Chapter Text
The sounds of sneakers squeaking across the court and of volleyball meeting skin have always been calming to you. The team’s voices, delivering banter and praise, make your bad days tolerable. And normally, on the occasional rainy day, the sound of water drizzling against the building would make the cold world outside seem so distant from the warm here and now. Today, however, the first drop of rain causes a drop in your spirits.
Kiyoko is giving you pointers on the best way to get stains out of the team’s uniforms, noting that Kageyama always has the hardest stains to remove, when she notices how your shoulders have dropped. She looks up at the window, remarking, “I thought it wasn’t supposed to rain today.”
“It wasn’t,” you reply, frowning. Before you had left in the morning, you checked the day’s weather as you always do. In fact, it was supposed to be such a warm, sunny day, that you left your uniform jacket at home. You certainly hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella.
Kiyoko sees the dread creep across your face and gives you a reassuring smile. “There’s still an hour left of practice. If the forecast said nothing about rain, then it should stop soon.”
You absently rub your arm, thinking about chilly water clinging to your skin as you walk home. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” you reply, trying to ignore the doubt in the back of your mind.
Luckily, the volleyball that flies past your head, almost grazing your nose, does a wonderful job of distracting you. You flinch, Kiyoko’s eyes go wide, and the ball bounces off the wall next to you before rolling to a stop at your feet. You stare down at it, wondering how it would have felt to receive the ball with your cheek.
“Sorry, my bad!” comes a voice from the court, far too jovial to sound apologetic.
You send the guilty party a sour look, and you’re unsurprised to see that it’s none other than Nishinoya Yuu. He holds up an arm, gesturing at you to return the ball.
Standing at the intimidating height of 159 cm with a splash of orange locks at the front of his hair, Nishinoya looks nothing like the quintessential volleyball player, and even less like a star athlete. He’s a ball of energy with a penchant for getting into trouble – he broke a vase in front of the vice principal, earning himself suspension for a week from school and for a month from club activities, the latter of which he returned from only weeks ago. The grin that stretches across his face is full of mischief, almost as though he had aimed the ball at your head intentionally. In fact, he’s such a skilled libero that you’re not sure that it wasn’t intentional.
Nishinoya is the guardian deity of Karasuno’s volleyball team, and you’re hopelessly in love with him.
And so, it is with great affection in your heart that you attempt to hurl the ball back at his head. To your disappointment, he catches it easily. With a quick “Thanks!” he rolls it to Hinata the other side of the net, who is desperately trying to improve his serve.
By the time practice ends, you’ve long forgotten about the rain. You and Kiyoko clean up the gym as the boys change, and soon you’re ready to leave. There’s a hitch in your step as you walk out the door to see hundreds of ripples in the puddles that have formed in the courtyard, feeling the cool air meet your face. The rain hasn’t ceased, and it seems to be pouring down harder. Kiyoko gives you a sympathetic look before saying her goodbyes and heading home.
You pull out your phone in the hopes that your weather app would promise you a dry walk if you wait a little longer, but your hopes are dashed when you see that the rain will likely persist for hours. You sigh and steel yourself, stepping out and feeling the icy rain cling to your arms and hair.
“Airin!”
You stop at the call of your name, looking back to see Nishinoya catching up to you. You stop to wait for him, trying not to smile too wide. As always, you feel a lightness in your chest when he says your given name; you really should be used to it by now, yet your heart still threatens to give out.
You curse yourself for thinking about how good he looks in the rain. If he stays outside much longer, his wild hair, normally styled to stick up, will become tamed by the downpour and fall across his face. It’s a rare treat to see him like that.
He slows his jog to stand in front of you, speaking up so you can hear him over the rain. “I thought it was strange that you weren’t carrying your jacket. Left it at home?”
You nod. “It’s alright, though. I’ll just take a warm bath when I get home.” So much for a warm day – the wet weather is chilling you to the bone and the breeze is doing you no favors. “A little rain never killed anyone, right?”
Nishinoya knits his brows and crosses his arms. Normally, he’s the irresponsible one that his teammates have to worry about, but when it comes to you, he’s like a mother hen. “You have a half-hour commute, don’t you?”
“Only 25 minutes, but it’ll be more than a half-hour if we keep talking like this.”
