Chapter Text
Dread wasn’t an unusual feeling for Yahaba, but it certainly wasn’t a welcome one either. All things considered, it hadn’t been that shit of a day, but as he sat alone in the bathroom grasping the failing mark on a chemistry test worth 10% of his final grade, he almost wished it had been worse to at least prepare him for a breakdown. As soon as classes had ended, he had vehemently shoved his things into his bag and ran off to the boy’s bathroom at the back of the school, the ones only the baseball team used, so he could avoid anyone seeing him cry. The last thing he wanted to do was make a fool of himself in front of the classmates he’d only just managed to break the ice with. Even still, he couldn’t quite allow himself to bawl like he wanted to – the embarrassment of the start of a panic attack, of a failing grade, weighing on his shoulders. Shit, had he really not studied hard enough? He thought back to the previous week and felt his embarrassment grow tenfold, coiling against his throat and strangling him. He remembered all those nights he’d stayed late at practice, all those times where studying turned into thinking of toned thighs and shitty eyeliner.
He wasn't sure when it happened when thoughts of anger and frustration mutated into… well, another form of frustration. Perhaps it had always been there, lurking, slithering like a snake through his body until it finally reached his heart. Perhaps that thought had a lot of merit to it; Yahaba had spent his whole life trying to be the best, trying to live up to his older brother and his parents that he had never considered his feelings for even a second. Life had always been about the feelings of his family, of his teammates, of his classmates. So when Kyoutani had first walked into practice in his first year like he owned the place, as if nothing could touch him, Yahaba knew they were different. Yet, when Kyoutani so earnestly admired the upperclassmen, when Yahaba saw the humour in his asshole-ness, he also knew he would be fucked if he wasn’t careful. So, instead, he forgot about all of that. Instead, he thought of how Kyoutani’s difficult front was affecting the club, how he did not fit into the perfect life his parents had planned or the perfect team the coaches wanted. When Kyoutani started getting angrier, when their upperclassmen did not look back at him, and when he stopped showing up for practice, Yahaba pretended to be glad. God, he was emotionally constipated, and it was all Kyoutani’s fault.
“Bumble-bee-haired motherfucker," Yahaba grumbled, mainly to himself, but partially to the universe, hoping to expel some of his dismay for it picking such a fuck-up for him to have a crush on. A fuck-up who smiled so sincerely when they pulled off a quick, who somehow managed to make sweat smell attractive. Although he couldn’t say much because today was opening his eyes to the fact that he was kind of a fuck-up too.
“Bumb- What?” A voice came from the other side of the room. And, oh, never mind that emotional bullshit, Yahaba actually hated him. He was the biggest asshole ever, and Yahaba was going to kill him. He tried to muster up his best glare as Kyoutani, public enemy number one of his existence, incredulously stared at him, blood pouring out of his nose at an honestly impressive rate. Fuck his stupid stealth skills – how had he not heard the door open? Fuck-up powers, maybe.
“Why the fuck is your nose bleeding?” Yahaba sneered. He hoped his voice didn’t sound as concerned to Kyoutani as it did to him. He was pleased when he found a familiar anger present on the other’s face.
“Why the fuck are you crying?” Kyoutani mimicked.
Good. This was good. Yahaba could deal with conflict. “Fuck. Off. I asked you first,” he replied, the humiliation of being caught crying only fuelling his frustration.
“How creative, dickhead. I was trying to be nice,” Kyoutani was practically growling; shit, this was going to be fun. Kyoutani moved slightly closer, and there was the beginning of an insult dancing on Yahaba’s tongue. He was ready to yell at him that he could never be nice, that he was nothing more than an asshole, to really bite back and make it sting. He was ready for what came after it, too – to stand up and punch at tanned skin, leave bruises he could be proud of, dance in a routine they’d perfected from months of petty arguments. But in a sudden moment of clarity, Yahaba saw panic hidden under Kyoutani’s trademark scowl. He thought back to his first-year self, who had once ignored this look. So, for once in his life, he hesitated.
Seldom deliberation, Yahaba sprang up, not caring to disguise his haste (or frown when Kyoutani flinched at his movements). Wordlessly, he offered him a tissue for his nose with a smile that was probably much grouchier than intended on his face. Kyoutani stared curiously, their eye contact becoming tense when neither of them made an effort to move. Trying to make his concern seem as genuine as it felt, Yahaba asked again, “Kyoutani... why is your nose bleeding?”
