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Some feelings came unprompted. Koushi knew that best; had grown up and cozied and fought those unwanted, unprompted feelings. He wasn’t sure whether this one was unwanted, but he knew damn well that it’d been unprompted.
He couldn’t pinpoint a day, or a time, or even a place. Someday he just looked at him and thought ah, that’s it isn’t it? From there it all came naturally. The stolen glances, the yearning, the dreaming, the thinking.
They sat huddled around a table at a local diner, some way off the main road home, celebrating their victory in the day’s practice match. Koushi had been listening, really. He’d tried, at least, but his eyes were glued to the single smudge of sauce by Kageyama’s lip.
It was minuscule, really. A barely-there little dot in the corner of a pair of perfect lips. All he’d have to do would be to stick his tongue out a fraction and lick it off, Kageyama that is.
(As much as Koushi would kill to do that, the prospect seemed daunting at best and entirely inappropriate at worst.)
It wasn’t anything major. Really. No one had probably even noticed. Not unless they were paying as close attention to the team’s broody setter as he was, which would undoubtedly stir more unwanted, unprompted emotions.
No, it was no big deal.
“Kageyama, you got something there.” He pointed at his own lip-corner, but the wrong one.
On purpose, maybe, but he would never admit that.
“What?” grumbled the almighty king of the court. Eyebrows scrunched in confusion and eyes winking those long, beautiful lashes at him.
What a gem the rest of the world was missing out on. This hidden, sweet, awkward Kageyama that he so flawlessly erased on court.
Kageyama rubbed lazily the wrong corner and looked at Koushi for affirmation. Koushi shook his head and forced out a choked little giggle—just to diffuse the awkwardness of Daichi’s pointed stare. He could feel it prickling the side of his face, judgement, but Koushi was a man on a mission.
“Here,” he said and leaned over—handkerchief firmly clasped in a clammy, shaky hand.
He’d never been this bold about it before. Ever. At most he would tease him good-naturedly, but he’d never flirted with him so openly, so directly. Would Kageyama even understand?
“Lemme get it for you…” he trialed of in lieu of watching Kageyama’s eyes widen a fraction, blue on white on open display for Koushi to drown himself in.
Of course, he couldn’t do that. Not with the silence of the entire team having shut up in shock sitting on his shoulders, ticking down time for him. He inwardly cursed them and their unyielding curiosity but knew he couldn’t exactly blame them. This wasn’t like him. Not in the least.
Slowly, so he could savor the tender moment of grazing the soft surface of Kageyama’s skin—of tracing the outline of perfect, perfect lips—he wiped off the tiny little smudge of sauce.
By the time he was done and had leaned back in his chair his face was a fuming hot, scalding mess.
“Thanks…” muttered a rightfully bewildered Kageyama before brushing it off and resuming his meal.
He thanked him greatly for his awkwardness all the while cursing him for not getting the painfully obvious hint.
“Like straight out of a rom-com,” whispered Daichi next to him.
The jerk even had the gall to smirk deviously at him under a raised brow.
“Shut up.”
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All we see is sky for forever.
We let the world pass by for forever
Feels like we could go on for forever this way.
Two friends on a perfect day.
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If Kageyama was an adorable, long-lashed beauty off court, he was a tall, intimidating presence on court.
That revelation wasn’t exactly big news to anyone, much less Koushi—who’d spent a good amount of time admiring him both for his looks and for his unnerving talent.
The ease with which Kageyama handled the ball, the years and years of blood and sweat and experience that bled through every flick of his wrist, every graze of slim fingertips on the worn leather-surface. How Koushi envied every volleyball ever invented. Hell, maybe even the sport itself, with how untainted adoration coursed through Kageyama’s veins like a nicotine rush anytime he played. He left it all out there for the world to see, for everyone to witness his infatuation. His burning, boiling passion.
He stood there by the water and towels, trying and failing to hone in on the conversation unfolding between the two third years next to him, but his mind wouldn’t climb out of the Kageyama-gutter.
He watched instead the bend of Kageyama’s back, the flex of strong thighs as he jumped, the fluid motion of a pair of arms to kill for. Watched how sharp eyes, hyper-focused beyond what Koushi would ever call normal, snapped from point to point; analyzed every inch of the court around him, ever player present on it. He let his eyes linger a little too long on the exposed skin of his stomach where his shirt had flown up, on the happy trail dipping below the waistline of his shorts. He even allowed himself to envision his hands running that patch of hair, tracing the muscles of his stomach and the beauty mark beneath his navel. Allowed himself to imagine raking his nails down that broad, sharp back, latching teeth onto one of those strong shoulders, trailing kisses up his long neck to find residence where the sharp edge of his jaw met soft skin—
“Suga!” yelled Daichi, successfully snapping him out of his trance.