“You’re gonna catch a cold.” He sighs. “I guess it can’t be helped, then.” He begins to unbutton his gakuran jacket.
“Hey, wait a sec!” you protest. “I’ll be fine, you don’t have to give me yours!”
“I take the train, so I won’t be in the rain too long. Besides, I’m all warmed up from practice, so I can manage. Better than you, anyway.” He snickers as you pout, but you have to admit that you could use the additional warmth.
You blink as he pulls off his jacket, revealing the biceps and forearms trained for perfect control on the court. You try not to stare, but the droplets that begin to cover his skin make it hard.
He hands you the jacket, and you take it almost thoughtlessly. By now, his hair has fallen down with the weight of the water soaking it. The strands dyed orange lay flat against his forehead while the rest hugs his temple and ears. These rainy clouds really do have silver lining.
“I don’t want to catch a cold, so I’m gonna head off now!” He gives you a small wave as he passes you, his pace quickly speeding into a run.
You return the wave, yelling, “Thanks, Yuu!” Seconds later, he’s out of sight.
“You call Noya-san ‘Yuu’?”
Whipping around, you see Tanaka holding his school bag above his head, doing his best to stay dry. He’s standing in a puddle, though, so he’s not doing a very good job.
“N-no, I just said ‘thank you’,” you retort, clutching Nishinoya’s jacket.
Tanaka smirks, looking like he doesn’t believe you. “Mm, if you say so.”
He walks past you, and you stick your tongue out after him. You slide the jacket on over your shoulders, the sleeves reaching several centimeters past your wrists. It’s a weirdly pleasant reminder that despite his stature, he’s still a little taller than you, and his back is still broader than yours. You button it up, letting Nishinoya’s remaining warmth wash over you, and begin your trek home.
You spend the entire walk distracted by the smell of Nishinoya’s detergent.
The next day, Nishinoya is not at school.
You have a bad feeling about his absence, and your fears are confirmed during practice when Tanaka tells you he has a cold.
The guilt you’ve been keeping at bay by telling yourself that Nishinoya is probably just skipping washes over you like a cold spring rain. Tanaka does not help.
“You know, it’s strange,” he muses. “He had his jacket when we finished practice, but when I saw him leaving the schoolgrounds it was gone.” He gives you a sly look and adds, “Now that I think about it, the jacket you were holding looked like it was from the boy’s uniform.”
“He lent me his jacket,” you admit. “I tried to stop him, but he insisted. You know how he is.”
“I’ve been wondering for a while now, Natsu-san,” Tanaka goes on, the teasing lilt heavy in his voice, “do you have a thing for Noya-san?”
Kiyoko is off filling water bottles for the team while the others have already begun their warm-ups. It won’t be long until Daichi chastises Tanaka for goofing off, but no one else is in earshot when you say, without hesitation, “Yeah, I have since middle school.”
Tanaka, apparently surprised by your nonchalance, takes a moment to respond. But a smile quickly returns to his face, and he says, “Well in that case, I have a favor to ask.”
You raise a brow as he goes to find his school bag. Daichi, currently stretching out his hamstrings, looks up and calls out, “Tanaka, start your warm-ups. You can talk to Natsuhiko later.”
“Just a second, Daichi-san!” Tanaka waves him off and returns to you with a small stack of paper.
“These are the handouts from class today. I got asked to bring them to him, but since I’m so busy with practice and all, could you go ahead and pass them along? I’d really appreciate it, and I’m sure Noya-san would too.” The look on his face betrays his intention, but you’re not sure whether he’s trying to wingman for you or for Nishinoya.
“But I don’t know where Nishinoya-san lives,” you object.
“Seriously? You’ve known him for, what, two years? And you’ve never been to his house?”
With an awkward laugh, you correct him, “Three years, actually.”
Tanaka huffs and holds out the stack of paper. “I’ll give you directions, so just check in on him for me, will ya?”
Technically, you are only a manager-in-training, one who specializes in treating the team’s injuries. Currently, none of the members are hurt, and usually nothing major happens during practice. It won’t be a big deal for you to skip practice for today, especially if it’s for the sake of the team’s libero. The offer of seeing Nishinoya weakened with illness is a tough one to pass up, and, next thing you know, you’ve taken the handouts from Tanaka.
