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Tokyo is a big place.
The streets are wide and labyrinthine, all the buildings look the same, and the trains are utterly impossible to figure out. Everyone is in a rush to be somewhere, and anyone who isn’t not only walks at a snail’s pace, but chooses to do so in the middle of the sidewalk. Nighttime changes very little--only that now there are impossibly bright lights bearing down on every inch of the streets, it’s really cold, and the sky is so black looking up is like staring into the abyssal maw of a rather large monster who is just waiting for the right moment to chomp the city right off the map.
Add in a torrential downpour that came out of nowhere and a massive power outage that takes out nearly the entire downtown area, and it’s really no surprise that Tsukishima has found himself on this fine evening curled up on a bench in an empty train station somewhere on the outskirts of the city, sopping wet and explaining to his mother on the phone that he probably won’t be going home tonight.
“That trains have stopped,” he’s telling her. Even the lights are out--he can't see more than a foot in front of him. The cold from his wet clothes is positively seeping into him, as if his own bones are actively absorbing it in an attempt to turn him into an icicle from the inside out. Still, he keeps his voice even and refuses to let his teeth chatter. Worrying his mother while there’s nothing either of them can do about the situation will only send her into hysterics.
“What about the buses?” she asks. “Maybe you could head to the station.”
“I have no idea where it is,” says Tsukishima. “I doubt they run this late, anyway.”
“Then what will you do? You can’t just stay at the train station all night.”
“I’ll find a motel or something.”
“How about I have Akiteru take the car down there?”
“No,” says Tsukishima quickly, shaking his head out of habit. “It’s too long of a drive.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” sighs his mother. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to go today.”
“Don’t worry about it,” says Tsukishima. It's his fault for not checking the weather forecast, really. “I’ll figure something out.”
“You have some friends in Tokyo, don’t you? From the schools you had that summer training camp with?” says his mother. “Maybe you could give one of them a call.”
“Oh. Right.” The members of the Nekoma and Fukurodani volleyball teams didn’t even crossed his mind. Now that he does think about it, though, he isn’t sure they’d gotten to know each other well enough in those few short days of the training camp to consider each other friends. At least, not good enough friends that he won’t feel really awkward about asking them to let him stay at their house for the night.
“Kei? You’ll try, won’t you?” insists his mother. “I would be so relieved if you could find someone you know to take you in.”
“I will,” says Tsukishima. “You should get some rest, Mom. I’ll text you when I find a place to stay.”
“You stay safe, you hear?”
“Yeah. Night.”
“Goodnight, Kei.”
Tsukishima ends the call and considers his options, all of which but one involve staying the night in Tokyo. He could have a taxi take him home, but it would be ridiculously expensive, not to the mention the fact that he doubts he would be able to find anyone willing to make the drive in the first place--not in this weather. Staying here at the station, on the other hand, is the least attractive of his choices. It’s cold, it smells like a combination of wet paper bag and rust, and it’s unbearably quiet.
Despite his constant displays of distaste towards obnoxious behavior, Tsukishima cannot stand absolute silence. It’s huge and oppressive, two things he dislikes very much on their own, and it’s one of the reasons why he is never without his headphones except at practice, during which the noise of activity and overbearing enthusiasm of his teammates do more than enough to make up for their absence.
Alternatively, a motel room would be warm, comfortable (if he's lucky), and have a shower.
Except that he hasn’t a clue where he’s going to find one, and he does not fancy the idea of wandering around in the rain until he comes across one, assuming that by some miracle he actually would.
He’s shivering now, teeth knocking together almost painfully, and he knows he needs to find something fast or else go home tomorrow in an ambulance.
He sees Akaashi’s name as soon as he pulls up his contact list and thanks the heavens Akaashi offered at the end of the training camp to exchange numbers, despite them both knowing (at the time) they would probably end up not keeping in touch.
There is a short pause after the third ring cuts off before Akaashi says, in a quiet and understandably confused voice, “Tsukishima…?”
“I hope I’m not bothering you, Akaashi-san,” Tsukishima begins.
“Not really. Did you need something?”
“Yes, actually. I...well, long story short: I’m stuck in Tokyo and I need a place to crash.”
“Oh.” Akaashi goes silent, and Tsukishima’s heart sinks.
“It’s okay if--I mean, I know this is sudden and it’s late…”
“Here’s the thing,” says Akaashi. His voice is flat, but clear and firm, and it calms Tsukishima down a little. “I’m out of town for the weekend, but I know someone who might be able to help you out, so I’m going to ask you to sit tight while I give him a call. Does that sound good?”
