Chapter Text
And Eita-kun~"
Eyes locking on the setter's own, Tendou stretches his mouth into the most devilish of grins and winks.
"Draw four."
Tendou Satori, guess monster and Uno extraordinaire, lays down his draw four wild card on the deck, securing both his victory and the decimation of his sometimes friend sometimes enemy, Semi Eita.
"You piece of shit." Semi clenches his fists causing cards from his overflowing hand to fall the the floor.
Tendou wiggles his eyebrows and mockingly pats the face down pile as Semi attempts to burn a hole through the other with his eyes. If he glares hard enough, maybe he can set the deck of cards on fire as well.The setter lets out an angry, albeit a little sad, huff of air and leans over to pick up his cards only to drop more in the process.
"Damn it!"
Semi fumbles for the cards, losing more and growing angrier as Tendou guffaws at his absolute distress.
"Fuck you," Semi hisses at his currently more enemy than friend who breaks into an longer peal of laughter.
"This is what I think of your shitty draw four!" Semi flicks a red 5 at the other, his setting skills giving him pinpoint accuracy that plants the edge of the card right between Tendou's eyes.
"Haha-AH!" Tendou clutches the bridge of his nose. Semi flicks another three cards each one neatly jabbing a patch of exposed skin. "OW! EITA-KUN STOP IT!"
As their skirmish escalates, Reon, Yamagata, and Ushijima continue the game as if the other two don't even exist. Having put up with the duo for the past few years, they’ve grown immune to their antics.
"This is for every fucking draw 4, draw 2, and draw shit you've given me!" More cards fly.
"Wakatoshi it's your turn." Yamagata nudges the massive bulk sitting beside him.
"GAH! Eita-ack! I'M SORRY..."
"Oh." Ushijima places a blue 2 on the deck.
"...that you're such a sore loser!" Semi flings his entire hand at the other. A stray card flies onto Ushijima's thigh.
"A fine choice." Yamagata grins and slaps down a blue 9. "I've been trying to get rid of that for ages."
Ushijima nods, not bothering to acknowledge the foreign card on his leg. “Reon it’s your turn now.”
Ushijima and Yamagata turn to Reon to find him staring at the wall, oddly unresponsive with slightly furrowed brows.
“Reon?” Yamagata bumps the other lightly with his elbow.
The spiker doesn’t move. "Do you hear that noise?"
Without a question Yamagata leans towards Reon and Ushijima comically leans over the libero, listening for the sound.
"Hey it's getting louder!" Tendou springs up from his card burial and puts his ear against the wall. Ushijima and Yamagata affirm that they can hear it too leaving Semi the only one in the dark.
"What are you talking ab—" The door violently swings open and smacks into the side of Semi's head causing all thoughts of frustration and confusion jut out of him along with his balance.
"Ushijima-senpai!!" Goshiki bursts into the door, hair strewn wildly from the sudden gust. If it weren’t for his ridiculous bangs and his lego print onesie pajamas, he would’ve looked somewhat majestic.
"What the FUCK !" Semi grabs the swelling bump on his head and curls into a ball.
Goshiki swings his head to the side and blurts a quick "Sorry senpai!" before whipping around to face Ushijima again, causing his hair to bounce like a pleated skirt in the wind. In a great deal of pain along with swirling vision, Semi can only manage a slurred string of curses into the ground as a response to the hasty apology.
“Eita-kun watch your language around the first-years!” Tendou calls across the room. Even though Semi is incapacitated, he can picture the blocker’s smug gleam on the insides of his eyelids and he raises an arm in the direction of the blocker’s voice to give the finger in return.
"Anyways,” Goshiki cuts into the indefinite banter between Semi and tendou, “I've finally found something I'm better at than you are!" He places his hands on his hips and sticks his chest out proudly, the look in his eyes far too intense for someone dressed like a toddler.
"Is that so?" Ushijima meets Goshiki’s determined gaze with a genuine curiosity relaxing his posture enough for Yamagata to see his entire hand.
"My grades are better than yours, Ushijima-san." He says it like he’s suffered through countless trials, searching and struggling only to emerge far more victorious than he’s ever dreamed of—far too passionate for such a simple thing. But Ushijima doesn’t mock him or consider the excessive excitement in his claim; instead he quietly observes how the other’s eyes light up much to Goshiki’s disappointment.
