Chapter Text
Grades are a funny thing. An intermittently-spaced report of classroom performance, all boiled down into eight little numbers, decide a whole hell of a lot for a student. For example: Your report card decides how your teachers and counsellors treat you; or maybe how much grilled mackerel your mother ladles on your rice at dinner. It could also decide how easy it is to answer questions about your grades during obligatory gatherings with extended family. Or, perhaps most importantly, whether or not you get to play on your school’s volleyball team.
***
“Maaaan, shit!” Nishinoya whined, his legs carrying him into the gym for after school practice. He noted with general frustration that the team had already all pitched in to set up the court for practice, ignoring vacantly the mild warning from Coach Ukai to “watch [his] mouth.” He scuffed a sneaker against the glazed wood floor, glaring at his warped reflection in the hardwood finish. He would just have to wait until somebody asked him what was wrong.
“Why were you late to practice, Nishinoya?” Okay, well, not the question he was hoping for. But he supposed that it worked. He looked balefully up at Daichi, the hardy gatekeeper of Karasuno’s gym doors.
“I was in the Guidance Office,” he replied, before his sharp eyes landed on a second upperclassman, who had made a quiet noise of disapproval that echoed along the gym floor. “Stop giving me that look, Sugawara-san, I didn’t get into another fight.”
“What’s the issue, then?” Sugawara inquired, his pale fingers wrapped like spiders around a volleyball, twisting his thin neck to look over his shoulder at his underclassman with disappointed acquisition.
Now came the hard part. More disappointment was at hand, even though his grades weren’t anybody else’s but his own. He was already beginning to bristle instinctively. “I...May or may not be failing most of my classes. And if I can’t bring them up in time for the end of the semester, I can’t play on the team again until they’re fixed.”
The room was mainly silent, with only the quiet arguing of the team’s star duo and the snide chattering of Tsukishima sans Yamaguchi to buffer the background.
“I can’t say that I’m surprised,” Daichi replied, and Nishinoya felt shame creep up the back of his neck. “You had better find a tutor, and fast. We’re counting on you, Nishinoya.” He bit back a sour response, instead choosing to respect his upperclassman. He felt like an idiot. Since when did he let a piece of paper with a few lousy numbers on them make him feel so useless?
To his dismay, nobody came to his rescue. He looked all around the room at his teammates. Why wasn’t anybody on his side? Sure, there were a few pitying looks spared to him, but other than that, nobody wished to stick up to Daichi for him. He let his eyes drift further, further into the corner of the room that he least wanted to look at. One very tall third year that he had really, really been hoping wouldn’t be in the room for his announcement stood quietly, a volleyball cradled beneath his arm. Goddammit, he thought, we were already at a shitty standing. I can’t afford to let him think I’m an idiot, along with everything else! Embarrassment welled up within his chest like seawater.
He could practically see Asahi’s thoughts as they occurred to him.
He saw the flash of surprise boil down quickly to frustration. Right after I rejoined the team, I’m letting him down, Nishinoya supplied the ideas behind that expression easily. He saw Asahi’s expression get softer then, his doe eyes sweeping the floor in consideration. Another prickle of shame curled up his spine. He feels bad for thinking that. He can’t blame me for being stupid. I bet that’s what he’s thinking. Nishinoya couldn’t help but feel a conflicting desire for his upperclassman to both forget about it all, and to be angry at him. He deserved to be held accountable, right? And who else weld the scythe better than Asahi? Said teammate proceeded to display an expression that Nishinoya hadn’t expected to see. His soft, round eyes lit up into an idea. And then, they steadied into resolve. Nishinoya couldn’t place the idea that had made its way through Asahi’s head, but it filled him with another surge of nerves.
He looked down at his sneakers, acknowledging an order from Daichi to “go on and get changed already,” watching those same feet carry him right on into the locker room.
Upon entry into the vacant room, Nishinoya tossed his shirt on the floor in a silent fit of frustration. What was he going to do? He was so far behind in his classes, and the idea of asking his family to pay for a tutor sounded not only unfair, but also incredibly lame. Besides, he didn’t want to miss any more volleyball practice than necessary. Secondly, he knew very well that he was too scatterbrained to figure out a study schedule for himself. He supposed he would just have to nab a classmate and start shelling out his own money for a little bit of one-on-one help. As he dressed himself, he woefully said a goodbye to any and all of the GariGari-Kun popsicles that might have made their way into his hands on account of any spare change he may have had. Now, he turned his face towards the blinding shame of a personal tutor.
After Nishinoya returned to the court from the locker room, guilt weighed heavily on his mind. He was letting his team down, and he felt it. Maybe the looks boring into the back of his head were imaginary, but there was one set of eyes that he couldn’t keep from catching. His mountainous Number Three, turning around and casting him looks of considerable pity and worry.
Keep your eyes ahead of you, Asahi-san, Nishinoya wanted to say. Don’t let my shortcomings keep you turned around. But again, Nishinoya kept his mouth clicked shut. Asahi was his upperclassman, no matter how much he liked to lecture him. And right now, Noya was the dog, with his tail tucked between his legs. Rectangles of window-shaped sunlight painted Asahi’s handsome face, highlighting the tanned valleys of skin that expressed his anxiety. Maybe in its own way, Asahi didn’t have to say a single word in order to punish him. It seemed that just the idea of him knowing was punishment enough.
Nishinoya’s silence was uncharacteristic at best, but he was so angry with himself that he felt he didn’t even deserve to speak as a member of the team. He was supposed to be Karasuno’s trusted Guardian, and now he quite possibly ran the risk or having to leave his team open to skirmishes down on the ground.
His teammates had voiced their concerns and complaints little by little throughout the duration of practice. Kageyama and Hinata’s quiet requests for Nishinoya to do his best, Tanaka’s hard whump to his back, Tsukishima’s snide remark about his intelligence and Yamaguchi’s subsequent laughing. Nishinoya felt the shame of his shortcomings gurgling and snaking around in his stomach, sitting badly with him and seeping from his concentration. He felt like less than everybody else, and consequently, he performed like it.
