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Koushi feels, sometimes, like he’s hanging on by the tips of his fingertips. It’s easier when he’s on the court, to push the endless buzzing to the back of his mind and just focus on the push of the ball against his fingers, the solid feeling of the wood against his shoes. It’s easier in practice, but he doesn’t play in games much anymore. He sits on the bench and feels the vibrating grow in magnitude, like a hive of bees just under his skin, and when he manages to push himself out of the staticky space it creates he feels just a little bit off-center. He doesn’t let it affect the people around him, keeps ruffling Hinata’s hair and teasing Asahi for being a pushover and holding Tanaka back from fights the same as always, but he knows Daichi, at least, has noticed. Whenever they have a chance to rest, in between practice games and training exercises, he gravitates towards Koushi, knocking their shoulders together with his lazy grin. He doesn’t pry, which Koushi appreciates, just offers quiet company and the occasional comment on the trouble their kouhai have gotten into. Koushi usually remembers to laugh.
He sleeps less now, too. He tried at first, laid in bed for hours trying to ignore the humming, pressed fingertips into his palms until the skin turned white to distract himself. Nothing worked. He doesn’t bother anymore, spends nights reviewing strategy and rewatching game tapes until the plays are burned into the back of his eyelids. He closes his eyes and watches the ball leave Kageyama’s fingertips over and over again. Receive. Set. Spike. Receive. Set. Spike. The bees don’t stop buzzing, and he clicks open another video on his laptop. Receive. Set. Spike. When the sun starts cresting over Shinzen High, Koushi closes the tab and packs his headphones away. In the morning, he’ll remind Nishinoya to remember his vegetables, and correct Ennoshita’s serving form. With luck, they’ll be able to make it until lunch without any major incidents. He settles in for a few hours of fitful sleep.
They do, in fact, make it to lunch without any major incidents, and almost through the rest of the day too before Koushi has to step in and pull Kageyama and Tsukishima apart from each other before they get into a fistfight on the floor of the gymnasium. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, though, and Hinata tackles Kageyama almost immediately after Koushi lets him go, and he can see Yamaguchi scolding Tsukishima out of the corner of his eye, and he lets himself relax for a minute. Only a minute, though, before he’s back to running drills with Nishinoya, and making sure Asahi isn’t terrifying any wayward first years, and all the other things that he needs to do as the vice captain of Karasuno’s volleyball club.
He still can’t sleep that night, but he’s watched every video on his laptop so many times that he could probably reconstruct them from the ground up, and the quiet shuffling of his teammates that usually registers as comforting white noise is grating on his ears, so he slips on a light jacket and makes sure the door doesn’t slam as he leaves. The hallway outside is dark and quiet, and the noise of the summer crickets filters in where the windows are cracked open for fresh air. Koushi feels something in his chest shift and resettle, and the buzzing in his head lessens slightly. He takes a breath of the night air, cool and heavy with dew, and sets off to find something to do.
That something comes in the form of Nekoma’s captain, lounging at a table in the dining hall and typing on his phone. He has one leg pulled up on the long bench, and the other slung over the side, heel cocked on the floor in a position that shouldn’t be as comfortable as he makes it look. He looks up at the sound of Koushi’s footsteps, swinging himself to an upright position.
“Isn’t it a little late for you to be up, Suga-chan?”
Koushi decides not to comment on the nickname, sliding himself into the space Kuroo has made next to him on the bench. He can feel the buzzing starting again in his fingertips.
“I could say the same to you.”
Kuroo gives him a cockeyed grin, and the incessant hum beneath Koushi’s skin stutters for a second. He decides not to read into it.
“Insomnia. Kenma claims my typing is too loud, so I get exiled here until I’m tired enough to fall asleep. What’s your excuse?”
Koushi shrugs. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s not sure, not to this man he barely knows except through half-smiles and pointed comments before games, and through Daichi’s endless complaining. Kuroo’s eyes rest on him for a second, and Koushi feels like he can see through his skin, beneath sinewy muscle to the constant thrumming that makes up his core. And then he blinks, and turns his attention back to his phone, and the moment passes. Koushi feels off-balance, and has a brief flash of annoyance that Kuroo was able to get under his skin so easily. He presses the tips of his fingers into his palm again to ground himself. The thrum of his heartbeat blends with his mental static to create a steady beat, and he doesn’t realize Kuroo is trying to get his attention until a hand on his shoulder breaks him out of his reverie.
Kuroo’s hand is broad and warm, and Koushi tries very hard not to wonder how his calluses would feel on bare skin. He fails, and has to fight to keep the resulting heat from his cheeks as he looks up at the other man.
“I was saying, are you alright? You seem a little out of it.”
