Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s a cloudy Tuesday when a folded up piece of paper bumps up against Ushiijma’s wrist.

He stops typing mid-sentence, glancing over at the paper, and the long fingers nudging it closer and closer. The fingers are restless, tapping a quick rhythm against the paper as if they can’t help themselves.

The owner of said fingers, one Tendou Satori, is looking steadfastly forward, a vague smile on his lips. Ushijima could almost imagine he was paying total attention to the professor currently droning on about mineral formations, if he didn’t know better.

But he does know better. Tendou’s notebook page is empty of any notes, just scribbled doodles in the margins of the pages. Ushijima sighs, finishing a sentence of his own notes with a decisive click. He takes the paper from Tendou’s insistent fingers and pulls it towards himself, eyes fixed forward. The crinkle of the paper unfolding is too loud.

Good morning, Wakatoshi-kun! Isn’t it such a beautiful autumn day today?

Ushijima frowns. He’s known since the beginning of the semester that Tendou was somewhat unusual. He had introduced himself boldly to Ushijima on their first day of class with a musical voice and enthusiastic smile, which was unique by itself. People are usually too intimidated by his bulk or his height or his expression (Ushijima’s teammates have informed him that it is something called a “resting bitch face”) to approach him so directly.

None of that had fazed Tendou. He was confident and curious, looking Ushijima right in the eyes and making space for himself in Ushijima’s day.

Almost against his will, Ushijima had learned that Tendou was a third year student, his favorite season was summer, and that he considered his major “undecided,” since he had spent the last two years taking a variety of classes instead of focusing on a specialty. He wasn’t at all what Ushijima had expected to find in a Geology 101 classroom. Tendou was a riot of color and sound and motion, even seated, so unlike the immobile gray of the stone they would be studying.

Tendou isn’t just chatty; he’s engaging. Tendou asked Ushijima about his major (literature), and what he liked to do for fun (volleyball), and what made him decide to sign up for this class (it rounded out his schedule). Tendou didn’t seem to mind Ushijima’s matter-of-fact answers. He listened with rapt attention to every word, as if it were vitally important for him to learn if Ushijima is a morning or night person, and what kind of bean he would be, if he were a bean.

(He’d thrown his head back and laughed when Ushijima had answered, “But I am not a bean.”)

Ushijima looks down at the note again. He has never liked small talk. It usually feels like an uncomfortable formality, with unspoken rules that make no sense. Why ask somebody how they are if you don’t want the real answer? Why comment on the weather when neither of you truly care? Ushijima likes rules—he likes systems that function as they are supposed to, systems that make sense. Small talk makes no sense.

Tendou on the other hand, seemed to know all the unspoken rules, and chose to thoroughly ignore them. He had discarded polite honorifics immediately, had asked Ushijima about the oddest of subjects, and told him more about himself than Ushijima knew about anyone else. Ushijima answered each of Tendou’s questions honestly, and Tendou smiled as if the answers delighted him.

The conversation might have gone on endlessly, Ushijima suspects, but the start of class had cut it short. Ushijima pulled out his laptop and Tendou pulled out a notebook and an odd assortment of pens, and the two of them focused their attention on the lecture. Tendou had slipped from the room at the end of class with a sunny smile, and a sing-song, “See you later, Wakatoshi-kun!”

They chatted like this every day before class; Tendou vivid and excitable, Ushijima muted, but still enjoying himself. He found that it was a bright spot in the day, a few minutes where he wasn’t the cannon Ushiwaka, carrying the fate of his entire team on his shoulders, or an heir whose behavior reflected on the entire Ushijima family—he was just Wakatoshi.

He had never resented the burdens of his life, but it was an unexpected relief to lay them down for an hour.

Every Tuesday held a few minutes of that relief, and as the semester progressed, Ushijima found himself looking forward to it. Except today, when Tendou had sprinted into class just moments before the lecture began, his cheeks flushed with exertion. He flashed Ushijima a bright smile as he slid into his seat, opened his mouth to say something, and was promptly cut off by the start of the lecture. Cold disappointment rolled through Ushijima. He thought he saw the same feeling on Tendou’s face.

Not to be deterred, Tendou had written a note instead. He is persistent; Ushijima respects that.

The ink is a vivid red, less like the flame of Tendou’s hair and more like his eyes. Tendou’s handwriting is bold and looping, each line connected like he couldn’t be bothered with trivialities like lifting his pen from the page. It’s like Tendou in this way too, Ushijima thinks, aware of the rules but artfully ignoring them. The same way he’d dropped the formality from Ushijima’s name after just one conversation, or the way always spoke a little louder than was polite.

Ushijima takes a pen from his book bag (a simple black ballpoint, no frills, which works just fine for him), and writes back. His cheeks burn as he writes: isn’t this something school children do, pass notes in class? Ushijima feels silly. It takes him a while to decide on a response that doesn’t make him feel even sillier.

Yes, it is a nice day.

That will have to do. He winces as he re-folds the paper, which is just as loud as unfolding it had been. Tendou clearly does not share his concerns about secrecy or subtlety. His entire face lights up when Ushijima slides the note back towards him. He’s a flurry of movement, pulling more pens and markers out of his bag and dropping them on the desk with a clatter. Ushijima can’t imagine why he would need multiple to write one note, but he pushes the thought aside.

Ushijima tries to focus on the lecture, and on his neglected notes. The professor has moved on from the rock cycle to measurements of geologic time and he has no idea what happened in the transition. He hopes it’s not on the next quiz.

Tendou hums a cheerful tune under his breath, punctuated by the rasp of pen over paper, the uncapping and recapping of writing utensils. It’s distracting, making it hard for Ushijima to focus on the flat volume of the lecture. He probably should mind, but he doesn’t.

The note returns, sliding through the gap between his wrist and the desk with a quiet hiss.

Autumn really is so beautiful, don’t you think? I saw the akizakura are blooming! The park on the North side of campus is full of them. I think I might take a walk through the flowers after class. Doesn’t that sound nice, Wakatoshi-kun?

All around the newest message, Tendou has drawn a border of flowers with a neon pink highlighter. Akizakuras, if Ushijima had to guess, though he knows he couldn’t pick any particular flower out of a lineup.

Yes, it sounds very nice.

Tendou sighs when he unfolds the note, shaking his head. It makes his bright red hair bounce around his face. His smile is a sliver of white teeth in Ushijima’s periphery.

What about you, Wakatoshi-kun? Do you think you might take a walk and smell the flowers after class today?

This time, Tendou drew petals around the ‘o’ in flowers, turning it into one. It’s endearing, cute even, and it takes Ushijima a moment to remember there is more on the page than the hand-drawn flower. He reads through it again.

No. On Tuesdays I go for a run after this class, then I study at the library until dinner.

Tendou’s shoulders curl inwards as he reads the note this time, as if he’s disappointed. It stings. Ushijima has always strived to be someone his team could rely on. Reliable, strong. Every moment of his life revolves around that goal, from the food he eats to what he does with his spare time. He knows his routines aren’t very exciting—boring is what his teammates have called them, and he’s used to that response—but so far, he’s never heard it from Tendou. Not even when he told him he likes his vegetables steamed with no salt or sauce, or that he’s never been truly drunk.

He wonders if Tendou has finally realized that he truly isn’t that interesting, nothing like the elegant chaos of Tendou himself. That he is a machine built for one singular purpose, and that purpose is not to have fun.They’ve only known each other a few weeks, but it seems like more than enough time for Tendou to get bored and move on. Anyone else would have by now.

Well, aren't you a man with a plan, Wakatoshi-kun. Maybe another time, then! For today, I’ll walk and you’ll run and we just might cross paths anyway.

I do not think so. My running route doesn’t pass through the park.

Ushijima tries to focus on his notes again, but his attention is caught on Tendou, trying to gauge his reactions out of the corner of his eye. Tendou leans close over the paper when he’s writing, his expression obscured.

Don’t you never deviate from your predetermined path, Wakatoshi-kun? For a change of scenery? Or are you always running too fast to see the scenery anyway? You seem very fast!

Ushijima frowns down at the page. Why would he change his running route? It is an even two miles, and the perfect mix of terrains and inclines. It’s taken him months to get it perfect for his shorter runs, he can’t see any sense in changing it now.

I am fast, yes. But I do not usually deviate from my route. It is a good route.

Tendou looks at him through his lashes and his smile is smaller, muted. He writes only one more sentence before class ends.

Maybe next time, Wakatoshi-kun.

-

The sun is peeking through the thick clouds as Ushijima hits his stride. He’s only about halfway through his run, on a dirt path between buildings at the center of campus. In the distance, he can see a riot of color, a bright pink ocean undulating in the light breeze.

He reaches a fork in the path. Normally, he turns left and takes the winding trail down to the athletic building. His clothes and his bag are there, and the bus stop he takes to get home.

Today, he hesitates.

He thinks about the akizakuras drawn in highlighter pink, on the note that’s folded up and tucked into a pocket of his book bag. He’s not sure why he took it with him.

Ushijima’s eyes follow the path to the right, towards the park. He wonders if Tendou is there in the field of pink blooms, a much larger flower, with his face upturned towards the sun and his red hair fluttering in the wind like unruly petals.

When Ushijima is done letting his imagination run wild (and when has it ever done that before, he wonders), he turns left.

The next note comes two weeks later. Ushijima does not even need to look to know what the sharp pressure is against his arm. He takes the note without looking, maintaining the illusion of a focused and attentive student. Something about Tendou seems softer today, the sleepy curve of his eyes pronounced as he rests his chin on one hand.

Tendou has his notebook out on the desk, but once again it seems the only thing he’s written today is the note in Ushijima has in his hands.

Good morning Wakatoshi! Is it just me, or is Nakamura-Sensei channeling his inner Fitzwilliam Darcy today? He looks like he just returned from walking through the foggy England moors, don’t you think?

Ushijima frowns at the note. He is not sure who Fitzwilliam Darcy is, or how he might relate to their geology professor. And what is a moor?

I do not know who that is.

Tendou makes a noise of surprise when he unfolds the note. He turns to face Ushijima and blinks wide, dismayed eyes at him. Before Ushijima can whisper to him, to tell him to turn around and at least pretend he’s paying attention, Tendou is scribbling a hasty response.

His pen is a dark green today, the tip shaped like a small plastic succulent. It has white lettering along the side: “botany doesn’t succ.” Ushijima can barely read the letters as the pen moves wildly across the page. Tendou may have seemed sleepy earlier, but he crackles with energy now.

