Chapter Text
Soft beams of sunlight poked into his room. As he drifted to awareness, Shōyō felt the warmth of another person pressed against his side. Arms circled around his waist in a tight hold, lean legs were tangled with his own, and a face nuzzled the crevice of his neck—the unknown warmth was spooning him. Shōyō’s first thought was his little sister, since Natsu was known to curl up next to him whenever she had nightmares, but Shōyō batted the thought away. Natsu had a sleepover with the twins. His childhood friends, Kōji and Yukitaka, lived far away from the mountains so that only left—
“Acchan,” he said; his voice dripped with sleep. “Why—?”
“Shh,” Acchan murmured. His breath was scalding against Shōyō’s neck. “’M tired.”
Shōyō huffed a soft laugh. They stayed curled around one another, drifting in and out of a comfortable sleep. The house was quiet—his mother had left for a three-day conference, Natsu was at a sleepover, and his father was in the living room, probably, pouring over his various wedding albums for his latest client. It wasn’t until Shōyō felt himself falling into a deep slumber that a phone began to ring obnoxiously loud.
Acchan’s groan made Shōyō’s bed tremble. He reached over Shōyō to grab his phone, which began the second round of the ringtone, and muttered, “Who the living fuck is ruining my sl—?” Acchan paused, squinting at the Caller ID, and huffed before answering. “Oi, pitiful existence, what the fuck do you want?”
Shōyō snorted at the nickname.
“Now?” Acchan said. “Listen, you hoe, I don’t care how pretty Yahaba What’s-His-Name is—,” Acchan was cut off, and Shōyō could hear the slightly hysterical tone from the other end. He only knew one Yahaba: the second-year setter at Aobajōsai High School. Acchan rolled his eyes, almost violently, and snapped, “—I don’t care what his name is, you’re disrupting my sleep!” the person on the other end continued, and, with frustration, Acchan rubbed the side of his face. “You what—please tell me you did not stalk him on his date,” he paused, listening to the response, and sighed. “How do you stalk someone on accident?”
“That’s an oxymoron,” Shōyō quipped sleepily.
“True,” Acchan muttered, and then said, “I wasn’t talking to you, you walking container of salt, I was talking to Shōyō.”
Acchan fell silent, listening to the others’ woes. After a minute or so of listening, he untangled himself from Shōyō, who made a noise of complaint. His best friend was a heat insulator, and Shōyō was very comfortable in their position. “Meet me in the café in an hour,” Acchan instructed, gruff and to-the-point, before he poked Shōyō’s cheek. “Wake up, slut, we’re going out.”
Another noise of complaint rolled of Shōyō’s tongue as he vainly tried to burrow deeper into the warmth of where Acchan laid. “No,” Shōyō whined petulantly when Acchan began pulling his warm covers away from his grasp. “I don’t wanna.”
“Get up, whore.”
“Leave me the fuck alone.”
“Nope,” Acchan said, popping the “p” like one popped bubblegum. “If I gotta suffer dealing with this love-struck fool, then so do you.”
“I hate you,” Shōyō huffed. He pushed Acchan off and hopped out of bed.
Acchan snickered. “No, you don’t.”
Shōyō sighed and, with a grumble, picked out clothes to wear before stomping towards the bathroom. Acchan laughed at the small tantrum the sixteen-year-old threw and whistled provocatively when Shōyō left the bathroom. Shōyō rolled his eyes, not paying the teen any mind—all he wore was his normal pair of black skinny jeans and a blue sweater. He grabbed his beanie and slipped into his winter jacket.
Acchan was dressed in jeans, a shirt, and his black track jacket.
“You’re buying me breakfast,” Shōyō grumbled once he grabbed his phone and keys.
“Yeah, yeah.”
His father was, in fact, in the living room. He sat under the kotatsu with a mug of coffee in his hands, and opened albums surrounding him. Every few sips, he turned the page of one of the albums, muttered under his breath, and jotted down an acronym only he understood. The news channel was on, and the forecast predicted snowfall within the next two weeks.
“Bye, dad,” Shōyō said. “Acchan’s taking me out.”
His father hummed, distracted by the sheets before him. “Wear a condom.”
Shōyō snorted and Acchan smirked, “We will, don’t worry.”
They walked out of the house, and the air, crisp and biting, curled around them. Shōyō shoved his hands into his pockets, wishing he had the foresight to grab his gloves. “To the bus,” Acchan said, already walking down the driveway.
