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Nishinoya had stood out in the street, panting and shivering in the cold while waving a stack of papers around like a madman. He’d nearly begged for Tsukishima’s help, had laid himself bare, all the desperation in his body pouring on the concrete at his feet, all to avoid failing his classes, and this is how fate treats him.
Unnecessarily rude, in his opinion.
“I don’t think I’m physically capable of helping you study for another evening,” Tsukishima says, a snarky curl dragging at his upper lip, “I think I might go mad.”
He towels the back of his neck off, dabbing softly and massaging a little after a long evening practice. The sun glows through the gym window, catching in the curls of Tsukishima’s hair and lighting them up in all shades of orange and gold.
Nishinoya huffs at that. He’s not stupid, he’d seen the way Tsukishima smiled at him during their first and (so far) only study session. He couldn’t have hated it all that much if it managed to bring contentment to his sour face.
“I’m a joy to be around,” Nishinoya presses, “Just help me one more time? Please?” He bats his eyelashes once, twice, and hopes that it has some kind of effect on Tsukishima.
It seems to, as Tsukishima sighs and rolls his eyes. “Fine,” He says on an exhale. Spits it like a curse, really.
Nishinoya is unbothered, immovable in his satisfaction. He hops up high enough that he’s eye to eye with Tsukishima for a split second, patting him on the head before landing back on the ground and shouting his thanks.
It’s not long before the two are walking to Nishinoya’s apartment together. He figured it was only fair to host for the night, with all the trouble he’d caused the Tsukishima residence the previous time.
The walk is a little longer than before, the evening a little cooler, the silence no fonder.
Tsukishima’s got his headphones on, seemingly making a point to ignore Nishinoya. He doesn’t even chance a look in Nishinoya’s direction every now and then to make sure he’s keeping up alright (he is, of course).
Nishinoya’s okay with the silence they’ve created, after all, it isn’t really silent. He hums to the low bassline he can hear booming through the plastic of Tsukishima’s headphones. He glances at cars as they pass, feeling the engines vibrate in his chest and turn his body into something electric and wild. He counts the number of times the streetlight at the end of the road flickers and buzzes before he and Tsukishima pass under it (fourteen).
The walk goes by fine like this, so Nishinoya is a little surprised when Tsukishima pulls his headphones off to initiate a conversation.
“Where were the rest of the second years tonight?” He asks, voice low and calm, a little gravelly in the dead of the evening.
“I think they were studying at Ryuu’s,” Nishinoya responds without looking up from where he’s kicking a pebble along the sidewalk.
Tsukishima doesn’t seem to like this answer. “Then why did you want to study with me?”
“Because I like to—” hang out with you— “—study with someone who doesn’t yell at me every time I get a question wrong.” The little stutter in Nishinoya’s sentence feels too vulnerable for his liking, a crack in the window of his heart that could shatter at any moment and cause everything to spill out. He can only hope Tsukishima brushes it off as nothing.
It’s the second time he’s nearly admitted how much he really does enjoy Tsukishima’s company. It’s the second time he’s almost let Tsukishima see a little too much of how he feels towards him.
There’s a bizarre little noise, cutting through the silence, and it takes Nishinoya a moment to realize Tsukishima’s chuckling, all teasing and harsh. It, too, is like glass, scraping and cutting at Nishinoya’s ears.
“Ennoshita yells at you?” Tsukishima demands like that’s such a hilarious and unlikely concept.
“Yes,” Nishinoya huffs, “He’s evil, don’t let his anxious façade fool you.”
That’s the last thing he manages to say before his apartment is in sight and he’s dragging Tsukishima by the wrist through the foyer, feeling the thrum of his veins as the two patter through doors and across hardwoods.
Nishinoya taps his foot animatedly on the carpet of the elevator all the way up to his floor. As soon as the elevator door pings and opens, his hand is around Tsukishima’s wrist again and the two are dancing the intricate footwork that consists of finding Nishinoya’s apartment.
It’s there, at the end of the hall, that they find a door labelled for the Nishinoya family. He knocks on it, knowing at least one of his sisters will be home by now.
His oldest sister, Chiyo, is the one to let the two of them in, looking confused at the company.
Nishinoya pulls Tsukishima through the door, pushing him inside before closing it behind the two of them.
“He’s large,” The youngest of the Nishinoya sisters—Itsumi—notes, staring directly at Tsukishima.
“Yup!” Nishinoya says with a smile. He preens like his sister has bestowed him high praise, instead of noting an obvious fact about his house guest.
Tsukishima slowly shuffles his shoes off, clutching tightly at his school bag and subtly stepping in the direction of the side hallway. Nishinoya takes this as his cue to show Tsukishima to his bedroom. He spins on his heel and stalks off in that direction, stopping only for a moment to make sure Tsukishima is following.