Wakatoshi-kun! You haven’t read Pride and Prejudice? Or more importantly, you haven’t seen the 2005 classic romance starring the dreamboat himself, Mr. Darcy? There’s no way!

He’s heard the words Pride and Prejudice, surely. Ushijima thinks back to the few English literature books he’d read in high school, the ones he’s read since starting college, and shakes his head. He definitely has not read that one.

I have not. Is it a good book?

If I’m honest with you, Wakatoshi, and I prefer to be honest when I can, the book is just alright. The movie though, it’s the pinnacle of romance! Class divides, fleeting meaningful touches, period costumes, dancing, rejected proposals, kissing in the mist as the sun rises… it’s got everything!

Ushijima fights back a smile. Tendou had sighed so heavily as he finished writing, as if he were lost in the romance of his own memories. It’s like he can hear Tendou’s voice as he reads, the musical rise and fall of it, the emotional intensity in each syllable. The lines on the page are thick with the force of his enthusiasm.

It sounds very nice. But how does it relate to Nakamura-sensei?

You have to see it to understand, Wakatoshi-kun! It’s Sensei’s long coat, and did you notice the top button of his shirt is open? It looks like Mr. Darcy’s outfit in the most iconic scene! Very scandalous! Though I prefer a little scandal with my education, personally. It keeps things interesting.

Now that Ushijima is paying closer attention, he can see what Tendou means about the shirt. Their professor is wearing a loose white button-down shirt, but the top button or two have slipped from their buttonholes, revealing more of his pale chest than Ushijima thinks he meant to. Sensei pays no attention to his shirt at all, discussing plate tectonics in excruciating detail as he clicks through powerpoint slides that are just as boring, white background, black text. One of the students sitting behind Ushijima has been softly snoring for ten minutes.

I believe you, Tendou-san. I will watch it someday.

Tendou glances at Ushijima, like he’s sizing him up. When he puts his pen back to the paper, it’s slower, more careful. He has nice hands, with long, elegant fingers. Somehow Ushijima has never noticed before.

I’ll watch it with you if you want! I think it’s streaming online, and it’s a little dense, all that proper Victorian English, you know? You might need a guide for your first time, and I’m happy to help. This weekend, maybe?

Ushijima reads and rereads Tendou’s words. He doesn’t care for most movies, though he might enjoy a mystery once in a while. Sitting still for two hours with his eyes fixed on a screen has never really appealed to him, and he never seems to have as much fun as much as whoever he’s watching them with. At this point his teammates only invite him to movie nights as a formality, and he always politely turns them down.

But the idea of watching a movie with Tendou—though he felt confident he’d never get to actually hear the movie—sounds like it might be different. Ushijima can’t imagine it would feel anything like two boring hours of staring at a screen. He might actually have fun for once. He wants to say yes; for himself, definitely, but also because he thinks this invitation isn’t a formality at all. Tendou doesn’t seem to say things he doesn’t mean.

Guilt is a lump in his throat. He swallows it back, chewing on his cheek as he writes back.

Thank you for the invitation, but I cannot. I have a volleyball tournament this weekend, I will be in Tokyo until Sunday night.

Sometimes, when Tendou is disappointed, he deflates a little. It’s as if he is normally full of energy like a balloon is full of helium, and a breath or two have escaped. Though it doesn’t make any sense at all, his hair seems to deflate too.. The sharp points of it soften and bend as he reads Ushijima’s response.

How could I forget about volleyball? Of course, that’s more important! I understand Wakatoshi-kun. You’re very good, aren’t you? I’ve heard them chanting your name from the gym, Ushiwaka! Ushiwaka! Maybe next time you play here, I could watch!

I am very good. We have a match in two weeks here at the gym. I would like it if you came.

For reasons he can’t understand, Ushijima feels warmth in his cheeks when he slides the note back. Tendou grins at him, dazzling against the dreariness of the classroom.

I’ll be there.

-

They win all of their matches on Saturday, to nobody’s surprise. Ushijima goes through his post-match rituals—stretching, dinner, a bath, meditation—all before nine pm. His roommate for the night, a first year setter, is scrolling through streaming options when Ushijima returns to their room. Kageyama is a good roommate, quiet and neat. He greets Ushijima with a nod.

“Do you mind if I watch something, Ushijima-san? I need something to do until Hinata calls, and I didn’t bring my homework.”

“That is fine. Can I join you?”

“Y-yes, of course.” Kageyama stares at him, before realizing he’s staring and snapping his eyes back to the TV.

Ushijima settles against the headboard of his bed and watches the titles scroll by in a blur. After a minute, something catches his eye.

“Wait! Go back, please.”

Kageyama scrolls back to the title, and it’s exactly what he thought it was: Pride and Prejudice. Ushijima can tell from the moment he sees the preview that it’s the movie Tendou was talking about. A man stands in the center, surrounded by fog and yellow light, his flowing white shirt unbuttoned to reveal his collarbones and a peeking patch of chest hair.

Nakamura-sensei did not look anything like that, Ushijima thinks. He resolves to tell Tendou this first thing on Tuesday.

“Have you ever seen this movie, Kageyama?”

“No. I think Hinata and Yamaguchi have mentioned it though. It’s some kind of romance?”

“Yes. Would you like to watch it with me?”

Kageyama still seems confused, but he wordlessly clicks the remote, and the title screen rolls into place. The dialogue is difficult to understand at times, even with subtitles. Still, the fraught energy of the two leads is palpable even without words. When they dance, and the entire room around them melts away, Ushijima realizes he’s holding his breath.

Ushijima likes Mr. Darcy. Perhaps it’s because he too does not have the talent of conversing easily with people he has never met before. Or even those he knows, if he’s being honest. And he has to admit, Mr. Darcy does look the part of the romantic hero at the end, in his flowing and dramatic clothing. He finds himself cheering for Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth; he hadn’t expected to care about the outcome at all.

As the credits fade out, Ushijima thinks about Tendou. The movie wasn’t what he had expected. There was something muted about it, beige tones and lilting piano music where Tendou was all saturated hues and bouncing energy. Maybe, Ushijima thinks, Tendou is simply a romantic.

He wonders what it would have been like to watch it together.

“What made you want to watch this movie?” Kageyama asks, startling Ushijima out of his wandering thoughts.

“Someone recommended it to me,” Ushijima says. “He wanted to watch it together, actually.”

“That sounds…nice.”

Kageyama’s looking at him with an odd expression, then his phone starts to buzz, and he drops it off the side of his bed in his rush to answer the call. Ushijima sees the flash of orange hair and a wide smile as the phone tumbles to the ground.

“Hello?”

Kageyama’s voice is a softer shade of itself when he talks to Hinata. Ushijima excuses himself to the bathroom to get ready for bed, and to give them privacy. He thinks about Tendou as he’s brushing his teeth, and again as he closes his eyes to sleep.

It would have been nice to watch the movie together.

Tendou was right, the movie is better than the book.

It’s a rare thing—Ushijima generally likes books, and on top of just not liking movies very much, he doesn’t think books usually translate well to the screen. He’s a third of the way through Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice and he can admit it to himself: it really is ‘just alright.’

Tendou spies the book poking out of Ushijima’s bag in class, and immediately rips a page out of his notebook. The sound of tearing paper is loud, earning Tendou a frown from Nakamura-sensei, but Tendou is too busy scribbling a note on a sheet of paper with one ragged edge. Little bits of paper fall off that edge and into Ushijima’s lap as he unfolds it.

Is that Pride and Prejudice I see in your bookbag, Wakatoshi-kun? Do you like it?

It’s okay. I liked the movie more.

Tendou makes a squeaking noise when he reads Ushijima’s reply, and taps his feet on the ground lightly, like an excited puppy. A few other students glare in Tendou’s direction, but he ignores them.

YOU WATCHED IT?!

The words are huge, taking up three times the space they normally do. Ushijima fights to keep his smile schooled into something polite, appropriate for a classroom. The effort makes his cheeks ache.

I watched it at my hotel this weekend. I enjoyed it. Though I do not think that Nakamura-Sensei looked like Mr. Darcy at all last week.

Tendou folds himself over the note after he reads it, with his face buried in his arms. His shoulders shake silently, and Ushijima realizes: he’s laughing.

When Tendou straightens, his cheeks are red and his eyes shine, and he has to take a few calming breaths before he picks up his pen again. It has glittery purple ink today. There is glitter clinging to Tendou’s fingertips and the edge of his hand where he’s rubbed over the page with it; some of the glitter somehow made it to his face. Every time Tendou turns, the glitter on his cheekbone catches the light.

No, I guess Nakamura-Sensei isn’t very much like Mr. Darcy, is he? You’re more of a Darcy type, Wakatoshi! Tall, stoic, and handsome! Maybe you’re the one who needs a fancy white shirt and a long coat.

Ushijima blinks at the paper. Handsome, Tendou wrote. Tendou thinks he’s handsome? Ushijima knows that objectively, he’s an attractive man. His teammates read him something called “thirst tweets” about him all the time, but most of them are so lewd they almost don’t feel like compliments. Plus, they’re about him, not to him. He’s not used to someone saying he’s handsome directly to his face.

Or, more accurately, writing it directly to his… eyes?

Anyway.

I do not think I would wear that.

That’s alright, Wakatoshi-kun. It’s a nice thought anyway. Do you like to read?

I am a literature major.

Tendou rolls his eyes dramatically, but he’s still smiling.

That is NOT an answer, Wakatoshi-kun! You must read a lot, surely, but do you like it? Do you do it when you want to, not just when you have to?

Ushijima takes a moment to consider his answer.

I do enjoy it. It’s a nice leisure activity. And it is good for your brain.

Tendou’s pen has a soft, round puff at the end of it, pink and blue and purple like cotton candy. He strokes it over his face while he thinks, and it waves through the air as he writes, like it’s waving hello.

What kind of books do you normally like to read, Wakatoshi-kun?

Ushijima hesitates before replying. He’s been asked this question before, more times than he can count, and each time the person asking seems unimpressed by his answers. Once again, he braces for Tendou’s inevitable disappointment.

I enjoy historical fiction and non-fiction the most. I also read mysteries sometimes.

When Tendou reads the note, he doesn’t look disappointed. He looks thoughtful. He keeps rubbing the end of his pen over his face, this time down the slope of his nose, then tapping it against his lips. Ushijima almost expects Tendou to open his mouth and take a bite, as if it really were a puff of cotton candy. But he just drags it around the shape of his lips, nuzzling back and forth as if he’s savoring the sensation; Ushijima looks away.

What do you like about them?

Once again, Tendou isn’t what Ushijima expects. He’s curious, looking for depth where others would take one glance and assume there is none.

