Chapter Text
Kei had always been vaguely aware of the way his mother wrote notes on her arm for his father to read, but he never especially thought about why until about halfway through elementary school. Before that, it was just something that happened. Mundane and ordinary, and nothing particularly to do with him. He’d probably asked about it when he was younger, but whatever answer he’d been given hadn’t stuck in his mind more than a vague sense of it being because they were his parents. That was just how the whole parent thing worked, right?
The turning point came on the day a new student joined the class—a girl whose family had recently moved to the area. Ordinarily it wouldn’t have bothered him. She wasn’t the first new classmate; she probably wouldn’t be the last. But it so happened that they were painting that afternoon, and partway through the lesson a great commotion started up. One of the boys had spilt his paint water all over his arm, and an identical stain had bloomed on the new girl as well. It was impossible to work after that. Everyone started talking about soulmates, with half the girls gushing about how they couldn’t wait to find theirs, and most of the boys torn between very apparent envy and the pack mentality which drove them to mock anything they weren’t included in. The soulmate pair were escorted from the classroom by the teacher in the end, in the vain hope that this would settle things down and allow everyone else to work.
After that, soulmates seemed to be all anyone wanted to talk about. For weeks. Constant discussion of how sweet it was. About how sweet the sort-of couple were—when they weren’t hiding from all the attention somewhere. (Kei actually found himself feeling sorry for them.) About what kind of soulmate everyone else hoped they had. About how long they might have to wait before meeting that one special person.
Kei kept his head down and stayed out of it. All the discussions seemed to feature a boy and a girl, paired up nice and neat into a future set of parents. Which…well, it certainly fitted the pattern he’d halfway made in his head. But while it had always been fine to think of his mother and father as a couple, when it came to thinking of himself in that position he got an odd, uneasy feeling in his gut. What if he didn’t want to have a soulmate like that? Was some random girl going to show up one day and lay claim to him forever? Didn’t he get a choice?
He’d never been very good at expressing his emotions, so he buried the nagging doubt. It was fine. So long as nothing ever showed up on his arms—or anywhere else, for that matter—he didn’t have to think about it. At the very least, he decided to do his part by ensuring he kept his skin as mark-free as possible. And as his teacher had explained in the wake of the new girl fiasco, soulmates could be quite a chancy business. No one was actually guaranteed to meet theirs. You could go your whole life without having the encounter which led to someone else gaining the ability to write or draw on your skin whenever they felt like it. The way his teacher worded it made it sound like she hadn’t met hers, and didn’t want the class to get their hopes up in case they were the same. Kei couldn’t help but hope he was.
He got used to avoiding anything which might stain his skin though, just in case. At the very least, he wouldn’t expose himself to some stranger by accident.
The thing was, people were hard work. And actually making friends was even harder. So it surprised him a little when Yamaguchi managed to insert himself into Kei’s life, and stuck there more or less permanently. He’d just about resigned himself to keeping his head down and riding out school on his own, and then suddenly he had a tag-along.
Still, it was impossible to actually dislike Yamaguchi. He was…well, he just was. A bit of a limpet perhaps, but not as annoying as the girls he had started to notice watching him, and it was actually quite nice to have someone to talk to. Because, honestly, Kei really wasn’t as antisocial as most people seemed to think. It was just that he couldn’t be bothered with the sorts of conversations which seemed to be taking over. Whispered discussions about which girls the boys thought were cure, or which boys the girls thought were handsome, and how they hoped they’d meet their soulmates soon.
Throughout their time at elementary school, soulmates were one of only two subjects he and Yamaguchi never, ever spoke about.
While the first day at Junior High came and went leaving Kei’s skin unblemished, the same could not be said for everyone else. Several of his new classmates either found their soulmate that first day, or walked in the following morning crowing about how they’d written a message on their arm after school, and learnt that they’d run into their perfect partner that day. More boys and girls who subsequently walked around hand in hand during breaks. It all looked deeply impractical and awkward.
Somewhere in the second week, though, a whisper went around about a girl whose skin showed the exact same doodles as another girl. Not only that, but an upperclassman to boot. Half the class seemed scandalised, and the other half fascinated. Two girls could be soulmates? It didn’t have to always be one boy and one girl?