Kyoutani visibly relaxed, if only for a second, before seemingly regretting his decision and stiffening. Yet, as he snatched the tissue from Yahaba’s grasp, there was a mummer akin to: “Got into a fight with a girl.”
“Did you really start a fight with a girl?” Yahaba asked apprehensively.
Kyoutani rashly took a step back. “No! Motherfucker! What do you take me for?” Not quite what he was going for here; what was this angry excuse of a Pomeranian doing to his social skills? He hated this defensive Kyoutani far more than the stupid, abrasive one he had grown attached to, and yet his heart still yearned as he looked at Kyoutani try to retreat into himself. He was definitely screaming at the universe later for this one, too.
“No- I mean, that’s– yes, sorry… I didn’t think you’d want to start a fight with a girl, but… Kyoutani, what girl would want to start a fight with you?" He recovered, gesturing wildly at the other's physique as he hoped Kyoutani got what he was talking about. Kyoutani was buff, and quite frankly, most of the team (aside from Iwazumi and him, of course) were mildly off-put by his potential strength. Unfortunately, Kyoutani did not get what he was talking about. Dumbass fuck-up, as he’s been saying all along.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Kyoutani bit back, puffing his chest, although the act was not very threatening, considering the tissue haphazardly shoved up his nose. Fuck him for being born intolerant to emotions; Yahaba was not going to explain himself. Kyoutani could just deal with it. “And for your information, it was Nomura-san,” Kyoutani continued, like that made any sense. Nomura was a petite first year, quite popular with the boys in his class and a stellar writer on the school’s newspaper committee, but she was as meek and shy as someone could get. The thought of her going for a punch at Kyoutani and landing was… almost cute; yet, also entirely hilarious. So, despite his best efforts, Yahaba started giggling, the sound growing louder and louder until it reached an all-out cackle. Through tears, he could make out Kyoutani wearing a murderous but awestruck expression on his face.
He was not going to read into that for the sake of preserving his sanity.
He also did not have time to, either, for there was a series of loud bangs on the bathroom door.
"KYOUTANI KENTAROU, I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE, SO BRING YOUR WEAK-ASS OUT AND FIGHT ME LIKE A MAN!" If Kyoutani had looked slightly panicked before, he seemed absolutely nauseated now.
"...Holy shit," Yahaba breathed. Yeah, holy shit, his brain agreed as Kyoutani stalked closer, ducking behind him and wrapping his toned arms around his shoulders. Oh, and, holy shit, his heart also agreed when Kyoutani buried his face in the crook of Yahaba’s neck. Yahaba repressed a shiver as the banging outside continued. The stark contrast between the warmth in his heart and the worry crushing Kyoutani gave him a little more than emotional whiplash.
“Listen, you’ve got to help me… I-…” The hushed, urgent voice of Kyoutani tickled his ear. He wasn’t sure he could move, let alone help in the way he knew Kyoutani needed. He was not a fighter. “I know you might not want to but, I just- mhmm.” Kyoutani’s words were muffled, rendered unintelligible by the skin on his shoulder. Was this a good enough time for another holy shit?
“You what?” Yahaba tried to respond intelligently, but he knew he still sounded dazed.
“Fuck off! Don’t make me tell you that,” Kyoutani breathed in, “thatI’veneverbeeninafightbefore.” …Then exhaled his words all at once.
“Kyoutani, speak up. What are you even sayi- WAIT. WHAT?” Yahaba was shellshocked. Kyoutani was tense behind him. They both shivered as Kyoutani pulled himself closer to Yahaba because somehow that was possible and whined. Holy shit wasn’t cutting it anymore. Yahaba would not survive this encounter. His heart was beating in time with the rapid banging at the door that still ceased to dampen. At least his blood-soaked shirt would make his death infinitely less embarrassing. Maybe Kyoutani would be charged with murder. Yahaba hoped so. He had to be doing this on purpose.
“I don’t know! Okay? I’m non-confrontat- Yahaba, don’t you dare laugh at me right now. No, seriously, you’re different. You’re just an asshole.” He could feel Kyoutani start to relax as he leant back into the other's embrace. He felt like he was high on Kyoutani’s scent, his touch, his presence even… or maybe that was just a shitty excuse to cover up that he hadn’t noticed the door open. Again. Or the banging ever stop, actually.