I enjoy learning about how things work, or how they came to be. It’s interesting to read about how people and cultures change over time. I think.

Tendou nods as his eyes trace the words, smiling.

This is true, Wakatoshi-kun! There’s always something to learn, isn’t there? I can’t say I read much nonfiction outside of the classroom, but I can see the appeal now! See! I’ve just learned something new, at this very moment.

Ushijima feels that familiar warmth in his cheeks again. He’s starting to associate it with Tendou; maybe it’s the lively warmth of his presence, he’s not sure.

What do you like to read, Tendou-san?

Tendou does not hesitate to consider his answer. The puff ball at the end of his pen wiggles wildly as he writes in his effervescent handwriting.

All kinds of things! I enjoy manga a lot, do you ever read Shonen Jump? I never miss an issue. I also love fantasy novels. Adventure and romance and magic! Our world is very interesting, Wakatoshi-kun, but it does NOT have dragons.

No, it does not.

Have you been to the Neverending Bookstore? It’s my favorite bookstore, and I didn’t discover it until a few months ago! It’s just a few miles away from campus, by the river. I think you would like it!

No, I have never been there.

Tendou starts to write, then stops. He looks at the page consideringly, and smoothes out the folds with long, graceful fingers.

You should go soon! I was thinking of going this Sunday. What do you think, Wakatoshi-kun?

Ushijima only has time to unfold the note and scan the words before the class has ended and everyone is packing up to leave. Tendou slips out of the classroom with a smile and a wave of his fingers, leaving Ushijima wondering what he might have written back.

He also wonders later, when he’s tying his shoelaces before his run, if he managed to learn a goddamn thing about geology today.

-

The Neverending Bookstore, unlike Pride and Prejudice, seems just like the sort of place Tendou would love. It’s an older building, lovingly worn, as if it’s someone’s home and not a business at all. The name of the bookshop is painted in peeling gold block lettering on a white sign out front. The paint on the house itself is all warm hues, reds and oranges and golden yellows. A bell chimes a friendly tune when Ushijima pushes the bright red door open.

He slips in quietly, expecting the hushed atmosphere of a library. But it’s not like a library at all. The shop is lively, filled with the sounds of animated conversations and children laughing. Shelves of different heights line each wall, the books haphazard and disorganized where they sit.

“Well, would you look at this place, hey!”

Ushijima closes his eyes and takes a calming breath. He had invited one of his fellow lit majors, Akaashi, to join him in visiting the bookstore. Akaashi was always pleasant company, and always interested in the promise of a new place to read and buy books.

Ushijima can admit to himself, privately, that he was also nervous. Tendou had suggested he might visit the shop on Sunday, but he hadn’t officially invited Ushijima. Would it be conspicuous if he showed up here on the same day? Would he be unwelcome? Having company felt like a good buffer, just in case.

Akaashi’s loud, dramatic boyfriend, Bokuto, is not Ushijima’s ideal choice for a shopping companion, but where Akaashi is invited, Bokuto is sure to tag along. He lingers in the threshold, hands on his hips, surveying the room.

“I like it,” Akaashi says. He’s a more muted presence next to Bokuto, at least at first glance. Bokuto wears his intensity in his skin, proudly visible at all times; Akaashi’s is in his eyes, hidden by black rimmed glasses. “It’s… cozy. Where did you hear about this shop again, Ushijima-san?”

“A classmate of mine,” Ushijima answers, turning away to survey a nearby bookshelf, and maybe to hide the Tendou-related heat in his face. Maybe. “He said it’s his favorite.”

“Hmm,” Akaashi hums. “Is this the same classmate who recommended you read Pride and Prejudice?”

“Isn’t that a romance novel?” Bokuto interjects. His voice is so loud.

“Yes, it’s the same one. Tendou.”

“Interesting.” Akaashi says the word like he finds it a little more than interesting, but he says nothing else.

Ushijima wanders the shop without a specific destination in mind. The shelves are cluttered, labeled with small handwritten signs. Ushijima plucks a few things off the shelves that catch his eye, including a high fantasy novel with a painted dragon on the cover. The dragon has sleepy eyes and scales like fire in shades of red and orange.

Everything about the place is bright and warm, and Ushijima understands why Tendou likes it so much. There are books stacked everywhere, hapless and chaotic, and trinkets sit at various intervals along the shelves. A lamp with a stained glass shade sits on top of one stack of books, which sit on top of a wooden side table. Next to the table-book-lamp pile is a worn and overstuffed armchair. Ushijima can picture Tendou sitting in the chair and reading, looking to the world like he has always belonged right there, with the books and furniture and soft lights.

Every time the door chimes, Ushijima looks up. Shoppers come and go—chatting groups of university students, families with small children, couples holding hands—but none of them are Tendou. Ushijima tries not to feel disappointed. They hadn’t made any plans afterall, and Tendou had only said he might visit the bookstore on Sunday. It would have been nice, though, to talk to him here in the real world, instead of through furtively passed notes in a quiet classroom.

Once he has an armful of books, Ushijima finds Akaashi and Bokuto. Bokuto is sitting in another armchair, reading a picture book aloud to a group of children that have gathered around him. Akaashi leans against a bookshelf, watching with a bemused expression.

“What is Bokuto-san doing?” Ushijima asks him quietly.

Akaashi’s eyes dance. “He was just reading the book aloud to himself, and a child sat down next to him to listen. A few more joined them—I think they believe he works here, and he’s just… going along with it.”

Akaashi’s sigh is all fond exasperation.

“I think I will go and buy these books,” Ushijima tells him. “Can you two can get back alone?”

“Yes, of course,” Akaashi says. He smiles a little crooked at Ushijima. “Please give Tendou-san our thanks for recommending this shop. It’s quite lovely.”

Ushijima frowns. He doesn’t like it when people say one thing, but clearly mean something else. But Akaashi is a closed book; he will explain what he is thinking precisely when he wants to and not a moment sooner.

“I will.”

The woman behind the counter greets Ushijima with a kind smile. Her long navy blue hair is streaked with silver and pulled back into a simple braid.

“Did you find everything you were looking for, dear?” she asks.

Ushijima nods, then his eyes catch on the rack next to the checkout counter. He snatches the manga with the bright cover that caught his eye and slides it onto the counter.

“This too, please.”

-

Ushijima carefully pulls a sheet of paper out of his notebook, tearing neatly along the perforation. He feels nervous as he writes in neat black letters, second-guessing his own words as he pens them. Not for the first time, he wishes he could jump headfirst into conversations without fear, like Tendou. He wasn’t the nervous type, and it showed.

Ushijima didn’t think he was the nervous type either, but he was clearly wrong.

The paper rasps against the desk as Ushijima slides it to his left. Tendou looks at him with round, startled eyes when the note reaches him, and Ushijima has to force himself to look right back. The nerves are bubbling in his throat. He nudges the note against Tendou’s arm again, and finally remembers to breathe once he’s taken it and unfolded the page.

Thank you for the recommendation. The bookshop is very nice. I got you something.

Wakatoshi-kun, you didn’t have to do that! I’ll have to get you a gift too now, you know! I knew you would love it there! Did you buy yourself some new books, too?

Ushijima wants to tell him that he certainly doesn’t have to buy him a gift in return. Is that how things work? He can’t remember the last time he gave someone a gift that was not related to a holiday, and he’s really not sure of the rules. Is he pressuring Tendou somehow? Is it too much? Regardless, it’s too late now.

Ushijima pulls the gift from his bag and pens his reply, sliding them both to Tendou together.

You do not need to get me anything, it is just a gift. You said you like Shonen Jump, did you not? And yes, I did buy some new books. I bought one about dragons, too. I think you might like it.

Tendou’s mouth falls open. He runs his fingers over the glossy cover of the manga, admiring it for quite a while before he reads Ushijima’s reply. He doesn’t write back.

Instead, he leans close to Ushijima, smiling an entirely new smile, one that lights up his eyes as much as his mouth, and whispers, “I do love dragons.”

This time, Tendou is the one to take the note with him. He tucks it inside his new manga and puts them both in his bag. Ushijima doesn’t mind. It was a gift, after all.

-

A week later, Tendou slides something across the desk. Ushijima reaches for it without looking, but his fingers hit hard plastic instead of paper. He glances down and sees that Tendou has given him a pen.

It’s a bright shade of orange, the tip shaped and painted to look like a miniature animated monster, something out of a children’s movie. One round eye stares back at him, and while the mouth is a shape that can’t be called a smile, something about it is oddly joyful.

When Ushijima looks at Tendou, he’s also holding a monster pen. His is a glaring shade of lime green, and the monster at the top does not look joyful. It looks distressed. Its mouth is open in a dramatic frown, revealing one square tooth.

Tendou holds the pen up next to his face and does his best impression of the monster’s expression. His sleepy eyes go wide and his mouth contorts; unlike the monster, he has a whole mouth of straight white teeth.

Tendou only holds the frown for a moment before he’s back to smiling, laughing silently with all his teeth still showing. They’re nice teeth, Ushijima thinks. It’s a nice smile.

Tendou’s silly joy is infectious. Like his new pen friend, Ushijima almost smiles back at him. It’s a crinkle of his eyes and a twitch of his lips—not quite a smile, but joyful.

Ushijima never gets sick. He keeps his body in tip top shape, he’s careful about hygiene and nutrition and sleep. Logically, Ushijima reasons, he should have a perfect immune system, impervious to anything the world might throw at it.

This is not how it goes.

How it goes is this: when Ushijima finally does get sick, because never doesn’t really mean never, it knocks him on his ass.

It starts with a tickle at the back of his throat in the evening. He makes sure to up his water intake for the rest of the night, and the feeling goes away. When his alarm goes off at five, the same time it goes off every day, his throat doesn’t tickle anymore. It burns, his head feels so full it might burst, and every muscle in his body aches.

Ushijima feels like he’s been run over by a car. A car that drove over him once, reversed, and did it again for good measure.

He sends the emails and texts he needs to through itchy, blurry eyes—a text to Kageyama about practice, emails to his professors and his volleyball coach—before flopping back into his bed. He burrows into his blankets and lets sleep keep him for a while longer.

Sick days seem to exist in the liminal space, where time is indistinct and passes unevenly. It’s late afternoon when Ushijima finally drags himself to the bathroom for a hot shower. It helps, a little. The cup of tea he sips slowly from the blanket cocoon he made on his couch helps, too. The warmth of the tea breathes just enough life into him to open his laptop and check his email again.

Aside from the replies he had expected, he has one more email. He blinks at it a few times, wondering if it might be a spam message that slipped past the built-in filtering. The title reads: WAKATOSHI!!!!!!!