Kei refused to let his interest show. He wasn’t stupid, after all, and he’d always made a point of avoiding soulmate discussions. If he joined in now, then it would look like…like. Well, it would look like he was only interested because he wanted his soulmate to be a boy, and while that certainly didn’t sound as bad as having a girl for a soulmate, really, the only worthwhile boy he knew was Yamaguchi. And it was obvious that he wasn't Kei’s soulmate, because one time not long after they’d met, Yamaguchi’s pen had sort of exploded in his hand, and the resulting mess of blue ink had only stained one of them. It was a pity, really. Having Yamaguchi for a soulmate wouldn’t have been so bad.
Wow, okay. Time to file that thought away alongside the other things he Would Never Mention, Ever. He was definitely glad it had happened while in a lesson and not, say, while he might actually have to look Yamaguchi in the eye. Still. He’d never heard of two girls being soulmates before. Shouldn’t someone have mentioned it?
The obvious solution was to conduct some quiet research into the matter in the privacy of his own room. If this was something other people knew about, there was absolutely no way he could remain ignorant on the subject.
He kept his head down throughout dinner that evening, then retired to his room and quietly locked the door before firing up his laptop. Working out how to phrase what he was looking for took a few minutes, but the result was a long and very enlightening evening. Kei sat back in his chair at the end of it, glad that no one could see the colour of his face. Right. So…he was gay, then.
Well, that definitely explains a lot, he thought, carefully and methodically wiping his internet history and cache clean. He closed down his laptop and got ready for bed, glad that he’d waited until after eating before conducting his search. Interacting any more with his family that evening would have been beyond awkward.
Predictably enough, he lay there with his eyes wide and alert, staring at the ceiling for at least half the night. In the space of a few hours he had managed to fundamentally change how he viewed both himself and his potential future. It was a pretty big deal. And he was reasonably sure it was going to keep him awake for more than just that night as he tried to work through what it was all going to mean.
But, sleep-deprived or otherwise, life wasn’t about to stop and let him process it all in peace, so Kei found himself muddling along throughout the rest of the school year. The fuss and gossip about the two girls gradually subsided, replaced by a succession of other minor dramas.
Because thing was, knowing that he was gay might have explained a lot, but it didn’t really change anything at all. He wasn’t about to announce the fact, especially given that everyone—both at school and online—appeared divided on whether or not same-sex soulmates were normal, or some sort of aberration. And seeing as his only (and definitely well-buried) crush had been on Yamaguchi himself, discussing the matter with his best friend was out of the question as well. As for family… what would his parents say? They didn’t really talk much about being soulmates, or what they thought about the wider issues surrounding them. They just sort of…got on with life. And if Akiteru had met his by now—
He scowled. Even if his brother had, that didn’t matter. He certainly wasn’t going to talk about any of this with him.
It doesn’t change anything at all, he told himself in the end. Even if my soulmate is probably a man, that doesn’t mean I’ll ever meet him. And I don’t have to tell anyone about it unless I actually do, so there’s no sense in wasting energy worrying about what I might never have to say.
All in all, he reasoned life would probably be a lot easier if he never found his soulmate—assuming he even had one. There was plenty of speculation that people who “never met” theirs simply didn’t possess one in the first place. His elementary school teacher hadn’t really seemed that bothered by it, and her hair had gone snowy white with age. Perhaps he’d get lucky.
Karasuno was equal parts a blessing and a curse. On the one hand there was the relief that, once again, he had emerged unscathed from his first day at a new school: his skin was pristine despite the not-at-all-subtle way most of his new classmates 'accidentally' drew on the backs of their own hands. Thanks to being in an advanced class, he didn’t even have to worry too much about the bother from the usual handful who found their soulmates that way—schoolwork was far more important at this stage. No one who wanted to get into a good university had time to mess about at school, especially when they apparently had the rest of their lives to do the whole soulmate thing.
But then there was volleyball.
Actually, no. The problem wasn’t even volleyball, although he was pretty sure even Yamaguchi thought it was. The problem was that he found himself stuck on a team with two simpletons who couldn’t even manage to keep their badly-disguised UST out of the gym, let alone off the court. And the worst part of all was that no one else seemed to notice. Or, if they had, they were doing an absolutely sterling job with their poker faces. Far better than they managed with anything else.
There was plenty of banter about their supposed rivalry; about the fact they were so stupid they had to communicate in onomatopoeia; that Hinata had a gift for receiving balls with his face; that Kageyama had all the charm and wit of a frog in the sun. But never the fact that they were both so obviously soulmates that it was actually nausea-inducing to watch.
He could have joked about it with Yamaguchi, of course, but their unspoken agreement never to discuss that particular topic with one another had thus far carried on without interruption. Bringing up the subject would just have looked odd. Suspicious. It was safer—and easier—to say nothing. Starting that conversation would just have led to questions he was quite happy not answering. Even if it did chafe that he couldn't complain about it to anyone.