He bashfully rose a hand to rub off a stray drop of drool from his chin. How embarrassing.
“Are you OK, Suga? You were spacing out?” Asahi fiddled nervously with the bottle in his hands, unknowing of the disaster of a homosexual he was staring at.
Daichi scoffed and waved a hand in Koushi’s direction dismissively. “Don’t mind him, he was just busy drooling over his favorite freshman,” he said and cast a pointed glare Koushi’s way.
He heard Asahi sputter and squawk in shock but didn’t stop to answer the question sure to follow. Instead he took a deep, steadying breath and walked up to Kageyama.
“Kageyama-kun?” he started. Kageyama turned towards him, and Koushi tried really hard not to let his eyes dive lower than his nose. Tried with all his might to ignore the heat in his face, or the unstoppable desire to trace the outlines of Kageyama’s muscles through that sweat-damp shirt.
“Sugawara-san?”
“W-will you help me? There’s this thing I’ve been trying to do with Asahi. It’s, uh, about the timing I think but coach said something about, uh,” at this point he was pulling stuff out of his ass, “about spin direction, yeah. Spin direction. That’s it.”
Kageyama nodded in full understanding, which was insane because Koushi had just spent half a minute explaining nonsense to him.
“It’s about that back attack move you two are working on, right?” he asked instead and bent to pick up a nearby volleyball.
“Y-yeah… exactly…” What move now? Did they have a special move?
“I noticed your contact point with the ball is a little rough whenever you’re setting backrow.” Kageyama gripped the ball in both hands, tips of his thumb and index forming a perfect triangle on the ball. “If you allowed your elbows to dampen the impact a little more you wouldn’t get that awkward spin coach was probably talking about.”
It baffled him how easily talking came to Kageyama whenever it was about volleyball. To be fair, he wasn’t listening very well—far too preoccupied with the way his eyebrows were so relaxed when he wasn’t re-thinking and re-formulating every word he uttered.
He looked breathtakingly handsome, this close. All tall and sweaty with his midnight-black hair plastered to his skin. Koushi even noted the slight, barely-there way in which the strands curled.
“Maybe it’s best if I show you…?” Kageyama’s voice came through. Something about the way he put it had startled him back to reality.
Crap, had he been awkwardly ignoring questions or something?
He nodded jerkily and panicked inside as Kageyama—instead of asking him to throw him the ball so he could set an example—moved behind Koushi and raised his arms to above his head where the volleyball hovered in Kageyama’s grasp.
“So, umh…” he started, but trailed of to instead adjust Koushi’s grip on the volleyball.
He was talking again, probably explaining what Koushi should be avoiding. Definitely giving really helpful tips Koushi should have been noting and taking in.
But he couldn’t. He was far too preoccupied with the warmth radiating off Kageyama’s chest. The way his body engulfed Koushi entirely. The way his voice came from above his ears, way up there. The way Kageyama’s large hands wrapped around his as he moved around his fingers and hands in demonstration.
If that was how Koushi would die, he would die a happy man. Despite the teasing snickering from the team around them.
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One foot after the other.
One branch, then to another.
I climb higher and higher.
I climb 'til the entire sun shines on my face.
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As per routine, Hinata and the second years were raising the decibels in the little Sakannoshita shop, that day like many before a stop on their route home where they bought meat buns and chatted for a while.
He’d noticed Kageyama leaving before the rest, and haphazardly shoved his bag of meat buns into Ennoshita’s unsuspecting arms.
Once outside he realized the air had dropped in temperature, and that the sky above was now a dark blue color. Shines glinted here and there down at them, scattered over the sky and bleeding into nothing by the horizon line in the distance. Kageyama stood by Hinata’s bike—hastily thrown by the side of the road in his rush for food—and was staring out at the city below. Sparks of light illuminated the otherwise dark streets beneath them; people coming home, eating dinner, doing homework. Living in their homes.
He watched, for a second, the taughtness in Kageyama’s shoulders. Both his hands were shoved into his pockets, and he wasn’t carrying a bag of meat buns. It meant something was up, but since Kageyama hadn’t played any differently he’d never gotten the opportunity to ask. No until now.
He tapped him on the shoulder, which startled the guy out of his daydreaming.
“You okay?” he asked.
Kageyama beneath the streetlamp lights was ethereal, an epiphany and nothing less. A resting place for his eyes.