Ushijima clicks the email.

To: Ushijima Wakatoshi
Sent From:Tendou Satori
Subject: WAKATOSHI!!!!!!!

Wakatoshi-kun!!!

You weren’t in class today. Are you okay? Did you get kidnapped?! I find it hard to believe anyone could kidnap a person your size but that’s why they invented things like chloroform, I’m pretty sure.

ARE YOU DEAD??!?

Please reply if you’re not dead!

Satori

Everything hurts, Ushijima can’t breathe through his left nostril, and his throat feels like he just finished his first practice as a fire-eater, and yet: he smiles. With nobody around to see it, he doesn’t bother shaping it into something muted and respectable. The wide, silly smile stretches his chapped lips to the point of discomfort.

Tendou was worried about him? Ushijima isn’t used to being worried about, not like this. He learned from a young age how to take care of himself. Once his father had left for the states, nobody was concerned with what he might need, only what he might provide.

To: Tendou Satori
From: Ushijima Wakatoshi
Subject: Re: WAKATOSHI!!!!!!!

Tendou-kun,

Thank you very much for your concern. I am not dead. I am sick, it is most likely a cold.

It is not pleasant, but I am fine. Please do not worry.

Sincerely,
Ushijima

Ushijima drums his fingers against his laptop, noticing that, through the haze of sickness, he feels a prickle of anxiety as he waits for a reply. It’s not like most people sit by their emails all day; he might not hear from Tendou again anytime soon, or at all. After all, he’d just been worried that Ushijima might be dead. Knowing he’s not, he might not have anything else to say.

It’s Tendou, though; he always has something to say. The reply comes less than five minutes later.

To: Ushijima Wakatoshi
Sent From:Tendou Satori
Subject: Re: WAKATOSHI!!!!!!!

Wakatoshi, you poor dear!

Sheesh, you really had me worried there!! I’m glad you aren’t dead - though I guess if you were dead you couldn’t have sent me an email. Unless you’re a ghost! Can ghosts use email? One of life’s great mysteries, I guess.

Being sick is terrible! Do you have everything you need, Wakatoshi? Tissues? Medicine? Tea? Do you have enough food and snacks? You might be thinking, “But I’m not hungry, Satori!” but a strapping young man like you needs to keep his strength up!!

Whenever I got sick, my mom used to make the BEST soup! It’s soooo spicy, it always cleared my sinuses out in a snap! It’s nothing fancy, and made me feel better in no time. It’s like a miracle soup!!! Do you want some?! I can bring you a big thermos tonight!!

Satori

Ushijima’s cheeks burn; he should probably check his temperature again soon.

He wonders what Tendou’s mother was like. Warm, probably, and sweet. Nothing like his own mother, of that he is sure. Something in his chest aches, and it’s not his sore lungs, as he imagines what it might have been like to be held when he was sick, to eat something that had been lovingly created just to make him feel better.

It would have been nice, he thinks. His eyes sting, and there’s a hard lump in his throat that can’t be blamed entirely on his cold.

It’s been just long enough since he’s been sick—the last time was his second year of high school, maybe—that Ushijima has forgotten how it affects him. Not just the unusual weakness of his body, which is enough to give him a small identity crisis in itself, but the fragility of his emotions.

Because contrary to popular belief, Ushijima has feelings. Normally he has no problem compartmentalizing them, and not allowing them to drive his decisions or cloud his thoughts. He’s angry with himself when he doesn’t meet his own expectations, proud when his volleyball team wins a game; sometimes he’s awash in bone-deep loneliness that he can’t put a voice to.

But Ushijima doesn’t cry or scream or beat his fists against the injustices of the world. He persists.

His iron control burns away with his fever when he’s sick. Ushijima knows the burning at the back of his eyes is the threat of tears. With some effort, he blinks them back. He focuses the entirety of his blurry attention on his laptop. The screen went dark while he was lost in thought. He wakes it with a too-hard smack of a key.

To: Tendou Satori
Sent From: Ushijima Wakatoshi
Subject: Re: WAKATOSHI!!!!!!!

Tendou-san,

You do not have to bring me soup. I am sure I will be better in a few days. You are very kind to offer, but I would not want to trouble you.

I have everything I need, except the notes from my classes. I am sure I can get those from Nakamura-Sensei and my other professors with no trouble.

My apologies for making you worry,

Ushijima

It would have been nice to see Tendou this week. The weather has been an endless parade of drizzly gray skies and biting chill, and Tendou’s sunshine smile and bubbly conversation might have made it feel a bit warmer. Ushijima’s stomach rumbles loudly.

Tendou was right: he should eat something. He checks the fridge, painstakingly opens every cupboard, checks the fridge again: his options are bleak. He has some canned soup and bowls of instant ramen for emergencies, but the thought of warming one up in the microwave makes his stomach roil.

Tendou’s soup, though, sounded nice.

Grumbling, Ushijima grabs a protein bar and returns to his blanket cocoon, wrapping it around himself until only his face is exposed. He takes small bites, wincing as they drag against his tender throat. It only takes a few minutes of trying to study, reading the same sentence twenty times without retaining a single word, for Ushijima to realize his head is just too full to take in new information.

With a sigh, he admits defeat.

Tears threaten his eyes again. He hates admitting defeat, feeling helpless against a swarm of germs, of all things. He is Ushiwaka. He is stronger than his opponents, stronger than any challenge in his way, and certainly stronger than a goddamn head cold. He needs to do something that isn’t just sitting on his couch being sad, or he might forget that.

He pulls up a documentary on his laptop and rearranges the blankets so he can lay on his side and watch it. He’s dozing off listening to the narrator talk about rare bird species in New Zealand when his email chimes, loud and jarring. Ushijima’s eyes fly open.

To: Ushijima Wakatoshi
Sent From:Tendou Satori
Subject: Re: WAKATOSHI!!!!!!!

I think I can help you there, at least!! I took notes for you today in Geology, cuz I thought you wouldn’t want to miss the topics we covered today. Didn’t you mention a few weeks ago that you have a fiery passion for silicate minerals??

I’m not a fancypants who takes notes on his laptop :p I can’t send them to you, but I could drop them off? The rain finally stopped, and it’s a nice night for a walk.

Where do you live, Wakatoshi?

P. S. you don’t have to be so formal! You can call me Satori, you know :)

It takes a few times reading through for the words to make sense. Tendou wants to… come over? To bring him notes?

Ushijima’s never actually seen Tendou take notes in class. He pulls out his notebook and pen every day, but he spends most classes daydreaming with his chin propped on one hand, or resting on his folded arms on the desk, his smile faint and his eyes half lidded. Occasionally he doodles in the corners of his notebook pages, practices his penmanship—once, Ushijima swears he saw Tendou making a grocery list instead of taking notes.

Some days, he rips out a page and writes Ushijima notes. He’s always more present those days, thrumming with a quiet energy.

It’s the second offer of kindness that Tendou has extended tonight. Another selfless offer of his energy and time, something he is willing to do solely for Ushijima, but this one is harder to refuse. The notes have already been taken, and Tendou took them specifically for his sake. It would be even more rude to not accept.

To: Tendou Satori
Sent From: Ushijima Wakatoshi
Subject: Re: WAKATOSHI!!!!!!!

Satori-san,

Thank you for thinking of me, and offering to share your notes. You can bring them to my apartment, if you are sure that it’s not too much trouble. I would like that.

You do not have to, though. I can still ask Nakamura-Sensei.

Sincerely,
Wakatoshi

Tendou’s reply comes immediately.

To: Ushijima Wakatoshi
Sent From:Tendou Satori
Subject: Re: WAKATOSHI!!!!!!!

Of course it’s not too much trouble, silly! You’re way too polite, Wakatoshi-kun, has anybody ever told you that?

By the way, I still need your address :) I’ve been accused of being psychic, more than once if you can believe it, but none of the rumors are true. Sadly.

Don’t tell anybody, though! I like to keep an air of mystery, and I still have a few people fooled. I might graduate before they figure it out.

Satori

Face burning again, Ushijima shoots back an email with his address. The campus isn’t that big, so it shouldn’t take Tendou long to get there from wherever he lives, especially with his long legs and boundless energy. Ushijima looks around his apartment, suddenly self-conscious.

He has only the necessary furniture, tables and chairs and a couch, a few weights and a rolled up yoga mat against one wall. There’s no color, no personality, no decorations on the wall. It’s not something Ushijima has ever really given a second thought to. Until now.

He has a bookshelf at least, filled with neatly arranged books in a variety of subjects, and two framed photos on the top shelf—one of the Shiratorizawa High volleyball team, the other an old photo of Ushijima and his father.

Worse than that—the room is a mess. There’s a pile of used tissues on the low table, the blankets he’d dragged off his bed are tangled around him and strewn across the entire couch, and the dishes from last night that he’d planned to do this morning are still dirty in the sink. He spends the next ten minutes cleaning as quickly as he can, stopping all too often to catch his breath.

After some thought, he pulls out two glasses and two mugs—it would be polite to offer a guest something to drink, wouldn’t it? Then again, what if Tendou doesn’t intend to stay? The cups might be presumptive; they could pressure him into staying longer than he wants. Ushijima stands, frozen in the middle of his tiny kitchen, a glass in one hand and a mug in the other and no idea what to do with them, when someone knocks on the door.

He knows it’s Tendou from the brisk, upbeat rap of his knuckles against the wood. Ushijima stays frozen for one more moment, clutching two cups that are either polite or presumptive, depending on how Tendou might feel. He’s never been more uncertain in his life. Setting them back on the counter, he hurries to answer the door.

Tendou stands on the threshold, cheeks pink from the cold, but smiling as bright as ever. He holds a folder in one hand, and thermos in the other.

“Wakatoshi-kun,” Tendou greets him in his sing-song voice.

“Hello,” Ushijima answers. He barely gets the words out through his torn up throat—when was the last time he said anything out loud? After a moment, he adds, “Satori-san.”

Impossibly, Tendou’s smile brightens even more. Ushijima stands to the side to let him inside, and Tendou accepts the invitation without hesitation, striding into the apartment with long sweeping steps. He looks at Ushijima, and his smile droops.

“Oh Wakatoshi, you look terrible.”

Ushijima glances down at himself. He’s wearing an old pair of gray sweatpants, and a novelty t-shirt his teammates had bought for him a few years ago at a tournament. There are no stains on them, and only one hole in the seam of the sweats—they’re not clothes he would wear outside, but he didn’t think they were that bad.