“Don’t be weird in there, Yuu!” His oldest sister calls.
Nishinoya makes an offended noise, “We aren’t like that,” He cries out, shooting a glare over his shoulder.
Chiyo seems unconvinced. Maybe she has the right idea, in a way, but Nishinoya doesn’t think he’s ready to throw what he and Tsukishima have away for the sake of some dumb confession that’s been collecting dust in the back of his mind for quite some time.
Tsukishima doesn’t feel the same way, Nishinoya knows this for a fact, and he doesn’t want to sacrifice their budding friendship to get something as silly as a little crush off his chest.
“This is exactly what I expected your room to look like,” Tsukishima notes with raised eyebrows as he steps over a pile of (clean, thank you very much) laundry.
“Shut up,” Nishinoya hisses without venom. A little smile tugs at his lips and he’s quick to shut it down.
But Tsukishima’s got a tiny smirk on his face, too. Something playful and effortless as he scoffs and shakes his head.
Nishinoya can’t possibly help the way that makes him feel a bit warm in his core. It’s not his fault Tsukishima has gorgeous rows of straight, pearly teeth that poke out of rosy lips so gently. Not his fault in the slightest.
“What kind of work do you have today?” Tsukishima asks, getting down to business.
“Right!” Nishinoya exclaims, shaking his head to clear any lingering thoughts.
He takes a moment to push the clutter off of his desk and into an empty bin on the floor (he’s not sure why it’s there, but he’s grateful for its presence). He sits down in one of the two chairs available before pulling his homework for the night out of his bag and motioning for Tsukishima to sit next to him.
Just as he did at their first study session, Tsukishima presses in so very close to Nishinoya, to the point that their thighs are resting against each other. Nishinoya pushes down some rather embarrassing flush at the way Tsukishima’s breath ghosts across the back of his neck before he recedes.
“Seems easy enough,” Tsukishima notes, looking down at Nishinoya’s workload, “Though, maybe not for you.” The way he adds it is hasty, silly, maybe something slightly fond is unrolling in the space behind his tightly gritted teeth. Maybe he is choking it down in the same way Nishinoya is choking down the urge to tell and to tell, to spill himself out and empty the puddle of emotions that wells inside of him.
Maybe.
Probably not.
Nishinoya shakes his head again. He’s thinking far too many thoughts.
He sticks his tongue out at Tsukishima. “I’m not bad at this stuff,” He sneers, “It’s the tests that give me trouble. Worksheets like this are usually fine.”
“Uh-huh,” Tsukishima hums. He’s having none of that. “I’ve studied with you before, you don’t have to lie to me.” He chuckles something small and amused.
“I’m not lying!” Nishinoya cries. He glares down at his worksheet, pencil scribbling across the page as he writes his answer to the first question.
Tsukishima watches with interest, tilting his head to the side and surveying in silence.
When Nishinoya’s done, he pushes the paper towards Tsukishima with a huff.
Tsukishima hums. “I’m not super familiar with this concept but it seems…” He pauses, cautious with the next admission, “You’re right.”
Nishinoya pumps his fist.
Tsukishima points at the paper, shutting down any lingering sense of joy Nishinoya may have felt with the reminder that he does have to continue with his homework.
The night proceeds with nothing as interesting as the incidents of their first study session, and Nishinoya actually manages to get all of his work done. He’s sure he never would have managed that had Tsukishima not been around to help.
Even when he worked alongside the other second years, he often left with unfinished papers and an incomplete understanding of any new concepts. Studying with Tsukishima is much more helpful. Even if he doesn’t understand everything, he makes sure Nishinoya does.
In that way, it’s much more profitable than any other scenario. That, and the fact that it’s studying with Tsukishima, what’s not to like?
Nishinoya laughs with a wave and a thanks as Tsukishima leaves that night. The door slams heavy between the two of them and Nishinoya is left to take the elevator back up to his apartment and shrug off any bizarre feelings he might be having.
Low in his gut, there is something sparking, something shimmering from the entire encounter, and try as he may, he can’t get it to calm down.
It’s not that Nishinoya plans it this way, it just so happens that he sees Tsukishima eating lunch alone in an empty classroom and knows he would feel quite guilty leaving him that way.
So he hops into the room, calling out, “Tsukki!” And bounding over to sit at an unoccupied desk.
“Nishinoya?” Tsukishima asks in confusion. He pulls his headphones off and lets them rest limp around his neck.
Nishinoya makes a pleased hum and pulls a chair over to the desk Tsukishima sits at. He seems to be reading some book of sorts, the pages new and blindingly white.
“Good book?” Nishinoya asks.