“Oh... Oh! Kyoutani-san, why didn’t you tell me Yahaba-san was your boyfriend! That explains so much… Oh god, I am so sorry. Is your nose alright?” Nomura stood awkwardly at the entrance to the bathroom. At the sound of her voice, they both froze.
“B-boyfriend?” Yahaba squeaked. “N-no, it’s not like that!”
Nomura eyed them suspiciously for a second before continuing, “Not like that? Then what were you doing at Yahaba's locker? And what is this?” She gestured towards them pseudo-innocently. The silence that wrang throughout the room was threatening, and so was Nomura’s gaze as Kyoutani slunk backwards onto his feet, awkwardly shifting his weight from side to side.
“Kyoutani what’s happening?” Yahaba began just as Kyoutani responded himself.
“It was a book! …Just a book. ‘A Year in Arcadia.'” Nomura’s eyes glow knowingly at his words, a blush spreading across her face. There was a matching one on Kyoutani’s face as well. Yahaba felt like he was missing something. Was he being stupid right now? This didn’t seem like a book he should know. A series of emotions flickered across Nomura’s face as she observed them before settling on an almost grotesque smile. Yep, definitely missing something. She reached into her bag, taking out a black, rectangular package which she violently chucked at Yahaba (which he will tell everyone he caught elegantly, don’t listen to Kyoutani) before slamming the door shut in just a way so that it would jam. Too stunned to think coherently, he faintly noticed a wave of pain ripple across his chest where the package had hit him. Maybe he should have listened to Kyoutani earlier. Nomura was scary.
He wasn’t sure how long he spent looking between his chest and the offending package on the floor, but he was beginning to feel dizzy. Thankfully, the sound of scratching broke him from his daze. With some trepidation, Yahaba turned around to where Kyoutani should have been, and the sight that greeted him almost made him want to cackle again, well, if not for the fact he was even more confused than he was before.
Kyoutani was standing on one of the toilets, trying to pick the lock of the thin bathroom windows with god knows what, covered in the largest blush Yahaba had ever seen on a human. Did he get transported into a Shojo manga when he wasn’t paying attention? Instead of spooking him again, Yahaba simply resigned himself to his weird, weird fate and sat down to watch Kyoutani, somewhat comforted by the other’s earnest embarrassment but embarrassed himself by his want to comfort him. Nevertheless, it felt nice to not have to hide his staring, seeing as the other was far too distracted. Chancing a glance further down, Yahaba noticed that Kyoutani’s shorts had ridden up as he reached above him, exposing his tanned leg. Yahaba had grown infinity familiar with these parts of his body through secret glimpses in the change rooms and hours of practice synchronising for quicks. Kyoutani was beautiful. Beautiful in a way that pained him to think about. Even when he was being dumb, like now. He wanted to speak, but he bit his tongue as he wasn’t sure if the sound that would come out of his throat would be a witty comment about how stupid Kyoutani looked right now or a gasp. Although, Kyoutani, ever the mood ruiner, had different plans. He began smashing his fist into the window.
“What the fuck?!” Yahaba yelled, standing up so quickly it made his head swim. Kyoutani had certainly lost his mind. "Dude. Dude, calm down. I'm sure whatever the fuck is going on is not that embarrassing, right?”
“Fuck off,” Kyoutani mumbled and oh god, why the fuck was he like this. Kyoutani was so stupid and emotionally constipated that he would rather die than talk to Yahaba. There was a smash as Kyoutani finally broke through the window. He didn’t even look back as he grabbed his bag and dove through the window; a faint grunt followed by a series of heavy footsteps was the only sign he was okay.
Yahaba breathed heavily for a few seconds, assessing the situation he had somehow gotten himself into. Somehow, his mental breakdown had lead to him being locked in a bathroom with his crush, who had just jumped out of a window to avoid him... All because of a book. Huh? Oh, and now he was locked in the bathroom alone because he isn’t stupid enough to jump through a smashed window.
Yahaba looked at his watch, 4:30, dammit. Sighing, he knew there was only one person who would still be at school at this time who wasn’t in club activities. Or rather, two people. He was going to have to make a very embarrassing call.