It was a little over halfway through their second practice game that Ukai pulled Nishinoya aside. The expression from his coach was one that burned, a fatherly sort of concern that caused even more intense embarrassment to seize him.
“Just because your grades are bad, doesn’t mean you aren’t here right now.” He said, and Nishinoya looked away, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the childish urge to cry.
“Yeah, I know that, but I feel--” Ukai cut him off.
“It doesn’t matter how you feel about it. Leave it off the court until it has to be on the court. Stick to your instincts, because everybody can see that you’re underperforming.”
Harsh, but, well. Nishinoya supposed that it was the truth. He gave a firm nod, and looked away from the purchase his eyes had found on the wall-mounted clock. “Okay,” he replied, and made his way back onto the court. He steadied himself. My team still needs me.
***
When the end of practice rolled around, cleanup duty was unsurprisingly pinned on him. He wondered if Daichi would be kind enough to give him a partner.
The answer was yes, and no. Meaning that Daichi had admitted him a partner, but the partner was...Asahi. He shouldn’t have been surprised. The look that Asahi gave him was petrifying. He wanted to tell the brunette to quit it, to stop looking at him like he was simultaneously the biggest spider Asahi had ever seen, and a sick kid. It was making him feel even worse.
Cleanup was mostly non-confrontational, save for the odd match of eye contact. The climax came when Asahi’s low, big voice finally escaped across the open air.
“Nishinoya,” he said, and Nishinoya nearly dropped the net. He looked up with wide eyes, nervous like a small animal. “I was wondering,” Asahi began, and it became quite apparent that he was just as uncomfortable with the situation, possibly more that Nishinoya was, “if you would like me to tutor you?”
Whatever those words did for Nishinoya’s brain chemistry, the Dopamine payoff was immeasurable. The feeling made him teeter on his feet. Asahi wanted to help him. He didn’t seem angry or slighting in the least. He looked worried, sure, but that was just how his upperclassman was.
“I, um. I understand if you don’t want to, but I have all of my notes from last year’s classes, and I would be happy to help you,” Asahi continued, looking more nervous then.
“N-no, no! I want to! I really want to! Please tutor me, Asahi-san!” Words tumbled over themselves as Nishinoya shouted them, watching with just a little bit of amusement as Asahi practically jumped out of his skin. “Can I buy you a pork bun? Do you want ice cream? Should I pay you?” He asked.
Asahi shook his head and raised his free hand as if to shield himself from the words being fired at him. “No, no, please don’t worry about it. We need you on the team, after all, and I know how terrible it would be to be forced not to play volleyball, especially for somebody as amazing as you are.”
Nishinoya’s heart panged, and his eyebrows narrowed. “Asahi-san! You’re amazing, too! You’re the best ace Karasuno has ever seen! You, you…” Whenever a situation like this arose with Asahi, it was always so difficult for Nishinoya to find the words to describe to him exactly how he felt. Oftentimes, he wished he was better at Japanese, or that his vocabulary was at least a little bit bigger.
Asahi looked resigned to silence at the sudden onslaught of grateful comments, and Nishinoya only figured that he’d found himself some viable excuse for why Nishinoya was telling him all of those things in the first place. Flattery for the tutoring, probably. Sure he was grateful, but he wished so deeply that Asahi saw himself the way that Nishinoya saw him. Just once, just for a tiny split second. But for now, he would let it go.
“When do you wanna get together?” Nishinoya asked eagerly, walking towards Asahi to fold the net,their fingers brushing together as Nishinoya’s own slid down to where the net folded, a practiced movement that had their fingers touching again to fold the net once more, drawing together like magnets.
Asahi appeared to consider Nishinoya’s question for a moment, before looking up at him from where their fingers had connected, letting go of the compacted net so that Nishinoya could carry it to the storage room. “How’s tomorrow afternoon? We can go to my house after practice. Tonight, I’ll take out my old books, and you can gather yours, alright?”
Nishinoya nodded his head, slipping the net onto a wooden shelf and wheeling the caddy of volleyballs into the enclosed space, finding it a little corner and settling it there. “Sounds, good, Asahi-san! Thank you so much for offering to tutor me!” He bowed his back just a little bit, before looking up at his upperclassman to see the look on his face.
Asahi had turned pink, and was waving his hands in embarrassment. “It’s nothing! Please, don’t worry about it, Nishinoya. There isn’t any need to bow,” he said exasperatedly, and Nishinoya grinned.
“Okay! Thank you! Can I buy you something from the vending machines? Do you want soda? I can get you an energy drink, or if you want, I’ll get you a meat bun on our way home? I was planning on getting myself one anyways, so if you want one, I’d be happy to buy it for you!” Nishinoya’s grin was renewed and insistent, and he made his way up to Asahi, looking up at him in a way that almost reminded him of how Hinata would look at an upperclassman.
Asahi looked more nervous as Nishinoya drew closer, a stunted reply escaping his mouth. “I would...I’d love to go with you to get pork buns, but I don’t want you to pay for mine. I’m sort of hungry today especially, and I would hate for you to have to cover my appetite,” he said nervously. Nishinoya could see his jaw flexing from where he stood. He observed Asahi’s shifting eye contact, their gazes catching whenever Asahi felt like letting his eyes drift back to Nishinoya’s sharp face, soon looking away again.
“Well, I’ll pay for half, then.” Nishinoya replied, using the tone of voice he knew to use when he didn’t want anyone arguing with him. Pleasantly, he noted that Asahi chose not to argue. Nishinoya took the silence as his queue to continue. “Great! Let’s get changed.” He waited for Asahi’s nod of reluctant agreement, before he started off to the changing room. Asahi wasn’t far behind him, he knew, and he stripped his shirt off as he walked.