“No, actually,” Tsukishima says, “It’s too slow, and if the author spent as much time showing the fantasy aspects of the world as they do talking about them, then maybe it would have the chance to be good. Though, I don’t usually read this genre so maybe all high-fantasy books are like this and I’m not used to it—” He stops abruptly, pursing his lips together and folding his hands atop the table.
Nishinoya blinks once, twice, three times before he shifts in his seat. He’d been enjoying hearing about the book. The way Tsukishima explained it, with an upset kind of tone as though he really had been excited thinking it would be a wonderful read, was something like music to Nishinoya’s ears.
“You didn’t come to hear me ramble,” Tsukishima says with a pointed scoff directed at himself.
“Ah!” Nishinoya exclaims, “No, but I don’t mind. It’s interesting.” He hopes his tone manages to convey just how much he really does like listening to Tsukishima, no matter what it is he’s ranting about.
Tsukishima scoffs again, this time at Nishinoya. “Is there a reason you came to disrupt my reading?” There’s a minute twist at the edge of his lips, nothing so much as a smile, but maybe a hint at one and somehow so much more personal.
Nishinoya’s heart clenches.
He shakes his head. He’s always thinking too much around Tsukishima.
“Uh, yeah,” He stutters, “I need some help preparing for a test tomorrow. You free tonight?”
Tsukishima purses his lips, very obviously unimpressed. He looks about ready to scold Nishinoya for leaving all the studying until the last minute—his mouth even open in a gentle o form—but instead says quite simply, “Fine. As long as it’s at your place.”
Nishinoya gives him a slap on the shoulder and the most excited smile he can manage.
“I never did ask,” Tsukishima starts. He’s nose deep in a textbook, doing much of his own studying while Nishinoya does the same next to him. The moonglow slips in through the sealed window and battles against the yellowed overhead light of the bedroom. It’s late, Tsukishima should probably be going home, but he doesn’t seem to have any intention of it. Even going as far as having draped his coat across Nishinoya’s bed a half-hour ago.
“My shirt,” He continues, “What happened to it?”
Nishinoya looks up from his work at that. His brow crinkles, trying to remember what had he done with it.
“I was gonna wash it,” He says slowly, working the words around the pencil stuck in his mouth, “I think. Haven’t done my laundry in a while, though.”
Tsukishima only hums as though it isn’t important and goes back to his reading.
“Do you need it back?” Nishinoya asks, taking the pencil out of his mouth to scribble down an answer.
“Eventually.” Tsukishima seems so calm as he speaks, so purely at ease. Tired, maybe. Comfortable in the environment the two have created, hopefully.
It’s another half-hour of near-silence, disrupted only by the crinkle of a bag as Nishinoya snacks on something he can’t even taste in his focussed state, Tsukishima’s slow and calculated breathing, and the tap-tap-tap of Nishinoya’s foot as he bounces it against the floor.
It’s only as Tsukishima stands to leave, when he shuffles all his papers back into his bag and gives Nishinoya’s work a quick once-over and a nod, that he speaks again. It’s only as he’s grabbing his coat, making the question seem secondary and unimportant, that he asks in a lower voice, “The second years?”
“Hmm?” Nishinoya makes, taking a second to understand the question. “Ah,” He says, “Didn’t ask what they’re up to.”
Is it so odd to Tsukishima that someone would willingly hang out with him? Nishinoya wonders as Tsukishima’s face pinches into something confused, only ever so slightly, in the calmer way his features express emotion.
Nishinoya thinks, briefly, as Tsukishima slips on his coat while rising to his full height, that if there ever were a boy who seemed too small for his skeleton that it would be Tsukishima. As he towers, as he looms, as he casts shadows without care for who they spill over, he is still only a boy. One hidden behind the façade he has created, of distaste and of sour attitude he is still someone, just as Nishinoya is.
“Hey,” Nishinoya calls, fingers grazing the bare skin of Tsukishima’s wrist as he turns to leave. “I, uh, have a test next week, too. If you wanted to come over again and help. It’s easier to work when you’re around,” He mumbles a little sheepishly.
“Let’s see how you do with this first one. If I’m any good a tutor you won’t need my help again,” Tsukishima says in a sweetly bitter tone. He chuckles once, something airy and dry, before walking out with a wave.
Nishinoya passes his test. By no means is it an excellent grade, but it’s far better than what he’s used to, shining at a glorious 58.
He charges Tsukishima at after-school practice, jumping onto his back while he’s turned and staying suspended in a handstand position for a few seconds before hopping to the ground and waving the papers around.
“Look!” Nishinoya shouts.
Tsukishima gives the paper a glance. Something like distaste runs over his face as he massages the spot Nishinoya had gripped to jump onto his shoulders. “That’s a start,” He says tentatively, as though it’s taking a great deal of effort for him not to be a jerk about it, “You can do a lot better though.”
