Chapter Text
“Can I kiss you?” Yamaguchi asks softly.
The hallway is painted gold by the afternoon sun, particles of dust floating lazily in midair. A stack of flyers are clutched close to your chest, forgotten. His hand is against the wall behind you, dark eyes glowing in the light reflecting off the cheap laminate floor. You fluster a little, caught off guard by the close proximity; you can even smell the clean scent of shampoo in his hair, still slightly damp from the showers down the hall.
Words lodge in your throat. Suddenly, you're all too aware of the warmth emanating from his skin, the pause between each shallow breath as he awaits your answer hesitantly. You exhale, giving a single nod in response.
Tadashi doesn’t waste any moment in closing the distance.
Your teeth bump together uncomfortably and you both have to take a moment to readjust, but it’s undeniably nice — his lips, soft against yours, the hand that isn't resting on the wall hovers over your back uncertainly — and you reach out with your free hand to pull him closer with a tug of his damp shirt. He tastes like watermelon, ripe and overly sweet.
There‘s footsteps echoing down the adjacent hallway. The thought that someone is looking for the both of you crosses your mind for a second, but you're too distracted by the sound of your heart pounding in your ears as he tilts your head up to——
“[Surname]! Yamaguchi! It’s time to...” Sugawara trails off, eyes darting between the two of you as he rounds the corner. His confusion quickly morphs into something more teasing. “Oho~, someone’s finally made a move.”
You hastily step back, gesturing towards the pinch server. “He started it.”
Tadashi startles a bit, flustered, but nods anyway as he smoothes out his uniform. “I guess so.”
The grey-haired setter’s smug grin shifts into something more genuine as he claps him on the back. “Nice job, Yamaguchi!”
“Told you,” Kageyama hisses triumphantly to the tall blond standing beside him. Tsukishima, for his part, rolls his eyes as he begrudgingly pulls out a couple yen from his wallet and hands them to the first year setter.
“About damn time,” Tsukishima interjects, turning away to affix you with a pointed glare over the top of his polished glasses. “I was getting tired of listening to him pining for you.”
“Oh?” You glance at Yamaguchi, who flushes darkly, suddenly finding his sneakers very interesting to look at. The feeling of his lips still lingers on your own. You laugh softly.
“I‘ll keep that in mind.”