of them.

Kintarou smiles, “I didn’t actually expect you to do it!” He laughs and Ryoma tenses beside her and Sakuno prepares for something to happen. Nothing does. “I’ll go get dressed and then we should get some food. If Koshimae’s not playing there’s not much point hanging around here longer.”

Kintarou runs back to the court side and Ryoma races around the fence to jump in and follow him. This is where something is going to happen, Sakuno is sure of it this time. She doesn’t get time to worry too much because Tomoka links their arms and walks them both to the court entrance as well. “We need to get a picture!” Tomoka says, “not everyone gets to hang out with Japan’s next best thing at the weekend. We could be famous, we’ll be in their biographies one day!” Sakuno ignores the words. Sure, a photo would be nice, but not necessarily for the reasons Tomoka is suggesting. Being president of Ryoma’s fan club for years on end with no end in sight is much more of a reason for Tomoka to be interviewed for his biography; if one were to even come.

Ryoma and Kintarou return. Arguing, as is usually the case. Sakuno doesn’t understand why when she thinks they have the potential to be actual good friends, but boys minds are not something she understands. She’s not sure anyone does.

“This one is mine!” Kintarou is saying, “see look at the size, it even has my name on the tag! That’s yours!” Kintarou points and in what seems to be slow motion Sakuno watches as both of them turn towards her. So slow is the motion, that she has time to see what they’re doing. Ryoma has Kintarou’s hoodie pulled down at the back collar, Kintarou’s hoodie, an exact replica it seems of the hoodie of Kintarou’s that she’s wearing now. In slow motion everything slides together: Ryoma frowning, the constant looks, of course they weren’t for her.

It had been so easy to believe the hoodie Kintarou had handed her was his own, the U-19 Japan stamped across her breast belonged only to him and a few others. What reasons would she have not to believe it was his own? He already has a boisterous personality, loud where Ryoma’s confidence is silent, she had thought his laughter at her sliding it over her head was because of the size, because he had convinced someone to cheer for him so he could look cool. No, no, no, all wrong. Kintarou had played her, had handed her Ryoma’s hoodie, to tease her, to annoy Ryoma, it doesn’t matter which.

Time speeds up and Sakuno’s face bursts into flame.

“It’s— I’m— Here!” She ends up on, none of her thoughts coming together into words. She can’t wear Ryoma’s hoodie. That’s too much, especially without his knowledge, without his permission. The thought of the warm embrace she’d been enjoying today coming from something of Ryoma’s is too much to handle without being prepared. She needs it gone.

Her hands pull up at the hem, her hair gets caught with it somewhere around her neck, the wind is catching at her skin and Sakuno wishes today had never happened. Why had she listened to Tomoka, why had she thought today might be different? At least at school, at tournaments, they have a set routine. This going out and dressing up — down? — specifically for Ryoma is where it had all gone bad. Pining is better than embarrassing herself in front of him by wearing his clothes.

“No!” Sakuno freezes, stops struggling to pull the hoodie from her tangled hair, stops contemplating ripping it out just to get this moment over with. “Keep it. It’s fine!” And in a turn of events completely unexpected, Ryoma pulls the hoodie back down slowly and even sets about trying to untangle her hair from the knot that’s formed. Tomoka probably has a brush on her, because she’s that type of person, but Sakuno would rather sit through Ryoma’s attempt to comb her hair back even if it’s still going to look like a mess afterwards.

Ryoma steps back, cheeks just a touch darker, from the cold or from her Sakuno will never know. She still feels like she’s on fire. Which is funny, now she has permission to wear the hoodie — Ryoma’s hoodie — she doesn’t even feel like she needs it.

“Keep it,” Ryoma says again. “For now, I’ll— I’ve been missing it for a few weeks now anyway,” he glares at Kintarou who only unleashes a smile warmer than the day, “a few more days is fine. I can pick it up some other time.”

Ryoma doesn’t glare this time, but he’s definitely looking at the hoodie again, his hoodie. He shakes his head and steps away, “I’m not going out to get food, though.”

“Koshimae!” Kintarou whines. “What’s the point of coming here if we don’t get to hang out and play!”

“You didn’t come here for me.” Ryoma answers. “I have things to do at home.” He continues walking.