“But—!” Nishinoya starts his protest, but is swiftly cut off by Tsukishima holding his hand up.
“I’m not saying you did poorly, I’m only saying you can do better. I can help,” Tsukishima shrugs, completely unbothered by what he’s agreed to do, “I get a decent amount of work done studying with you anyway.” It’s more of an excuse than anything, Nishinoya knows it, but he can’t bring himself to care. Tsukishima is more willingly than not spending time with him, how can he complain?
“Oh,” Nishinoya starts, lightning crackles up his spine in a jolt of excitement, “Okay! I’ve got a test next Thursday if you wanna come over Wednesday to help.” He smiles wide and toothy, probably ridiculous, but Tsukishima doesn’t seem to care. The corners of his own lips are turned minutely upwards, some little hint of contentment.
Or maybe he finds it amusing how unprepared Nishinoya is.
“You know, most people start studying more than a day in advance,” Tsukishima says, biting back a chuckle, “How’s tomorrow evening?”
Nishinoya squawks something indignant. That dig at his studying tactics had not been necessary. But then the last part of Tsukishima’s sentence settles in and Nishinoya is cocking his head to the side as if to make sure he heard that right.
“Tomorrow works fine!” Nishinoya says, nearly stumbling over his words in his excitement.
Tsukishima must find this some brand of endearing. He scoffs out a laugh right before they’re both called to start practice.
A little flush works its way across Nishinoya’s face as he stifles a smile into his fist.
It’s as they’re both studying side by side in Nishinoya’s bedroom the following day that things start to go wrong.
It’s innocent enough. Tsukishima sneezes and sniffles, dropping his pencil on the desk in the commotion. Nishinoya, being the nice host he is, offers a blanket, or a sweater, or something?
“I don’t think any of your clothing would fit me. Even your blankets are probably too small.” Tsukishima chuckles and it’s so much lighter than any grating, teasing laugh that has ever come from his throat.
Nishinoya, being as irritable and quick to bite back as he is, always with something to prove, hops out of his chair without a word. He shuffles towards his closet, piled high with clothes he hasn’t managed the energy to fold and put away yet. He ruffles through a few things before grabbing what it is he’s looking for.
A rather large button-up sweater, coloured light and warm beige. Asahi had bought it a while ago, but it had been a size (or several) too large for him. He hadn’t wanted to go through the hassle of returning it and Nishinoya had gladly offered to take it off his hands. It made for wonderful protection against the cold in the winter months.
And, apparently, fits perfectly on the cold-running Tsukishima at the chilly beginnings of autumn.
He stretches his arms through the sleeves, looking thoughtfully at the way the fabric falls a little past the base of his palms. He doesn’t bother with the buttons, only gets back to the work he’d been doing before.
“Thanks,” He says quite clearly.
“Anytime!” Nishinoya chirps. He, too, heads back to his workload.
It really is innocent enough, a simple exchange of clothing, but of course it doesn’t go unnoticed by Nishinoya’s oldest sister.
Chiyo nearly rips his door off the hinges without so much as a knock, demanding more than asking, “Does your friend want to stay for dinner?”
Tsukishima seems unimpressed by the interruption, staring narrowly in Nishinoya’s direction.
Nishinoya’s heart stutters in his chest. “Do you?” He asks, something akin to nerves almost slipping into his tone.
Tsukishima glances at the clock (glares, more accurately). He looks down at his homework, over at Nishinoya’s, and then again to the clock.
“I’ll have to make sure it’s okay with my mom.” Is the way he chooses to accept the invitation.
“Great!” Nishinoya and his sister call in sync.
Chiyo’s about to close the door when she narrows her eyes at Tsukishima, then at Nishinoya. She opens her mouth to say something, opts not to, and closes the door without another word.
It only takes a few minutes before the two are called to dinner. Nishinoya’s grandfather, Mineo, greets Tsukishima politely and ushers him into a seat across from Nishinoya, next to his youngest sister.
“The food is wonderful, thank you for having me over,” Tsukishima says, nose nearly buried in his plate as the steam fogs up his glasses.
Nishinoya feels something warm on his cheeks. He likes this side of Tsukishima, the polite one he shows only when he deems it necessary. Nishinoya smiles around a bite of food.
“Are you sure the two of you aren’t getting up to anything?” Chiyo asks, eyes narrowed suspiciously at Nishinoya beside her. Maybe he was not-so-subtly staring at Tsukishima.
Itsumi only looks curious, something interested flickers behind her eyes. Nishinoya’s middle sister, Kahori, seems completely unbothered, eating in silence without so much as a single emotion passing over her face.
