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This is a familiar scene.
The squeaking of shoes, the loud yells of “nice receive!” and “one touch!”, and a burning feeling in his chest like he’s about to have a heartburn.
There are his teammates; there are Fukurodani, Nekoma, and the two other schools whose names evade Kei’s volleyball-focused mind right now.
It’s that time of summer again where Karasuno has taken up the task of going all the way to Tokyo for training camp purposes, and even the trip itself had been similar to how the last two ones had gone: Hinata and Kageyama arguing loudly, Yamaguchi snoring a little beside Kei, Yachi reading a magazine and stifling her laughter at the loud dork duo while Kei tried to pretend they didn’t exist.
It’s all familiar, except that they’re all third years now, no Ennoshita-san or Sawamura-san to give them hell for behaving like five-year-old kids.
It’s all up to Kei as the captain of the team, but he’s too tired to really get into it; besides, the coach seemed fired up enough to stop Hinata and Kageyama by threatening to take them off the starting line-up.
Their faces had been worth seeing.
The gyms, even if not the same as during his first and second year, give a sense of familiarity and nostalgia as well, though Kei is hardly the type to cling to the past good things. (The bad things, well – Kei can hold a grudge, that much is obvious by now.)
It’s weird, being nostalgic for a time when he didn’t care as much as he does now, he thinks, but he knows the reason for nostalgia, knows the reason his chest aches with the hope that somehow he would see that person again.
It’s completely ridiculous, of course; what reason would Kuroo have for coming to watch over the training camp, even despite his old team being there?
The sounds of balls slamming to the floor, sounds of someone smacking down onto their stomach in late attempt to receive it, players yelling “don’t mind, don’t mind!”
It is a scene that Kei has seen and been in many times.
And while he doesn’t have much time to mull over the past, except when relaying Bokuto’s wisdom to the younger generation of high school volleyball players, there’s the vague feeling of regret that hangs over his thoughts like a vulture circling its prey.
It’s particularly bitter when a young Nekoma middle blocker comes to ask him for help (it’s not unreasonable, seeing how their third year middle blockers are all doofuses) with bright, eager eyes, and Kei wants to throw up when he reluctantly accepts.
He doesn’t know why he accepts the request for late practice with the younger middle blockers (and Lev… and Hinata… why…), but when he steals a glance at their coaches, at Nekoma’s in particular, he feels a memory tug at his heartstrings.
Coach Nekomata has still continued to coach the team, even after Kuroo’s graduation, and Kei has to admire the old man’s perseverance despite his age.
(Kuroo had wanted to get that man to the national stage Once More; his team had succeeded in that.)
It’s as hypocritical as it comes, but maybe Kei wants to carry on Kuroo’s will that way, as well.
It’s not like Kuroo would ever find out about Kei’s thoughts, anyway, since they lost contact immediately after that match in the nationals during Kei’s first year after all the struggles he had with himself.
And it’s not like the practices before dinnertime make him nostalgic for the third gym times two years prior to this summer.
Not at all.
Lev is as obnoxious as always without someone like Yaku around, and Kei ends up with Lev’s arm around his neck more than once.
“See, he’s the guy Kuroo-san was madly infatuated with!” he laughs at his juniors, and Kei wants to smack his arm off and so he does with an annoyed huff and a roll of his eyes. He doesn’t take Lev seriously; Lev’s hardly anything special outside the court, except his energy is still something to be feared.
“Don’t listen to him,” he tells the young, relatively naïve first years (both Nekoma and Karasuno’s as well as Fukurodani’s). “He’s got his head so far in the clouds, he doesn’t know what he’s blabbering about.”
It would be nice if it were true, though, Kei admits that to himself.
“Tsukki—“ Lev whines, and god, Kei hates how the nickname rolls off Lev’s mouth so casually, so easily, and yet so differently than from Bokuto and Kuroo’s mouths.
“Don’t call me that,” Kei retorts as he turns to leave, a twinge of nostalgia wedged between the corners of his thoughts.
“I wasn’t kidding, though,” he hears Lev say when he walks away. “Kuroo-san had it this baaaad for Tsukishima-kun!”
If only, Kei thinks, and it’s the bitterness that remains with him for the remnants of the evening.
He can’t sleep.
It’s not a new phenomenon in itself; he’s always been a fickle sleeper, especially when he has to share a room with smelly teens of his own age.
And, let’s face it – Hinata’s snores are not the bedtime music Kei finds soothing in the least.
Kei keeps his eyes closed regardless of the restlessness that settles into his bones, into his mind, and tries to keep his thoughts in line and on the topic of volleyball.