And it was just about tolerable, really, right up until the day of their practice matches against Nekoma.
…Which they lost, of course. Although that part wasn’t surprising in the slightest. In all honesty, it was just another day of their Golden Week training camp. The final day, in fact, which meant he got to go home and sleep in his own bed at the end of it. And was able to enjoy that anticipation right up until the moment he reached his bedroom and took off his jacket.
There was writing on his arm. There was writing on his arm. Even worse, there was a lot of it, and…it looked like half a conversation? There were even gaps where it looked like someone else ought to have written something in reply, at least.
~Heading back now. Kenma’s already asleep and we only just got on the Shinkansen~
~Yeah, not bad. We won, of course. But Karasuno were a pretty fun team to play. They’ve got some crazy first years, for sure.~
He turned his arm, staring in horror to see that it continued on the underside of his forearm, too.
~Okay, so their setter is amazing. It’s actually a little creepy. And they’ve got this really short kid, and those two are either soulmates or they’ve known each other as long as I’ve known Kenma. Oh! And Kenma actually talked to shorty. I was so proud.~
~Haha, yeah yeah. Oh, right, and there was this really tall guy too. Like, I’m pretty sure he’s a first year but he’s even taller than me? Hold on~
It stopped there, but that was probably only because the writer—his soulmate—had run out of usable arm to write on. Kei stared at the scrawl, sinking down onto his bed. No. His soulmate was someone from Nekoma?
It was the only explanation which made any kind of sense. All that writing was about his team. But…why did it look like his soulmate was writing to someone else?
He stared down at his arm, not sure what to do. The normal reaction would be to write back and introduce yourself. Perhaps cheerfully, perhaps a little wary; either way, it was expected that you said something. But…well, first of all, this asshole had just casually mentioned beating his team as though it were a given. Which was one thing if he were thinking it, but was quite another coming from anyone else, particularly the opposing team. It didn’t exactly engender him to whoever the guy was. And secondly and rather more obviously, it looked a lot like his soulmate already had someone else. That happened sometimes, didn’t it? It vaguely rang a bell, at least. What were the odds. He’d actually got a soulmate, and even met them while he was still in school, and then it went and turned out that he was still too late. The guy already didn’t need him. He was just a spare.
Kei clenched his teeth so hard they creaked, blinking back tears. It wasn’t as though he’d wanted a soulmate anyway, after all. Why was he getting so worked up over this? He didn’t even know who it was, and he certainly hadn’t been thinking about any of them in that way during their matches. Really, he ought to be considering this a weight off his mind. All he had to do was not get involved. He wouldn’t ever have to come out. Didn’t have to worry about meeting new people any more, because It had already happened, and he wouldn’t even need to accommodate the guy into his life. There would be no forced intimacy. No awkward conversations. He could just pretend it had never happened.
Until someone sees the writing, at least, he thought, numbly. What am I supposed to do now?
His mother called up to announce food, but Kei was too mortified to move. Too stunned even to pull his jacket back on and cover the marks. He just sat and stared until the words suddenly bled and ran, dissolving. Ah. So the guy was finally washing his arm, then.
“Kei?” his mother said, knocking on the door. “Kei, are you feeling alright?”
“No,” he murmured, not even caring that she probably couldn’t hear him properly through the door. “I…I think I might be sick.”
Fortunately or otherwise, his mother believed that he really was ill, which allowed him to hide in his room until he realised that much as his so-called soulmate might regularly write to whoever it was he was already happily partnered with, he did at least do so with considerable tact. The writing always stayed well above the wrist on his forearm, and during the day even confined itself to his shoulder and the very uppermost part of his arm, meaning that he ought to be safe wearing a short-sleeved shirt. Assuming he trusted the guy enough to stick to this restraint, and not get carried away like some of the idiots in his class did from time to time, or the way he presumably had on his trip back from Miyagi.
Of course, he had no such faith in the guy when he first returned to school, but practice meant he had to take the chance. He’d missed too much already with the Interhigh preliminaries coming up, and he couldn’t afford to skip. Even if it meant the extra hassle of changing into his sports gear in the boys’ toilets, rather than the club room as everyone else did.
Yamaguchi gave him an odd look, but said nothing. Fortunately, everyone else seemed too busy with training to especially notice that his routine had changed.