He sighed, “It’s nothing,” he muttered, which was so entirely Kageyama.
He wanted to prod, to know more, but knew better than that. Kageyama would come to him in time. He hoped so, at least.
A cold wind blew by between them and Koushi, who’d forgotten to take his jacket from the shop, shivered in kind.
“It’s chilly outside,” he settled on, trying for small talk. Kageyama nodded absentmindedly.
“Aren’t you cold?” he pushed on, noting that he was wearing nothing but his shirt and jersey jacket and yet wasn’t shivering at all.
It was something he’d recently learned about Kageyama; he was never cold.
“No,” he said, short and sweet.
Koushi sighed in defeat and was about to consider moving back inside when a blanket of heat enveloped his quivering shoulders. Kageyama’s jersey lay draped over him, hanging loose and a little big on him but oh so warm. So soft and familiar and yet foreign at the same time.
It smelled faintly of sweat and detergent and something uniquely Kageyama, mixed with the scent of what Koushi now knew was his body wash.
Oh, how that did things to his fragile little heart where it fluttered wildly in his chest.
“I fought with my mom,” Kageyama spoke into the silence, hands back in the pockets of his joggers. He looked good like that, a long stroke of black ink against the backdrop of Miyagi. “She’s not home much and yet she expects me to do everything perfectly. I told her it wasn’t fair, and she left, again. I’m a little worried she might have done something stupid even though I know she’s an adult who can care for herself.”
Koushi had expected anything but that. An insight into Kageyama’s home life, something that had remained an enigma for everyone for so long. Well, everyone except Hinata, perhaps, though he wasn’t sure Hinata knew much more either.
He studied the steady rise and fall of his chest and thought for a second that he almost seemed older than he was, more mature than the impression he gave off, but just as quickly the moment vanished when Kageyama’s eyes fell to him—big and earnest and drooping in sadness and abandonment.
A child left to tend to himself.
“Is that stupid?” he asked, eyes locked somewhere on Koushi’s chest.
“No, it’s not,” he whispered, “It’s very brave, Tobio-kun.”
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We walk a while and talk about the things we'll do when we get out of school.
Bike the Appalachian trail or write a book or learn to sail.
Wouldn't that be cool?
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He had expected disaster following the Tobio-kun incident. To Koushi’s absolute astonishment, however, Kageyama hadn’t so much as batted an eye.
Instead, he did the unthinkable.
Started calling him Koushi-san instead.
Which, alright, that grave he’d dug himself. He couldn’t have expected something like that to pass by the ever-observant Kageyama in the process of blossoming socially. The Kageyama who’d recently been obsessing over every single interaction, every word he spoke.
He was, still, surprised to be greeted that way by Kageyama every time they met. Including that day, by the hallway window by the vending machine.
“Koushi-san.”
He willed his erratic heart to calm and not beat out of his throat lest he throws it up all over Kageyama’s feet like an absolute loser.
“Ka—” he stopped himself. He might as well go all in, since he’d started this thing in the first place.
Daichi and the others would never let him live it down.
He cleared his throat. “Tobio-kun! There you are! I was looking for you, actually,” he lied, trying for casual but probably coming off more like a nervous girl about to confess her shy little crush on the broody, mysterious Kageyama.
Judging by the strange looks he received from Kageyama’s classmates.
But Koushi was a man on a mission.
“Out here getting confessions or milk? It’s either one or the other!” he joked, but it fell flat on Kageyama who took every word to heart.
“No, none today,” he said, nonchalantly, which made something within Koushi bristle and crumble.
“Right. You get those often? Haha…” He rubbed awkwardly the lump in his right shoulder, trying his best to breathe calmer and lower the temperature in his cheeks.
“Dunno. What’s considered ‘often’?” he asked, genuinely curious.
Koushi pitied himself greatly. “I’m not sure, but I know I’ve caught you a few times with some of the girls from my class, too,” he said, feigning innocence. “Is there any one of them you’re interested in?” He clasped both hands behind his back in an effort to hide the way they shook.
“I’m not that—”
But before he could finish that sentence a boy from one of the neighboring classes came hurdling down the hallway and straight into Koushi, who toppled and slipped and braced himself for the impact of the cold, hard floor that never came.
Instead his hands met firm, warm muscles and his shoulders were caught and steadied by two large, firm hands.
“Koushi-san?! Are you OK?” he asked but didn’t let him finish. Instead, he whipped his head towards one of the troublemakers lingering anxiously and cast him one of Kageyama’s best death-glares.
It sent the poor thing scampering away in a matter of seconds.