Maybe it’s not his clothes at all—it’s his face? He’d been too busy cleaning up his apartment to even glance in the mirror. Ushijima shoves his hands in his pockets so he can resist touching his face. Are his eyes puffy? Is there something on his face, snot or drool or something worse?

Tendou’s already seen it, anyway. The damage is done.

“I… am not sure how to respond to that.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t—” For maybe the first time, Tendou is at a loss for words. His eyes fly wide and he opens his mouth a few times, but nothing comes out but a high, harsh giggle. “I didn’t mean it like that! You know you’re a super handsome guy, Wakatoshi, I just meant—you really are sick!”

“Yes. Did you not believe me?”

“Of course I did,” Tendou’s familiar smile returns. “You’ve never missed class before. I knew there was a good reason.”

“Yes,” Ushijima agrees.

They stand in his living room, looking at each other and saying nothing at all, for a little too long. Tendou seems genuinely concerned, but there’s a softness in his eyes Ushijima can’t identify.

“Thank you for bringing the notes,” Ushijima says, breaking the silence. “You did not have to do that for me.”

Tendou gives a small lopsided shrug. “I know. I wanted to, though.”

He offers the notes to Ushijima. The packet of pages are clearly torn from his usual notebook, held together with a paperclip that looks like a butterfly. The first page is filled with Tendou’s large, expressive handwriting, but there’s only one thing written there, right in the center: Notes for Wakatoshi. He doodled all around the words, little animals and plants and designs that Ushijima can’t identify. There’s two human-shaped doodles at the bottom, one has wild red hair like a small flame and a smile that fills up half of his face. The other has dark hair, and a serious expression—its eyebrows are drawn heavily, slanted down over its eyes.

“Is this… you and me?” Ushijima asks.

“Yeah, well—” Tendou huffs a small laugh. He doesn’t look at Ushijima when he says, “Someone kept asking stupid questions about something Sensei had already explained, so I got a little bored.”

“Thank you,” Ushijima says again. He sets the notes gently on top of his closed laptop, and looks around. The anxiety he’d felt earlier returns, climbing up his throat. “Do you want—I have water, or tea, if you want to stay and rest for a few minutes. It is late, and you might want to get home—”

“I would love some water,” Tendou interrupts. Without another word, he strolls into the kitchen. His gaze wanders around Ushijima’s apartment as he goes, his expression thoughtful. He sets the thermos he’d brought on the counter before filling up both glasses with water.

“Satori-san, what is that?”

Tendou looks sheepish again. He presses one of the glasses into Ushijima’s hand, and Ushijima realizes he should have done that, that Tendou is his guest and he is the host. He feels a bit silly as Tendou also leads him to his own dining table to sit. The moment he does sit, all Ushijima can feel is relief—standing up was exhausting.

“Well, here’s the thing,” Tendou begins. “Talking about my mom’s special soup made me think about the soup, and I was hungry too! So I made a double batch, and thought, you know, I’m coming here anyway to bring the notes, so I could bring the leftovers!”

Tendou gasps for air—he’d said all of that in one long breath, the words all bleeding together in his rush to explain. Ushijima hides his smile in his water glass, taking a sip.

“That was very thoughtful of you,” he says. Tendou smiles at him, takes a long drink from his glass of water, and stands back up. Ushijima moves to stand too, but Tendou stops him with an outstretched hand.

“You’re sick—sit. You need rest, or you’ll never get better. I’ll heat up the soup.”

Ushijima sits back down hard. Tendou had used the kind of authoritative voice Ushijima associated with his coaches, and he was conditioned by now to listen without argument. Tendou nods, pleased.

“Good boy,” he says. Ushijima’s cheeks are really on fire now, and it spreads down his neck—is his fever breaking, he wonders? “Where do you keep your bowls?”

“The cupboard by the fridge, bottom shelf.”

Tendou is efficient, and despite how wrong Ushijima knows it is to let a guest prepare food for him in his own kitchen, it’s pleasant to just watch him work. He moves with a fluidity that Ushijima rarely sees outside of the volleyball court, quick but graceful.

The thermos he brought is white with pink and red accents, and the top is domed plastic over a smiling Hello Kitty figure. Tendou sees him watching and blushes a very pale pink.

“It was a gift,” he says.

“I did not say anything,” Ushijima answers. Tendou sticks his tongue out at Ushijima and turns away to stow the thermos in the fridge. Ushijima laughs softly, surprising himself.

Tendou carries a steaming bowl of soup to the table, cradled in a woven pot holder. He pushes it pointedly towards Ushijima, as if to say what are you waiting for? Dig in.

Ushijima takes a small sip. He still doesn’t feel hungry, and he can’t smell anything through his stuffy nose, but the way Tendou is watching him makes him want to do exactly as he’s told. Heat cuts through his muted sense of taste immediately. He can taste the second sip a bit more—it’s delicious.

“It is very good,” Ushijima says. He looks up to find Tendou watching him intently.

“I want to ask you if you feel better yet, but that’s silly, isn’t it? It doesn’t work that fast, it’s not a magic potion—”

“I do,” Ushijima interrupts. “Feel a bit better. The soup—and the company—are helping.”

“Oh.”

Ushijima’s head feels light—he’s not sure if it’s the cold, or the soup, or the way it feels to make Tendou run out of quippy things to say—but he doesn’t hate it.

“Who taught you how to cook?” Ushijima asks. Tendou blinks slowly, the way he always does when Ushijima somehow manages to surprise him, and laughs, a low, quiet sound. He shakes his head as if clearing it.

“My mom,” he says. His voice is soft, his eyes fond, as he speaks. “I was always bothering her while she cooked, apparently. She gave me things to do so I wouldn’t get into mischief on my own.”

“Did you usually get into mischief?” Ushijima asks. He can imagine it, a smaller version of the bright man across the table from him, with round cheeks and a carefree laugh, and just enough wily energy to drive a parent mad.

“Oh, all the time,” Tendou says. His grin is sharp. “I still do.”

“I believe that.”

“What about you, Wakatoshi-kun? Did your mom teach you how to cook?”

Ushijima’s skin feels cool. He takes a long sip of the soup, craving the warmth he just lost.

“Ah. No, she did not,” he says. He can hear the stiffness in his voice, but can’t get rid of it. He never usually talks about his family, and nobody usually asks. “We had a cook. And my mother… she is not a woman who cooks often.”

Or one who would teach me how, if she did, he doesn’t say. Ushijima shrugs.

“Your dad, then?”

“He’s a terrible cook.” Ushijima shakes his head, his smile wry. “I remember, when I was young, he almost set the kitchen on fire trying to make rice.”

“How the hell did he manage that?”

“I have no idea.” Tendou laughs; Ushijima laughs too. It’s comfortable, easy. “I do not think he knows, either. He is a good baker though—he moved to the United States a while ago, and he likes making cookies.”

“What kind? Does he have a favorite?”

“Many different kinds. Most of them have chocolate in them.”

“As they should,” Tendou announces, with an air of finality. “Chocolate is one of life’s greatest pleasures.”

Ushijima just hums. He doesn’t dislike chocolate, but he doesn’t eat sweets very often. They don’t offer his body the nutrients it needs, and they are bad for his teeth. They remind him of his father, who he misses like a phantom limb, an inexplicable ache. Tendou eyes him suspiciously in the silence that follows.

“Wakatoshi-kun, I need to ask you a very important question. The entire future of our friendship depends on it.”

“That does sound important.” Ushijima nods.

“It is! It’s crucial! Possibly an irreconcilable difference—people get divorced over those!”

“Tendou, we are not married. We cannot get divorced.”

Tendou waves Ushijima’s words away with a flap of his hand. He steeples his fingers together and leans forward, elbows on the table. His expression is serious, his eyes intent on Ushijima’s face.

“Wakatoshi—be honest with me. Do you like chocolate?”

“I do not think I like chocolate as much as you like chocolate,” Ushijima says slowly. Tendou’s eyes narrow dangerously. “But I do like it.”

Tendou does not seem convinced. He glares at Ushijima for another few seconds, then sighs.

“I guess I’ll take that,” Tendou says, sighing dramatically. “I really don’t want to have to divorce you. You’re too fun.”

“I also do not want you to… divorce me.” Ushijima’s voice comes out quiet, tentative. It sounds strange to his own ears. He shuffles his feet against the floor, just to have something to do. Tendou reaches across the table and nudges the soup towards him again, and that’s that. Ushijima sips it in a comfortable quiet, and Tendou gets up to explore.

It’s hard not to watch Tendou as he goes, sharp eyes and nimble fingers all over Ushijima’s space. He tenses when Tendou drags one fingertip along the framed photo of his father, but Tendou just smiles softly at it. He looks at Ushijima and asks, “You and your dad?”

“Yes.”

“Little Wakatoshi was a cutie, huh?”

At that, Ushijima decides it might be better to let Tendou explore alone. It’s not worth the urge to squirm in his seat when Tendou calls him a cutie. He turns back to his soup and finishes it slowly. It was very good, and he feels the heat of it warming him from the inside out. His eyelids feel heavy.

“You should rest,” Tendou says, startling Ushijima. He noticed—of course he did. “I didn’t mean to keep you up, Wakatoshi.”

“You did not keep me up,” Ushijima tells him, shaking his head. “You brought me soup.”

“I brought you soup,” Tendou agrees. He hovers near the door, rocking on the balls of his feet, as Ushijima forces himself to his feet and makes his way slowly across the room. It’s not a large apartment, but it feels like it takes forever to get from one end to the other.

“Thank you again,” Ushijima says. He feels like a broken record, but he’s not sure what else to say. The entire situation is unfamiliar. “Be safe getting home. Please.”

“Oh don’t you worry about me,” Tendou grins cheekily at him. “I’ll be just fine.”

“Yes. I am sure that you will.”

Tendou slips out the door with a jaunty goodbye and a stern reminder to eat the rest of the soup tomorrow. Again, Ushijima leaves the dishes where they are, and crawls into bed.

-

He does finish the soup. He has a bowl for lunch the next day, and dinner. Over dinner, he leafs through Tendou’s notes. They are ridiculous. Tendou wrote down the important information, but his personality is woven throughout. He changes pens at random intervals, and not a single one of them is a standard dark blue or black. There are doodles in the corners and commentary scribbled in the margins, most of which is addressed directly to Ushijima; comments Tendou might have leaned over and whispered to him, if he’d been in class.

Apparently Tendou found it necessary to describe Nakamura Sensei’s outfit in great detail, including the coffee stain on his tie. One note just says I know that Sensei is saying the word ‘ferrous,’ but it sounds like ‘ferrets’ every time. I can’t stop picturing little stone ferrets! Below the note Tendou drew what must be a pair of stone ferrets. They could be live ferrets. It’s hard to tell from the doodle.