Shōyō rolled his eyes. “We have bikes, you know.”
“Listen, fucker, if you think I’m biking anywhere in this cold, you have another thing coming.”
The bus ride to the café was a short thirty minute journey. Shōyō had to get dragged off the bus by an irate Acchan because the bus was warm and comfortable compared to the outside air. If it weren’t for Acchan, however, Shōyō figured he would’ve fallen asleep on the bus and ended up in another town, miles away from his home. It happened once, when he was younger, and it made Shōyō wary of bus transportation.
The café—Hitoshi’s—was cute and cheerful, a color scheme of gray and blue.
“Who’re we meeting anyway?” Shōyō asked, looking around Hitoshi’s with wide eyes as he soaked everything in. The smell of coffee and various baked goods felt like a sliver of heaven.
“My favorite piece of shit, besides you,” Acchan said as he scanned the menu overhead. Shōyō made a noise, a garbled, low-pitch sound of protest, and Acchan rolled his eyes. “I think you know him—it’s Shirabu Kenjirō.” Shōyō made another noise, one of shock this time, and Acchan made quick work of scanning the café. “Look, there he is.”
Shōyō looked to where Acchan was pointing and, indeed, sitting with a morose expression near the window was one Shirabu Kenjirō, setter for Shiratorizawa Volleyball Club. Despite the dismayed look on his face, Shirabu looked prim and pristine. Not a hair was out of place. He stirred his mug slowly, and stared down at his phone.
Acchan pushed him in Shirabu’s direction with a firm, “Sit and make friends.”
Knowing he had no choice in the matter, Shōyō made his way to Shirabu’s table. He plopped down in front of the second-year and, when the teen jolted to attention, smiled. “Morning, Shirabu-senpai!”
Shirabu blinked, eyes clouded with befuddlement. “Good morning, Hinata-kun. There’s no need to call me senpai.”
“Then, call me Shōyō,” he chirped.
“Okay,” Shirabu said. The teen was still confused. “So, um. Why are you here?”
“Acchan told me to sit here with you,” Shōyō said, shrugging, and rolled his eyes. “He’s such a brute sometimes.”
From the queue, Acchan turned his head in their direction and scowled. “I heard that, Shō!”
Shōyō laughed and turned his attention back to Shirabu, who blinked. "So, what’s up?” he asked the other, tilting his head to the side. “Acchan was very worried during the bus ride here.”
Shirabu’s lips twitched as he remembered why he’d called the other teen in a frenzy that morning. “I’m an idiot,” Shirabu said, covering his face with his hands as he leaned on his elbows.
“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Shōyō said, trying to comfort the distraught teen.
Shirabu removed his heads and deadpanned, “I climbed a tree to get away from my crush—who was on a date, might I add.”
Shōyō couldn’t contain his snort. “S-Sorry, I’m sorry.”
Shirabu made a noise in the back of his throat, a pained, almost choking, noise, and rested his forehead on the tabletop. Shōyō’s lips twitched with mirth but he reached over the table and patted the older teen on the head. The line had moved, and Acchan made his way to the counter. Shōyō didn’t bother telling the teen what he wanted since Acchan knew his order by heart.
“There, there,” Shōyō said. Shirabu made another noise. “Did he see you, though?”
Shirabu shook his head.
“Well, that’s good,” Shōyō told him. “At least, he doesn’t know how weird you really are.”
The noise Shirabu made sounded like a dying cat.
Shōyō swallowed his laughter and asked, “So, uh, who is this crush of yours?”
Shirabu sighed, shoulders drooping, and said, “It’s Yahaba Shigeru…from Aobajōsai.”
Acchan set down their orders with an impish glee directed in Shirabu’s direction. Shōyō stirred his hot chocolate (it had sprinkles of peppermint—which he loved) and watched the show before him with mirth.
“So, this is basically a Romeo-and-Juliet romance?” Acchan said as he made himself comfortable in the seat next to Shōyō.
Shirabu crinkled his nose. “I suppose.”
“I mean, you’re both from rival teams,” Acchan said. “Doesn’t your captain have, like, a thing for that third-year setter? And doesn’t said setter absolutely despise everything there is to do with Shiratorizawa? Wait—are you even friends with Yahaba?”
“I am,” Shirabu said, grinding his teeth. “We’ve actually been friends since last year.”
“Ooh,” Shōyō said, sensing a story behind the older teens’ words. “Storytime!”