The first week was beyond stressful. There was no physical sensation associated with words appearing—they just ghosted their way onto his skin, waiting to be spotted. But the pattern held. Whoever it was hardly seemed to write anything during school hours, and even late in the evening the words would only ever appear where clothing would likely conceal them. Gradually, Kei allowed himself to relax. From the half of the conversations he was able to see, it certainly seemed like his soulmate was talking to another guy. Perhaps they’d had to learn discretion the hard way. He hoped not. Kei was well aware of the way most people perceived him, but that didn’t mean he actively went around wishing misfortune on people. And it wasn’t as though this guy had asked for Kei to be given access to everything he wrote on himself.
He tried not to look at the words on his arm if he could help it, though. It was as bad as spying, or snooping through someone else’s phone. After all, he’d already made the decision not to complicate his life further by poking his nose in, so really, he shouldn’t be wondering what the guy was like. Shouldn’t be trying to work out which of the Nekoma players the universe had apparently decided to dangle in front of him, taunting him with the possibility that he could have been normal, and not part of the truly microscopic proportion of the world who had a “complicated” soulmate status.
Gradually, though, he managed to adjust. It wasn’t all that different to how things had been before, really, except that he now had all the more reason not to undress in front of anyone else. And it wasn’t as though, between classwork and volleyball, he had all that much time or energy to worry, anyway. They were heading into the preliminaries fast, and it was a lot easier to push his curiosity away, burying it alongside everything else which he couldn’t face dealing with. After all, they’d actually have to get through the Miyagi playoffs if they were ever going to face Nekoma in a real match, and, realistically, what were the chances of that happening?
Not that that made him feel any better when they lost to Seijoh. It was frustrating. Sure, they were a weaker team, and they’d all already seen the resources and talent pool Seijoh had to work with. In all honesty, being realistic, they’d probably done well to string the match out as long as they had. But they’d still lost. There was still the sting of failure. He still didn’t like it.
And then, naturally, things had to go from bad to worse.
The training camp was going to be a trial of endurance, no doubt about it. Oh, it might only have been scheduled for a night and two days, but the fact of the matter was that he’d actually have to change in front of people again, and if anyone from Nekoma saw the messages scrawled on his shoulder they might recognise the handwriting—or worse, his so-called soulmate might. In all honesty, if he was going to successfully pull off avoiding discovery, he was probably going to need help.
Yamaguchi was not, normally, a difficult person to talk to. But then, he wasn’t usually trying to go against one of the unspoken rules of their friendship. It was impossible to stop himself overthinking everything as they walked home together. Was he stood too close, or too far away? Did he normally walk with his hands in his pockets? Didn’t he usually have his headphones around his neck? Would it look weird if he stopped to get them out of his bag now that they’d come so far down the road? Crap. He was panicking. And they were running out of time before they parted ways.
“So…” he said, desperate to say something.
“Tsukki?”
“I…” He clamped his mouth shut, scowling off into the middle distance. Now what?
“Are you going to tell me what’s been bothering you?” Yamaguchi said, before wincing. “I mean, I think something has, right?”
Kei stared at him. He swallowed, and nodded. “I…uh…” He gritted his teeth. “I’m…going to need your help with something. At the training camp.”
“Me?” Yamaguchi said, eyes widening. “Why? What do you need my help for?”
It was stupid. There was no one around to overhear them. No one else on the team walked home in the same direction. Still, it wasn’t something he wanted to talk about on the street.
“It’s…awkward,” he said. “I—”
“Did you need me to come over?” Yamaguchi said, frowning. “I can call home and say I’m studying with you.”
Kei sighed with relief. “Thanks,” he said. It wasn’t going to be a lot easier talking about it in his bedroom, but at least it had to be better than standing awkwardly in the middle of the road.
It also gave him longer to think about it though, which was probably a bad idea. By the time they’d eaten—his mother insisted on it—and actually done the homework Yamaguchi claimed to be visiting to work on, he was all but ready to pass on the topic altogether. It wasn’t as though he really had a lot of friends to lose, after all. Could he afford to drive Yamaguchi away?
Although, realistically, if that was going to happen over this, he had a choice between it happening now, in the privacy of his own room, or at training camp where everyone else could see. Put like that, it was better just to get it out into the open.
“So apparently I met my soulmate,” he said, pointedly looking at his textbook as he said it. He could feel his face heating up as he spoke, which wasn’t a good sign. All he needed now was some sort of humiliating squeak in his voice. “And…um…he plays for Nekoma.”
