Chapter Text
Love at first sight isn’t real, but the day Ushijima Wakatoshi first laid eyes on Tendou Satori is the only day to ever make him wonder if he came close to it.
It’s nothing like the movies make it out to be. There’s nothing beautiful or safe about this feeling, a sudden and unexplainable wave of absolution, that a person is about to change the course of your life simply by how they walk through the door. Next is the realization that there isn’t a single thing you can do to stop it from happening. Even if you can tell, somehow, in a way that defies logic and reason—which are two very important things to Ushijima—that this particular change won’t be for the better.
Ushijima experiences a feeling exactly like this halfway through the first English class of his third year at Shiratorizawa Academy. The material is difficult, the teachers strict.
An untouched worksheet sticks to the inside of his sweaty palm, a fill-in-the-blanks exercise about his best friend with a list of words at the bottom of the page for him to organize into four categories of importance, ranging from very important all the way down to undesirable.
Ushijima is the only person who doesn’t have a partner to complete this assignment with, which he decides is because he doesn’t have a best friend. Friends, yes, namely the other third years on the volleyball team, but Ohira is already partnered with Soekawa, Semi isn’t in this class, and there are no groups of three under any circumstances. The teachers strict.
It doesn’t hurt his feelings to only be Ohira’s or Soekawa’s partner when the other is absent. Over the last two years, everybody has made an effort to turn their teammates into friends. Meanwhile, it took Ushijima an entire semester back when they were first years to figure out that they might’ve been sitting with him at lunch to actually get to know him better, not just to reflect on their morning practice.
He sits straight at his desk, resolved to complete his worksheet alone, but resolve isn’t enough to make his pen move. Instead, he puts it down, thinking very deeply about the sinking feeling in his stomach. He occasionally looks at Ohira and Soekawa a few rows in front of him, hunched over their worksheets, so lost in conversation that they’re completely unaware of his eyes. All of it may not be with as much indifference as he thinks.
But indifference is so far from the word on his mind when Tendou Satori then storms into the room, and with such a potent darkness to him that every last spine in the room stiffens, immediately put on edge by his presence, wanting nothing to do with this troublemaker in the unconvincing skin suit of a teenage boy. You might’ve been able to convince Ushijima that he imagined it, except he’s not one to imagine much of anything. And the expression on that boy’s face left very little to the imagination, even ones far more inventive than Ushijima’s still doomed to draw to the same strikingly obvious conclusion as him:
An expression like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world than where he is right now. He doesn’t bother looking at a single person in the room, no matter how they look at him, about to walk right past the teacher’s desk without acknowledgement until they chastise him for it.
“Excuse me,” comes the teacher’s prompt criticism, affixing his turned back with a severe expression. But it doesn’t come across as frightening as the teacher undoubtedly intends, because there’s a thick layer of disbelief in their eyes counteracting it, showing their students just how unfamiliar they are dealing with this level of blatant disrespect. It’s unheard of at Shiratorizawa. “You’re more than thirty minutes late for class, Mr…” A lengthy pause to skim through the names and faces on their attendance sheet.
The boy stumbles to a pause, too, steadying himself with a hand on the nearest desk, the student within it staring hard at the ground to avoid his eye. Actually stumbles, like he might’ve fallen if there wasn’t something there to grab onto. When he twists his neck over his shoulder, glaring at the teacher like it is them doing wrong, it is with a grace and focus that, again, leaves Ushijima wondering if his stumble is just another thing imagined. He retraces his steps all the way back to the teacher’s desk, snatching a worksheet from the top of the pile with a force that makes the teacher flinch and lift their eyes. Lastly, and most surprising of all, he sneers at them before prowling deeper into the classroom to claim the only available seat that’s left in the room.
The one that’s right beside Ushijima.
Once he’s settled into his desk, the room falls into total silence. The teacher sits there, gaping, momentarily speechless, but they eventually find their voice when it becomes apparent that every student is now questioning their authority. “Detention after school, Tendou Satori.”