Though Shirabu rolled his eyes in annoyance, a fond smile grew on his lips. “We met during winter break in our last year of middle school, and discovered we had a lot in common so we swapped phone numbers and kept contact ever since. Unlike our captains…I guess our rivalry is more of a friendly competition.”
“How boring,” Acchan said, playing with a straw wrapper. “Where’s the debauchery? The scandal?”
Shōyō snorted.
Shirabu rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately, you’re going to have to deal with an innocent story.”
Acchan stuck out his tongue.
“So, do you want us to help you confess?” Shōyō asked, tilting his head. “I don’t know much about Yahaba-senpai, I’m afraid.”
Shirabu shook his head. “No, I—actually, I don’t want to confess.”
“What.” Acchan scowled, and his face darkened. Shōyō raised his eyebrows and took a sip of his delicious beverage. Acchan looked ready to breathe fire. “Don’t want to—look here, lover boy, I didn’t spend countless nights consoling your weak ass over this love bullshit with Yahaba What’s-His-Name—,”
“It’s Shigeru,” interrupted Shirabu, in a weak voice barely overheard over Acchan’s indignancy.
“I don’t care,” Acchan snapped. “You don’t make me your love guru for half a year, and then decide not to confess? Oh, honey, that’s not how it works!”
Shōyō took another gulp of his hot chocolate. It was the only thing that kept him from laughing at the way Acchan scolded an older teen, and said older teen was cowed by said verbal chastisement. Add in the factors of Acchan lacking in the height department, much like Shōyō was, and Shirabu seemed to be a bean sprout of lean limbs, and it was quite the picture to be seen. Shōyō took another gulp, right as Acchan looked ready to begin another round.
Shōyō decided to cut Acchan off—possibly before they got kicked out of the little café. “Why?” he asked Shirabu. “Why don’t you want to confess?”
Shirabu, looking miserable, sighed. “There’re various reasons,” the love-struck teen replied. “What if he doesn’t like me back? What if he never looked at me in that way before? What if he isn’t even bisexual, much less gay? What if me confessing makes him not want to be friends anymore?” Shirabu swallowed, his breath shuddering, and continued in a soft whisper, “What if he thinks I’m—disgusting?
Acchan’s dark looks faded into something less harsh, and understanding. “Look, you can’t let yourself become controlled by hypothetical what-ifs,” Acchan said, “but if you truly don’t want to confess, then I’ll support you—if you do, though, I’ll be there for moral support.” The dark look returned when he added, “And if What’s-His-Name decides to get violent, he’ll understand very quickly why I’m the champion of the Kendo club.”
Shōyō smiled, despite the heavy atmosphere, and whispered, “Acchan’s a badass.”
“Hell yeah, I am,” he grinned.
Shirabu sniffled, eyes suspiciously wet. Shōyō pointedly looked at the napkin dispenser, and sipped at his hot chocolate, and ignored the way the older teen wiped away a few stray tears. In an awkward attempt at comfort, Acchan patted Shirabu’s hand and grimaced at the sight of his emotional state. Shirabu chuckled at the uncomfortable attempts.
After a moment, Shirabu pulled himself together and cleared his throat. “Thank you. I—I appreciate your support with all this.”
“No problem,” Acchan said. A determined look settled over his features, and Shirabu shrunk at the look he gave him. “For compensation, you’re coming to the party tonight.”
Shirabu blinked, dazed at the sudden question. “P-Party?”
“Yeah, my friend Koganegawa is having one around eight,” Shōyō explained and, as he saw the nervous gleam sprout in Shirabu’s eyes, added, “You don’t have to drink if you don’t wand to—Koganegawa always has a fair amount of soda and water available.”
Shirabu twisted his fingers together nervously. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “I’m not…good with crowds.”
“That’s fine,” Shōyō chirped, and flashed Shirabu a comforting smile. “He has a backyard, too, so you won’t be as crowded.”
Shirabu worried his bottom lip for a moment before he nodded. “Alright,” he said, after he took a steadying breath. “I’ve never really attended any parties that weren’t, like, birthday parties or family functions.”
“We know,” Acchan said, and took a sip from his coffee. “You’ve got that innocent, private-school boy look to you.”
Shirabu sputtered at the subtle slight. “What does that mean?”
Shōyō snickered into his hot chocolate. “Ignore Acchan,” he said in a soothing tone. “He’s a brute.”
“Shut the fuck up, slut,” Acchan growled lowly, as he noticed the other patrons in the coffeeshop.
