Work Text:
To Kei, it seems like an eternity since Ennoshita announced his successor to the team. It seems like an equally long time ago that Yamaguchi had confided in Kei about his uncertainty about his ability to be captain, all nervous energy in the quiet of the locker room. Naturally, Kei had reassured him, and since then, Yamaguchi has fallen into the role like it was made for him.
They've had months to say their goodbyes to the old third-years—and months to get used to the idea of having Yamaguchi as their captain, and Kageyama his second in command—but their first practice is still something exciting, something pertinent.
For some more than others, it is a period of adjustment; undoubtedly, it's the most extreme change for Yamaguchi, but there's still an unmistakable uncertainty to the way they move.
Perhaps it's because they've all spent several weeks without practicing together, the group of them, or perhaps it's because they're missing their old teammates. In part, it could also be because the new first-years have yet to join them, leaving them with an incomplete team.
Kei isn't sure, but he can't say he's not slightly grateful when practice ends. Of course, he and Yamaguchi practiced together over the school break—they even jogged together on most days—but there's just something different, slightly more grueling, about an organized practice.
They'll get into the swing of things in due time, but for today...
"You're a slowpoke, Tsukki."
Kei's head snaps up at the accusation, and he turns to face Yamaguchi with a questioning gaze. Yamaguchi, who stands with his duffel bag slung across broad shoulders and his sweatshirt half-zipped, can't help but break out into a grin.
"Sorry," he says as he shrugs his jersey off, folds it, and stuffs it into his locker. He slips into his tennis shoes, broken in and comfortable from hours and days of being worn, with ease.
"I'm ready now."
"I wasn't going to leave you behind," Yamaguchi admits, and Kei knows, he knows.
They're the last two to leave the club room, and when Yamaguchi locks it behind him, Kei doesn't think it's possible that he imagines the way the corner of Yamaguchi’s mouth upturns, ever so slightly.
They don't get far because Yachi, a small distance away, waves and calls out to them—calls out to Yamaguchi.
"Good first practice, Yamaguchi-kun!" she praises, all bright smiles and encouragement. She clicks her tongue to the roof of her mouth before continuing. "I had a dream that this was going to be our best season yet, you know?"
From the way that his hand almost automatically comes up to rub at his neck, Kei can tell that Yamaguchi is slightly embarrassed at the praise. That may be a slightly unfair assessment, so Kei revises: he's sheepish at the praise and toes at the dirt with a nervous chuckle.
"Being captain certainly feels more real now," he says. Something unsaid hangs in the air, I hope you're right, or another similar sentiment.
Instead, Yamaguchi thanks her and invites her on their walk, since the route to Kei's house directly passes the train station.
Not tradition but still a common occurrence, the trio stop for popsicles along the way. Maybe it's still slightly too cold, and maybe two of the three of them get a brain freeze, but when they part ways with Yachi, Yamaguchi threads their fingers together and gives Kei's hand a tiny squeeze.
Kei, in spite of the weather, is warm, warm, warm.
Yamaguchi is cute when he's deep in thought. Actually, Yamaguchi is cute all of the time, but Kei especially notices now, just a tiny amount more than usual.
A small distance across the classroom, Yamaguchi leans over his notebook with the eraser end of a sparkly pencil pressed against his cheek in concentration. It isn't often that Kei gets to observe him through this lens—across the classroom, just out of earshot. And while Kei isn't exactly /glad/ that they'd been split up by their teacher, this almost makes it worth it.
Somewhere distant, Kei is aware of his name being called, but he doesn't quite turn his head to find out, not yet. Yamaguchi lights up into a bright grin, and even Kei hears as he makes a poor attempt to cover up his laughter, bubbly and warm.
For a brief stretch of time, it's as if Kei and Yamaguchi are alone in the classroom—but Kei is quickly reminded that that isn't the case.
"Tsukishima," Kageyama says, and Kei briefly wonders how many times his partner has tried to grasp his attention.
"What?"
"Are you—" Kageyama says and then shakes his head, cutting himself off. "Never mind. What did you get for number five?"
Kei's worksheet stares up at him, stark and mostly blank. He hasn't reached question five yet, even though they've had more than enough time.