You page through the stack, seeing that the notes aren’t written in Tanaka’s handwriting. Granted, the quality of his notes leaves a lot to be desired, so it makes sense to have someone else in their class take them. Even so, you can’t help but notice the handwriting appears feminine.
Nishinoya has never been hugely popular with the ladies, but you still worry that someone else will win his affections. The first time you saw him flirt with Kiyoko, you almost had a heart attack (though your wonderful senpai saved you with her quick dismissal of Nishinoya’s advances).
The fear of losing Nishinoya to another spurs you into action, and you find yourself following Tanaka’s very poorly drawn map. You stop at a convenience store to grab cold medicine before taking the train to the station written on the map. From there, you walk along the sidewalks, the reality setting in that you would be in Nishinoya’s house.
You might even go in his room.
Your heart rate spikes, and you try to focus on something else. The grass along your path is vibrantly green, you note. The rain must have been sorely needed; you don’t remember the last time you’ve seen such healthy-looking grass. The way it sticks out, shifting lightly in the wind, reminds you of Nishinoya’s spiky hair. You wonder if it’s just as soft.
Smacking your forehead, you snap yourself out of it.
Over three years of being in love with your upperclassman, and you’re still fantasizing about touching his hair. You quicken your pace, forcing yourself to think about the math assignment due tomorrow.
Soon enough, you’re in front of a western-style house. You go up the steps leading to the front door, taking a moment to hype yourself up before ringing the doorbell.
You wait for a response, the suspense killing you. It’s just a quick visit to drop off some cold medicine and notes. You’ll be in and out, and it won’t be awkward at all. You’ll politely greet his parents, maybe stay for tea if they offer it, but you definitely won’t stay for more than 20 minutes. Well, unless he asks you to-
There’s a thud on the other side of the door.
“Yuu?” you call out, worried. You’re met with a familiar painful groan; you’ve patched Nishinoya up enough times to know how he sounds when he’s hurt. You reach for the handle. The door is unlocked. “I’m coming in!”
As the door opens, you’re met with a boy lying face down on the floor, a blanket tangled up at his feet. He rolls his head up to say something, his cheeks red from fever and his voice hoarse from coughing. “Hey, Airin. Did you get taller?”
You rush in and kneel down beside him, setting aside the medicine and handouts. “Are you okay?” you ask, voice full of concern, as you look for any obvious injuries. “Where are your parents?”
With a grunt, Nishinoya rolls over onto his back to stare up at you, his cool chestnut eyes bringing a heat to your cheeks. He hasn’t styled his hair, and taupe locks lay tangled across his feverishly red face. You can feel your heart rate rising. With a wide grin, he answers, “Mom and Pops are at work. What brings you here?”
“Tanaka-san asked me to drop off today’s notes.”
So the house is empty, save for you and the boy you’ve had a crush on since middle school. That’s fine, that’s cool, it’s nothing you can’t manage. The look Nishinoya is giving you as though he’s watching his guardian angel, here to pull him from the wreckage, is certainly not affecting your ability to breathe.
“For now, let’s get you off the floor.” Offering a hand, you pull Nishinoya to his feet. He tosses his arm over your shoulder and rests some of his weight on you. “You must be feeling pretty awful if you can’t even walk by yourself.”
“I can,” he hums, “but this is better.”
You choke, unsure how to respond. Mustering up your mental strength, you put one hand on his waist and the other on the arm he has over your shoulder, shifting to support his weight.
“W-where’s your room?” you force out, ignoring how warm he feels against you. He directs you through his house, his voice rumbling against your side. You have half a mind to drop him and put a meter of distance between you, but you remind yourself that he got sick for your sake. If you hadn’t forgotten your jacket, he wouldn’t have missed practice so soon
after his suspension from club activities ended. You owe at least this much to him, even if your knees are going weak at more than just his weight.
You nudge the door to his room open, pulling Nishinoya through the entryway. His room is surprisingly clean; you expected a good deal of clutter, and maybe some gross magazines. The messiest thing is his bed, which sits under a window with its sheets tangled and the comforter lying in the hall by the front door. The desk pushed against the opposite wall has a volleyball underneath it and an unopened textbook atop it. He has a small bookshelf, lined mostly with shounen manga and year books. On the wall behind the bookshelf is the award he won in middle school for his performance as a libero.