He grunts in a way of reply, snuggling his head into the groove of his arms, which are neatly folded on top of his desk to act as a makeshift pillow. The threat of detention is enough to make every other student promptly lower their heads and return to their worksheets, but not him. He doesn’t seem to care at all.
The first thing Ushijima notices is the stench of cigarette smoke and day-old vodka, following Tendou wherever he goes, making the other students’ noses pinch up in disgust. His face is gaunt and almost grayish, with enormous bags under his eyes like he hasn’t known a good night’s sleep in years. Blood-red hair is styled into spikes on top of his head that, because of their colour, actually look sharp, like they might prick Ushijima’s finger if he dares come close enough to touch, with a few wayward strands dangling loosely in front of his eyes.
And those eyes.
Ushijima doesn’t realize it at first, but they’re staring at him sideways from how his head is resting, staring through him, somewhere even farther within than the soul. Red is made terrifying by the cold, unfriendly silence in which they hold his olive-green.
Ushijima catches glances from Ohira and Soekawa, one cautious and the other sympathetic, but both decidedly negative, suggesting it’s bad luck for this absolute mess of a boy to end up next to him. Mess comes from Ushijima’s interpretation of his friends’ thoughts. It isn’t what he thinks.
He thinks nothing when he holds the worksheet up, unphased by the total lack of attention Tendou pays it. “Do you want to be partners?”
Instead of answering, Tendou closes his eyes, snuggling a little deeper into his arms. He does everything but hold up a neon sign that says leave me alone.
Unfortunately for him, Ushijima may require a neon sign if he’s to have any chance of picking up hints. “You’re wearing your uniform incorrectly.” He says matter-of-factly, squinting at Tendou’s loose tie and the undone buttons of his white blazer.
Even stating the obvious garners no response, although he does roll his head to the other side, facing away from Ushijima.
Who takes that as his cue to stand up, grab his chair, and plop it back down right next to Tendou’s so they can share one desk while they work. If he doesn’t answer with a firm and direct no, then Ushijima assumes yes.
If Tendou is at all curious, he does well hiding it, remaining completely still facing away from Ushijima. He probably thinks Ushijima will leave him alone eventually if he feigns sleep long enough.
That changes when Ushijima grabs him by the scruff of his blazer, pulling him up and into a proper sitting position again. Those sleepy, heavy-lidded red eyes that don’t care about anything or any one in this room are now wide as saucers, livid, an insult lying in wait behind his gritted teeth. Slowly, they lower to Ushijima’s hands, doting as a mother’s, watching as they tighten his tie and then proceed to button up the buttons of his blazer one-by-one.
When Ushijima returns his hands to his sides, it’s because he’s satisfied with a job well done. Nothing to do with the slow wobbling of Tendou’s curled lip like, at any given moment, he might lash out like a rabid dog.
Only, instead of lashing out, Tendou uses that pent up anger to gently loop a finger underneath his tie, pulling it loose again. He moves on to one one of the buttons, snapping it undone. He offers an explanation, albeit a hostile one, only after it’s long overdue. “It’s on purpose.” He sinks into his chair with an exhausted sigh, tipping his head back and over it, so he can stare up and into the uninteresting white of the ceiling. “Our uniforms are stupid, and they don’t matter. Neither does this school. Or this assignment.”
Tendou gives the class quite a scare as far as first impressions go, but the way Ushijima sees it, all of his fingers are still intact. He glances down and into his lap, at his perfectly kept and ironed pants. He glances at the untouched worksheets on Tendou’s desk, wanting to finish it. Things like that matter to him, and then, finally, he knows how to fill in the first blank of his worksheet. “Responsible. Very important.” He crosses responsible out from the list of words at the bottom of the page, placing it in the corresponding row.
He can feel Tendou’s eyes on him or, more likely, his pen, tracking the curvature of every letter. “Not important.” Tendou says, so quietly Ushijima almost doesn’t catch it. But when Ushijima chances a peak through the far corner of his eye and sees Tendou scribbling it down on his own worksheet, and with such intensity that his pencil led cracks from the pressure, he feels a rare urge to smile.