Oh god, why wasn’t Yamaguchi saying anything? Was he just going to get up and walk out? He risked a look. Yamaguchi had his head ducked down, but there wasn’t any sign of revulsion on his face. That was good, right? Logically, if he was going to be disgusted by the thought, it would be an immediate thing. He relaxed a little.
“Um…so what’s the problem?” Yamaguchi asked. “I mean…it doesn’t bother me that it’s a guy, Tsukki. You know there’s nothing wrong with that, right?” He smiled, despite looking a little worried.
Kei sighed. “It’s not that,” he said, hoping he sounded calmer than he felt. The relief that he still had a best friend was a little overwhelming. “I…I’ve known I was gay for years.”
“O-oh,” Yamaguchi said. “Is it because he lives so far away, then?” There was a strained note in his voice, which Kei wasn’t all that surprised by. He had just come out rather bluntly. Too bluntly? “What’s his name?”
At that, Kei groaned, hunching forward over his book. “I don’t know.”
“Huh? What do you mean? He didn’t tell you? ”
Kei blinked, and looked up at his friend. Yamaguchi looked as though he were personally offended by the thought.
“I haven’t asked,” he said, noting the way that Yamaguchi’s anger gave way to honest confusion. “I haven’t written anything at all.”
“But, Tsukki, you found your soulmate—”
“He’s got someone else already,” Kei snapped. “I got back after the match and found his half of a conversation with another person all over my arm. He doesn’t need or want me.”
“Oh,” Yamaguchi said. His face twisted with sympathy and, oddly, understanding. “I’m sorry, Tsukki.”
Kei almost smiled. It was the first time in years that those words had actually sounded genuine. “It’s…that part’s okay, I guess,” he muttered. “I wasn’t ever fussed about having a soulmate anyway. But…It’s just going to mean too many questions if anyone sees this guy’s writing all over my arm at the training camp.”
Yamaguchi nodded. “I haven’t seen anything on your arms since the match, though,” he pointed out. “If he hasn’t been writing then—”
“He only writes where clothes cover up the words,” Kei said. “It shouldn’t be a problem during the day, but we’re staying overnight. I’ll have to shower at some point.”
“Well, I’ll do my best to distract people and help cover for you, if you want,” Yamaguchi replied, although there was a definite uncertainty about his voice. “If that’s what you need.”
Kei sighed. “Thank you. At least this is only for another couple of years at most. After High School, the chances of me running into him again should be too small to worry about.”
Yamaguchi frowned. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk to him about it?”
Sighing, Kei rolled up his sleeve to reveal his arm.
~Yeah but we’ve got training camp soon. You can hold on a few more days you know.~
~Haha, well, maybe you should try being patient for once.~
Even as they watched, the words were wiped mostly clean, leaving on a faint smudge. New words appeared over the top.
~Well, I’ll be sure to give you a hug and a kiss then, you dork. But I gotta get on with my homework now. You know, like you should be doing.~
“They’ve obviously known each other quite a long time,” Kei said, sighing again. He scowled as more words appeared: ~He’s got you there~, and pulled the sleeve back down. “I’m not going to make things awkward for him. I never really wanted this anyway.”
Yamaguchi shot him an odd look, but said nothing more on the subject, for which he was eternally grateful.
If there was one blessing to the whole thing, it was that Hinata and Kageyama had both managed to fail one exam apiece, and wouldn’t be joining them unless they managed to scrape through a remedial class using their twin powers of freak chance and desperation. He could see it happening, of course—apparently some people really were just that lucky—but it did mean they got to enjoy the drive down to Tokyo in peace.
…At least, in as much peace as he was ever going to get while worrying about a reunion with his mystery soulmate. He couldn’t even particularly remember what any of the Nekoma players looked like, although admittedly, he’d done his very best to forget. The only name he could actually place was that of Kenma, the setter who Hinata had (probably forcibly) befriended, and he was the one person Kei knew it couldn’t be.
All in all, when they reached the school he was only too happy to hang back with Yamaguchi and let everyone else do the talking. They’d arrived early enough that no one questioned the fact he was still wearing his jacket, which gave him an opportunity to check and see if any Nekoma players were either doing the same, or had writing on their arms. He couldn’t hold back the faintest sigh of relief when he realised that all of their arms were bare.
At least whoever it is has some common sense, he thought.
It was something of an uncharitable thought, perhaps, especially given how considerate the guy apparently was the rest of the time. Still, this was a world apart from Karasuno’s regular training—they were training with four powerhouse schools, not in a small gym with a team that couldn’t even field two full sides for practice. He was perfectly justified in being a little worried.