You had attended that awards ceremony. Seeing the way Nishinoya swelled with pride when his name was called, the way his eyes focused like everything had suddenly become clear, made your chest threaten to implode. That was the day you realized you were in love with Nishinoya Yuu.
Nishinoya lets you direct him across the room. At this point, he has taken most of his weight off you, but he remains draped at your side. You try to help him onto his bed, though he mostly lays down himself, much to your relief.
He stretches out across the bed, and a shiver runs down his body. With a sigh and a shake of your head, you turn to leave.
Halting you in your place is Nishinoya’s hand around your wrist. “Where are you going?”
His voice is weak, and his grip is gentle. You can’t remember ever seeing him so vulnerable. Carefully, you pull your arm from his grasp, trying not to let him see the flustered expression you wear. “I’m just going to get the blanket you left by the front door. You look cold.”
Nishinoya blinks, then smiles sheepishly. “Oh, that makes sense. Hurry back, okay?”
If Tanaka could see this absolute mess of a home visit, he would never stop making fun of either of you for it. Even Kiyoko might tease you a little. When you make it out of Nishinoya’s room and down the hall a way, you lean against a wall and sink to the ground, covering your face in your hands.
You’ve had a crush on Nishinoya for a long time, which means that, generally speaking, you’re used to the butterflies he lets loose in your stomach. But seeing him so weak, and so happy to see you, and having him casually lean against you, and grab your wrist in fear that you would leave - it doesn’t feel like butterflies, it feels like the pot you’ve kept a lid on for so long is finally boiling over.
And it’s stressful.
Taking a breath, you bring yourself back to your feet and make your way back to the front door. You toss the blanket over your shoulder, leaving your hands free to grab the bag of medicine and notes you abandoned in favor of carrying a sick libero. In the kitchen, you’re able to find a glass and fill it with water, almost letting it spill over as you get lost in your thoughts. Snapping out of it, you straighten up and mentally prepare for the trials that await you.
You return to Nishinoya’s room, quietly at first in case he’s fallen asleep, but you find him staring blankly up at his ceiling. He looks to be deep in thought, with one arm between his head and pillow and the other across his stomach, absently fiddling with nothing. As you step into the room, his ears twitch, and his head turns toward you with a smile.
Has Nishinoya ever looked at you with anything but a smile? You can’t recall. Even at his low points, he’s always managed to muster a happy face for you. On one hand, you love his smile; the way it can reflect his excitement, confidence, and sometimes, even the sadness he’s trying to hide. Yet, on the other, you wish he would trust you with his lower moments, trust that you would be there for him when he can’t meet you with a smile.
Setting the glass of water, notes, and bag of medicine on the nightstand next to his bed, you spread the blanket out across him, and the shivers he’d been trying to hide subside.
“It’s like I’m getting tucked in,” Nishinoya chuckles.
You roll your eyes, joking, “What, you want a kiss on the forehead while I’m at it?”
“Sure, why not?”
Nishinoya’s eyes widen, as though he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He meets your gaze, finding it to be similarly shocked. He clears his throat awkwardly. “Kidding, obviously.”
“Right. Obviously.”
The room is filled with a few strained beats of silence. You’re the first to move, grabbing the plastic bag and digging out the cold medicine. You can feel his eyes on you, gauging your reaction, but you force yourself to keep acting as though the tension between the two of you isn’t there. It’s difficult, and you feel robotic, but you hand him the medicine and water nonetheless.
He props himself up and takes them from you, and you’re almost sure the way his fingers ghost against yours is intentional, but neither of you acknowledge it. Nishinoya knocks the pills back, washes them down, and hands the glass back to you.
“Now,” you huff, placing the glass back on the nightstand, “those are going to make you pretty tired, but you need the rest.”
“You wanna hang out until I fall asleep?” he asks, stretching. “No pressure either way, just… you can if you want.”
Putting a hand on your hip, you reply, “I’m not going anywhere, don’t worry. It’s not like I have anything else to do today.” You pull out the chair at his desk and push it beside his bed, sitting down to face him. Reaching for the notes Tanaka gave you, you propose, “Want to go over what you missed in class? I’m a year behind you, so I don’t really understand any of this stuff, but I can still try to help.”