“Punctual and on time. Very important.” Once again, Ushijima crosses out the words and then writes them down.
He feels Tendou’s eyes on him again, only this time they burn, because the only reason a person does something like this is to make fun, and Tendou is tired of being the subject of everybody’s jokes.
That isn’t Ushijima’s intention, but Tendou thinking otherwise is the only reason they’re getting any work done.
“Undesirable.” Tendou counters, filling it into the box opposite Ushijima’s.
“What’s a quality that’s very important to you, then?” Ushijima asks, genuinely curious, inclining his head towards the list of words they can still choose from. So far, Tendou only writes on his worksheet if it’s to disagree with something Ushijima says.
Tendou stares for a long time, those beady red eyes of his unblinking. It doesn’t look like he’s going to answer Ushijima’s question at all, but then, unexpectedly, he does, without ever looking at the list. “How am I supposed to know? I’ve never had a best friend.” Ushijima doesn’t think it’s possible for Tendou to sink any further into his chair. Any more sinking and he might outright disappear.
“Me either.” Ushijima admits, and with an ease that makes Tendou’s eyes snap to his face, clearly expecting evidence of a cheap lie that’s supposed to make him feel better. But Ushijima isn’t lying. He holds Tendou’s eye comfortably, because this revelation isn’t something to be ashamed of.
Tendou’s expression almost softens, but then it’s like he catches himself and resists, forcing out a disbelieving scoff, instead. “Yeah, right. You’ve got a good poker face. I’ll give you that.”
“Poker face?”
Tendou stares again. He does a lot of staring. It’s because, for the first time in his entire life, he can’t immediately tell what the person he’s talking to is thinking. Ushijima is an anomaly who, thus far, only knows how to make one facial expression, which is deeply unnerving for Tendou. It’s unclear when he makes a joke, or when he’s being honest. Tendou doesn’t yet know him well enough to know the former is almost never the case. “It means you’re good at concealing your emotions. I can’t tell when you’re lying.” He hesitates with his mouth open, deliberating on whether to finish his thought. Ushijima doesn’t look away. Maybe that’s why he does. “And I can always tell.”
Ushijima averts his eyes to perform a thorough scan of the classroom walls. Tendou follows his eye, wondering, yet again, what he can possibly be thinking right now. It’s really quite simple. He wishes for there to be a mirror somewhere in this room so he can get a proper look at his poker face. Maybe then he’ll have a better shot at understanding what it is. Eventually, after not finding what he’s looking for, he brings his eyes back to Tendou’s waiting face. “Why would I be lying to you?”
It must not be the reply that Tendou expects. He looks momentarily stunned, his mouth falling open in slight surprise to show for it. Then, perhaps to hide the way his Adam’s apple bobs in the back of his throat while he swallows his nerves, he jerks his head in Ohira’s and Soekawa’s direction, the pair occasionally throwing a glance in Ushijima’s direction and whispering like schoolgirls.
“We’re friends. We play volleyball together.” Those words catch Tendou’s attention in a new way. A stronger way. His dark eyes almost turn a shade brighter. “But if we didn’t have volleyball in common, I’m not sure we’d still be friends.” There’s a long lapse of silence, with Ushijima contemplative and Tendou growing distracted, spinning his pencil in between his fingers.
And then: “Maybe we can be best friends.”
The pencil slips through Tendou’s fingers and clangs against the desk. It rolls across and then onto the floor without Tendou ever trying to intercept it. He’s too busy looking at Ushijima to care about his pencil—his stupid pencil, probably, on the stupid floor of this stupid school—wondering how on earth he ended up beside someone who may be even scarier than him. He drops his eyes to the floor eventually, bending down to retrieve his pencil with a groan, all stiffness and aching bones. When their eyes meet for a second time, it’s clear something has changed, although what Ushijima can’t say. “I’m not looking for a best friend.”
But whether or not Tendou looks has nothing to do with it. He’ll soon realize that one has found him, anyway.