“I--yeah. Yeah, that would be great,” stutters Tsukishima. “Thank you so much.”
“Where are you right now?”
After Tsukishima identifies his location, Akaashi hangs up with promises to make the call right away, and it isn’t until several minutes later, as Tsukishima is drifting into a stiff and fitful slumber, that he realises Akaashi never told him who exactly he was calling.
-:-
Tsukishima wakes to a vicious cracking sound. For a moment he thinks it might be ground beneath him splitting, and it isn’t until another one rends through the air, nearly sending him toppling off the bench, that he realises it is something much worse.
“No,” he mutters to himself, fumbling around for his headphones with trembling hands. “No, no, no...this can’t be happening--not here, not now...”
It’s impossibly dark and his fingers are so numb he can’t even feel what he’s touching, but he continues searching for his headphones because he needs them, now of all times--
Thunder crashes for the third time, muffled by the concrete on the floor above him, but still loud enough that he recoils instantly, curling in on himself with a startled whimper and clamping his hands over his ears. The world around him quakes, but it’s not the earth; it’s him--the bones inside of him quivering and jolting like they’re trying to dance their way right out of his body, and he could probably hear them clanging around, too, if he weren’t gasping like a broken vacuum cleaner.
“Count backwards from ten,” he whispers to himself shakily, “and breathe.”
Ten.
Inhale, exhale.
Nine.
Inhale, exhale.
Eight.
Inhale, exhale.
Seven--
Tsukishima lets out a pained groan as the storm roars overhead, swallowing everything around him and pressing down on him from every angle, crushing him into himself.
“Count backwards from ten and breathe. Count backwards from ten and breathe,” he reminds himself over and over, until his own fractured voice fills the air around him. Count ten breathe count ten breathe count ten breathe.
The next sound that breaks his focus isn’t the sound of thunder, but it rattles him all the same, cutting like a beam of light through the fog of panic that has swathed itself around his mind.
It is a voice.
“Hey,” it says, and Tsukishima’s head jerks up. “Hey, it’s me.”
Tsukishima knows this voice. It’s quieter than it was when he first met the person it belonged to, and gentler, but he recognizes it all the same.
“Kuroo-san?”
“Glad to see you remember me. You okay?”
“Y-you…”
“Came to get you out of here. Come on.”
Yes, please, Tsukishima wants to say, because there is no way he can survive a single moment longer in this place, but instead he drops his head back down into his arms. “No.”
“What? You’re going to freeze to death if you stay down here.”
Something--a hand--clamps down on Tsukishima’s shoulder, and he throws it off.
“I can’t go out there,” he says. "Not while it's...while it's like that."
“This storm’s not going to let up,” says Kuroo. “It’s just a few steps; I’ve got a taxi waiting.”
“I can’t,” says Tsukishima again.
“I won’t let anything hurt you,” insists Kuroo. “Here.”
There’s the sound of shifting and clothes rustling, and then something warm settles over Tsukishima’s shoulders. A jacket.
“You can put the hood up to cover your ears--”
Tsukishima starts as a realization hits him. “My headphones.”
“Oh--yeah, good idea!” says Kuroo, sounding like he could jump for joy. “Let’s get your headphones on.”
After some searching around, they manage to retrieve the headphones from Tsukishima’s bag. Well, Tsukishima spends most of the time quivering and flinching while Kuroo does most of the work, using his cellphone as a flashlight and letting Tsukishima direct him.
“Okay, why don’t you put this jacket on, too,” says Kuroo. “You can pull the hood up to keep your headphones from getting wet--yeah, like that. All right, ready to go?”
Tsukishima turns on his music and finally manages to take a proper, deep breath as something gentle begins playing, stifling the noise from the storm overhead. Kuroo says something and Tsukishima doesn’t quite catch it; he nods weakly anyway, then jumps slightly when Kuroo puts a hand on his back, gently urging him forward.
Tsukishima keeps his breathing even as they ascend the stairs to ground level, focusing on the music and counting on it to drown out the worst of what is to come.
It’s pitch black outside, and the only source of light is coming from the headlights of the taxi waiting for them on the street. Kuroo does some shifting around, and when Tsukishima feels vinyl brush briefly against his hand he realizes he’s pulling out an umbrella. Kuroo’s hand moves to his shoulder, pulling him in closer. Tsukishima hears a muffled you okay?