“God, I don’t wanna think about school,” Nishinoya groans, laying back down and putting a hand over his eyes. “I don’t understand it either, so I doubt I’ll get much out of it when I feel like this.”
“Fair enough,” you say with giggle that earns you a sidelong glance from Nishinoya.
“Hey, Airin,” he says quietly, his unusually demure tone catching you off guard.
“Um, yeah? What’s up?”
“Why did you become the manager for Karasuno’s volleyball team?”
That’s a question you’re not prepared for.
Why, he asks? You want to say that there were so many reasons, so many ambitions that pushed you to take on the role. You want to say it was for your love of volleyball, for your respect for Kiyoko that you gave up the chance to join another club.
But those would all be lies.
“Did you…” you hesitate, trying to find the words. “Did you not want me to be manager?”
“What?!” Nishinoya sits back up, flabbergasted. “No! I just meant-” Cutting himself off, he closes his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose, forcing himself to calm down. “I just meant that I was the one who asked you to be manager. I wanted to make sure I didn’t make you give up some other club.”
“Oh.” For someone so lacking in emotional intelligence, Nishinoya could be surprisingly thoughtful. Your eyes soften as the overboiling pot in your stomach cools to a simmer, the bubbles popping back into butterflies. Leaning forward in the chair until your elbows meet the side of his bed, you rest your head in your hands. “I just joined because I wanted to see you more.”
And that was the truth.
“After all,” you go on, “you get injured so often, and no one’s more experienced with patching you up than me.”
Your addendum was intended to come out as banter - a quip that would cover for the very honest admission you had just made – and yet suddenly Nishinoya seems far redder in the face than his illness should cause.
You’d bet a lot of money that your face looks similar.
“Huh.” Nishinoya breaks eye contact, choosing instead to stare out the window. “I see. That’s… good.”
Normally, he would have teased you right back. He’s acting far more docile, and you’re not sure if it’s the cold, the medicine, or something else entirely. It makes you uneasy, and yet you’re thankful for the chance to see a new side of Nishinoya. It’s just one more facet of him to fall for.
The room goes silent again, and though the air seems filled with unspoken questions and feelings, you’re able to find comfort by just sitting in Nishinoya’s presence. You’re not sure how long has passed when you notice his eyes are closed, and his breathing has evened out.
You take a moment to burn Nishinoya’s sleeping face in your mind. He appears so calm, the opposite of the endless energy he’s filled with while awake.
Before you know it, you’re on your feet, leaning over Nishinoya to brush aside his hair. He thankfully doesn’t stir, and you find the courage to bring your lips to his forehead. “Sleep well, Yuu.”
His breathing hitches, and your heart freezes in your chest. But his eyes remain closed, and his breathing goes back to normal. Relieved, you sit on the floor, crossing your arms over the mattress as you wait for your pulse to even out. The chair sits next to you, unused in favor of resting against Nishinoya’s bed.
It’s been a long day, full of emotional highs and lows, and as you let out a long breath, you realize how exhausted you are. Nishinoya’s even breaths fill the room, bringing you comfort and lulling you to sleep.
“Skinned your knee again, huh?”
You’re dreaming, you realize. You’re in the nurse’s office of Chidoriyama Junior High, and on the bed in front of you is Nishinoya. He sits back with his knee up, a cheeky grin hiding the pout he was wearing before you walked in.
Though you’re aware that this is a dream, you seem to have no control over yourself, and you resign to watching the memory play back.
You cross your arms. “Nishinoya-san, I keep telling you to wear your knee pads. Volleyball is hard on your joints as is – especially your knees.”
“I woulda, I just forgot them at home,” he shrugs. “Besides, now I’ve got a cute kouhai paying attention to me.”
You roll your eyes, not yet aware of the growing warmth in your chest. “If you get a career-ending injury in middle school, you won’t have any kouhai paying attention to you. Being a star libero is the saving grace of your reputation with girls.”
You spray his knee with disinfectant, and he winces. You let out a hum of satisfaction, reaching for a bandage. “And then I’d be the only person who would talk to poor, crippled Nishinoya-san.”
“Aw, you mean you don’t just like me for my rolling thunder? You’re so kind to me, Natsu-chan.”