"And I'm in a higher class level than you are and my grades are better than yours in every subject!" Goshiki is attempting to draw more of a response from his self-proclaimed rival who still sits unmoving aside from a slight rise of his eyebrows. The younger spiker keeps his ardent look fixed since he’s unable to tell if the other amused or impressed so they stare at each other in silence for a while—both too socially incompetent and in their own little world to feel the growing uncomfort in their surrounding teammates. (And in Tendou’s case, his stifled laughter.)
Yamagata clears his throat, chokes a little, and speaks up. “Tsutomu don’t you think running all the way here to announce something so miniscule is going overboard?”
Goshiki opens his mouth to retaliate, but Tendou interjects. “No! It was a very good thing. You saved me from this monster.” He gestures at the Semi with his foot effectively bumping his toes against the other’s face and then shoving his big toe up his nostril.
Semi swats away the offending foot like an insect complete with the post-squash ‘there are bug guts in my hand’ grimace. “The only monster here is you and your freak guessing.”
“That’s two things.” Tendou shoves both his feet right back into the setter’s face only for Semi to grab one and twist hard. The sound that erupts from the blocker’s throat when he feels the squelch of his limb being bent out of place is loud enough to get several “shut ups” and other colorful complaints from neighbors down the dorm hall.
Goshiki is finally able to speak again when Semi has the slightest shred of decency to release Tendou’s leg. “Well, Yamagata-senpai, I believe a victory is a victory.” Goshiki is rather proud of his statement, having had the time to rehearse it several times in his head during the brief fight.
Yamagata, however, remains unimpressed. “Tsutomu—” He begins with a sigh before Ushijima interrupts him.
“He’s not wrong.”
The libero lets out the rest of his sigh and prepares for the embarrassing exchange to come.
“This won’t be the last time I beat you.” Goshiki locks eyes with Ushijima yet again and they stare at each other long enough for even Tendou to wonder if the two understood how to interact with people outside of volleyball.
“Okay. Good Luck.” Ushijima finally replies curtly enough to make Goshiki’s proud smirk bend into gritted teeth. The younger spiker stands there trying his best to hide his emotions before turning on his heel to leave. He wasn’t going to lose to Ushijima like this right after such a sound victory over him.
“Wait Tsutomu-kun! We need a new, more mature , player for our game.” Hugging his knees and sitting in the corner of the room, Tendou side-eyes Semi who only raises an eyebrow, clearly satisfied by the blocker’s previous sufferings. Still, Tendou fears another assault and he draws his stick-like limbs even closer to his body and Semi smirks.
Goshiki raises his hand and bows his head slightly. “I’m glad you think of me as such but I’ll have to pass.” A dramatic pause and another stolen glance at Ushijima. “I have my grades to keep up afterall.” He raises his voice at the end as if to make sure his academic superiority is known before showing himself out. When he slams the door behind him, a gust sends the deck of forgotten Uno cards flying in all directions over the room signalling the end of the game.
“He really takes these things far huh.” Yamagata twirls a card absentmindedly between his fingers.
“I’m worried about how he’ll fare after we’re gone,” Reon adds.
Ushijima looks at the two with a puzzled expression. They should have some faith in their teammate. “There’s no need for worrying. That kind of dedication will help him become a strong and reliable ace.” He frowns after finishing since neither of them look very convinced.
Yamagata spares him some verbal agreement though. “I guess you're right.” He tosses the card into the remnants of the deck.
It’s Monday. Ushijima is knocking his elbow with the the kid sitting next to him more so than usual during a math pop quiz that threatens to bring his C (if rounded a C+) down to a D+ which risks his suspension from the team. His grades are usually average and not this low, but he has volleyball to focus on of course and if he wants to be the best spiker in the nation, it only makes sense for him to dedicate more time to an activity he plans to make professional than a subject that has little value to his intended career. Even then, Ushijima still regrets not taking a little more time to memorize the end behaviors of trigonometric functions as he struggles, lightly perspiring, to recall limit of the arctangent of x as x goes to infinity.
By the time the quiz is over, Ushijima had filled out most of the answers unsure of their legibility and with even less certainty in their correctness. His expression is more solemn than it usually is when the teacher collects the paper and it frightens the student sitting next to him who was turning to him with a look that suggested he was about to apologize for something to him. Probably knocking elbows with him.