"What the hell are you thinking about?" Kageyama questions when Kei tells him this.
"Nothing," Kei quickly says. "Nothing, it's none of your business."
"None of my business?"
Kei shrugs and shifts his attention to his paper, though the heat rising in his cheeks is admittedly difficult to ignore.
"I was thinking about Yamaguchi," he says in a momentary lapse of judgement, and then bites his tongue just a touch too hard.
"You were—" Kageyama tilts his head slightly, his interest piqued.
"Volleyball-wise," Kei corrects. "Uh. I was thinking of practice today."
If Kageyama doesn't believe Kei, then he doesn't say so. And, if Kei's heart feels just a tiny bit caught in his throat, he's certainly not going to mention it.
Kei used to think that his brother was pranking him when he suggested movies to watch because they are always so, so unspeakably awful. Over the years, though,he has come to learn that no, Akiteru will watch /anything/ and call it good.
He still watches them on occasion—usually when Yamaguchi guilts him into it, and always when Yamaguchi is there with him. After all, misery loves company.
Still, Kei can't say he's disappointed when Yamaguchi speaks, distracting him from the cinematic disaster happening before his very eyes.
"Tsukki," he hums. Kei is all too aware of their closeness; rather than stay in Kei's living room, they've chosen to share Kei's bed and use his laptop, and their close proximity has Kei's throat feeling just a touch too dry.
Kei hums back, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth.
"I wanted to ask you about something," Yamaguchi says. "Do you think I make a good captain? Really"
This is... A bit unexpected, but Kei still nods, a knee-jerk reaction. Objectively, Yamaguchi makes a good captain, and even the fact that he is often underestimated can be a strength when it comes to their competition.
"Of course you're a good captain," he almost scoffs, not entirely sure why Yamaguchi would think otherwise. "If you weren't captain, then who would be?"
"I guess it's silly to ask you," Yamaguchi says and shrugs. "It's not like you'd tell me I was a bad captain." (He's right, but Kei doesn't admit that.)
"Nobody else makes sense," Kei rationalizes. "I certainly don't want to be captain, and Kageyama doesn't exactly fit the bill."
"I'm sure Kageyama would make a good captain," Yamaguchi insists. "He's a little intense, maybe, but he cares, and he obviously knows what he's doing."
"He still scares the first years too much," Kei reasons. "He's not level-headed enough to be captain. And don't get me started on Hinata."
"You're mean, Tsukki," Yamaguchi says and tries—but fails—to muffle his snickering behind his hand. Even though Kei closes his eyes, he's painfully aware of the way Yamaguchi's shoulders shake with laughter.
When Kei shifts so that he's facing Yamaguchi instead, he almost regrets it for the way that his heart jumps. Yamaguchi's eyes are wide and earnest, and in an instant, Kei feels himself soften.
"You're a good captain," he says with finality. "And you know that I'm right."
"Okay, Tsukki," Yamaguchi agrees, and his line of vision flickers just over Kei to the laptop screen, where Akiteru's awful movie is drawing to a close. With the blinds drawn and the way that the rest of Kei's house is quiet, it's almost as if time is suspended in Kei's bedroom, like it has only always been Kei and Yamaguchi, and like it will always be Kei and Yamaguchi.
Kei blinks contently and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, letting his stare linger just a moment too long.
He hopes that Yamaguchi believes him when Kei says he's a good captain; Kei isn't sure he's ever meant something so completely before.
Yamaguchi's smile could probably end wars. Technically speaking, it isn't perfect, but there's nothing that makes Kei's heart feel quite so warm.
When they regroup in Fukurodani's visitor locker room, Kei sees that same bright smile. Yamaguchi's breathing is still slightly labored from the game, his chest and cheeks glimmer with sweat, and his hair curls at the nape of his neck where it has broken free from his ponytail holder.
He always starts changing after Kei does, because he speaks to their teammates regarding the game. Yamaguchi has this impossibly encouraging way about him, and everybody seems to feel the effects of his tenacity and passion.
He genuinely enjoys being captain, and he's wonderful at it. He and Kageyama work better together than anybody had anticipated, and today especially, it's as if everything had lined up perfectly in order for their team to win.