Upon entering the changing room, Nishinoya found his locker and put in the combination. He opened the blue metal door and fished out his pair of non-athletic shoes, before he paused. His neck hairs bristled at the feeling of being watched. There was only one other set of eyes in the room. Nishinoya turned to look at his senior, pausing upon noticing that he was being stared at. Before he could say anything, the eye contact was snapped in half, and Asahi, pink in the face, immediately turned away and stripped his shirt off. Nishinoya stared at Asahi’s back just a little bit longer, quizzically furrowing his eyebrows. He watched the tan muscles ripple, feeling a small pang of envy. Asahi’s flush was dusting his upper shoulders and the nape of his neck, which was shiny with sweat and marbled with dark strands of flyaway hair adhesed to the skin. A chocolate-colored mole had settled itself towards the right of the brunette’s back, along the bridge connecting his two shoulders and his neck, standing out just slightly against Asahi’s coffee-colored skin. Nishinoya wondered briefly what it would be like to be that big. What it would be like to be known for his height and delinquent appearance. He imagined looking down at nearly everybody, harnessing a powerful presence that had been gifted to him by the gods. He just couldn’t help but envy Asahi. The guy was a tank, even with such a meek personality tucked inside his body.
Nishinoya tore his eyes away from his upperclassman’s back, feeling a little bit weird for staring at a guy’s muscles for so long. He just shook his head, clearing the thought from his mind, and pulled a fresh shirt on. He stripped his gym shorts off and stuck his legs into a pair of jeans, worn only once before today. He ran his fingers through his hair, damp with sweat and beginning to wilt. He tried to smooth it back up again, patting around until it felt about right. He nodded soundly to himself and shoved his sweaty wad of gym clothes in his bag, slipping his socked feet into his shoes and lacing the shoes up. Once he straightened his back, he took a peek at Asahi, the quiet movements of his upperclassman echoing still around the room. He was fixing his hair, letting hazelnut tendrils of the stuff down over his shoulders and sweeping it back up again. Nishinoya felt the sudden urge to tell Asahi he should just leave it like that, but he opted to watch quietly instead how Asahi’s big hands tugged his hair through his hair tye once, twice, three times, before smoothing it out on top of his head. The few strands of frizzy hair stuck right back up anyways, regardless of Asahi’s movements to quell them. Nishinoya wondered if he even knew. He bet he didn’t. It was just like the mole. A small, visual secret on Asahi’s body that Nishinoya noticed but Asahi’s conscience may have paved over, or discovered but simply forgotten about. A sort of fondness welled up in Nishinoya’s chest, and he smiled secretly to himself. A thin eyebrow drew down over his left eye, for once content to be quiet and observe. He wondered briefly if he had any secrets about himself that Asahi noticed, but didn’t speak aloud.
The moment was over when Asahi turned around, and now it was Nishinoya’s turn to feel his face warm in embarrassment. “Ready?” He asked, laughing forcibly and shoving the intimate bout of thoughts he’d just had about Asahi’s appearance to the back of his mind. Asahi nodded, though looked at Nishinoya quizzically. Whatever questions had presented themselves in his mind, Nishinoya was glad that Asahi didn’t voice them. He lifted his duffel bag over his head and slid his backpack on, adjusting the two overlapping straps on his shoulders before beginning to walk out the door, Asahi behind him once more. He was sure to tilt his head down just a little, lest Asahi were to find a mole there, or maybe only a freckle or two.
***
The walk up the mountain was friendly and warm, with chit-chat floating idly between them while they walked. Nishinoya’s feet crunched on the gravel of the road as they went. The day was getting late, and the peace of knowing he had a solution to the problem that had been weighing on him for the past couple days made him feel light. He let his head tip back, the warm evening light washing over him and lighting up his face. He was filled with such a warm rush of euphoria that he just had to laugh. “Thank you again for helping me out, Asahi.” He peeked an eye open and looked beside him, a grin present on his face.
Asahi looked at him with a sort of befuddlement, but wiped it clean as quickly as he could. “I...Of course,” he said, almost dumbly. Nishinoya wondered, in that moment, if Asahi had just discovered something secret about him. He wanted to ask, but the thought occurred to him that his epiphany in the changing room was so exclusive and farfetched that there was no way Asahi was thinking about the same thing that he was, and to tell him what he was thinking of would be way too intimate. It would be one of those things that crossed a personal line, he decided, so he remained silent about it.
They reached the little meat bun stand soon after, and Nishinoya drew his wallet from his back pocket. He lifted paper bills from within the leather folds of the thing, ready to shove his money at the chef before Asahi could. As soon as Asahi ordered his food: three pork buns and a red bean bun, he wedged his small body between his favorite upperclassman and the old wood of the food stand. “And can I please have two pork buns!” He slapped the yen on the mossy counter, smiling wide in triumph. He knew Asahi well enough to know that he wouldn’t inconvenience the food worker by fighting to pay for his own food, instead standing defeated behind Nishinoya. The worker only nodded her head, taking the yen and giving nishinoya his change. He stuck it in the tip jar, earning a distracted “thank you” before the chef got to work on the buns.
“Nishinoya,” Asahi began, “you know I didn’t want you to do that…” He said, sounding reluctant to be making such a fuss about it.
“Well, you’re about to start spending a ton of time tutoring me, Asahi-san,” Nishinoya replied, and grinned up at Asahi. He spun around to look up at his teammate, the sun blocked from his eyes by Asahi’s broad upper chest. “So you deserve it! At least let me buy you some food!”
Asahi frowned. “But that’s different,” he said, pursing his lips. “I want to tutor you. You’re my friend, and even if you weren’t, I would still tutor you for the sake of the team.” Somehow, that made Nishinoya a little disappointed. Even if he wasn’t? He smiled weakly, nodding before he heard a soft voice wafting from the back of the food stand.
Nishinoya could smell them before he saw them, and that excited him. He took the paper bags of hot buns, handing the two of Asahi’s to him before opening his own up himself. He bit into his hot pork bun, the soft insides burning his tongue. He swallowed it fast, feeling the food slipping down his throat from his back before it hit his stomach. He winced, for a moment, before peering up at Asahi, who had tore his first pork bun open with two blunt fingers, popping the white pastry into his mouth before beginning to blow on the uncovered inside. He looked up at Nishinoya, seeming to finally acknowledge his staring, and flushed a little along the bridge of his nose and the area surrounding it.