Unfortunately, it’s not too long a trip from volleyball to Kuroo-san, and Kei’s mind inevitably wanders there now that he doesn’t have to concentrate on receiving difficult spikes from Lev of all people.
He remembers the easy grins on Kuroo’s face, and his heart skips a beat because it’s a traitorous organ.
Most of all, he remembers the late afternoon sessions spent with Kuroo, Bokuto and Akaashi (and Lev and Hinata, eugh), which had always pulled the breath out of Kei and brought an exhaustion upon him that was more or less a good kind of tiredness, if the nausea wasn’t included.
He had been so out of shape back then; it’s horrible to even think about it now, but Kei knows the reasons behind his own lack of actions perfectly well…
Kei sighs and pulls a blanket over his face, pretends his thoughts aren’t taking a dangerous route down the hell that was – is – his inexplicable affections for a guy that he hasn’t seen or heard of for two years.
It’s stupid, the whole crushing on an old mentor thing.
But in the middle of a night, whether it’s stupid or not doesn’t really quite matter; what matters in the late hours is the fact that Kei regrets.
It’s stupid, since he can’t change things, but—
He just really wants to give Kuroo a chance again, now that he’s not blocking out people completely.
“Pathetic,” Kei mutters to himself, finds some solace in the harshly spoken word, and closes his eyes as he turns to his side while pretending Kageyama’s back is someone else’s.
It’s sad how long it has taken him to accept these feelings; even sadder is how he can’t seem to get into his head the hopelessness of it.
Next morning is hell, but Kei is used to it by now, after grueling years of dealing with an insomnia that refuses to go away.
At least he’s not as tired as Kageyama, who has his shirt upside down; it makes Kei snicker and shoot a comment he forgets in the next instant as Kageyama glares at him, looking like death was a preferable option to being awake.
Hinata makes fun of Kageyama as well, with a twinkle in his eye, but he quiets down quickly when they go have breakfast with the rest of the teams, eyes searching for someone that isn’t there.
Kozume Kenma has already graduated, as well.
(The difference is that Hinata at least has a phone number to overuse, whereas Kei doesn’t.)
Kei keeps his eyes steadily on the floor as he listens half-heartedly Yamaguchi and Yachi’s chatter.
It’s not until afternoon that something unexpected happens.
“Hey, hey, hey!” The familiar voice is loud enough to be heard all around the gym despite the ongoing practice matches.
Kei freezes, and a ball nearly hits his face; luckily, Karasuno’s first year libero manages to receive it in time and gets it to Kageyama, and the rest is history because Kei’s attention is already swimming towards Bokuto Koutarou through the other players in the gym.
It’s not only Bokuto that’s come around.
“Hey, don’t be so loud, you dumb owling,” Kuroo’s voice is just as loud, deeper than what Kei remembers.
Kei’s heart skips a beat just as Yamaguchi pinches at his hand.
“Ow! Yamaguchi—“
“Tsukki, now’s not the time,” Yamaguchi says quietly, laughing under his breath as Kei glares at him. “I know you’re lovesick and all, but come back to us mortals for a while longer, will you?”
“Get your head in the game, Tsukishima!”
“Stop quoting High School Musical, Hinata,” Kei grumbles, rubs his sweaty hands against the hem of his shirt, and tries his best to not cast another look at the front of the gym where Bokuto and Kuroo have already moved to.
“I’ll do a whole dance number if it’ll help you.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Hinata retorts with a wrinkle of his nose and hands on his hips; a stance he, for whatever reason, has picked up from Kei.
“Let’s get back into this,” Kei decides, rolling his shoulders with the extra weight of the number 1 on his back and chest.
There’s the weight of the lingering glance he sees Kuroo sending his way, too.
But for now, Kei would not cast him another thought; the rest is for the future to decide.
This is a familiar scene:
There’s Bokuto and Kuroo, and one of their arms has slung itself around Kei’s shoulders while Bokuto loudly voices his complaints about Kei’s growth spurt (“stop growing, damn you, Tsukki!”) and Kuroo smirks knowingly at Bokuto.
Kei doesn’t roll his eyes at them despite wanting to, but he does shrug the arm off with a quiet “stop that”, which they get and they back off, Bokuto more reluctantly.
What’s so not familiar is how Kuroo seems a lot more awkward, a lot less inclined to rile Kei up about volleyball.
What’s even less familiar is how Kuroo smiles at him like he’s been missing Kei, and it makes Kei’s heart burn.
The least familiar part of the scene is the flickering flame of hope that Kei didn’t have before, and the warmth that follows when Kuroo smiles at him, easy and curious.
After the training camp ends, Yamaguchi never ceases to tease him about it (and the number that Kei has added into the contact list of his phone).