“A-Ayumu!” Shirabu chided softly, a scandalized look crossing over his face.
Shōyō laughed and teasingly blew the teen a kiss. “It’s alright, Shirabu.” He soothed the frazzled, half-indignant teen on his behalf. “This is normal conversation for us.”
Acchan rolled his eyes, and took a long sip from his coffee. “Spend enough time around this one,” he jerked his thumb at Shōyō, “and you’ll discover how much of a slut he is.” At Shirabu’s slightly dark look, he added, “I’m saying this with love.”
“It’s okay,” Shōyō said, attempting to smother the laughter bubbling in his chest. “Acchan’s a filthy whore, too.”
Acchan snorted. “Don’t you forget it.”
Shirabu blinked at them, his eyes clouded with befuddlement. After a moments’ pause, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I don’t understand the two of you,” he said quietly, staring at the two of them as if they had suddenly sprouted another limb right before his eyes.
“Neither do we,” Acchan said.
They descended into comfortable conversation about random things—the sports they played, hobbies, their classmates, et cetera—and, once Shōyō drained the rest of his hot chocolate, he swapped contact information with a quietly pleased Shirabu. He was curious at the soft, proud look in Shirabu’s eyes as he left the little café, and turned to Acchan.
“He’s a little like Kenma,” Acchan offered once he noticed Shōyō’s puzzled look. “Doesn’t like crowds, and he struggles to connect with other people. So, he’s very pleased with himself that he managed to hold a conversation for so long.”
Shōyō hummed. “How’d you two meet, then?”
A brief scowl flittered over Acchan’s lips before he said, “The little shit bought the last manga serialization at this store.”
Shōyō’s lips twitched. “So, what? You fought him?”
Acchan chuckled lightly. “He looked so pitiful that day, I let him buy it.”
Shōyō raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. Although Acchan was a brute, he was a complete softy. He would grumble, and growl, and hiss, but, at the end of the day, he would go beyond what was expected for his friends. In corralling Shirabu to attend Koganegawa’s party, it was his gruff attempt at concern for his antisocial habits.
His phone pinged.
[11:59] tadashi: please help
Shōyō raised an eyebrow.
[12:00] Me: what’s up?? you ok?
[12:00] tadashi: its Tooru he’s abdksja
[12:01] tadashi: yahoooo chibi-chaan it’s oikawa tooru!!!! i see you’ve invited my beloved yama-chan to a party and not me????? im shook chibi-chan
Shōyō snorted.
[12:01] Me: GRAN D KING !!!
[12:01] tadashi: YES THAT’S RIGHT IM A SOINBKFGS
[12:02] tadashi: please ignore this idiot, Shōyō
[12:02] Me: lmao what’s up tho
[12:02] tadashi: he’s whining that he wasn’t invited to the party at Datekō
[12:02] Me: lmao well let him know that I’ve invited him then
[12:03] tadashi: THANKS SHRIMPY ILY
Acchan nudged him. “Who’s that?”
“Well, at first it was Tadashi,” Shōyō said, “and then Oikawa-san stole his phone for a bit.”
Acchan gave him a blank look. “Who’s Oikawa?”
“Tadashi’s boy-toy.”
Acchan made a triumphant noise in the back of his throat. “Ah, okay,” he said, and then turned his attention back to his phone. Shōyō was curious at the way his childhood friend was enthralled with whomever he was talking to. There was a nickname—an extremely curious: swan boi.
“Who’s that?” Shōyō asked as he slouched against Acchan’s shoulder, unabashedly eavesdropping on their conversation. His eyes narrowed at the flirty messages and abundance of emojis. “Wait, Acchan are you—.”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Acchan said, locking his phone, a dark scowl on his lips. He elbowed Shōyō, who pouted at the rough treatment. “It’s—you don’t need to worry about him.”
A teasing grin pulled at his lips. “Oho?” Shōyō’s eyes sparkled as he crooned, “A boy? Acchan, you have a boyfriend and you didn’t tell me? I’m hurt!” Amusement spilled on his tongue as he saw the bright flush spread over the bridge of Acchan’s nose. “I’m gonna call Yuki—.”
“It’s not like that,” Acchan denied. “It’s not—we’re just friends.”
Shōyō softened at the bitter tang to Acchan’s words before he brightened with an idea. “Hey,” he chirped. “I know! If you tell me who it is, I can—,”
“Denied.”