Mineo, on the other hand, laughs like that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard in his long years of living. “Didn’t want to tell us about your boyfriend, Yuu?” He nearly cackles.
Nishinoya blanches. “We aren’t like that, I swear!” Gods, he wishes he could melt under the table right about now. His heart is beating about a million beats per minute and he doesn’t have to look in Tsukishima’s direction to know he’s feeling about the same.
“He’s wearing your sweater and that shirt definitely isn’t yours,” Chiyo notes. And now she, too, is unbothered. As if she hasn’t just caused her brother to experience what has got to be the most embarrassing moment of his life.
“I—” Nishinoya is about to protest that he is not, in fact, wearing Tsukishima’s shirt. But as he looks down he realizes that that’s exactly the case. Apparently he’d mistakenly put on that basic white T-shirt without realizing that it nearly slips off one of his shoulders, or that it reaches his mid-thighs, or that it’s basic white while the rest of his shirts are colourful with idioms printed in large letters.
“Uh,” He makes, elegantly.
“I was cold, so Nishi— Yuu offered me this sweater,” Tsukishima speaks up, “As for my shirt, I asked for it back a while ago. Apparently, Yuu isn’t too keen on returning it.” He gives Nishinoya a sly glance through the thin gold of his eyelashes.
Nishinoya glares at him. Of course Tsukishima would dig his grave just a little deeper.
“I—” Nishinoya tries again, “—I thought I put it aside after I washed it. Apparently not.”
“Apparently not,” Tsukishima echoes, a little chuckle making his voice slightly lighter.
“Ah,” Scoffs Mineo, “And here I was thinking he was finally over that Shimizu girl.” Then he cackles again, pushing his bony elbow into Tsukishima’s side.
Nishinoya attempts to melt into his seat.
It really was supposed to be innocent, but as Tsukishima leaves at the end of the night (after thanking Nishinoya’s entire family for the meal and their hospitality, of course) he doesn’t bother to take off the sweater. Whether he forgets or makes the decision consciously, Nishinoya isn’t sure. Either way, he doesn’t stop Tsukishima, only leads him to the elevator and sees him down to the lobby.
The two are silent the entire way down, the only disruption is the slow elevator music, something calm and heavy with instrumentals at the later hour. When the elevator pings , doors opening to the hardwoods of the lobby for the two to take their first few steps out, Tsukishima speaks up.
“I assume you won’t study unless it’s with me or the other second years, so we should do this again before your next test.”
Nishinoya purses his lips to keep back the excited cry that threatens to spill forward. He swallows it down, opting instead for a more serious question, “Why are you really helping me?”
Tsukishima stares down at him, eyes widening a little at the odd question, at the odd tone that seems so foreign on Nishinoya’s tongue. “Is it so bizarre to think that I actually want you to pass?” He asks as though Nishinoya is the dumbest person he has ever encountered.
“A little,” Nishinoya replies with honesty. There’s a forced chuckle on his breath to try to shove away anything too serious that threatens to come between him and Tsukishima.
“I promised myself I’d help you pass all of your classes,” Tsukishima says, something akin to vulnerability drips from his lips. “Plus, it wouldn’t reflect too well on my tutoring if I let you fail,” He laughs, lighter. He, too, is trying to shove off severity, to push away sincerity.
“And,” He adds, back to the vulnerable tone that makes Nishinoya clench his fists in anticipation, “I’d be lying if I said I don’t enjoy spending time with you.”
Nishinoya gapes. Seriousness forgotten, he hops up so he’s eye to eye with Tsukishima, breath quickening in excitement as he ruffles a hand in Tsukishima’s hair and falls back to the ground. “I thought you said I was a pain to deal with, ” Nishinoya quotes in his closest imitation of Tsukishima, “And that if you didn’t bite me we’d get along better.” Nishinoya laughs, he thinks his impersonation is pretty spot-on.
Tsukishima sighs something airy and silly out of his nose. His mouth presses upwards in a thin-lipped smile. “Well, you’ve been calmer lately. There’ve been no more spilled drink accidents or obnoxious outbursts, and you haven’t bitten me in a few weeks, so I’d say you’re tolerable.” The smile is still there, the only indicator that he’s less serious than his grave tone indicates.
“Correct me if I’m wrong here,” Tsukshima starts again, something playful turning his voice melodic and lilted, “But I also said I don’t not-like you. Which I think was the past version of myself’s way of saying that I like you.”
Nishinoya knows—he knows —that Tsukishima doesn’t mean that in the way he wants him to. He knows it’s impossible, but that doesn’t stop his heart from beating excitedly in his chest. that doesn’t stop him from nearly shouting his response without thinking it out first.