Ushijima shifts around in his seat uncomfortably warm—he blames his natural body heat and the ac failure about half-way through the morning—to let the other know he didn’t mind as well as apologize for his giant limbs and a button pops from his uniform, landing neatly and tragically several rows away as his knees knock against the desk. He repositions himself to face the student better and hits his knees harder this time, causing him to grimace in a way that made the other cower. So much for an apology.
Ushijima swears the world is working against him today. Math, quizzes, cramped spaces, tight clothing, summer heat, math —it’s the perfect equation for misery.
Maybe he couldn’t help the physical conditions, but he could have made the mental strain easier by taking the time to study. Hindsight is painful clear after the fact and Ushijima lets out a soft grunt as he settles into his less than suitable seat and rests his head against his desk all while thinking about how to prevent this kind of predicament in the future.
“My grades are better than yours.”
Ushijima’s forehead crinkles at the memory. Goshiki finally had beat him and he never saw it coming. He was good at school on top of having excellent volleyball skills and even if those skills weren’t at Ushijima’s level, they were especially impressive when coupled with academic excellence. His chest swells with something akin to jealousy but with a hint of something else, a warmer feeling—pride maybe?
“Ushijima.”
He jerks his head up and a slight tremor runs through his desk. “Yes?”
The teacher sighs, exasperated. “Ushijima, please pay attention I asked you to come to the board several times.”
Sitting up straight, he apologizes and then mentally berates himself for dozing off in a class he desperately needs to pay attention in. The teacher accepts the apology with a pinch to the bridge of her nose. She knows her student excels in athletics—he’s the school's pride and joy—but he falls short in academics like many of the other students scouted here by the volleyball program. Nevertheless, she’s determined to at least keep his mathematical skills acceptable. At least Ushijima has a was eager to do better; her coworker has told her of a less fortunate student by the name of Semi, another volleyball scout, who spends most of the time sleeping and is borderline failing the class. They’d have to complain to the coaches together sometime for working these kids too hard. “Solve this for the class now.”
Ushijima stands up and approaches the board immediately. He bumps into a few desks on the way up and accidentally snaps the piece of chalk in two when he first takes hold of it. Bending over to pick up the chalk pieces, he feels his uniform strain and constrict him, making him hotter, and by the time he’s standing and trying to solve the problem, he’s worked up a good sweat.
His hand smears his writing without fail since left-handed people are destined to suffer in a world catered to right-handedness. As he attempts to work around the smudges, he hears a particular cough he’s come to know as Yamagata’s repressed laughter. He’s the only one in the room that has the guts to make a noise at this point and if he weren’t so feared, Ushijima is sure the other students would be laughing at him too.
Towards the end of the problem Ushijima’s mind wanders back to Goshiki, who is right handed and better at math than himself. He’s much more suited to be up here demonstrating his skills. At the thought of Goshiki standing here, with a neatly solved equation and a proud grin adorning his face, Ushijima’s pulse stutters and his 7 turns into a 2. Somehow he feels his temperature rise even higher as he fixes that mistake and completes the problem smearing more chalk on the board, his hands, and his sleeves.
“Good. You make take your seat.”
Relief washes over Ushijima like a cool breeze he desperately needs. Trying to keeps as much dignity as he can, Ushijima steadily sets down chalk and walks back to his seat with his arms stiff at his sides in an attempt to hide the sweat stains pooling at his underarms. Yamagata shoots him an apologetic smile, which Ushijima barely acknowledges with tired eyes, before he slinks down into his chair and readies himself to endure the rest of the period.
Ushijima is finally freed from the hell that is math class when the lunch bell sounds. With the ac returning as well, he has dried off and cooled down for the most part. The hallway is particularly pleasing to be in on the way to cafeteria after being cramped in such a suffocating room. Yamagata, walking by his side, is as glad as he is to be out of there though chiefly for the promise of a large metal.
“That quiz and lesson combo was too much for a Monday.” Yamagata grins up at Ushijima who keeps his eyes trained forward as they round the first corner.
“I can’t wait to stuff myself,” the libero continues. He looks and listens for the cues Ushijima uses to indicate that he was participating in a conversation. Usually he’d softly grunt or bob his head after a statement like that but he remains silent, staring off into the distance almost plowing over students unfortunate enough to be in his pathway. Though the silence wasn’t necessarily unusual, his lack of spatial awareness was.
Mildly concerned, Yamagata bumps into the other. “You seem kind of distracted.”
He hears a low hum which he takes as Ushijima denoting his attention. “Like even in math class too. I thought you were having a stroke up there. Was it the heat or something?”