“Hi,” he said, and Nishinoya watched as he pulled a piece of pork out of the bun with his two front teeth and the bottom row nearest the front of his mouth. His tongue curled under it and pulled it inside his mouth, licking the sauce off his lips. Nishinoya noticed belatedly that one of Asahi’s front teeth was chipped, and he wondered what had happened. He furrowed his eyebrows in mild thought, before replying.
“Hi,” Nishinoya replied, and smiled, flashing his own canines and deciding to ask later, before taking another bite of his scalding meat bun. He shut his eyes tight as it went down, scrubbing the sauce off his face with the back of his forearm. “How’s your bun?”
“It’s good,” Asahi replied, “thank you for buying them for me. I’ll do my best to make sure that you pass all of your classes.”
Nishinoya beamed, laughing. He felt the cool evening air hit his scalded taste buds. “Good! Then next time, let me pay for your food, too!”
“Wh--no, no! Don’t do that! I didn’t mean it like that!” Asahi said exasperatedly, causing a new bout of giggles to erupt from Nishinoya’s mouth.
“Asahi-san, it’s only a little bit of money. You know that I don’t mind.” Nishinoya said, reaching out to pat Asahi’s forearm easily. It was warm and hard, with a smattering of dark hair. Nishinoya wished offhandedly that he could grow body hair, especially facial hair.
Asahi only sighed, his shoulders hunching forward and his mouth quirking up into a tired smile. “I’ll find a way to repay you.”
Nishinoya shook his head and laughed. He decided that he would let Asahi have this one. “Sure, Asahi-san.”
He took another bite of his bun, pleased that it didn’t scald his tongue this time. He proceeded to scarf it down, looking up at Asahi to see that he was on the second half of his own bun.
Asahi’s eyes were forward, one big hand cradling his pork bun and the other hand clutching the bags of food at his side. His eyes were forward, and when he looked down at Nishinoya, seeming to notice the other’s eyes on him, he smiled shyly. “Am I chewing too loudly?” He asked, and Nishinoya flubbed for a second, flushing and shaking his head. “N-no! You, uh. You look really cool!” He said. The bruising sunset behind Asahi was making his silhouette look darker in comparison, looming over Nishinoya like a big shadow.
“Oh, um. Y-you think so? I’m only eating,” he said. Noya furrowed his eyebrows and laughed.
“I mean you’re just cool in general! I wish you saw what everyone else sees, Asahi-san!” You’re awesome.”
Asahi shook his head for a moment, laughing in return, but looking a little bit bitterly at his bun. “Everybody seems to look at me and run away, Nishinoya,” he answered.
Nishinoya shrugged. “Not everybody. Besides, they’re only idiots anyways. Anybody who knows you knows how cool you are.”
Asahi shook his head in embarrassment. “You don’t have to keep saying those things to me, Nishinoya. I already decided that I want to tutor you, after all…”
Nishinoya started eating his second bun, glaring at his feet. “You suck, Asahi-san. You’re so awesome I can hardly stand it. It’s stupid that you don’t believe me.”
Asahi only shook his head once more, looking up at the road ahead of them. He was quiet, and so Nishinoya was quiet, too. He decided he wouldn’t press it any further, no matter how much he wanted to.
***
Their walk was mostly quiet afterwards, the words hanging in the air and leaving an odd feeling in Nishinoya’s stomach. They were reverent of how Nishinoya had behaved before Asahi’s departure and his own suspension, the climax of the intense rift between their personalities finally coming to a crescendo, crashing on the shore like a wave. He felt uneasy, looking up at Asahi, who was still eating. It wasn’t like he could take it back. He meant it, after all. It was the truth, and it angered him to no end that Asahi couldn’t see it.
Once they reached the part of the road where they had to part ways, Nishinoya snuck a glance tentatively up at Asahi. He flashed a grin, which he watched as Asahi uneasily returned. He wished he knew how to argue Asahi into agreement, or at least put a crack in his hard resolve of distaste for himself. But he didn't. So instead, he waved goodbye. “See you tomorrow, Asahi-san! Be safe!”
Asahi nodded and waved in return, meekly like usual. “You too, Nishinoya. Be safe.” And with that, Nishinoya watched as Asahi turned to walk briskly down his road.
Nishinoya tossed one last glance at Asahi before he began sprinting down his road, eager to get home. He knew his manga subscription came in today, though he’d forgotten about it in lieu of...well, of Asahi, he supposed. He shook his head and checked his mailbox, pulling out the thick magazine of shonen manga updates. A grin split his lips open as he flipped through the colorful pages, bouncing his way up the stairs of his home. Things were looking up now, sliding back into place like he knew the world always would.
As soon as he got into his kitchen to throw the paper bag away, his mom stopped him. She was a short, sharp woman, rounded out by the slowing metabolism of age. “Yuu, welcome home” she began, “have you found a solution to your problem?” Nishinoya winced a little bit, but soon remembered that he didn’t need to lie.
“Yeah, actually. My friend from the team is gonna tutor me.” He flashed a grin, and saw his mother’s own sharp expression smooth out to one of relief.
“Somebody in your grade?” She replied, her arms unfolding from their crossed position across her chest.
“No,” he replied, crumpling his bag and throwing it into the recycling bin, before heading over to the refrigerator. “He’s a year ahead of me. Azumane-san, remember? The tall one.”
His mother thought for a moment before nodding. “I think I remember. Dark hair?” She asked quizzically.
Nishinoya nodded, a little snake of pleasure curling in his stomach at the fact that his mother could recall his friend. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m going to his house tomorrow to start studying, so expect me home late.”
His mother nodded, before she paused momentarily. “I’m proud of you, Yuu. Good job finding a solution.”
He wanted to argue for Asahi’s sake, to say something profound like “but mom, the solution found me,” but all he could do was smile and nod. “Thanks, mom.” He poured himself a glass of juice and then began to make his way upstairs, not replying when his mom called after him to bring the glass down when he was finished with it. He felt so damn good.