“I like you, too!” Nishinoya exclaims, “Quite a bit actually.” And before he can curse himself and slap a hand over his mouth, Tsukishima is full-on laughing and it’s gorgeous.
It’s something so gentle, not quiet per se but low enough that Nishinoya feels as though it’s only for him to hear. It may be a little grating, rough around the edges, but it rings better than the elevator music in Nishinoya’s ears.
He lets out a single note or two of a laugh in response, he can’t help himself, there’s just something so alluring about Tsukishima’s every aspect that makes him join in.
“I’ll see you at school,” Tsukishima says through a final chuckle.
He waves goodbye and walks off, disappearing through the front doors and off into the night.
Nishinoya watches the whole way, a sigh on his lips and something soft and warm burning in his heart.
Tsukishima is wearing Nishinoya’s sweater the next time they get together for tutoring. It’s a Saturday post-practice, the early afternoon sun shines a little duller with the way autumn is rapidly approaching. They walk along the paved pathways around the school, Nishinoya ranting about the newest episode of some show he’s been interested in for quite some time while Tsukishima listens in silence.
“I’m nowhere near as good at analyzing as you are, but I think the romance of it feels so forced, y’know?” Nishinoya says.
Tsukishima hums. “There seems to be some unwritten rule that every important character needs a love interest.” He looks forward as he speaks, eyes on the blue-hued horizon.
“I don’t get why,” Nishinoya huffs, “I’m single and perfectly happy about it!”
Lie.
Tsukishima chuckles at that. “Done chasing after Shimizu, then?” He teases.
“Have been for some time,” Nishinoya mumbles without thinking. He bites his lip. He probably shouldn’t have said that.
Tsukishima raises his eyebrows with another hum. “Found some other poor girl to torment?”
Nishinoya bites his lip again, releases it, gnaws the inside of his cheek instead, and then releases it before speaking cautiously. “Not exactly.”
Tsukishima says nothing at that. Only continues walking towards an unspecified destination with Nishinoya at his side.
“What about you?” Nishinoya asks when they’ve been silent for all of thirty seconds.
Tsukishima stiffens for a moment, only a slight shift in his posture that Nishinoya wouldn’t have noticed had he not been watching so intently. Tsukishima’s hand runs up and down the strap of his bag, worrying along the crisp fabric as he formulates his response.
“I’ve never been very interested in girls,” Tsukishima admits, the honesty in his tone something more refreshing than the gentle breeze that brushes cool and dry across Nishinoya’s cheeks.
“‘S there a boy you’ve got your eyes on, then?” Nishinoya asks without missing a beat (though his heart skips several).
Tsukishima clicks his tongue. “No.”
Nishinoya shrugs. In a bout of something (whether it be courage or stupidity is unknown) he says, “I think I might.”
Tsukishima turns to stare and blink down at him.
“Have my eyes on a boy, that is,” Nishinoya clarifies as if the back of his neck isn’t burning red-hot.
Tsukishima only makes a noise of understanding before facing forwards again.
“Your place or mine?” Nishinoya asks, changing the subject quickly. He still has to prepare for his test the following week, after all.
“Yours, preferably,” Tsukishima replies. He has some odd tone to his voice, as though he’s off in some other world, as though his mind isn’t present.
Nishinoya nods, feeling about the same, and the two continue onwards.
“So, this boy you like, is he as annoying as you are?” Tsukisihima asks.
Nishinoya hangs upside down from rusted monkey bars. His hands sting with the burn of metal on flesh and his head pounds with the force of blood rushing into it. He’d spotted the playground on their walk to Tsukishima’s house for the evening and had run off in that direction without so much as a warning. Tsukishima wordlessly followed, acquainted enough with Nishinoya’s shenanigans not to question it.
Nishinoya sniffles, swinging back and forwards with his hands wrapped tightly around the metal bars. “Sometimes,” He says with a single chuckle. He’s passed the point of wanting to keep things a secret, even if it means sacrificing his friendship with Tsukishima. He thinks he’s okay with it, with letting things flutter out into the open like the last of springs petals on the cool, cool winds.
“He nags me a lot,” Nishinoya says.
Tsukishima gives him a raised eyebrow and cocked head look that asks, is that so?
“I think he trusts me, though. We’re kinda opposites, but it works that way.” Nishinoya spins himself on the bar, dropping onto his feet with a small humph and righting himself with all the balance of an acrobat.
Tsukishima makes a near-dejected noise, looking somewhere far off again.
Nishinoya panics. Of course it wasn’t a good idea to say something like that, something that borders on a confession, when he’s sure Tsukishima isn’t interested. He ignores his heart pounding in overdrive and the way his throat gets dry and sticky with unspoken words.
“Uh,” Nishinoya makes, trying to save the conversation, “What about you? Tell me about your special someone?”