“Damn brats,” he growled above Koushi’s head, grip not wavering and their proximity not changing. Koushi stood eye level with Kageyama’s collarbones peeking out of his black uniform.
He wanted one of his buttons.
He really wanted one.
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There's nothing that we can't discuss,
like girls we wish would notice us but never do.
He looks around and says to me:
"There's nowhere else I'd rather be".
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Anxiety was something unfortunately very familiar to Koushi. He’d lived in it in periods his whole life. As a child he’d often get berated for being a crybaby, or for constantly throwing temper tantrums, and as he the years went on the people in his life learned that they’d never really go away. It had become a part of Koushi. It was something he’d learnt to handle and control as best he could.
Sometimes, though, sometimes it got the better of him. Sometimes he’d catch himself laying stiff as a brick in bed just staring at the ceiling for hours, trying to will his heartrate to slow so he could fall asleep—urging his brain to finally shut off and fall into that blissful, awaited sleep.
And sometimes no matter the pushing from his end his brain wouldn’t listen, and, in his mind, he found no off button.
That night, laying sardined in his futon between Kageyama and Yamaguchi, he once again found himself on the other end of that impossible barrier.
He was fiddling mindlessly with various plays on his pad, mapping out and testing different rotations and switching around people’s positions. It was mostly a way of tiring himself out (or at least trying to), but it was also a way of figuring out new rotations and possible variations in their lineup. A healthy exercise of the Karasuno strengths, if you will.
Quiet as he’d been, the light from his pad must have stirred awake a very unhappy Kageyama who squinted one eyes open and immediately shut it against the bright light.
“Sorry,” Koushi chuckled, as quietly as he could so as not to wake the others.
Judging by Tanaka’s loud snoring, he doubted anyone cared much about his whispered giggle.
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he added and tried to cover himself and the pad further with the help of the cover. If he blocked out most of the light perhaps it wouldn’t bother Kageyama so much.
“’S okay, Koushi…” he grumbled in response, which should have sparked electricity in his veins the way it did.
From the light of the pad he could see the outline of Kageyama, and some features of his face in the dark. His hair was tousled from sleep, strands sticking up angrily every-which-way, and his shirt had ridden up and stretched out—the neckline loose, exposing a pale throat and those God-forsaken collarbones.
“Can’t sleep…?” came the follow-up question. Kageyama’s voice when he was tired or freshly awoken was a treat in itself, lower and huskier than usual. Raspy in that way that sent shivers down Koushi’s spine.
“No,” he admitted, mentally shaking himself free of his thoughts. “I’m too jittery. Anxiety’s a bitch.” He laughed, which sounded more like a winded exhale.
Kageyama didn’t bat an eye before reaching out for Koushi’s pad, turning it off and then swinging out both arms in a very obvious invite to join him.
To join him…
In his futon…
“What—”
“It used to help me when I was a kid… I’d ask my dad to stay with me until I fell asleep… maybe it’ll help you too.”
Seeing and hearing this vulnerable, open version of Kageyama was new and foreign to Koushi. He didn’t know what the best route to take from there was, so he settled on simply turning off his brain and letting his body do the work for him.
It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t hard either, to let himself fall into Kageyama’s warmth, into his open embrace.
His head nestled itself right over his chest where he could hear the steady, healthy beat of the heart of an athlete. It was comforting like nothing else. Kageyama was warm and firm and yet soft all the same. His shirt, sleep worn and warm, smelled like Kageyama and clothes softener and that body wash of his that Koushi adored. It smelled like home, and it sounded even more as such, and the two warm, strong hands that enveloped his shoulders only further mended him into Kageyama.
In a moment of bravery, he swung a leg over one of Kageyama’s. Hesitantly at first, and inch at a time, and when he didn’t receive a complaint finished the movement.
It was so incredibly intimate.
A long exhale left him in an instant—nothing but the music of utter bliss as Kageyama, too, relaxed beneath him. Koushi, for being someone who always ran cold, greatly appreciated Kageyama’s furnace-like body. All that training of his made Kageyama more than just insanely attractive, it made him compact and sturdy and healthy too, and if the slow beat of his heart hadn’t given that away already, surely all the firm width beneath Koushi’s torso and leg would.
He ignored the feeling of pressing a thigh right up against—
He appreciated Kageyama’s non-verbal way of caring, despite having ruined his sleep with his dumb little pad.
Lying in his arms like that, for the first time in a long time, Koushi slept better than ever before, and if sharing a futon became their secret little habit after that, well, no one was ever awake to judge them.
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And there he goes, racing toward the tallest tree.