Tomoka elbows Sakuno so hard in the ribs she winces and steps away from her. Sending a hurt look back at her friend Tomoka mouths an apology but points over her shoulder at Ryoma. “Follow him.” It’s said as whisper, but ends up harsh and loud and Kintarou laughs at it. Sakuno flushes even more because she didn’t need more people knowing about her hopeless crush and this is clearly more than enough for Kintarou to catch on.

“Yeah, go!” He laughs, “I think you wearing that had an effect!”

“Especially when it looks like you have nothing else on underneath!”

“That’s your fault!” Sakuno cries at her friend. “Who owns skirts this short? Who wears them in winter?” A silly question, because Tomoka, owner of skirts this short, is also a wearer of skirts this short in winter. “How are you not cold?”

“I can’t tell you,” Tomoka says, “that’s a part of the charm!” She winks and Kintarou laughs and Sakuno thinks only bad things can come from them being left alone together but she’s also been embarrassed enough for one day and staying with them is too much for her right now.

“I’ll bring your clothes to school tomorrow,” Sakuno says in farewell, rushing off immediately to chase after Ryoma before he gets too far away.

She does catch up, he offers her a silent greeting and they walk in silence. It could have been awkward, but compared to earlier, this is normal. Ryoma talks when he has something to say, and there’s not much for them to say now. In a couple of weeks there will be. Sakuno wants to know about his trial for university but she also knows it’s not meant to be public knowledge yet, she shouldn’t even know. 

Sakuno wants to know where it is he’s going, what he plans to do, she wants to know if there's anything she can do to follow him without it being just to follow him. She doesn’t want to be that type of girl but she does want to challenge herself and watching after Ryoma all these years, being inspired by him and falling a little bit more in love with him in every moment they spend together is a challenge. Taking up tennis, trying to be more confident, making a habit out of asking to walk home with him when their schedules allow…

Ryoma makes the turn for Sakuno’s house on his own and Sakuno steps into place alongside him. The walk is too short. It had taken longer to get to the courts from Tomoka’s house. Sakuno wishes she lived further so that the moment could last longer, but she doesn’t, it doesn’t.

Ryoma doesn’t step past the gate to her house, so Sakuno takes the plunge to reach out and drag him up at least to the door. “Just wait,” she says, “I’ll give this back now in case I forget.”

“You’ve never forgotten anything,” Ryoma says, and Sakuno flushes from the compliment, but that’s not what she means here. Owning something this warm, this nice, of Ryoma’s, it would be easy enough to convince herself to conveniently forget she’s meant to give it back. Taking it off now is easier. “Why are you…” Ryoma doesn’t finish, just waves his hand at Sakuno’s de-hoodied outfit.

“Ah,” she really should have changed in her room and then come back down rather than taking off the hoodie in the genkan. “I stayed at Tomoka’s last night and she let me borrow some clothes.” Clothes being an optimistic term for what she has on. A tiny cut off cardigan, a top that barely covers the roundness of her chest — she’s still convinced the lace of her bra is hanging out the bottom — a bare midriff and a scrap of material Sakuno definitely wouldn’t call a skirt but that’s what Tomoka had called it.

“Right,” Ryoma is definitely blushing now. Sakuno might have enjoyed it were it not for being so exposed; because this is something new, something she hasn’t seen before. Her own self, able to make Ryoma blush. It’s nice, could be nice, if she could achieve it without being undressed. She has never even rolled up the skirt of her uniform. Her parents would never have let her out of her own house wearing these clothes and Sakuno wouldn’t want them to. “I’m not at school next week, but I’ll see you around after that.”

He waves, awkwardly. This is the closest he’s ever been to coming into her home and it’s like they’ve both suddenly realised it. He steps back and he’s at the gate before Sakuno braces herself for one final cheer, she was meant to do it five times in exchange for the hoodie. The first four had apparently been to the wrong person but she can right that wrong here.

“Good luck next week, you’ll do great and I hope you get it.”

Ryoma stops in his tracks, looks back at her. “You know?” Sakuno nods, expecting to be told off but instead gets a smile. “Thanks,” he says, bowing his head, “that means a lot. I always do well when you’re the one cheering me on.”

It’s too much. Too honest with the way he won’t meet her eyes as he says it.