The packet of notes is hands-down the strangest study tool Ushijima has ever used; it’s also his favorite. They sit in the middle of his table like a centerpiece, adding life and color to the simple apartment. Just what it needed.

-

Wakatoshi-kun! I’m so glad you’re back! How are you feeling?

Ushijima had been the one running behind today, slipping into the classroom a minute or two late, which earned him some rude looks from the students he’d passed on his way inside. Ushijima ignored them. Tendou smiled at him when he sat down, and hurriedly yanked his book bag off the desk in front of Ushijma’s seat.

Tendou had saved the seat for him, not knowing whether he’d actually be there or not.

Gratitude swells in Ushijima’s chest. Picking up his pen to reply, Ushijima tries to pour it into his words.

Much better. Thank you for the soup. And the notes. They were… illuminating.

Tendou’s laugh is silent, but Ushijima swears he can hear it anyway. His pen is shaped like a carrot today, comically large, and Ushijima is beginning to wonder where he gets his endless supply of strange pens. Maybe there’s a well-hidden Strange Pen Store off-campus that only Tendou knows about.

I’m glad. Save those notes, someday I might be famous for something or other. They might be worth a lot of money!

Ushijima rummages in his bag, pulling out Tendou’s thermos (thoroughly cleaned, Ushijima might have been a terrible host but he is not a heathen), and a square metal tin, white with a simple design of bamboo shoots. The metal containers clink together loudly, earning Ushijima a few more disgruntled looks. He stares back; the other students look away first.

He slides them both over to Tendou, with the note folded on top.

I do not think I would sell them.

I forgot to tell you—my father’s favorite cookie recipe, it’s chocolate chip. These are for you.

Tendou works the lid of the tin off and peeks inside; his face lights up, and he closes the tin again with obvious effort. He looks at the note for a long while, chewing on the end of his pen. He looks like a bunny nibbling on a carrot. Ushijima wonders if he notices.

Thank you, Wakatoshi-kun. I don’t think I can eat all these cookies alone, though.

You are welcome, Satori. Share them with whoever you like. But if they are terrible, please do not tell me.

Tendou exhales sharply through his nose. His curious eyes dart to Ushijima, then away. He sneaks a hand into the tin and pulls out one cookie. Breaking it in half, he slides one half back to Ushijima.

“Share with me?” he whispers. Ushijima nods.

The cookies are not terrible. He should call his father soon, and tell him about them. He might have more chocolate recipes to share.

December is cold. The volleyball team comes in second in the collegiate championship, ending the season. Practices continue, but the world seems to move just a bit slower in the winter, and volleyball is no exception.

Ushijima is already seated at his desk, rubbing his hands together like that might actually warm them up, when someone plops into the seat next to him. He turns, opening his mouth to greet Tendou, but comes face to face with someone he doesn’t recognize. The other student ignores him.

Tendou appears in the doorway to the class, eyes searching the room before landing on Ushijima. As Tendou climbs the stairs to their row of seats, he notices the boy sitting next to Ushijima. He frowns deeply, but what can either of them really do about it? There aren’t technically assigned seats in the class, and the seat on the student’s other side is open. Tendou opens his mouth like he might say something, but he must think better of it.

Tendou slips behind Ushijima to take the empty seat, and through the thick wool of his coat, Ushijima feels a lingering touch to his shoulder, fingers trailing away reluctantly. Tendou’s fingers. Despite the chill of the classroom, Ushijima regrets not taking his coat off earlier.

Class begins; Ushijima takes dutiful notes. He’s all too aware of Tendou sitting two seats away, so he notices when the bright red hair in his peripheral vision disappears. When he glances over he Tendou leaned way back in his chair, slender fingers extended behind the student between them; he’s holding a note.

The anxiety of getting caught is stronger this way, shifting weight and stretching out arms painfully slowly to avoid catching anyone’s attention. Ushijima reaches back for the note without looking; instead of touching the hard edge of folded paper, his fingers brush against soft skin. Tendou’s fingers, again.

Ushijima fumbles clumsily for the note. He can barely breathe, and every time Sensei’s eyes flick up to the class, he’s sure that they’ll be discovered.

Wakatoshi-kun! I can’t believe this INTRUDER sat in my seat??? I think I might write a strongly worded letter to someone. I’m not really sure who, but that doesn’t matter, does it? Something must be done!

Ushijima breathes sharply out his nose, choking back a real laugh and earning an annoyed glare from his neighbor. Ushijima ignores him. (He can almost hear Tendou’s voice in his head saying, “He didn’t have to sit there, did he? This is what he gets!”) He writes back, but it’s a few minutes before he can find an opening to pass the note to Tendou.

I don’t think it’s technically against the rules for him to sit there. I am sure that the letter you write will be very convincing, though.

I apologize—I wasn’t looking when he sat down, and I assumed he was you. I will not let it happen again.

A couple minutes later, their professor has to kneel down behind his podium to pick up something he’d dropped, and Tendou passes the note back. Ushijima’s fingers drag against Tendou’s palm this time, warm and lightly calloused.

Don’t apologize, Wakatoshi, it is not your fault. I was the one running late! I just got so immersed in what I was reading, I lost track of time. Does that ever happen to you? It happens to me all the time. Anyway, I have a system to propose: next time I’m running late, I will text you so you can save me a seat!

Tendou wrote his phone number below, a lumpy shape drawn around them in blue highlighter this time—a cloud. A few inches away Tendou’s drawn a sun with irregular beams shooting out all over the page in yellow and orange. The sun is wearing sunglasses, which doesn’t really make any sense, and it’s smiling.

Text him. Tendou wants Ushijima to text him. For the system, to save seats. It’s a practical offer, and it makes sense. Ushijima would have suggested that the first person to class simply always reserve the seat next to him for the other, but this works too.

Class ends, and the guy sitting between them takes a painfully long time packing up his bookbag. He doesn’t seem to notice the impatient drum of Tendou’s fingers against the desk. Maybe he’s just ignoring it.

When he finally stands, Ushijima has an unrestricted view of Tendou. He’s sitting with his chin propped on one hand, looking right back.

“What do you think of our new system, Wakatoshi-kun?” he asks. His voice is warm, a crackling fire against the winter chill.

“I think it will work,” Ushijima answers. “I will send you a message, so you have my phone number.”

“Can’t wait.”

-

Tendou is just as expressive over text as he is in person. He uses lots of emojis, though Ushijima isn’t always sure what they mean. A few days ago he sent a string of emojis with no words at all, and Ushijima spent over an hour puzzling over it before eventually giving up. (He’d also sent a photo of himself for Ushijima to save as his contact photo. Ushijima had no photos of himself on his phone, so the one he’d snapped for Tendou was impromptu, a poorly lit image of his almost-smile. Tendou later informed him that the angle he took the photo from is called a “boomer angle,” but he assured Ushijima that he looked good regardless.)

Tendou texts him good morning almost every day, followed by an odd observation or even odder question. He makes Ushijima laugh. It’s an odd experience for someone who normally only uses his phone for basic communication and watching volleyball videos, but the buzz of a new text is a thrill for Ushijima each time.

His teammates notice. They catch him, not for the first time, smiling down at his phone in the locker room (Tendou had just sent him a video of a dog playing beach volleyball with its owner), and finally ask about it.

“You’ve been smiling at your phone a lot lately, Ushijima-san,” Kageyama says quietly. “What are you looking at?”

“Yeah, you look like Tobio-kun when he gets a message from Shoyo!”

“I do not.” Ushijima frowns. “I am just texting.”

“Texting who?”

“A friend.”

“Akaashi-san?”

Ushijima is distracted, trying to answer questions and text Tendou back at the same time. He sends a quick That is very cute and puts his phone away. When he looks up the entire team is watching him.

“No, not Akaashi-san,” Ushijima answers slowly. “A friend from class. His name is Tendou Satori.”

“And Tendou-san is… just a friend?”

“He is a very good friend.”

“I see,” Kageyama says. “Isn’t he the friend who invited you to watch Pride and Prejudice with him?”

“That’s a very romantic movie,” Hoshiumi points out.

Ushijima gets the sense that this is another one of those conversations where everyone but him knows what’s written between the lines, like they’re having a secondary discussion without him.

“It is.”

“Has Tendou-san invited you to do any other activities with him?”

“He invited me to the bookstore once,” Ushijima says. “And he invited me to celebrate Hatsumode with him next week, since we will both be staying on campus. Like I said, he is a good friend.”

The locker room falls quiet, but the air is thick with whatever the rest of his team is clearly thinking. If none of them are going to explain, he isn’t going to ask. Ushijima’s phone buzzes in his pocket again and he turns to leave, the strange conversation already forgotten as he reads Tendou’s reply.

-

The last day of the year is sunny and cold, the temperature dropping with the sun. Ushijima is bundled up against it, hands shoved in the pockets of his thick coat, but his nose still feels frozen. Normally at this hour the campus is quiet, but today it’s buzzing with activity. Students walk steadily in the same direction, towards the temple near campus, lit by streetlights and the buildings’ ambient glow.

He almost misses Tendou in the distance and darkness, his bright red hair covered with a thick hat. Without the sharp points of his hair, Tendou looks softer around the edges. He smiles at Ushijima as he approaches, bouncing on his feet to stay warm.

“Wakatoshi-kun!” Tendou calls out.

“Hello, Satori.”

“I brought you something!”

Tendou pulls something bulky and shapeless from inside his coat. As he walks closer, Ushijima sees: It’s a scarf, patterned in different shades of green, emerald and forest and olive. Before Ushijima can reach out his hands to accept the gift—he stopped trying to refuse gifts from Tendou weeks ago—Tendou reaches up to wrap it around his neck. Their breaths puff cloudy between their faces, clouding his view of Tendou’s face.

The scarf is soft against his skin, the stitches are a little uneven. It smells nice, Ushijima thinks. Tendou takes a step back and beams at him.

“I knew green was the right color for you,” Tendou decides. “It matches your eyes.”

“I didn’t bring you anything,” Ushijima says. He wishes he had. The way Tendou lights up when Ushijima offers him even the simplest of things would have warmed him even better than the scarf.

“Silly Wakatoshi-kun. I already told you, giving a gift isn’t about getting something back!”

He matches Ushijima’s strides with ease, long legs eating up concrete below him. Tendou is animated and talkative, breathing life into the muted night. He tells Ushijima that he took up knitting on a whim a few months back, and he might have gone a bit overboard buying yarn. He lowers his voice as they enter the gates, respectfully quiet only when it truly matters. It doesn’t stop him from talking constantly, but Ushijima doesn’t mind. Their conversation makes the hour they spend waiting in line feel like no time at all.