Koushi’s instinct is to snap at him, but Kuroo’s eyes are soft and concerned when they trace the lines his fingernails have dug into his palms, and Koushi is reminded of the way he looks at Nekoma’s setter when he’s nearing the end of his stamina, and of how he gently corrects the Russian first-year’s blocking stance when it slips, and so instead of telling Kuroo to mind his own damn business, he just lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He doesn’t end up responding, but Kuroo seems to understand anyway, resettling himself on the bench and pulling his phone out again. Koushi spends the next hour or two listening to Kuroo make fun of people on some subreddit, and, even though he doesn’t understand or care about what Kuroo is saying, there’s something comforting about the meaningless chatter that soothes the constant irritation biting at him. Koushi finds himself falling asleep easier that night easier than he has in weeks, and if he can still feel the phantom warmth of Kuroo’s hand on his shoulder as he tucks himself into bed, no one needs to know.
They settle into something of a routine after that, meeting in the dining hall once everyone else has gone to bed and staying until one or both of them is tired enough to sleep. Kuroo has a knack for being able to fill the silence with inane chatter, but as the nights go on, Koushi finds himself opening up as well. Something about the teasing sarcasm with which Kuroo approaches everything makes serious conversations feel less monumental, more like the same kind of idle patter as their debate about whether libero or wing spiker is a cooler position. (They eventually settle on libero, because anything else feels like an insult to Nishinoya and Yaku, and neither of them will stand for that). The humming tension stretched taut beneath his skin doesn’t disappear entirely, but it becomes more manageable, and Daichi stops looking at Koushi like he’s going to snap if he pushes the wrong way. The time passes more easily than before, and almost before Koushi realizes, he’s pushing open the doors to the dining hall for the last time.
The sight of Kuroo sitting alone in the dark makes something flip in his stomach, and he wonders what he did all those nights before Koushi stumbled upon him. He doesn’t dwell on the thought for long, because Kuroo looks up and the light of his phone screen illuminates the grin he gives Koushi - lopsided as ever, but the way the edges of his eyes crinkle make it feel like anything but the teasing smirks he gives on the court. Koushi feels his breath catch in his throat, and tries to focus on the way the bluish glow makes Kuroo look washed out and pale instead. It doesn’t help.
Something in the air feels different, a tense crackling that mirrors the electricity building under Koushi’s skin. Maybe it’s because it’s the last night, but Kuroo is quieter than usual, not keeping up the same stream of consciousness as previous nights. His gaze is fixed firmly on his phone, so for once, Koushi doesn’t hold himself back from staring. Kuroo is biting his lip, and Koushi is transfixed by the way his canine presses against the soft pink, turning it pale. He’s wondering what Kuroo’s lips taste like when the man in question looks up.
Koushi doesn’t bother to avert his gaze. He’s never been shy about what he wants, and the way Kuroo’s cheeks flush in the dim light when he catches Koushi staring is too pretty to look away from. Kuroo’s grin is slightly unsure, and Koushi has to clench his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching out to touch it.
“Hi.” Kuroo’s voice is amused, but the hint of a waver in it betrays him.
Koushi slides closer to him on the bench, pressing his thighs against the inside of Kuroo’s and looping his calves around his ankles. This close, he can see the shadows Kuroo’s lashes cast on his cheeks as he blinks in surprise.
“Hi.” Koushi’s voice is quiet, barely above a murmur, but he’s so close that it doesn’t matter. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
He gives Kuroo a second to protest, if he wants to, before closing the gap. Kuroo’s lips are slightly chapped, and Koushi reminds himself to recommend a good brand of chapstick later. The kiss is short and sweet, and when Koushi pulls away, Kuroo looks slightly shell-shocked.
“I have to say, I’m surprised.” Koushi remarks, a teasing lilt in his voice. “I would’ve pegged you for the type of person to try for tongue on the first kiss.”
Kuroo’s brain seems to reboot slightly, and he smirks at Koushi, prior nervousness evaporated. “I’m enough of a gentleman to wait for the second, but I promise you won’t be disappointed.” He’s the one who closes the gap this time, and Koushi lets his eyes flutter shut, giving himself over to the press of Kuroo’s lips on his. He’s pleased to find that Kuroo makes good on his promise, several times over.
The mood is somewhat subdued the next morning as the teams line up to leave, but Koushi mostly chalks that up to the early hour. Hinata, at least, is as lively as ever, and Koushi has to drag him off of Nekoma’s setter, depositing him under Daichi’s capable watch. When he turns around, Kuroo is waiting for him. Koushi watches him fiddle with the zipper of his jacket.
“You have my number, so...uh. Good luck at the preliminaries?”
Kuroo is endearing when he’s unsure, Koushi thinks, but it seems like if he wants a proper goodbye he’s going to have to take matters into his own hands, so that’s exactly what he does, grabbing the lapels of Kuroo’s jacket and pulling him into a kiss that has both their teams wolf-whistling.
“I’ll see you at the Interhigh, Tetsu-chan.”
Koushi already knows that his teammates are going to ask him a thousand questions when they get on the bus, but he thinks the blush painting Kuroo’s cheeks will make the inconvenience worth it. It looks even better in the daylight.