***
Practice the next day went smoothly, with Nishinoya able to sink into the rhythm of the game. Whush, smack, thunk, squeak, skid, or some variation of the five. Though Nishinoya wasn’t particularly looking forward to having to study, he was, however, excited by the idea of being taught by his upperclassman. He wondered vacantly what Asahi’s house was like. He imagined it was quiet like him, or maybe it was very noisy, and Asahi had just been stuck down at the bottom of the barrel while his family whipped around him in a state of perpetual madness. His family was sort of like that, although he remained on top of the chaos, encouraging and fueling it. He had learned to float in it, riding the waves, bring the chaos wherever he went. But judging by the way that Asahi reacted to him, nervous and stiff, he must not be used to it, right? Noya imagined his parents for a second; what would they be like? Strict? Kind? Funny? Did they give their son a hard time? Did he have any siblings? Maybe this visit would be sort of fun, even more so than he was imagining it to be.
When practice was over and everybody milled into the changing room, Nishinoya took a peek up at Asahi. He still chattered absentmindedly with Tanaka, but he wanted to know, just for a moment, if the mole was still there. He looked past the glaze of sweat on Asahi’s skin, his eyes finding the mole immediately. Somehow, he’d thought that the mole had been dreamt up, or a pimple, or something. Something Nishinoya had gotten wrong or had seen inconsistently. But there it was, a grit of ground coffee floating in a sea of the stuff.
“Dude?” Tanaka asked, and Nishinoya jumped, his head turning to look at Tanaka so fast that he gave himself whiplash.
“Uh. Oh, sorry,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his head. It wasn’t like him to be so observant, especially not when it came to...back moles.
Tanaka only nodded, furrowing his two short eyebrows and looking over at Asahi for a minute, then back to Nishinoya, who felt his nape getting hot with embarrassment. Thankfully, his friend didn’t mention it. “It’s cool, dude. Anyways, as I was saying…”
Nishinoya shucked his gym shirt off and let it drom to the bench in front of him, wiping down his chest, back, and face with his little towel. As soon as he’d wicked up all the moisture on his upper half, he applied some deodorant to his armpits. He listened as Tanaka explained his side of the argument about which Sanrio character would win in a death battle, before refuting with some points of his own. He sprayed anti-odor in his shoes and changed into a new pair of socks, before sticking the other pair in is duffel bag. Finally, it was time to go.
Noya apologized to Tanaka and excused himself, promising to continue the debate over text message. Besides, it was very obvious that Keroppi would kill a man, no matter what Tanaka said about Kuromi.
He sidled up beside Asahi, looking up at him for a confirmation of the fact that they were still going to Asahi’s house. Asahi smiled in return, and Nishinoya adjusted the strap of his duffel bag.
“Are you ready?” Asahi asked him, and he nodded. He really didn’t want to actually learn anything, but he supposed that he had to. He deserved the suffering, he figured, for being so lax in the first place.
Nishinoya and Asahi walked the same main road as a few other teammates for about ten minutes, but none that were exquisitely pleasant. Namely, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, along with Ennoshita, who wouldn’t have been too bad, if he wasn’t chiding Nishinoya about his shitty grades. It put him in a sour mood that was getting him nervous glances from Asahi, and he only looked up with a tired smile that said well, it’s my own fault, isn’t it?
Though Nishinoya was relieved to finally have to part paths with the three, he felt a little awkward walking beside Asahi now that it was just them. He didn’t know what to say, or what conversation to start, so he just looked up and said: “good job at practice today, Asahi-san.”
Of course, Asahi smiled wanly and shook his head. “For some reason, I wasn’t jumping as high as I usually do.” He said, “But you did really well, like usual!”
It almost infuriated Nishinoya. He rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. “Asahi-san, just take the compliment!”
Asahi blanched and laughed a little bit nervously, shrugging his shoulders. “I...well, thank you, Nishinoya.”
Nishinoya smiled widely, feeling accomplished with himself as he folded his arms across his chest. “Any time, Asahi-san!”
They continued on like that for ten or fifteen minutes more, before arriving at a large home that appeared to be on the older side. It was much bigger and more sophisticated than Nishinoya’s own cozy house, which was small and not so old that it was interesting, but not so new that it was nice. He stepped up the walkway and looked around at the gardening in the front yard,wondering who was the cause of it and hoping just a little bit that it at least had something to do with Asahi. Nishinoya slipped his shoes off as Asahi did the same, apologizing aloud for his intrusion after his teammate had announced that he was home.
“Where should I put this? Nishinoya asked, motioning to his duffel bag, and Asahi took it from him, opening an old door to reveal a closet that held various coats inside. He hung their bags up one beside the other, before closing the closet door again and making sure it latched.
Just as he was about to say thank you, Nishinoya felt something warm curl around his left leg from behind. He practically jumped out of his skin, making a noise of surprise before looking down at the culprit of his shock. A large, long-haired cat with mottled fur made a sort of “prrip” in its throat, an easy acknowledgement of Nishinoya’s presence, before stalking its way right over to Asahi and butting its head against his ankles. Asahi squatted to pet the creature, afond smile apparent on his face as he did so.
“This is Mochi,” he said, cupping the cat’s fuzzy face in his hands. “We have another cat, but he’s always off in the garden. It seems like Mochi doesn’t like going out much, though. She prefers indoors.”
Nishinoya nodded curiously, watching as his teammate interacted with his pet. It occurred to him how strange he felt in that moment, mostly because, well, he had never seen Asahi outside of a school setting. He’d never been in his home, which smelled earthy and cozy, certainly antique and well lived-in. And now here the guy was, scrubbing his blunt nails behind his cat’s ears and sitting on his floor. It occurred to him that Asahi must have an entire home life that he’d never even considered before, let alone seen.
Asahi looked up from where he knelt on the floor and smiled, standing up and smoothing his pants out. “I’m sorry about that. Are you ready to get started? We can study in my room or at the kotatsu, either one is fine with me.”
Nishinoya considered it for a moment, before replying, “wherever you have all your stuff laid out for studying.” He knew well enough that he wasn’t supposed to inconvenience his senior, and it wasn’t like he wanted to, anyways.
“So, my room, then,” Asahi replied, and Nishinoya nodded. It felt odd intruding so far into Asahi’s home and personal life, but he followed the upperclassman up a flight of dark wooden stairs, holding onto the old railing and hearing the steps creak beneath his feet as he went.