Tsukishima’s gaze snaps back to Nishinoya, something sly overtaking the earlier nothingness. He smirks, conniving and playfully evil. “I’ll tell you,” Tsukishima starts, slow, measured, “If you do good on your test tomorrow.”
Nishinoya gapes. “That’s not fair!” He shouts.
Tsukishima shrugs. “Most things aren’t,” He says with laughter on his breath. He spins on his heel, hands tucked neatly into the pockets of his pants, and walks off, leaving Nishinoya to jog after him.
Things that evening are...tense, to say the least.
Tsukishima exudes some bizarre anxious energy. He keeps fiddling with his fingers under his desk and he messes up the corrections for a half dozen questions without so much as a snippy remark when Nishinoya points it out to him.
He declines his brother’s offer to have Nishinoya over for dinner and instead has him leaving as soon as Tsukishima finishes his homework for the night, unbothered by the fact that Nishinoya isn’t even half done.
Nishinoya’s not sure what he did wrong, had it been the almost-confession or something else, but his heart stings with rejection as he lay in bed. The remainder of his homework still sits on his desk, waiting to be finished, but he knows he won’t be able to with the way his mind is swimming with thoughts. Even with his test the next day, Nishinoya can’t help but push it to the back burner of his mind, instead worrying about something a lot nearer to his heart.
Something a lot dearer to him.
Someone.
Nishinoya doesn’t look at his test results. The teacher had placed it face-down on his desk (which usually isn’t a good sign, in his experience) and he had just left it like that. He carries it folded up, holding it in his hands like it’s something much more fragile than stark white paper, as he walks to practice.
There’s something almost dread-like building in his stomach as the gym doors loom at the end of the pathway. He hasn’t spoken to Tsukishima since the previous night. The two had avoided each other at practice that morning, hanging on opposite ends of the gym. Tsukishima had even stayed a little later in an effort to avoid Nishinoya in the club room, much as it had made him late to class.
Now, Nishinoya walks towards Tsukishima with wide strides. He’s doing what he does best, unapologetically taking up as much space as possible, pacing through the gym.
“Tsukki,” Nishinoya greets with a tense nod. He hands the paper over, vulnerability etched across his features. He waits with bated breath, for Tsukishima to take it, for him to open it, for his reaction, and for the final rejection.
Tsukishima purses his lips together and takes the paper without a word. He peels it open slowly, as if something venomous may jump from between its folds and bite him. When he finally has it open in front of him, he says nothing, only stares down at the test in confusion.
Nishinoya tries to hop up on his tip-toes to see what it is Tsukishima’s staring at with such distaste, but Tsukishima pulls it away from his line of sight.
“Tsukki?” He asks, uncharacteristically nervous.
“Are you sure this is your test?” Tsukishima asks, bringing his eyes up from the paper to stare questioningly at Nishinoya.
Nishinoya gulps. “How bad is it?” He feels himself deflate slowly. Though, maybe this is for the best. At least now he won’t have to hear Tsukishima gush about someone else.
It’s only then, when Tsukishima smiles wider than Nishinoya has ever seen him smile before— It’s only then, when he flips the paper around to show Nishinoya his mark, noted in big numbers at the top— It’s only then, when Nishinoya glimpses the 83 scrawled right in front of his eyes—
It’s only then that Nishinoya (for the first time around Tsukishima) stops thinking and charges straight into the open arms in front of him.
To Nishinoya’s surprise, Tsukishima doesn’t push him off. He doesn’t scoff or tsk an insult, he only holds Nishinoya loosely to his torso and says a soft, “Congrats.”
When Nishinoya stumbles back to the ground, a dull ache has worn itself into his cheeks, still stretched wide over a smile.
“Thank you,” Nishinoya says, raw and a little vulnerable in that way he has accepted only Tsukishima can bring out in him.
It’s only then that Tsukishima scoffs. “Yeah,” he says, “Let’s see if you can keep it up.”
They leave the rest of the conversation until after practice. Until after they’ve changed in the clubroom, until after Tsukishima has slipped on that sweater of Nishinoya’s that he has yet to give back—but it’s alright, Nishinoya hasn’t given back his T-shirt, either.
Their walk is quiet, as it tends to be at the start. They kick along a sidewalk, heading in the vague direction of Nishinoya’s apartment.
Tsukishima’s headphones sit lifeless around his neck. Nishinoya takes this as an invitation to start a conversation.
“So,” He says, more of a hum than it is a word, “Your little crush ?” He teases, elbowing Tsukishima in the side.
Tsukishima sighs something low and intense. “Well,” He sounds as if he’s mentally preparing himself, “He can be a bit stupid at times. He’s a little short, pretty loud, but his heart’s in the right place.” His voice is soothing, like this, all serious and quiet.