Ushijima turns his head to look at the other for the first time since they left the classroom. His thoughts since the board problem have mostly consisted of their young ace and although they made him feel weird, he sees no reason to lie to the other. He’ll just leave out the details about the oddities in his pulse. “I was thinking about how Goshiki is better at academics than I am.”
Yamagata recoils slightly, caught off guard by the overtly honest answer. “You really took that challenge to heart.” He can’t think of a better response on the spot but he supposes Ushijima’s answer wasn’t really out of the ordinary—his captain could be quite strange when it came to competing.
Ushijima gives a half nod to the other, still searching for the word to properly describe the warm buzz in his chest when ponders Goshiki’s ability. It reminds of the joy that runs through his veins after good spike yet it’s a tad more intense. The feeling is not quite unpleasant but it is peculiar .
He half-listens to Yamagata’s voice for the rest of their walk to the lunch line, occupied by his irregular state of mind. When he reaches the serving bar he realizes the word he’s searching for is admiration. He admires Goshiki. He knows he has for a while now, but it’s nice to have a word for the feeling.
Having that mental discrepancy solved, he focuses back on Yamagata who’s grinning as he does after telling a good story. Ushijima is a bit irritated with himself for taking this long to sort out his thoughts. He likes listening to his stories. Perhaps can ask for him to repeat it another time if he remembers.
“Anyways have you seen my phone?” Yamagata places two bowls of sea urchin on rice and a side of vegetables on his tray then looks up at Ushijima expectantly.
“I have not.”
His spiky hair seems to deflate with the rest of his posture. “Damn.”
As Ushijima loads his own tray, his mind meanders back to Goshiki and forgets about the missed tale along with Yamagata’s woes. When he feels his pulse speed up, this time he knows it’s because he’s looking forward to eating lunch with him today. And that’s perfectly fine and normal he assures himself.
And Ushijima continues to assure himself that Goshiki invading his thoughts more frequently is standard if you admire what they do.
Now aware of this appreciation (he now believes this is a better word for his feelings) for the other’s work ethic, Ushijima notices it more often during their practices.
The way the other put so much effort forth into the smallest of tasks, the pretty flush across his cheeks when he bursts the gym doors, out of breath and unsatisfied with second place, his entire body overflowing with fervor as he vows to defeat Ushijima the next time makes his chest swell.
Ushijima answers his challenge as always by firmly wishing him good luck. He can tell the other is unsatisfied with his response and he knows the other deserves a better one, but he’s too grounded to assert one with as much vigor.
Even in disappointment, the passion never dissipates. Tirelessly the younger boy pours his energy into running, receiving, blocking, spiking, and drills no matter how mundane or difficult in hopes of bettering himself to the point where he can stand on equal ground with him .
It motivates Ushijima to work harder for the team and to uphold the high standards for bearing the the title of grand ace. Though it’s mostly done for the sake of the team, he admits to himself that he has selfish motives for this since watching Goshiki work himself to the bone gives him that almost too pleasant rush.
And somewhere during that time his thoughts turn from appreciating Goshiki’s dedication to admiring him as a person and then to outright adoring him.
From the sidelines when he watches Goshiki hit a particularly beautiful straight, one that slips gracefully between the block like a needle through thread, Ushijima experiences an unusual rush of excitement. He can feel Goshiki’s elation and a ghost of a smile makes it’s way onto his face and he unconsciously and subtly mimics the other’s celebratory motions.
“What is up with you?” Tendou is staring at Ushijima wide-eyed and curious. “I’ve never seen you look at anyone like that. Not even a volleyball award.”
Ushijima suddenly feels cornered. There’s something in the back of his head telling him that his expression had betrayed any ounce of simple admiration he convinced himself he had for Goshiki. It was far beyond that now. Ushijima wasn’t sure if this was the place he wanted to tell his rather loud-mouthed friend. He needs to clear his head first.
“It was an excellent straight.” He’s not lying, it’s true—most players, including himself don’t have that kind of spiking technique.
But as he knows, Tendou is aware he’s leaving half of the truth out, they know each other a little too well, and he raises an eyebrow skeptically. “Yeah but—”
Ushijima cuts him short by quickly striding away.