From far across the yellow field I hear him calling, "Follow me".
There we go.
Wondering how the world might look from up so high.
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By their time Koushi’s years at Karasuno had come to an end, he bitterly realized that his lover for Kageyama would have to end in the bin of his heart.
By the gate, some way before him, he watched Kageyama’s face blossom into matching bouquets of the reddest roses.
He was standing stiffly before one of the girls from Hinata’s class. Koushi recognized her well from the many times Hinata had gushed loudly about her beauty.
She was a sight, truly. Accentuated Kageyama’s princely charm well with her wavy, brown locks and big, dark eyes. Pretty. Beautiful.
Enough to cause a reaction in Kageyama Koushi had never seen before.
He’d seen him blush, alright. Many times. But never like that. Never so tenderly, so bashfully. It completely changed his entire demeanor, the way those blue eyes of his lit up under the flaming red apples of his cheeks. The way dark hair fell into his eyes and shielded him from the world, as if he were scary it would crumble upon witnessing that side of him.
Well, one world certainly did crumble at the sight of him, but it wasn’t Kageyama’s world.
He’d been about to leave, to turn and never come back, to forget all about Kageyama—but something stopped him in his tracks, or rather, someone did.
The girl he’d been talking to bowed and Kageyama bowed politely in kind, and when she turned to walk back to the school Koushi noted her scrunched-up expression; as if she’d bitten into a lemon.
That couldn’t have been from a confession gone-right, could it?
Wasn’t reciprocation of one’s feelings typically a joyous moment?
He’d been so caught up in his own world, in his once-sided analysis, that he hadn’t noticed the looming presence next to him until Kageyama cleared his throat, loudly, to get his attention.
He turned and came face to face with a Kageyama whose cheeks were dusted a gorgeous pink and whose second uniform-button was missing from—now instead sitting in the open palm stretched out towards Koushi.
“I’ve never been good with words, but I know actions. Thanks, for tolerating me for so long.”
He nudged his hand closer until Koushi reeled himself back on Earth long enough to accept the extended gift.
The heaviest button he’d ever held.
“Tobio-kun…? Is this…?”
The tips of his ears were now red. Koushi wanted to give each a kiss. Despite his height and strength, standing like that hunched before him Kageyama looked so human and touchable, no more than another highschool student, and Koushi caught himself thinking it was insanely endearing how eagerly Kageyama reminded Koushi of that. Like every time they spoke, and he hunched over just a little bit to seem less imposing, something he never did with anyone else.
Not with anyone but Koushi.
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And I suddenly feel the branch give way.
I'm on the ground, my arm goes numb, I look around and I see him come to get me.
He's come to get me, and everything's okay.
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The roar of the crowd was a cacophony of noise, all voices and pleas and cries blended into one single hysterical mess of adoration thrown at Tobio’s feet.
And there, amongst them all, standing front and face, was Koushi in all his glory.
He was practically preening, watching him stand there among children and fans in all his awkward, stumbly glory. How he wanted to kiss him, he thought, but before long he found himself rushing through, knocking guards out of the way as best he could as he leapt into Tobio’s sweaty embrace.
They stumbled a step or two, but Tobio took his weight well and spun him one then twice.
“You came,” he whispered into his skin.
Koushi smiled against his neck.
“You stink,” he said instead, and leaned back to kiss him square on the lips.
Tobio’s grin didn’t falter a bit as he kissed back, lips a furnace against Koushi and his skin clammy and warm beneath his cold fingertips.
Tobio put him down, which meant Koushi would have to tug him down to kiss him considering how much taller he’d gotten. Some days he cursed him for the unfair advantage, but most days he simply basked in the safety and warmth it provided him with.
He circled Tobio’s waist and nuzzled his face into his chest, his heart a stuttering, jumpy mess in his chest.
Tobio hugged back for a second before cupping Koushi’s cheeks and urging him to look up at him.
“I told you that if we won today, I’d give you something, right?” he said.
Koushi only nodded. He knew before he’d said it what that something was, and yet still tears welled up in his eyes when Tobio revealed a small, black box from his sports bag.
“I’ve never been good with words,” he echoed his highschool self— except this time Koushi was the blubbering, blushing mess, “And even though I have no doubt in mind that you understand this without the need for words, I wanna ask you to please stay with me, anyway.”
Shaky fingers pinched the golden ring in the box tenderly.
“There’s no place I’d rather be, Tobio,” he said.
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All we see is sky for forever.
We let the world pass by for forever.
Feels like we could go on for forever this way.
Two lovers. on a perfect day
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