“But, Acchan, I can—.”
“No.”
“But—.”
“No.”
Shōyō pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Can I at least get something of sustenance?”
Acchan mulled it over quietly before he sighed and said, “He’s a first year.”
Shōyō motioned for him to continue, and made a prompting noise.
Acchan’s sigh was heavy. “He also plays volleyball.”
Shōyō hummed, and his mind whirled a mile a minute. He played with a crumbled napkin, and thought of all the first years in volleyball that could’ve crossed Acchan’s attention. He eyed his childhood friend, who had returned to texting “swan boi”, and something in his mind clicked as he thought of swans and of volleyball. His limbs flailed from his assumption, and a wide grin stretched on his face.
“Is that Tsutomu?” he asked exuberantly. “Goshiki Tsutomu?”
Acchan’s groan was quiet; defeated.
Shōyō made a delighted, triumphant chirp that floated in the air of Hitoshi’s. Acchan scowled, sent another quick text, and threw a few pieces of the shredded napkin at him. “I hate you,” he said, though there was no bite to his words.
Shōyō smiled. “I love you, too.”
“Are we all carpooling to Datekō?” Acchan asked, eager to change the conversation.
Shōyō pondered the question. “In the beginning,” he said. “I’ll probably go home with Yuu-chan.”
Acchan sniffed. “Slut.”
“Whore.”
Acchan rolled his eyes.
The rest of the day leading up to Koganegawa’s party crawled by slowly. Shōyō lounged about his room with Acchan, languidly texting Yamaguchi, Yachi, and the trouble trio (which is what he called Terushima, Futamata, and Bobata in his mind; he felt the name fit their delinquent visage). Oikawa offered to pick them up and drive to Koganegawa’s place in his car, to which they agreed to. Shōyō did not want to take the bus or ride his bike in such weather.
Acchan started pulling clothes out of his closet after dinner. Shōyō quirked an eyebrow at his quiet determination from his bed, and paused in his sketch. “What’re you doing?” he asked. “Is Tsutomu coming?”
Acchan huffed. “No.”
“Then why are you in my closet?”
“Because,” Acchan yanked an old pair of skinny jeans off its hanger, “I have no party clothes, and I am not biking back home.”
Shōyō narrowed his eyes at the way Acchan worried his bottom lip, sorting through the many clothes in his closet. “Acchan,” he said, slowly, and sat upright when Acchan visibly stiffened, and refused to look in his direction. Shōyō gasped, “Acchan, you hoe!”
Acchan groaned, and covered his face with one of Shōyō’s shirts. “Why are you so intuitive? Why can’t you just be some idiot jock?”
Shōyō cackled and said, with bubbling delight, “Tsutomu is coming!” then he paused, glanced at the shirt and pants Acchan chose, and leered, “in more ways than one.”
“Shut the hell up,” Acchan growled, and he gripped the clothes in his hands tightly. “I regret sitting next to you in preschool.”
“No, you don’t,” Shōyō replied, his voice a teasing croon. Amidst Acchan’s protests, he pulled him away from his closet, and began sorting through his clothes for an outfit that would suit him better. After a minute of deciding between two shirts, Shōyō threw a pair of black skinny jeans, a dark, earthy green V-neck long sleeve, and a black scarf in Acchan’s direction, who stumbled to grab the bundle of clothes.
Acchan sputtered. “What the fuck?”
“Wear that,” Shōyō chirped, ignoring the glower, and motioned Acchan to change. Yamaguchi’s ring tone floated in the air from a text. “I assure you, Tsutomu won’t be able to keep his hands off you—.”
Acchan’s pants hit him in the face. “Shut up,” Acchan yelled, face flushed. “It isn’t like that!”
Shōyō’s stomach hurt from his laughter, and he turned his attention to Yamaguchi’s text. The pinch server was in his driveway with Oikawa, and urged him to hurry up since Oikawa was “singing English Christmas carols and hurting my ears”. Shōyō snorted and grabbed his keys.
“Hurry up, Acchan,” he called to the other. “Tadashi and the Grand King are here!”
“The who?”
“The Grand King, Acchan!”
“Who the fuck is that?”
“Tadashi’s boy-toy!”
“Oh, okay,” Acchan said, leaving the bathroom.
By his doorway, Shōyō slipped on his shoes. “Bye dad!”
“Be safe, sane, and consensual,” his father replied, more occupied with his list of bakeries in Kyoto than with what his only son was doing.