Tendou is pink cheeked with the cold, but none of it dampens his energy. The strings of golden lights that line the streets shimmer in the water as they wash their hands and mouths. They shimmer in Tendou’s half lidded eyes as he looks quizzically at him—unlike Tendou and everyone else in line, Ushijima has no charms to return from last year.

Ushijima shrugs at the silent question. “I don’t believe in luck.”

“Sounds like something that only a person with incredibly good luck would say,” Tendou teases.

Ushijima just shakes his head at him. WhenTendou pulls his hat off and stuffs it inside his pocket, his mussed hair stands up at odd angles and Ushijima has to clench his hands in his pockets to keep from smoothing it out with his fingers. Side by side, he and Tendou step inside the shrine, standing close as they pray. Ushijima does his best to empty his mind of distractions as he clasps his hands together, but he’s all too aware of Tendou’s warmth pressed against his arm.

Tendou is incredibly disgruntled when he reads his omikuji, and refuses to let Ushijima read it. (“Maybe if we ignore it, it has no power over us,” he says. “Yes,” Ushijima agrees. His omikuji predicts a very nice year, but he keeps that to himself, for Tendou’s sake.)

Tendou stops to buy a charm and when Ushijima hangs back, Tendou buys two. He steps close again to slip the charm into Ushijima’s pocket. The omamori is a deep shade of pink, the embroidery flashing gold.

“You can never have too much good luck, Wakatoshi,” he whispers. This close, Ushijima can see that he had a few freckles dusting the bridge of his nose.

It’s so distracting he doesn’t have time to react when Tendou grabs him by the arm and drags him away from the shrine, where food and trinket vendors have set up shop on both sides of the street. Normally this is the time Ushijima would go home, eat a small meal, and get a solid eight hours of sleep before the year truly begins anew.

Tendou is having absolutely none of that.

“Wakatoshi-kun! The food is the point of the celebration, why would you skip it?”

“I thought the point of Hatsumode was to express gratitude for the previous year and hope for the new one?” Ushijima lets himself be pulled along, smiling despite his half-hearted protests, until they’re enveloped by the crowd.

Tendou waves a hand at him. “Pfff. Semantics!”

The moment Tendou lets go of Ushijima’s arm, the crowd around them threatens to push between their bodies, separating them in the bustle. Ushijima reaches for Tendou, his body moving before his mind catches up, and takes his hand. His fingers are cold, his expression surprised.

“I do not want you to get lost in the crowd,” Ushijima says by way of explanation, though he’s not sure why he needs one. Tendou squeezes his fingers.

“I won’t,” he promises. “Come on, before they run out of the good stuff.”

They stroll through the festival like that, Tendou in the lead. He stops at every single stall, makes conversation with the vendors, and buys trinkets here and there. Tendou’s eyes light up when he discovers a shelf full of novelty pens, and he squeals in joy when Ushijima buys him one with gemstones embedded in the shaft. Tendou kept returning to it as he browsed, running his fingertips over the bumpy edges, and then moving away again.

“What gemstone do you think this is, Wakatoshi?” Tendou asks, holding the pen up to the light to see it better. The tiny stones are a deep green, more olive than emerald, flecked with shades of brown and gold.

“The tag said it is tourmaline,” Ushijima answers.

“Tourmaline? What an odd name for a gemstone. I’ve never heard of it.”

“Satori, tourmaline is a silicate mineral. It was in the notes you took for me when I was sick.”

Tendou sighs. “Well clearly I don’t remember it because somebody has my notes from that section.”

He narrows his eyes at Ushijima when he huffs a quiet laugh. Tendou never pays attention in class, or takes notes to study later. The look in his eyes shifts to something thoughtful, and he holds the pen up next to Ushijima’s face, eyes darting between them.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking,” Tendou answers cryptically. Ushijima feels pinned in place by Tendou’s gaze, by his sweet smile that is so unlike the cheshire grin he usually wears. The lights, Tendou’s expression, Tendou’s hand against his: it’s all soft, soft, soft.

“The tourmaline. It’s the same color as your eyes, Wakatoshi-kun. Isn’t that neat?”

“Neat,” Ushijima echoes.

Tendou looks at him a moment longer before turning on his heel, and insisting that Ushijima try the grilled squid at the next food stall. They make their way through all of the food that way, Tendou ordering one of everything for the two of them to share. Ushijima finds that he likes grilled squid, he’s not a fan of buttered potatoes (Tendou eats the rest of his in record time), and he loves offal stew.

He had expected Tendou to eat a lot, but it’s the opposite. He picks at each thing they buy, rarely eating more than a few bites (buttered potato aside). Each bite he takes is slow, deliberate, as if he’s cataloging the flavors and textures in detail.

“It’s not about eating to get full, Wakatoshi-kun,” he insists, taking another bite of the chicken skewer they’re sharing. Tendou licks at the sauce that’s dripped onto his fingers, and Ushijima forgets what they were talking about for a few seconds. “It’s about the flavors, the textures! It’s like magic, the way people create such different and delicious things out of the same raw materials.”

“I’ve never thought about food that way,” Ushijima admits. He’s never enjoyed anything the way Tendou is enjoying the food, except maybe volleyball. No, not volleyball either. He’s never played with passionate abandon, just fierce drive and determination. It’s a different kind of love; not stronger or weaker, just different. He wonders what it might be like, to experience something the way Tendou experiences food.

“How do you think about it, then?”

“I think… food has the nutrients that my body needs to do what I need it to do. I eat food that will support my strength, my endurance, and my mind.”

“What about your tongue, Wakatoshi? Your heart? Which foods are good for them?”

Ushijima opens his mouth to answer, but Tendou cuts him off.

“I am not asking which foods are good for your cardiac health.”

Ushijima smiles wryly. Tendou caught him.

“Mint chocolate chip ice cream,” he says. “My father used to take me to an ice cream shop after volleyball games, and we tried every flavor. That one was my favorite.”

Tendou beams at him. They’re still holding hands, though they hardly need to here on the fringe of the crowd. Ushijima likes it though, the solid weight of Tendou’s hand in his, longer fingers curling around his palm. Sometimes one of them has to let go to pay for something, or hold foods that demand a two-handed grip, but it’s never for long. Ushijima remembers at one point that he had a few handwarmers in his pocket, but he doesn’t need them now.

“Ushijima-san!”

A voice calls out from a few meters away, familiar and startling at once. Ushijima turns and sees a group of his teammates walking towards them, bundled up against the chill. Kageyama is there, arms linked with a shorter boy with bright orange hair and a sunny smile—Hinata. An old prickle of annoyance flares to life in Ushijima, but it fizzles quickly into a strange affection. Hinata clearly makes Ushijima’s teammate and friend happy, and he is one of the few people who can match Ushijima’s drive and stamina.

With them are a few other teammates, Hoshiumi and Hirugami, and a boy who looks a lot like Hirugami, if only a little shorter, a little softer around the edges—his younger brother, Sachirou. He has his fingers linked with Hoshiumi, swinging their hands together between their bodies.

“Hello,” Ushijima says as they approach.

“Happy new year, Ushijima-san. Who is your… friend?” Hoshiumi asks, glancing meaningfully at Tendou, and at his and Ushijima’s linked hands. Tendou’s fingers loosen in his grip, permission to let go, but Ushijima doesn’t see the need. He gives Tendou’s hand a brief squeeze.

“This is Tendou Satori,” Ushijima says. “Satori, these are my teammates.”

“Ooh, let me guess!” Tendou looks intently at the group, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “You must be Tobio, the setter, and his peppy little boyfriend, Shouyou?”

Kageyama blinks at him, clearly surprised. Hinata just grins and chirps, “Yep!”

“And then Kourai—my, you really are small! I’ve heard you’ve got quite a jump though. And… Well, I’m stumped. I didn’t think you had twins on your team, Wakatoshi?”

“Not twins, brothers,” Sachirou grins. “Fukurou is on the team, I’m just here visiting.”

“So close!” Tendou laughs. “I’ve heard a lot about you all from Wakatoshi-kun, it’s nice to finally meet you!”

“We’ve heard about you too, Tendou-san,” Kageyama says, just blandly enough that Tendou misses the insinuation behind it. Ushijima isn’t great at reading between the lines, but he knows Kageyama well by now, so for once he understands completely.

“Kageyama enjoyed the video you sent me, Satori. The one of the dog playing volleyball?” Ushijima replies just as blandly. “Actually, he enjoyed it so much that—”

“Well!” Kageyama interrupts loudly. His cheeks are bright pink, and his eyes are wide and panicked. “It was very nice seeing both of you, but I am starving. I wonder if any of these food vendors have pork buns, come on Shoyo—”

He drags Hinata bodily back into the crowd. Hinata waves one arm wildly in a goodbye.

“What a shame he left so soon,” Tendou muses. He grins at Ushijima, his eyes dancing—maybe he didn’t catch onto Kageyama’s insinuation, but he didn’t miss Ushijima’s clear (and successful) effort to embarrass the younger man into shutting up. “He didn’t have to—I already heard all about how he cried like a baby over the volleyball dog.”

Like that, any awkwardness about Tendou’s presence dissolves in a flurry of laughter. The other three hang around for a few more minutes to chat, and Tendou gives them enthusiastic recommendations for where to get the best food. Ushijima is content to stand quietly and listen, offering the occasional opinion on the stalls they’ve visited so far.

“We haven’t tried any sweets yet, so that’s next on the list,” Tendou announces decisively.

“It is?”

“Of course it is, Wakatoshi! You think I’d let you leave here before drinking a glass of amazake with me and trying at least five new sweets? It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

Ushijima doesn’t bother arguing. “Lead the way, Satori.”

A glass of sweet sake later, Ushijima can admit that maybe sugary things are nice, even if they have no nutritional value. Tendou is insistent that he try almost everything, feeding him chocolates and strawberry candy and bites of mochi with his long clever fingers. He buys a few extra strawberry candies when he sees how much Ushijima enjoys them, stuffing them into his pocket with the charm he’d left there earlier.

Ushijima tries a bite of something soggy and soaked in syrup, flavored with cinnamon and brown sugar, and finds it far too sweet. Tendou tries a bite, then another, and nods his head. He closes his eyes as he tastes it slowly, entirely unbothered by the crowd of people jostling them from both sides. He seems peaceful like this, lips curled into a soft smile, then a disgruntled frown.