Asahi’s bedroom was down the hall two doors to the right, tucked away into a corner of the hallway on the second floor. Above the second floor was an attic, it seemed, and Nishinoya figured the way to get into it was via the latch in the ceiling that hung just above Asahi’s door. Nishinoya followed Asahi into the room, trailing behind him into the personal living space that awaited them within.
Upon entry, the room was, besides old, very clean. The dark wood that accented the place could be seen in the floorboards, shiny and full of character. The tatami from downstairs wasn’t present in the room, either not included or removed. The room was spacious, decorated with an old bookshelf that was fitted into the corner, lined with books that were neatly tucked between each other. He looked at the walls, the windows large and framed with thin wood beams, looking much like the tojo that Nishinoya had seen in the back of Asahi’s house, leading to the garden of the back yard. His bed was low to the floor but still on a platform, the sheets were blue and white striped and covered with an intricate quilt. Upon further inspection, Asahi’s quilt was covered with cranes and cattails and leaping fish, with a mountainous backdrop and a setting sun. Or maybe it was rising; Nishinoya couldn’t tell. A large wooden dresser sat beside the bed, obviously as antique as the rest of the house. There was a desk on the opposite side of the room against the wall, details carved along it that resembled baskets of fruits and flowers. A laundry basket of folded clothes sat beside it full of clothes not yet put away, and a closet fit into the room beside the door. In the center of the space was a low table, adorned with study material and textbooks. The room was decorating sparingly, with clusters of scented candles or incense burners scattered here and there. Picture frames of various events gathered on the bookshelf or the desk, and a couple small carvings of Buddha sat here or there, next to what Nishinoya assumed were offerings. An orange slice or two besides a jade statue, a bundle of sage beside a white quartz one.
Asahi made his way to the low table and set down his backpack beside it, waiting for Nishinoya to make his way to the other side and sit as well. Once Nishinoya was seated, Asahi produced a small box of matches and lit one, lifting the flame to the candle in the center of the table. Nishinoya watched with interest as Asahi shook the match out, before flicking it into the small trash can beside the desk.
“If you’re hungry, I can bring some snacks up,” he said, and Nishinoya pondered the idea for a moment, before deciding that he could wait to eat.
“Naw, I’m not really hungry yet. Maybe when we take a break, I’ll eat.” He said, and grinned, flashing his teeth.
Asahi nodded, his eyes ducking down quickly as he looked for his folders. “What, um...what subject would you like to start with?”
Nishinoya thought for a moment, tapping his chin and crossing his legs. “Um...Japanese History?” He suggested. It was his least favorite, so he figured he might as well get it out of the way before he lost all his steam.
His upperclassman pulled an orange binder out of a pile of other study materials, peeling it open and flipping through the dates before reaching one about a month ago. “Should we start from the beginning of the year? Let’s use today to figure out what you know and don’t know, and then we can decide where to start.”
Nishinoya nodded. That seemed easy enough, and smart, too. He watched and listened intently as Asahi began to review topics from history, his head tilting to the side and watching the other teenager speak.
Asahi’s jaw was strong, flexing and moving methodically as he read off terms from the binder. His lips spoke languidly, his eyes downcast to the pages of his old material. Nishinoya, though fidgety and bouncing in place, watched Asahi intently. He was trying his hardest not to tune out the subject topics, responding accordingly as to whether or not he recognized the material that was being read aloud. His upperclassman had a voice that was deep and strong, not acute like his own. It covered the room like water on rocks, sturdy and somehow loud, even when he spoke quietly.
Nishinoya wondered how many more things there were to notice about Asahi. His qualities seemed so endless that he wasn’t even sure he could hold them all, fistfuls of quirks and features so endless yet so subtle. Nishinoya inched forward, his knees jittering. He rested his chin in the bowls of his hands, listening as best he could to his upperclassman’s words.
It was a little after halfway through the review when Nishinoya felt rather than heard his stomach rumble. There had been a lull in conversation as Asahi flipped to another unit, his mouth open and ready to speak, when Nishinoya’s body so rudely interrupted them.
A sort of grin broke out on his face as he laughed, a hand moving to rest on his stomach. “Sorry, he said, but could we...go get some snacks?”
Asahi evidently couldn’t help the smile that appeared on his face either, nodding and laying the math binder open on the surface of the chabudai. He scooted back and stood, and Nishinoya’s eyes went with him. Asahi seemed to expand to three times his originally perceived size on the floor, towering over Nishinoya in a way that should have made him feel scared, or maybe even a little bit envious. But instead, he felt a pang of admiration. Asahi was so goddamn cool. He stood up too, moving aside so that his upperclassman could lead him to the kitchen.
They padded down the stairs in their socks, Asahi leading the way down to the kitchen. Upon entrance, he opened an old cabinet and brought out two small cups of instant ramen, setting them on the table. Nishinoya watched as he brought out two oranges and two apples, his sturdy hands pulling a cutting board down from a high up shelf. He brought a knife from a wood block, rinsing the fruits under cool water, then leaving the water running to fill a kettle and let it heat upon the stove. Nishinoya hoisted himself on the island, his eyes following Asahi’s hands. His arms, big and dark like branches of a tree, flexed as they helped push the knife through the citrusy peel of an orange. The metal of the knife swished through the fruit in three back and forth motions, a bright aroma released into the air upon prompt of the blade. Asahi turned the semispheres up on their rounded end and sliced each one once more, repeating the process with the second orange. Nishinoya had no idea that somebody’s appearance could be so interesting. He watched the way that Asahi held an apple in his hand, beaded with tap water, slicing it into eighths and guarding the end of the fruit with his thumb. A vein curled up Asahi’s knuckles, thin skin smattered with a little bit of hair and taut over the wide backs of his hands. Asahi’s face was concentrating, a small crease between his eyebrows. His eyelashes were long, lain out over his tanned cheeks. The bridge of his nose and the area surrounding were smattered with freckles, barely perceptible beneath the warm kitchen lamp. Nishinoya leaned forward without even realizing it, wanting deeply to get a better look. And then, Asahi looked up.