He can’t see or hear it, but Tsukishima can tell it’s still pouring heavily. The wind, biting and unrelenting, is moist when it hits his face. Pulling the hood of the borrowed jacket tighter over his headphones, he nods, and they start for the car.
He does well for the first few steps, head bowed against the wind as he follows Kuroo’s lead through the ink black space draped around them, until a flash of white light lances through the sky, filling his vision. He lets out a panicked noise and tries to duck out of Kuroo’s grip to make for the station, but Kuroo holds him fast and continues pushing him towards the direction of the taxi.
“You’re okay, you’re okay.” Kuroo’s voice melts past the rumbling in the skies above them, made distant by the headphones. “Just a little more and we’re safe. Close your eyes, I’ve got you.”
Tsukishima obeys, ducking his head again, screwing his eyes shut and letting Kuroo urge him into a light jog.
When he next opens his eyes, he’s sitting in the backseat of the taxi. Kuroo squeezes in beside him and shuts the door, pressing himself close to Tsukishima, but not in an uncomfortable way.
The driver turns around and says something Tsukishima doesn’t bother deciphering, and when Kuroo replies Tsukishima can just barely hear the undertones in his voice.
The drive only lasts for about ten minutes and goes by without incident, thank god, and then Kuroo is leading a slightly shaken Tsukishima into his living room, where a striking middle-aged woman with straight black hair and eyes just like Kuroo’s places a blanket over his shoulders and pushes a warm mug into his hands.
Tsukishima pushes his headphones off his ears, and immediately voices fill the room.
“You can just call me Aunty,” Kuroo’s mother is telling him. “Are you feeling all right? I’ll draw a bath for you.”
“Kid looks like he’s been through the wringer,” a man comments from behind them.
“Dad!” says Kuroo, shooing him away before Tsukishima can turn around.
“Tetsu-nii’s back!” A little girl in apple print pyjamas sprints into the living room and launches herself at Kuroo, who catches her effortlessly with a laugh.
“Is that your friend?” Unbelievably, a second one, this time in orange print pyjamas but otherwise identical to the first, enters the room, albeit more calmly.
“This is Tsukishima,” says Kuroo, lowering his sister to the ground. “He’s from another school, but yes, he’s my friend. We play volleyball together sometimes.”
Tsukishima hesitates, then nods in greeting.
“This is Yukari,” continues Kuroo, pointing first to the one in apple print, and then to the other, “and this is Yuuko.”
Yukari’s hand shoots up into the air like she’s answering a question in class. “We’re in the third grade!”
“It’s, uh, nice to meet you,” says Tsukishima.
“What grade are you in?” asks Yuuko.
“I’m a first year in high school.”
“Hmmm,” the girls hum in unison, putting their hands on their chins and fixing their gazes on Tsukishima.
Somewhat alarmed, Tsukishima glances at Kuroo, who simply smiles and shrugs.
After several seconds of what looks like careful contemplation, both Yukari and Yuuko lean forward, narrowing their eyes at Tsukishima.
“If you’re younger than Tetsu-nii…”
“...then why are you taller than him?”
“Okay, ladies, that’s enough,” cuts in Kuroo. “You ought to be in bed.”
Their mouths drop open in protest, but one stern look from Kuroo is enough to change their minds.
“Yes, sir!”
Yukari and Yuuko perform a clearly well-practiced salute before turning tail and skipping out of the room.
“They’re cute,” says Tsukishima.
“Take after their brother, I guess,” says Kuroo, grinning when Tsukishima scoffs. “Come on, let’s go find you something to change into.”
Tsukishima doesn’t know what he expected, but Kuroo’s room is rather normal. There are some posters lined across one of the walls and some photos of him with Kozume or his family hanging on another. Tsukishima spots his red Nekoma jersey peeking out of his closet, as well as a volleyball sitting at the foot of his bed, but otherwise there’s nothing particularly outstanding. It’s not much different from his own room, in the sense that it’s plain but comfortable, and it puts Tsukishima a little more at ease.
“Mom’s probably got the bath set up by now,” says Kuroo, and after a moment of rummaging around in his dresser, he produces a set of comfortable looking clothes and a clean towel.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t sweat it,” says Kuroo. “Only an asshole would let a friend freeze the night away in a train station.”
“We’re not exactly…” Tsukishima cuts himself off. This is probably not the best time to start acting like a jerk to the guy who just saved him from a potentially life-threatening situation.