It'd still been close; they'd only won by three points, but everybody seems to be in good spirits as they change, panting slightly, exhausted but happy.
"Looks like you made everybody proud," Kei observes, his voice muffled slightly as he reaches into his locker, fumbling with his glasses case. By everybody, he of course means Daichi and Ennoshita, their former captains who had paid a visit to watch them play.
“I’m glad they didn’t come for nothing,” Yamaguchi remarks from where he’s crouched at his own locker, tugging his duffle bag out.
“Ennoshita looked especially proud,” Kei hums.
“You think?” Yamaguchi tosses a quick gaze over his shoulder to Kei and reaches up to untie his small ponytail.
Kei hums in affirmation, carefully tucking his athletic glasses into their case.
Yamaguchi strikes the perfect balance between perfectly stepping into Ennoshita’s shoes yet staying true to his character. He's seamlessly led the team, taken their new first years under his wing, and made it look easy. What Kei lacks in patience, Yamaguchi makes up for in leaps and bounds.
Yamaguchi is not what many perceive him as; he is not passive, and he is not complacent. He is vibrant, hopeful, and easily the most passionate person Kei knows. Yamaguchi—as Kei knows him today—is a far cry even from the person that he was two years ago.
If Kei could travel back in time and tell Yamaguchi, perhaps on the sidelines of a game, that he would be captain in the future, would Yamaguchi believe him? Or would he reject the idea entirely?
Gradually, the locker room begins to empty until it's just the two of them. The adrenaline from the game having worn off, Kei is just tired. If he doesn't get up from the bench soon, he'll threaten to fall asleep.
"I want to catch up with Ennoshita-san and Daichi-san," Yamaguchi tells him as he slings his bag over his shoulder. "Ready to go, Tsukki?"
As much as Kei would rather sit down and try to power nap, he can't very well stay in this locker room forever.
"Yamaguchi?" Kei asks, hardly audible over the chatter of the crowds that echo throughout the gym.
"Yeah?"
"You gave them a lot to be proud of today," Kei says before he can put his foot in his mouth. Immediately, he drops his gaze to his tennis shoes.
"I think we owe a lot of it to teamwork, you know?" Yamaguchi says with a tiny shrug. In the distance, Kei spots Ennoshita. "But it's nice to hear that. You really think so?"
Kei doesn't miss a beat before he says, "I definitely think so." There is not a sliver of doubt in his mind.
To nobody’s surprise, when they regroup with their old teammates in the hallways, Daichi claps a hand over Yamaguchi’s shoulder in a display of unmistakable pride. Even as Yamaguchi brushes off the praise, he still grins like he knows, he knows, he knows.
On an otherwise ordinary day, a girl from second year confesses to Kei after classes have ended and before he has a chance to head to practice.
It must have taken her some time to work up the nerve to do so, because she toes at the dirt with her shoes and bites her lip between her teeth after stumbling through her confession, pressing a small stuffed bear into Kei's hand as she waits for his answer.
Even if Kei lets her down easy, he's still only human; as she turns with slumped shoulders, he spares a pitying glance to the stuffed animal in his arms, suddenly embarrassed by its presence. He simply stuffs it into his bag and makes a beeline for the club room, blushing profusely.
Foolishly, Kei almost thinks that the whole thing is going to pass by unnoticed. The first and second years are out of sight, either practicing outdoors or waiting in the gym, so by the time Kei is changed, it's only himself, Yamaguchi, and Hinata left.
"Tsukki got a confession?" Hinata chirps, straight to the point. "Did she give that to you? Who was—"
"Nobody," Kei quickly interjects, the tips of his ears bright red and hot. "And nothing. Mind your own business, Hinata."
The stuffed animal is rightfully shoved deep into Kei's bag where he hopes it can be simply forgotten. Why anybody would confess to Kei is beyond him; why anybody would confess to Kei with a stuffed /bear/ is even further beyond him. His head hurts from trying understand.
The door swings shut with the force of Hinata's exit, though just as Kei turns to follow him he hears Yamaguchi call out to him, not the least bit teasing, unlike their teammate.