Nishinoya’s heart drops. He really doesn’t know why he bothered asking when he knew it would only end in his own disappointment.
“‘S it Shouyou?” Nishinoya asks at the exact time Tsukishima says—
“Do you plan on confessing to Azumane?”
“Huh?” They both make (elegantly) in sync.
“Hinata?” Tsukishima demands as if that’s the most revolting concept he’s ever heard.
“Asahi?” Nishinoya asks. Really, he hadn’t considered the possibility.
They both stare at each other in silence, each waiting for the other to explain.
“You said he trusts you,” Tsukishima starts, “And is your opposite. You and Azumane have quite the bond,” He explains, “And polar personalities.”
Nishinoya blinks a few times, taking it all in. “You said short, loud, and with a heart o’ hold. All signs point to Shouyou.”
And then it hits him like a massive truck going a hundred kilometres an hour, right in his chest with such a force he nearly doubles over.
“Oh,” Is all he manages for a moment. He sways on his feet, rocking back and forth as his mind grasps for anything at all.
“I told you he was stupid,” Tsukishima scoffs. Under everything, he sounds terrified, some fear of rejection creeping into his tone and spilling forwards all desperate and cutting.
“And I told you he nags me a lot,” Nishinoya says through his daze.
“What?” Tsukishima demands, head whipping in Nishinoya’s direction.
“What?” Nishinoya asks, finally shaking off his stupor as an unbridled joy settles into his whole body. He prickles from head to toe with sheer elation. Why had he never seen it before? He’d been so blinded by his own doubts and simple improbabilities that he hadn’t been able to think clearly. But now that he’s looking back at it, there had been signs.
Tsukishima’s lack of apathy towards tutoring when he always harbours some distaste at doing the same with the other first years, the little smiles he would share like offerings of his heart, the teasing that was more joking than not, initiating conversation and even planning their study sessions.
Yeah, Nishinoya is an idiot for not realizing.
“Oh!” He shouts.
“Oh,” Tsukishima echoes, surprised and quite possibly still piecing everything together.
“You like me?” Nishinoya asks, “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
Tsukishima blinks for a second, turning his head to make sure they’re alone on the concrete strip. He lowers his voice to a hushed shout, hissing out, “It’s not that easy. It took a while to figure out and even longer to accept. You’re...you and I’m, well...” He cuts himself off with a shrug.
Nishinoya rolls his tongue around his mouth, tasting out a response while ignoring any digs at his general being. He can’t be bothered by slight insults at the moment.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Tsukishima asks with a cocked eyebrow.
“Uh—” Nishinoya explains articulately.
Tsukishima looks at him expectantly, a sly grin curving his face into something playfully evil.
“Fair enough,” Nishinoya mumbles.
They walk in silence for all of five seconds before Nishinoya pipes up again.
“So?” He asks, “What do we do about it?”
Tsukishima hums, something thoughtful and small. “How about I buy you a popsicle from the nearest store and then you take me back to your place and we finish up that work you were telling me about.”
Nishinoya scrunches his nose up. “The popsicle part sounds good, but the rest…” He doesn’t finish the sentence in favour of not discouraging Tsukishima, who’s already putting himself out there far more than he ever has.
Tsukishima just shrugs. “We can improvise.”
Nishinoya looks up at him, peeling his eyes away from the concrete to stare at Tsukishima’s profile that glows golden in the sunset. Light traces harsh and cutting across the outline of his features. It’s more gentle on his hair, threading between each strand as though weaving its way in, as though he’s meant to exist only here, in the moments of red and orange of fleeting light.
“Are you sure about that, Mr I-Always-Think-Things-Out-Ten-Steps-Ahead ?” Nishinoya asks, the teasing edge back in his voice.
“I’ve gotten good at thinking on my toes,” Tsukishima chuckles, “Hanging out with you as often as I do.”
“Great!” Nishinoya exclaims, linking his arm in the crook of Tsukishima’s elbow and staring to skip forwards. “It’s a date then!”
“A date,” Tsukishima scoffs, incredulous. But there’s a small smile etching at the corners of his mouth, something soft and sweet and dearly fond. “A study date, of all things.” And he looks at Nishinoya like those two things do not add up in the slightest, as if that’s the most ridiculous part of all of this.
Nishinoya makes a disgusted noise. “Don’t remind me.”
Tsukishima laughs at that. Slow, melodious, beautiful.
The two of them smile as they patter forwards on the empty concrete. Their synchronized steps ring loud and determined through the streets, continuing as they walk arm in arm under the shadows of nearby trees and the blinding sun of the cloudless sky.
Nishinoya sighs something small and pleased. This may be the best thing studying has ever brought him.