Most sports required athletes to keep their skin clear for training and matches, with coaches explaining that it was, at best, an unfair distraction to everyone involved if words started popping up on arms or legs mid-game. At worst, it could be considered sabotage or cheating, and players who had unreliable soulmates were usually required to either wear adapted uniforms, or don a precautionary layer of concealer before the start of any match.
In a way, Kei knew he ought to be glad that his soulmate played volleyball as well. The chances that he would ever have to do something like that were considerably smaller, given that they were both in the same boat. Still, that wasn’t going to help him if the guy decided to send a quick message to his pre-existing soulmate before the morning session started, or in between sets. Not all teams were equally strict about the matter, and he had written all over his arm on the train before, where—presumably—his teammates had the potential to spot the writing.
But as the day passed, and there was no sign of any of the Nekoma players reaching for a pen, he gradually allowed himself to relax. This was what came of overthinking things. All the Nekoma players who had visited Miyagi appeared just as excessively devoted to the sport as his own teammates. Given that, why was he ever expecting his soulmate to think about something else while they played their matches?
I wonder which one of them it is, he thought, trying his hardest not to look their way any more than necessary. It had better not be mohawk guy or the libero.
The freak duo managed to show up just in time for the final match of the day, which at least spared them from another lap of flying falls. Much as he was a little bitter about the idiots showing up at the last minute and avoiding all the hard work everyone else had put in throughout the day, at least it spared them a little extra discomfort. It was just as well that bruises formed below the skin and therefore weren’t shared between soulmates, or he would have given himself away. Nekoma hadn’t lost half so many matches as they had, and he could already tell that his arms were going to be black and blue by the time they returned to Miyagi.
In all honesty though, there was no escaping his relief as they packed away at the end of the day and sat down to eat. No one had said anything. No one had seen anything, even.
By the time he made his way to the showers before bed, he’d started to relax a little. Yamaguchi had offered to cover for him, just in case, and loitered outside with his phone. It almost seemed like a needless precaution, up until the moment Kei pulled his shirt off to reveal two lines written on his left shoulder in completely unfamiliar handwriting:
#Oi, Kuroo. You sneaking out this time?#
It’s someone else writing on his arm for a joke, he told himself, although he couldn’t help but clench his teeth a little at the name. Kuroo. That…he was pretty sure that was the name of Nekoma’s captain.
He showered as fast as he could, scrubbing at his shoulder as though it could get rid of the marks. Just as he reached for his shirt, more words spilled across his skin.
~Sorry about that. Coach wanted to talk to me. What time’s your lights out?~
Kei leant against the wall. Oh. Oh. Oh no. He snatched his shirt and pulled it over his head, covering the reply before he had a chance to see the words. And to think he’d considered this something of a nightmare before.
He grabbed his things and wrenched the door open fast enough that Yamaguchi flinched.
“Tsukki?”
“It got worse,” he muttered, adding: “I don’t want to talk about it,” when Yamaguchi opened his mouth to speak. “Just…I’m going to need time to process this.”
They stayed silent as everyone filed back into the room Karasuno had been allocated to sleep in. Despite—or perhaps because of—the shock, Kei found it almost impossible to resist lifting his sleeve to see if the words were still there. Two soulmates. It must be the universe’s idea of a joke.
He managed to contain his morbid curiosity until the lights were out and everyone appeared to be asleep. Sleep was, once again, one of the furthest things from his mind. And, if those messages were anything to go by, the same could be said of certain others at the training camp too. He frowned and grabbed his phone, pulling the sheet over his head and using the torch function to examine his shoulder again.
The writing was gone, although a slight smudge showed where the words had been. Apparently they hadn’t bothered to properly wash them away. Still. There was always the chance he’d just imagined it. He’d been stressed out by the situation for the entire day, and it wasn’t as though he’d slept particularly well the night before, given their midnight start in Miyagi.
{We’re by the gym. Usual place. How long will you be?}
Kei inhaled sharply enough that he heard Yamaguchi stirring beside him and froze, closing his eyes tightly. That…that was not a third kind of handwriting. It was just his eyes playing tricks on him. Never mind that it was neat and precise where Kuroo’s—God, it’s even more awkward now I know who it is—was rushed and cramped, and the second person’s had been large and slightly scruffy. It was…maybe that was Kuroo. Maybe he was just taking a bit more time over it, or—
~Coming now. Lev took forever to go to sleep.~
Oh.
Okay, so, it turned out that he had not one but three soulmates, and apparently all of them were there at the training camp. Well that was just fucking perfect then, wasn’t it.