Nishinoya watched a brilliant pink slowly bleed all over Asahi’s face. It bloomed at his nose and spread like fire across his face, up his ears, down his neck. His eyes were big when they looked into Nishinoya’s own. Nishinoya realized suddenly that they were about a foot apart. He could have sworn that he wasn’t nearly this close when he’d first hopped up on the other side of the island. For a split second, all was brilliantly still. Asahi stared at him, his lips slightly parted, his long bottom lashes cupping his eyes. His irises were wreathes of hazelnut brown and olive green, his strong jaw tight and his larynx bobbing. The methodical and decisive chops of the knife had come to a stop. Nishinoya didn’t know what to do.
He pulled away slowly, his mouth pursed into a thin line of embarrassment. He felt the tips of his ears getting hot, his neck and shoulders seconding the action. It would occur to him later that there was no reason to not know what to do. In fact, it was very obvious. He should pull away and say sorry, and pretend it never happened. But he felt a pang in his chest as he watched his upperclassman and friend turn to the trashcan and scrape the cores and seeds inside with the knife. It was so much easier to pick apart Asahi’s little quirks with less distance between them. He didn’t know anything else that held his attention so raptly, and for a split second, he wondered how wrong it was to feel so fascinated with another person without telling them.
Upon thinking, he realized that he had looked at somebody like this before. Or, well, a couple somebodies. But disparagingly, he noted that they were all...girls. And he hadn’t looked at them like he was, right? Asahi was a different fascination. His freckles and his arms and hands, they weren’t cheap thrills. Not poses in magazines stuck under his mattress or girls on his phone that he knew he could never have a chance with. He was a cool guy, an ecosystem of facial features and thoughts that all worked together. Asahi was a planet of a person; he was a tank.
But when Noya looked at him again, he could see the appeal. A few strands of long hair were falling around Asahi’s face, his lips were full and smooth. He had big doe eyes and long eyelashes to frame them. Nishinoya realized belatedly that not only was Asahi-san cool, he was sort of pretty, too.
Nishinoya sighed and slipped of the counter, moving to watch Asahi pour hot water in the two cups of ramen. He placed a pair of chopsticks atop each bowl, letting them cook. The two of them hadn’t said a thing, he realized, since they got downstairs. Nishinoya peered up at Asahi and decided to try and break the awkward silence that had blanketed over them.
“So. um...how much more studying do we have left?” He asked, but he didn’t like how his voice had come out. It was too soft, too unlike him. Even Asahi seemed to give him a quizzical look.
“Um...maybe forty-five minutes?” Asahi replied, and Nishinoya noticed that his voice seemed a little bit off, too. Misplaced, cheap. Not voluminous enough.
“Okay,” he replied, and snuck his fingers under Asahi’s forearm, pinching an orange slice and popping the pulpy part into his mouth. He pushed the rind past his lips to rest against his teeth, looking up at Asahi and grinning.
“Hey!” Asahi laughed, the noise warm and deep. Nishinoya laughed too. The sound didn’t begin to match the depth of Asahi’s own, but he liked the noise they made together, anyway. Asahi took a piece of orange himself and ate the pulp out, peeling the film away from the rind with his teeth and chewing the sweet orange in his molars. He threw the peel away, holding his hand out underneath Nishinoya’s chin. Nishinoya spit his rind into Asahi’s palm, watching him throw it away as well. He thanked his friend before taking the two cups of ramen in his hands and moving so that Asahi could lead them back up to is room.
He followed him up the stairs, careful not to spill the soup. They got back into Asahi’s room, Nishinoya breathing in the warm smell of the candle Asahi had lit about an hour ago. “What time do your parents come back?” He asked, setting the soup down on the able and sitting before it, peeling the paper back and sticking his chopsticks inside to stir it.
Asahi looked at Nishinoya for a moment, before relying, “my dad doesn’t live here, and my mother comes home in…” he checked his bedside clock, “about an hour. Sometimes two.”
Nishinoya nodded. “Sorry for assuming, Asahi-san,” he said, slurping up a bunch of noodles and then reaching for the apple slices, taking a bite of one and examining it between his fingers. He looked back up with a sense of uncomfortable guilt, chewing his food quietly.
Asahi shook his head and waved his hand dismissively, breaking into his own ramen cup himself. “Please, don’t worry. He and i still see each other sometimes, I suppose.”
Nishinoya hated to talk about stuff like this. He shifted a little bit, before looking back up. “Do you wanna talk about it?” somehow, he didn’t feel right just leaving it be.
Asahi shrugged. “There isn’t much to talk about, really,” he replied, and looked back up, smiling. “My dad left when i was about six, after my parents fought all the time. They had a divorce, and the vague memories that I do have of how my father spoke with me aren’t too great. He told me a lot about how I disappointed him or how I was doing something wrong. It probably set me up a lot for how I am now.”
Nishinoya sat in silence, frowning to himself. “So that asshole’s the reason you look down on yourself,” he said. He could see how it had gotten to Asahi. If his own dad had been treating him like that, especially so early on, he’d probably doubt himself, too.
Asahi looked down at his lap. “Sometimes he messages me after televised games. He doesn’t ever really compliment me, but he tells me what I should have done, instead. I suppose it is a bit for me to be asking for compliments, but, well, I don’t know.”
“It’s not too much!” Nishinoya insisted earnestly. “You deserve every little bit of praise you get and so much more! Your dad’s just an asshole. Just ‘cause he doesn’t like how life is going for him doesn’t mean he should be taking it out on yours!” Nishinoya smacked his palms on the table, the flame in the candle wobbling in his wake.
Asahi sat in silence, seemingly caught in thought. His eyes were wide, and he flipped through about five emotions before deciding on thankful. He smiled, his eyes softening a little bit. He looked down at the table between them, eyes focusing on the candle. “Thank you. I guess you’re right. I hope one day I’ll be able to think that way.”
The scene before Nishinoya was one out of a fairytale. Asahi’s lips were curled up in a kind smile, and the fruits before him sat out like an oil painting. The steam from his ramen cup curled in the air, warm and hot and wafting back and forth across Asahi’s sad smile. His wavy hair fell in strands over his tanned face, and the mute backdrop of mahogany furniture wrapped its arms around them, warm and homely in itself.