"You got a confession, Tsukki? Somebody you like?"
Kei almost regrets looking; Yamaguchi's brown eyes are wide, and there's no trace of malice or judgement. He's only curious, head cocked slightly as he awaits his answer.
"Yes," Kei says, and then shakes his head. "It's nobody of interest to me. Or to you."
"If you're sure, I won't push," Yamaguchi says with a shrug. Quickly, he pulls his hair into a small bun at the nape of his neck and crouches at his locker. "But, if you're /not/ sure, that's okay too, you know?"
"I don't like her," Kei clarifies, the club room suddenly tiny and all too constricting. Surely Yamaguchi wouldn't go out of his way to embarrass Kei, and he certainly hasn't been made aware of Kei's apparent feelings towards him, so Kei can rule out the possibility that he's hinting at that.
"I don't like her," Kei repeats with finality, because it's true. Thankfully, Yamaguchi doesn't question him further, and the pair make their way into the gym, side-by-side like they always have.
It's no easy feat, but Kei manages to ignore the way his heart pounds in his chest all throughout practice, just barely.
It feels like eons have stretched by since Karasuno has officially qualified for Spring High, though Kei's watch tells him it hasn't even been /minutes/.
Still, it feels impossibly long; it's as if each second that the match lasted was five years, and as Kei knocks on the communal bathroom door, he's exhausted from the sheer effort of it all. His breathing is quickened and his cheeks remain flushed pink and hot. Athletic tape is still tightly wound around fingers that tremble from exhaustion and adrenaline both.
"Yamaguchi?" he calls over the sound of a running tap and labored breathing.
Unlike earlier, time crawls and completely stops in this bathroom. Yamaguchi's sneakers squeak against tile when he turns to face Kei with a wobbly smile.
"Feeling okay?" Kei asks with the closest thing to a laugh that he can manage. For as rough as Yamaguchi may look—for as rough as all of them may look, that is—Kei knows that he's feeling more than okay. Perhaps, he's beyond words.
"Really good," he confirms. "Really, really good, Tsukki. Kei."
Yamaguchi isn't scared like he once was. He's still insecure, perhaps, but takes it in stride. It's as if the role of captain was always his. A far cry from his past self, Yamaguchi led the team through this series of games as if he was born to do so, and he played hard. Kei almost, almost says so, but bites his tongue.
"You should be proud, you know," he says instead. "You played well—we all did, but we all needed you out there."
Yamaguchi doesn't cry, but he looks close to it, glassy-eyed until he blinks the tears away. Slowly, Kei's breathing begins to even, but his pulse is still all over the place. His emotions, too, race from excitement to pride to utter relief. He slouches against the counter beside Yamaguchi and just sighs, quiet and amazed, yet the farthest from calm that he's been in a long time.
He and Yamaguchi touch at their fingertips; Yamaguchi's are calloused and Kei's are taped together, but his shoulders slump at how correct it all feels, how Yamaguchi's palm is warm as it squeezes Kei's, cold and slightly clammy.
Kei is far from impulsive. He calculates most every move that he makes, turning over each possible series of events in his head until there are no more.
It started out as a habit that was innocent enough; volleyball requires utter focus and precision, and Kei can't afford not to think of every possible outcome. It's only natural that this practice has bled into his every day life, but even Kei, at times, has to act on impulse.
Even Kei couldn't have planned this, couldn't have planned the way he cups his free hand under Yamaguchi's chin or the way that Yamaguchi stares up at him, awed, and bridges the already shrinking gap, catching Kei in a tiny kiss.
They come together once more, quicker than the first, and Kei's toes curl in his shoes as they kiss, impossibly soft.
Yamaguchi trembles slightly against Kei after they've pulled apart. There's a beat of silence, a shaky laugh, and then, "I knew—I knew, Tsukki."
Yamaguchi Tadashi is excellent, plain and simple. He's perfectly encouraging and speaks up exactly when Kei needs him to. Where Kei's edges are often harsh and cold, Yamaguchi softens him, the perfect compliment to Kei, the perfect captain; nobody doubts him.
And, above all, he does not doubt himself.