You delicately apply the bandage to his leg. At the time of the memory, you thought nothing of it, but as you watch the dream unfold, nostalgia and adoration swell up inside of you.
“Airin,” you correct. He cocks his head to the side, unsure if he heard you right. “When it’s just you and me, you can call me Airin.”
At the time, you had no idea how hard you had fallen for Nishinoya. However, as you listen to the you from back then, you realize that you’ve had a crush on him even longer than you knew.
With his knee adequately treated, Nishinoya turns so that his legs hang off the bed. Leaning back and looking just a little too pleased, he replies, “In that case, you can call me Yuu. In public, too, if you want.”
“What!?” You almost drop the gauze. “People would think we’re dating!”
“If you don’t want to, then don’t. I don’t mind either way.” He hops down, nonchalantly testing his leg. “It feels better already. Nice job as always, Airin.”
It’s the first time he says your given name, and you don’t know why it makes you feel so strange, but you decide you don’t dislike it.
“Well,” he continues, walking to the door, “Gotta get back to practice. See you next time I get hurt!” With a wave, he slips out into the hall before you can protest.
“Hey, wait!” By the time you stick your head out the door, he’s gone. You sigh, muttering to yourself, “Try to be careful, Yuu.”
Nishinoya’s eyes crack open. His throat, which has been sore all day, feels less inflamed, the pain all but gone. His breathing comes easier, and it feels like his fever is gone. In the quiet room, all he can hear is the soft breathing of another person.
His gaze traces along the edge of the bed until it finds you, sleeping peacefully with your arms and head resting next to him. He flushes, and his hand goes to his forehead.
Did you actually kiss him, or did he dream that? It’s impossible to say for sure, but he finds himself hoping it was real. Waking up to you is a nice bonus as well; he can’t help but wish to always wake up to you.
The hand on his forehead slides down to cover his eyes, and he can feel his face burn even with the fever gone. This is too much for Nishinoya, and yet he wishes it would never end.
Of course, if you two dated, perhaps it never would. But if you don’t feel the same way, you’d reject him, and possibly even avoid him, and then all of this would be over. He can’t risk it.
Not wanting to wake you up, and not wanting to think so pessimistically anymore, Nishinoya forces himself back to sleep.
The following day, Nishinoya returns to practice. You’re back to filling water bottles with Kiyoko and avoiding knowing looks from Tanaka, acting as though yesterday had never happened. Sometimes, you think you feel Nishinoya watching you, but when you check, he’s focused on receiving.
The hours of practice have never passed so slowly, and even the volleyball seems to float through the air like a balloon running out of helium. Nishinoya’s uniform jacket sits in your school bag, freshly cleaned. Waiting for the right time to give it back is killing you. By the time Daichi declares that the team can go home, you’ve considered escaping the gym at least four times.
You wait outside for Nishinoya, his jacket now folded over your arm. Kiyoko bids you farewell, and Tanaka gives you an annoying smirk as he leaves – you stick your tongue out at him, and he just cackles in response. It seems like the rest of the team has gone home when Nishinoya finally walks out. He immediately notices you and grins, the same as always.
“Hey, Airin.” He stops in front of you. “Thanks again for stopping by yesterday, though I still don’t really get the notes.”
You snicker. “I’d tell you to ask Tanaka-san, but there’s no way he gets it either.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right about that. But I definitely recovered faster because of you. Nice job as always.”
His words bring you back to your days in middle school, and you hide your embarrassment by holding out his jacket. “I should be thanking you for letting me borrow this. Here, I washed it.”
Nishinoya takes it and slips it over his shoulders. “Oh, it smells like-” he interrupts himself, saying instead, “It smells nice, thanks.”
You rub the back of your neck. “Well, I just stuck around to give that back to you. I should get going.”
Nishinoya looks like he wants to ask something, but settles on simply saying, “Right, have a safe walk home.”
With a small wave, you stride past him. You’ve only taken a few paces when you feel a tingle in your nose, and let out a sneeze, followed by another one. You stare back at Nishinoya, who seems to be thinking the same thing you are.
“If I get sick, you better come visit.”
He smiles back at you. It’s not his usual goofy grin: it’s something more reserved, softer, and kinder. “Of course I will.