“Hm?”
“Uh, nothing. Just...thanks, again. I appreciate it.”
Kuroo cocks his head in an oddly endearing way. “Sure, I guess.”
-:-
The storm still hasn’t calmed down by the time Kuroo has finished setting up the futon, and Tsukishima can’t help the worried glances he keeps sending towards the window.
“Why don’t you wear your headphones to sleep?” suggests Kuroo when he sees him.
Tsukishima shakes his head. “They’ll fall off.” It’s not something he’s proud of, but Tsukishima is a fitful sleeper even on good nights.
“I have a stereo,” says Kuroo.
“It’s not the same,” says Tsukishima, although he feels bad about being picky. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”
Kuroo looks uncertain, but drops the issue without arguing. “Lights out, then,” he says before flipping the switch.
In the dark, a faint light radiates from atop Kuroo’s desk, and Tsukishima arches his neck up to see a small, glowing cat figurine. It’s nice, not having to sleep in total darkness. The sheets on the futon are somewhat musty from disuse, but they’re still clean and Tsukishima doesn’t mind anyway because they’re warm. He pulls them closer around himself and closes his eyes.
“How do you deal with it at home?”
“...What?”
Kuroo is wide awake, turned on his side and looking at Tsukishima. “If you don’t wear headphones and you don’t use a stereo, then how do you deal with it?”
“What does it matter? It’s over now.”
“It could come back. This storm is supposed to last all night.”
Tsukishima scowls and turns his back to Kuroo, closing his eyes again. “I already told you I’ll be fine.”
For a moment, Kuroo is silent, but it’s apparently too early for Tsukishima to start thinking he might have fallen asleep.
“You know, when I was little I was deathly afraid of dogs.”
Sucks for you, Tsukishima wants to say, but he can tell Kuroo is trying to make a point here, and he’ll admit that everything he’s done tonight (and ever since they met at the training camp, really) has been to help him, so he swallows his words and tries to come up with something more sympathetic. “That’s...unfortunate.”
“Yeah, and every time I saw one I would freeze up and just stand there, avoid eye contact, and hope it would leave eventually. It was a pretty crappy tactic, but I didn’t know what else I could do. After I met Kenma, I discovered that he had three pet dogs. I remember reacting like it was the end of the world, and it took me weeks to admit to him that I never went to his house because I didn’t want to get eaten alive by his dogs.
“I thought he would get offended and ditch me on the spot, but all he said was, ‘Is that why you always try to hide behind me whenever we see a dog?’ After that, we came up with a plan: whenever we came across one, Kenma would go up to it and distract it so I could pass by. We went on like this for years, even after I’d mostly gotten over my fear, and he never once told anyone or made fun of me for it.”
Tsukishima swallows, feeling awkward. Does Kuroo make a habit of revealing his embarrassing childhood secrets to people he’s only met a handful of times? That kind of trust isn’t something Tsukishima is accustomed to either giving or receiving, and he’s not sure what to do with it.
“Anyway,” says Kuroo, “it’s not such a big deal anymore, but it was just nice to have someone there, you know? Even though I felt like it was a dumb thing, Kenma took it seriously and did what he could to help.”
Tsukishima hugs his knees. It is a dumb thing, his fear of thunderstorms. It’s been there for as long as he can remember, with no discernable origin. It reduces him to something he’s not, stripping him of his ability to reason, the most basic and human of his qualities, and leaves him a shaking mess.
Yet Kuroo saw all of it and still helped him.
Tsukishima opens his eyes. The cat figurine is still glowing weakly, and Tsukishima can just barely make out the photo hanging nearest to him on the adjacent wall, featuring what appears to be a young Kuroo holding hands with his sisters, all three of them beaming at the camera--or perhaps at the one behind the camera.
It’s embarrassing to admit even to himself, but Tsukishima has done a fair bit of thinking about Kuroo since summer. He still finds it hard to understand why Kuroo reached out to him the way he did when he could have just treated him with casual friendliness like he did the other Karasuno team members, especially since they were part of rivaling teams. He invited him to training sessions, even pulling Bokuto and Akaashi into the mix, and this evening he went out of his way to take Tsukishima in. It almost frightens Tsukishima, how forward and open Kuroo can be with his kindness--he’s never met anyone else like him. But it’s also nice, and maybe Tsukishima even admires him a little for it, because Kuroo probably knows Tsukishima doesn’t have what it takes to repay him, not with that same brand of kindness, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“You okay?” Kuroo whispers.