“I know you can!” Nishinoya said, his heart aching. That look on Asahi’s face was one he hadn’t seen before. He wondered how long he’d be able to see it, or if it would ever make its way out again. It was so soft, and kind. Asahi was so nice. Nishinoya felt his face warming up. “You’re so...you’re so great,” he said, and he wished again that he had more words to explain how he felt. “You’re amazing, Asahi-san.” He said.
Asahi laughed and flushed, taking a slice of apple and shaking his head. “I wish.” He said, before he pulled the history binder towards himself again, looking back up. “Thank you for listening to me. I didn’t mean to bother you with it.”
“Dummy,” Nishinoya said, “you didn’t bother me. You never bother me. Seriously.” He tried to convey everything that he felt in that moment through an intense look at Asahi, before he took a sip of his ramen broth.
Asahi smiled just slightly. “Thank you. I’ll try my best to remember it.”
The rest of their study session went smoothly. It felt warm and friendly, kind. Asahi seemed to open up a little more, peeking out past his shell as the fruit and ramen disappeared slowly. It pleased Nishinoya immensely, so much so that he began to go out of his way to make Asahi laugh. And once he got the guy laughing, well. Sometimes it was hard to get him to stop, and that made Nishinoya laugh, too.
The time flew until it was time for Nishinoya to leave. Asahi had finished figuring out what he needed to learn half an hour ago, and now they sat together, shooting the shit. Another bout of laughter died down, and Asahi stole a glance at the clock.
“It’s six,” he said.
“It’s six twelve, actually,” Nishinoya corrected, causing Asahi to shoot him a grin. He grinned back.
“You should be going soon. Would you like me to walk you to your house?” He asked.
Nishinoya thought for a moment. Asahi’s company sure was nice, but he didn’t want to trouble him. “Nah, I’ll just go myself. Thank you, Asahi-san!” He said, getting to his feet and grabbing their dishes and trash.
Asahi nodded and got up himself, helping Nishinoya pack his bookbag up. He led Nishinoya down the stairs, and Noya threw the garbage away. He put his shoes back on, slipping on his jacket and duffel bag. He smiled up at Asahi, before smoothing his spiked hair back. “Thanks again for having me,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Of course,” Asahi replied, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Take care of yourself, and be safe on your way home.”
Nishinoya nodded his head, adjusting the strap of his bag. He turned out the door and waved to Asahi, who stood in the doorway, and took a breath of the air. Cold, dark. Not lived in, like Asahi’s home was. He breathed the rest of Asahi’s air out his lungs, before turning down the sidewalk and beginning to run.
On his way home, Nishinoya rolled over the events of the afternoon and evening in his head. He thought of how Asahi looked with a pencil stuck in his hair. He thought of how his hands wrapped around the fruits, slicing them apart with such care. He thought about their odd moment in the kitchen and the desire that overtook him, the simple curiosity to explore Asahi’s face. The minutes following, where they slipped into easy conversation and a nostalgic rhythm of jokes, and Nishinoya’s intense desire to make Asahi laugh at him. He remembered how Asahi’s eyes crinkled when he laughed, little webs that curled down the corners of his eyes and his cheeks. His teeth and tongue, ruddy and visible past his lips just before he covered his mouth to catch laughter in his hands. Nishinoya found himself smiling at the thought of it as he ran, turning into his gate soon enough. He made his way up to his doorway, opening it and taking his shoes off at the mat inside.
“I’m home!” He announced, the lofty reply of his mother’s “welcome home” greeting him soon after. He hung up his bags in the closet and padded into the kitchen, unbuttoning his jacket.
“Dinner’s almost ready. Are you hungry?” She asked. “How was your studying today?”
Nishinoya smiled. “It was good,” he said. “I’m hungry.”
His mother nodded in response. “What did you cover today?” She asked, tossing a few fistfuls of crisp vegetables into the wok on the stove. Her sharp eyes focused on the pan, but she was still clearly listening for Nishinoya’s reply.
“Not much of anything yet. Asahi-san just went through everything to find where I fell behind, and what I know and don’t know.” Nishinoya tied his jacket around his waist, examining his fingernails absentmindedly.
“I see,” she replied, and looked over her shoulder. “Would you come help me clean up, please?”
Nishinoya nodded. Upon noticing the scraps of vegetables and meat that his mother hadn’t been able to throw away, he made his way over to toss them in the garbage and put the huge cutting board beside the sink. He helped his mother bring out bowls and chopsticks, setting the table and helping her plate, too. Soon enough, his siblings could be heard thundering down the stairs.
Nishinoya served them their bowls of food, before his mother asked him to go and fetch his father. It was a wonder that his mother was being so tame and kind to him. He figured belatedly that she must have had a tiring day at work, one so much so that she couldn’t even find the energy to be angry or biting. He stood up obediently and walked down the hallway and up the thin flight of stairs to his father’s workplace, peering inside.
His dad sat at his desk, a hand cradling his head as he filled out a document on his laptop. The room was cluttered, organized with its own sense of madness. It wasn’t typical for his father to be in his office, anyways. He worked as a hairdresser, after all, and his thin frame looked more fitting on his feet.
Suddenly, Nishinoya recalled what Asahi had said about his own father. He looked in on his own for just another silent moment more, wondering what it would be like to have such a cold past with his dad. He remembered in the summer, when his father would drive his family to the lake for a picnic and a day in the sun, or when Nishinoya would mess up at school or at home, and his father would be the first one to defend him against his mother’s anger. Even now, his dad sat at his desk, struggling through what had to be torture, in order to finance a life for his kids and partially his wife.
Nishinoya smiled, resting his head against the doorframe. “Dad,” he said, watching his father visibly jump, “come for dinner. Mom told me to get you.”
His father turned around in his chair, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose before sighing thankfully and placing a hand on his chest. “Thank god,” he replied, “you scared me!”
Nishinoya laughed and shrugged. “Keep up, old man. I’m always watching.” With that, he turned to head down the stairs, following the scent of hot food wafting throughout the small house.