After practice and avoiding Tendou with an extra long post-workout run, Ushijima stays in the shower longer than usual trying to make sense of his newly developed feelings for Goshiki. He found himself wanting his enthusiasm directed toward him for reasons other than volleyball and it bothered him. As a captain and teammate he can’t think this way, otherwise he may jeopardize the team. It’s his responsibility to be a pillar of stability and not a mound of confusing and distracting feelings.
He curses his emotional weakness as he finishes the shower, dresses himself, throws his gym bag over his shoulder, and leaves the locker room, Goshiki heavy on his mind. On his way down the hall, he hears the distinct sound of a well-hit volley ball bouncing off the ground. In an instant his befuddling desires are silenced by his sense of duty, and Ushijima enters the gym to halt this extra session—going this far over an already tough practice risked injury of the player via overworking themselves. However, his intentions fly out the door when he sees the person jumping and spiking the ball so enticingly.
“Goshiki.” Instead of his lungs, the name comes up from his stomach which has immediately decided to do flips for some reason. Though his brain is having an aneurysm, he somehow manages to keep a straight face and analyze the serve. “Your jump is excellent, but you’re hitting the ball too early.”
Startled, Goshiki whips around, the familiar tuff of bowlcut hair bouncing as it always does before barking ‘Yes’ without a moment's hesitation. It’s one of the cutest things Ushijima has ever seen. He’s thankful Goshiki turns back around to serve so quickly or else he’d see the red that Ushijima believes is at least up to his ears.
Goshiki concentrates hard at his mark. He takes a deep breath, twirling the ball in his palms and takes off for his jump. Following Ushijima’s advice precisely, he holds his spiking form a tad longer than the last time, and in that moment, while Goshiki is suspended in the air, the gym lights shine a little brighter just before he slams down on the ball. The bottle on the other side of the court is clipped by the ball and remains upright despite his good form.
Goshiki’s head and shoulders droop at the failure—it’s a real shame given the solid bounce and power propelling the ball further across the gym. Rare, Ushijima feels the need to comfort him with praise. Though he is impressed with his form and strength, he knows that control is more important and he leaves out compliment, confident in Goshiki’s desire to improve on its own . “Again.”
“Yes!” Goshiki springs back to life at the sound of the other’s voice and quickly throws smile over his shoulder. When the blush from earlier comes back full-force from this simple action, Ushijima concludes that he needs to work on his control over his emotions.
They spend a good ten minutes working on the serve until Ushijima forces Goshiki to stop and return to the locker rooms. He really doesn’t want him hurt so he walks him back to prevent Goshiki from sneaking off for more practice. Goshiki, of course, pouts, and Ushijima doesn’t mind at all since he finds it to be adorable. The blush doesn’t show this time—Ushijima managed to compose himself within the short amount of time. He’s grateful for his years of stoicism and his natural poker face for helping him with this feat.
When they arrive at the locker room, Ushijima is surprised the other hasn’t pulled out an ounce of food. He should be exhausted and starving now. “Don’t you have something to eat right now?”
Goshiki looks at him a little puzzled. “No I wait until I get home so my appetite is big enough to eat twice as much as you.” There’s defiant gleam in his eye even with his confusion that amuses Ushijima greatly. If he wanted an eating contest he’d give him one, but for now he needs to help his (very adorable) underling along.
“It’s actually better to eat in small increments throughout the the day.” Goshiki’s posture perks up and Ushijima can instantly tell this is new information for him. He likes being able to read Goshiki so easily considering most other people are very hard to. “And it’s especially important to get something in you immediately after an intense workout.”
Goshiki beams at the other like he’s been given the formula to immortality. “I didn’t know that! I’ll start doing it right away.”
While Ushijima tries to understand why the smaller boy gets so worked up over what he thought was common information, he remembers that he has a snack to spare. He fumbles through his gym bag and pulls out a protein bar he had forgotten to eat due earlier distractions. “You can have half.” He peels back the wrapper and holds it out to the other who has become somewhat flustered.
“Th-thanks!” When Goshiki reaches for the bar and breaks it in two their hands brush against each other. The touch is very brief and light, but it doesn't stop Ushijima from wondering what it’d be like to hold Goshiki’s hand. It could be like holding a marshmallow—his palms look so soft. There are callouses at the base of his fingers though, so maybe it’d be like holding a slightly burnt marshmallow. Ushijima shakes his head.
Without as much as a nod farewell he egresses, thankful that Goshiki is too occupied with his treat to notice his hurried leave. He’ll be plagued with these immodest thoughts for some time.