“Yeah,” Tsukishima replies. “I just…”
“You don’t have to tell me about it if you really don’t want to.”
“No, I don’t mind. It’s just kind of...ridiculous.”
Kuroo pauses. “As ridiculous as the image of me hiding behind my friend all through grade school and middle school?”
“Probably,” says Tsukishima. “When it thunders at night, I usually have someone in my family stay in the room with me. Sometimes Yamaguchi comes over.”
“Sounds appropriate to me.”
“That’s not it. I have to…” Tsukishima hesitates, picking at a small section at the edge of his blanket where he has discovered a frayed end. “They have to be holding my hand. Sometimes my mom sings to me.”
Oh, god, he groans inwardly. Why did I add that last part?
“Well, I can’t sing very well, but the rest I will definitely do if you want me to,” says Kuroo.
Tsukishima rolls over to raise an eyebrow at him. “You sounded pretty eager there.”
Kuroo grins. “What can I say? It’s not every day a handsome guy asks you to hold his hand.”
Tsukishima has to restrain himself from covering his face when he feels his cheeks heat up. “Very funny,” he mumbles.
Kuroo reaches a hand down, smile turned sincere, and Tsukishima takes it. It’s warm, as he expected it to be, and that’s about all he registers before Kuroo tightens his grip almost painfully, then loosens it again in the next second.
“Goodnight,” he says without bothering to give Tsukishima an explanation.
“Okay,” says Tsukishima, hand tingling. “Uh, I mean, goodnight.”
Kuroo just smiles, squeezes his hand again (gently, this time), and closes his eyes.
Tsukishima wonders if he’ll actually be able to sleep tonight.
-:-
He’s drifting, after what felt like hours of lying there, staring at where his hands are joined with Kuroo’s, when it starts.
The wind is howling hard enough that he can hear it whipping the trees into a frenzy, and the first rumble comes just as he’s ducking his head under the blankets.
He seizes Kuroo’s hand, pulling it toward him reflexively, and Kuroo lets out a sleepy grunt of protest, resisting.
“No, please,” Tsukishima gasps.
“Tsukki?” Kuroo murmurs, and there’s another light tug.
Tsukishima tightens his grip.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m just--”
The sheets pull as something heavy lands on them, and then Kuroo is rubbing circles in Tsukishima’s back with his free hand and speaking soft reassurances in his ear. His voice is impossibly close, drowning out even the insistent pounding of Tsukishima’s heart, and his hair brushes Tsukishima’s cheek as he leans into him, holding him close enough that Tsukishima can smell the laundry detergent he uses in his clothes.
There is no room for embarrassment when Tsukishima buries his face into Kuroo’s shoulder as the next one comes around, sending a chill down his spine that sets his bones rattling like usual.
But then Kuroo says, “I’ve got you,” and squeezes his hand a little tighter, and Tsukishima feels a little better because even though it’s all foreign (this city, this house, these smells and especially this proximity to Kuroo, his hand on his back, his chest to his chest), what he does know is Kuroo’s voice, and it’s gentle and balanced and washes over him like the tide on a beach, smoothing him out and pulling him in, and he can let himself believe he is safe here.
-:-
Kuroo drops him off at the station the next morning, when the skies have cleared and Tokyo has resumed its usual business, with emphasis on the busy.
“Thanks,” says Tsukishima as he prepares to board his train.
“Like I said yesterday, it’s not a problem,” replies Kuroo easily. “Call me if you ever need anything, yeah?”
“All right,” says Tsukishima.
“And it doesn’t have to be a life or death situation either,” adds Kuroo with a teasing smile. “If you ever feel like having coffee…”
Tsukishima gives him a look. “In Tokyo?”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind being the one to make the train ride.”
“I’m swooning.”
They fall quiet. Tsukishima looks down at his shoes and starts counting the mysterious spots on the tile, but he can feel Kuroo’s gaze on him.
Kuroo shifts his feet and lets out a little huff of breath like he’s having trouble deciding something before he finally speaks again. “Can I just--”
“Yes,” breathes Tsukishima, because he’s been waiting for this all morning, and then Kuroo’s lips are on his, warm and firm, and as the world melts away in that moment it occurs to Tsukishima that maybe, if Kuroo could be there to kiss him every time thunder struck, he might actually not mind thunderstorms so much anymore.