Shōyō snickered.
“Shōyō,” Yamaguchi called, a grimace on his lips. “Help me!”
Acchan winced as they got closer to the car. “Who is killing a cat?”
Yamaguchi glared at the driver. “My boyfriend.”
“Don’t be so mean, Yama-chan,” Oikawa said, a wide beam on his lips. “You love my singing voice!”
Yamaguchi’s grimace grew more pronounced when Oikawa started to sing the songs’ chorus. Yachi was already in the backseat, quietly humming to the melody and giggling at Yamaguchi’s silent misery. Shōyō’s phone pinged with another text message.
[19:43] Yū-chan: are you at Datekō yet
[19:43] Me: just left!
[19:44] Yū-chan: good. The fiends left me for some outdoor debauchery
[19:44] Me: aww you poor thing
[19:44] Yū-chan: I did not come here to be attack e d
[19:44] Me: xD
[19:45] Yū-chan: skgkdsnf NO
Shōyō jolted and grabbed Acchan’s arm and said, lowly, because he knew the sour feelings Oikawa had for Shiratorizawa, “How’s Shirabu getting to Datekō?”
Acchan’s lips twitched. “What’s-His-Name is going too, apparently, so they’re carpooling.”
Shōyō hummed, and then turned his attention to Yachi. “Yacchan,” he grinned. “I thought you weren’t coming?”
“W-well…Runa’s coming.”
“Oho?”
“I’m literally going to throw you out this car, if you start that,” Acchan said, very calmly for such a threat. Shōyō stuck his tongue out.
“Hey, hey!” Oikawa frowned, and glanced at them. “No one’s throwing anyone out of my car!”
“Pay attention to the road, boy-toy!”
Oikawa made an indignant noise in the back of his throat whereas Yamaguchi burst into laughter. “B-Boy—Yama-chan, don’t laugh at that! It’s not funny!”
At his boyfriends’ exaggerated pout, Yamaguchi schooled his features and said, “Be quiet, and drive, boy-toy.”
“Yama-chan!”
For the rest of the drive, Oikawa aggressively blared Christmas carols and, although Yamaguchi looked ready to throttle his boyfriend, there was still a fond gleam in his eyes. Koganegawa’s house thrummed with music, and teens spilled onto the lawn and inside the house. Shōyō knew there were more inside. Oikawa parked a few feet away from the driveway.
Oikawa raised an eyebrow at the amount of people. “Firsties know how to throw a party, huh?”
“Walk faster boy-toy,” Acchan said, amused at the way the third-year bristled. “I’ve got someone to see.”
Shōyō grinned. “Sure you don’t mean someone to eat?”
“Shōyō, I am going to fight you—!”
“Shō-chan!” a voice chimed above Acchan. Shōyō turned to see Terushima bounding towards him, and he smiled. Yachi disappeared once she caught sight of Runa.
“Yū-chan!”
“Glad you could make it,” Terushima said, and Shōyō shivered at the way his eyes darkened at the sight of him. Terushima then took note of three new additions, and raised an eyebrow. “Hello! I’m Terushima Yūji.”
“Oikawa Tooru,” Oikawa said and, with a sharp smile, wrapped his arm around Yamaguchi’s waist. “This is my boyfriend, Yamaguchi.”
Yamaguchi waved. “Nice to see you again, Terushima.”
Terushima blinked, puzzled, before he realized where he had seen Yamaguchi before. “Ooh, cute freckles!”
Yamaguchi flushed. “W-What?”
“None of my teammates knew your name, so we just called you cute freckles,” Terushima said with a shrug.
“Your freckles are pretty cute, Yama-chan,” Oikawa said as he stared at Yamaguchi with an adoring look. “Like little constellations.”
Pink dusted across the bridge of Yamaguchi’s nose. “T-Tooru…”
“I’m getting stomach cramps from looking at you,” Acchan sniffed, and then made his way inside Koganegawa’s house.
Shōyō snorted. “Ignore Acchan. He’s a brute.”
Yamaguchi chuckled, and started pulling Oikawa towards the front door. “See you later, Shōyō.”
Shōyō took a moment to drink in the image Terushima made, and then said, “Wanna head in? I’m pretty sure Acchan’s going to polish off any vodka Koganegawa has.”
Terushima grinned and grabbed Shōyō by the waist. “Actually, Shō-chan,” he murmured, breath hot against the tip of Shōyō’s ear. “We can do something much better.”