“It needed more cinnamon, less sugar, and maybe something else? A sprinkle of nutmeg maybe, that would have rounded it out. Or cloves? But that might be too much of—”

“Maybe you should be a culinary major,” Ushijima says, stopping Tendou’s tongue in its tracks.

“Hm? Why do you say that?”

“Food is something you clearly enjoy, and care about. It reminds me of how I feel about volleyball,” Ushijima says, feeling the tips of his ears grow hot. It’s odd talking about himself like this, but not uncomfortable. “That seems like the best thing one can do, to find something they love, and build a life around it. You could open your own restaurant, or a bakery.”

“Baking is too much exact science, and if you can’t improvise and challenge the rules of science, what’s the point? But… a chocolate shop maybe,” Tendou agrees. He glances at Ushijima through his lashes. Their hands swing lightly between them, a second glass of sweet amazake held in the others. “Mr. I-only-kind-of-like-chocolate, would you ever visit?”

“Of course I would,” Ushijima answers without hesitation.

“Oh.”

Ushijima sips from his cup of sake, Tendou does the same. The alcohol is a warm balm against the coldest part of the night, loosening Ushijima’s muscles, quieting the riotous sound of the celebration all around them. He looks at Tendou and sees him in sharp focus, the background behind him blurred. He might regret the second glass when he wakes up later today, but right now it’s lovely.

“You ready to head home, Wakatoshi-kun?” Tendou asks. He drains the last of his amazake and drops the plastic cup in the trash. He’s uncharacteristically patient as Ushijima does the same, standing still with his hands jammed in his coat pockets. They walk back to campus slowly, arm in arm. It’s late now, the first hints of light streaking up from the horizon, turning the navy sky cerulean. Tendou is unusually quiet, but it’s a nice kind of quiet. Comfortable.

It’s Ushijima who breaks the silence, as they round a corner and his apartment building comes into view. He’s sleepy, from the late hour and the sweet alcohol buzzing in his veins, but he isn’t ready to say goodbye just yet.

“I will walk you home, Satori.”

“You don’t have to do that, Wakatoshi-kun, it’s not far from here.”

“I know. I would like to. Is that alright?”

Tendou’s arm tightens around his, and he keeps his eyes forward as he answers, “Yes, that’s perfectly alright.”

The path they take through campus isn’t the most efficient way to get to Tendou’s apartment, but it is the prettiest. Tendou leads Ushijima along winding paths, through trees and flowers and art installments in the grass, and Ushijima wonders if he might be reluctant to say goodbye too. Though, he just might want to take the scenic route, which would be a very Tendou thing to do. The sky is almost fully light now, the mint green of pre-dawn glowing all around them.

“This is my favorite time of day,” Ushijima muses quietly, surprising himself. He’s never said that out loud before; he’s not sure if he’s ever really thought about it, but it’s true.

“Why is that, Wakatoshi?”

“It’s peaceful. Like the world is still sleeping, and I am alone with the trees and the sky.”

“You really are a literature major,” Tendou says, huffing a small laugh. “That was very poetic, Wakatoshi-kun.”

“It’s probably the sake,” Ushijima says. That, or the comfortable ease of Tendou’s presence, the way he is so unapologetically himself, and how it inspires the same kind of openness in Ushijima. Maybe it’s the twilight hour around them, the way each breath of air feels fresher now, full of possibilities. “I am not normally poetic.”

Tendou hums. “I don’t know about that.”

At his door, Tendou slips his arm out of Ushijima’s. Cold air sweeps into the space he vacated, making Ushijima shiver against it.

Tendou leans in swiftly and kisses his cheek. The tip of his nose is cold where it brushes against Ushijima’s temple, but his lips are warm, and a little chapped. The kiss is fleeting, over before it really begins, but it leaves Ushijima reeling.

“Happy new year, Wakatoshi.”

Tendou slides his key into the lock and disappears into his apartment before Ushijima’s brain comes back online. He touches his cheek, the ghost of Tendou’s lips lingering there. The walk back to his own apartment is a blur, legs moving on autopilot while his mind replays the same moment over and over. Ushijima falls into bed around the same time he normally wakes up, and despite the strange hour, despite the whirlwind of thoughts spinning through his mind, sleep finds him quickly.

The night before the last Tuesday of the semester, Ushijima makes a decision. He only has one more day of geology class left before final exams, one day to sit next to Tendou and soak up his joyful, chaotic presence. One more day left to write notes back and forth under the uncaring eyes of their professor as they pretend to pay attention. One more day before it’s too late.

He pulls out his notebook and a pen (an orange pen with an oddly joyful not-smile) and stares at the blank page for almost an hour before he writes a single word.

The first note he writes goes immediately into the trash. So does the second, and the third. At the rate he’s drafting and tossing notes, he’s bound to run out of notebook pages by the morning.

It shouldn’t be this hard to just write a note. To write down what he’s feeling. And maybe that isn’t what’s difficult about this at all—it’s the awareness that someone, an important someone, will be reading what he writes. That whatever he writes might be the wrong thing, which would be worse than saying nothing at all.

In the end, Ushijima goes to bed, the empty pages of his notebook haunting his dreams.

-

Still awash in nerves, Ushijima arrives to class fifteen minutes early. He paces the hallway back and forth until the class before his files out, and he can step inside to claim his and Tendou’s seats. Veins thrumming with restless energy and nowhere to direct it, he drums his fingers on his desk and he rearranges his laptop, notebook and pen about a hundred times. The seat next to him is loud in its emptiness, demanding his attention.

Ushijima’s so distracted by his own whirring mind that he doesn’t see Tendou arrive. There’s a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye and Tendou is there, lifing Ushijima’s bag out of the seat and plopping down into it; his smile is pure sunshine, and all at once Ushijima can’t remember what he possibly had to be nervous about. The room is hushed, full of students worn down by impending final exams, and class begins exactly on the hour. Ushijma grabs his notebook, scrawls a quick and simple message and passes it silently to Tendou, bumping the folded page against his slender wrist.

Good morning, Satori.

Tendou’s smile, chased away by the start of class, blooms anew when he looks at Ushijima. The familiar heat returns to Ushijima’s cheeks and he feels a bit silly now, realizing how often he’s felt the same way throughout the semester. It is about Tendou, and it always has been. And it’s not just the heat in his cheeks; he is late realizing a lot of things.

It took him this long to understand how much he truly likes Tendou.

He likes it when Tendou smiles at him, even more when he laughs—because it never feels like he’s laughing at Ushijima, not really; his laughter is an invitation, something to be shared. He likes that Tendou treats him differently than anyone else has ever dared, and has since the first day they met. He likes Tendou’s eyes, the way they dance even when they’re sleepy and soft, and the way they see right through his stoic exterior to the softer and more complex person beneath. Ushijima likes Tendou’s hands, they’re pretty and elegant and they fit perfectly into his own. He likes the way he sees life as something to be enjoyed, not endured.

Good morning, Wakatoshi-kun! How are you on this fine January morning?

Ushijima takes a deep breath and releases it. He likes the way Tendou always makes small talk feel bigger, asking how Ushijima is because he cares about the honest answer, not the polite routine. If Ushijima were really as poetic as Tendou had once accused him of being, he might be able to put all of those feelings into words. He could fill the whole page, front and back, telling Tendou how beautiful he is when he smiles, or how he makes Ushijima laugh more than anyone ever has, and he does it as easily as breathing.

He closes his eyes, searching for the right words in his mind, but all he sees is Tendou. He searches for the way Tendou makes him feel so he might be able to explain it to the man, but all he feels is the memory of a New Year's kiss, sweet and fleeting against his sake-warmed cheek. Maybe if Ushijima were truly poetic, he could find a graceful and not-so-embarrassing way to explain how it took him so long to put the pieces together; his own growing feelings and all of the doors Tendou has opened through the semester, inviting Ushijima into his life. The invitations were careful, subtle, and maybe Tendou would understand if Ushijima explained that subtlety is not a word anyone has ever used to describe him. It’s not a word he would associate with Tendou either, except in this. There’s something special about that, too, the contrast of Tendou’s usual animated presence, and the hesitant softness of his (possibly, probably, definitely) romantic overtures.

Maybe he could explain that nobody else has made him feel this way, this heart-racing, skin-flushing, breath-stuttering kind of way before, so he didn’t understand what it was until he’d pictured his hopes and dreams for the year and found that most of them centered around one person. But now that it is his turn to make the invitation, Ushijima asks the question the only way he knows how: directly.

I am very good. Satori, can I ask you a question?

I believe you just did, Wakatoshi. But of course, you can ask me anything, anytime, nothing is off-limits for you. Except for the events of the summer between my second and third years of high school. Maybe I’ll tell you about it someday, but not today—I have to keep some secrets, don’t I? I’d hate to lose my air of mystery completely, I’m really attached to it now and you might already know too much. Anyway, what did you want to ask me, dear Wakatoshi-kun?

Did you notice that the ume are blooming? I was wondering if you might want to take a walk with me after class, so we could look at them. Together?

If Tendou’s smile was a sunbeam before, now it’s a supernova. He runs his fingers over the page, tracing the small, clumsy plum blossom Ushijima drew in black ink next to his words. It’s nowhere near as skillful or colorful as the highlighter-pink akizakuras that Tendou once drew for him, but that doesn’t seem to matter. Tendou traces it with his fingers, with his eyes, over and over, before putting his fingertips to his lips. He holds them there for a while, pressing down on his smile.

When he picks up his pen to write back, his fingers shake a little. Ushijima tries not to stare as he writes back, but it’s a herculean effort. The note slides slowly across the desk back to him, pressed flat by Tendou’s fingers. Ushijima’s brush against them as he takes the note, saying hello.

I’d love to.

Class ends a little early, but Ushijima hardly notices. Since he’d read Tendou’s response, he had not paid a single iota of attention to their professor or the end of semester summary he was reviewing in preparation for final exams. His fingers twitch restlessly with the urge to reach out and touch Tendou, sitting so close to him but still too far away.

Class ends; Ushijima and Tendou walk side by side away from their seats. Tendou slips a hand into Ushijima’s, long slender fingers squeezing his reassuringly, and they leave the classroom just like that, matching smiles, warm cheeks, fingers intertwined.

-

It’s a cold, sunny Tuesday when Ushijima kisses Tendou for the first time. The air is sweet with new life blooming all around them, plum blossom petals drifting through the air. Tendou is a flower in the landscape of flowers, face upturned to Ushijima’s like it’s the sun, petals of unruly red hair swaying in the wind.

Ushijima kisses him, and like the ume, Tendou blooms.