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It’s the third time this week.
Or so Yamaguchi says, anyway. He’s standing in front of Tsukishima, his face creased in concern. Tsukishima’s face is creased in annoyance. He has Tobio’s towel pressed beneath his nose because Tobio had panicked at the sight of blood and had shoved whatever he could at Tsukishima. His water bottle, first. Then his towel, because it was actually useful. Tsukishima had wordlessly accepted it. Red soaks through white at a freakish pace.
Some of the kouhai have slowed their receive practice to watch the scene: Captain and Vice Captain watching Tsukishima bleed half to fucking death from his nose at the side of the gym. Coach squinting at them from a distance. Takeda Sensei hurrying over to assess the situation. Tobio wonders if they can see the way Tsukishima looks like he’s about to pass out. Not from blood loss, thankfully. Embarrassment seems to be doing the trick just fine.
“Get back to practice!” Yamaguchi reminds them, glancing over his shoulder. Volleyballs fly into the air once more. The familiar thudthudthud of passes and receives resumes.
“Ah, again?” Takeda says as he approaches. His voice is high and worried. “It’s never been this bad, has it?”
“It has,” Tsukishima replies dully. “Couple years ago. It’s— I’m fine, really. I just need an ice pack and to sit out of practice for today, to be safe. I’m sorry.”
“No, no, don’t be!” Takeda reassures frantically as Tsukishima apologetically ducks his head. “Your health is of utmost importance, Tsukishima-kun! Shall I take you to the infirmary?”
Tobio doesn’t even stop to think because he’s an idiot. “I’ll take him,” he blurts. Three pairs of eyes snap onto him and suddenly Tobio thinks he might be the one to pass out. Tsukishima’s looking right at him for the first time since his face turned into a fucking horror show and Tobio has no goddamn idea what to make of the look in his eyes. Because he’s an idiot.
“I mean, like, you know,” Tobio says eloquently, “Takeda Sensei, you seem to be busy with—” He gestures vaguely at the other side of the gym, where one of the first years is watching them, his tearful conversation with Takeda cut short by the minor crisis over here. He’s a nice kid. Great at receives and nothing else. Trying and currently failing to figure out how to spike properly. Tobio can’t remember his name for the life of him. “—Number 13.”
Yamaguchi snorts.
“Sato-kun?” Takeda supplies. “Yes, I— I suppose I should get back to him. Well then, let me know if you need me.” He’s turning away, heading back to Sato. “Get some rest, Tsukishima-kun!”
“Alright,” Yamaguchi says brightly into the horrible silence that’s descended upon them. “Kageyama, do you wanna take Tsukki to the infirmary?”
“I guess, if I have to,” Tobio says, because— listen, we’ve already established this. He’s the biggest fucking idiot to have ever walked the face of the earth. And the horrible silence returns, even more horrible and silent than before. Tobio seriously considers the pros and cons of scaling the wall and throwing himself out the window. Or possibly dropping out of Karasuno entirely and booking the earliest flight to Antarctica. The cons outweigh the pros. Tsukishima’s and Yamaguchi’s gazes stab into him, peeling him open like a fucking fruit.
“Well, you have to,” Yamaguchi chirps. He’s already walking away. The expression on his face is— something fucking mean, Tobio can at least decipher that. He braves a glance at Tsukishima. His face is carefully blank. “Have fun!”
Hey, remember breathing? Yeah, let’s do that again. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. You’re doing great, considering.
They head out of the gym together. The summer sun bears down on them like a brand. Tsukishima squints against the sunlight, all ugly, and then adjusts the towel to allow for a fresh white spot to soak up the blood. Neither of them say a word. Tobio feels a bit sick— for a separate, mile-long list of reasons he’d rather die than think about. So he doesn’t. They walk on.
The infirmary is empty. Oh God. Or, alternatively, Oh God . If Tsukishima feels the same, or anything at all, the fucking freak, he doesn’t show it. He silently sits down on the side of one of the beds and waits. Waits for Tobio.
It takes him something like seven tries to finally find the ice pack. And then another four to find a washcloth and run it under the faucet. Tsukishima’s not even looking at him. Somehow it makes it all worse. “Clean your face off first,” he says, as if Tsukishima doesn’t know what to do. “And here’s the ice pack.”
Tsukishima trades Tobio’s bloody towel for the fresh washcloth, after a moment of hesitation. After Tobio tells him it’s not gross even though it definitely fucking is. He brings it to the sink and washes it out as Tsukishima gingerly presses the ice pack to his nose.
He’s still watching Tsukishima even as he wrings out the towel under ice cold water. Watching the sharp line of Tsukishima’s wrist press into the bed as he leans his weight back. Watching the gentle rise and fall of his back as he breathes in and out. Watching, watching until the icy water bites a little too sharp into his skin, and he shuts the faucet off. He makes his way over and sits on the other bed, right across from Tsukishima. He tries not to look. He really tries.
“Is there something wrong with you?” Tsukishima asks suddenly.
Tobio can feel his face contort into something fucking hideous. “What?”
“You keep staring at me like a freak.”
Even more hideous, now. “No, I’m not.”
That’s a lie, and they both know it. Tobio glares at him in the awful silence that follows. And then decides to stare at his feet, because if he looks into Tsukishima’s eyes for any longer he’ll probably actually fucking die.
They’re sitting close enough that if Tobio— god. If Tobio were to slide his legs forward, his left foot would be nestled right in between Tsukishima’s feet. It’s a dangerous thing to think about. It’s a terrifying thing to think about. Tobio can’t stop thinking about it anyway. About— the storage closet in the gym. About everything that happened and everything that didn’t. About Tsukishima. About his hands. About—
“You’re welcome to leave.”
Tobio’s eyes snap up. His feet instinctively slide backwards even though they hadn’t moved forward a single inch the entire time. “Huh?”
Tsukishima ducks his head for a moment to pull his sports glasses off and slide the ice pack higher along his nose bridge. Then he looks at Tobio again, eyes unobstructed. Tobio’s insides twist horribly.
“I said,” Tsukishima says, and his voice is biting, “you can go. Or are you going to sit here with me for the rest of practice, your Majesty?”
Tobio doesn’t lie this time. He doesn’t say anything stupid this time. He finds that he doesn’t want to. “Yes,” he says quietly, and he looks right at Tsukishima even though it’s driving him insane. “If you need me to.”
“I don’t—” Tsukishima cuts himself off with a scoff and slams the ice pack down on the bed. He turns his head away, turns his entire upper body away from Tobio like he can’t stand his presence any longer. To the untrained eye, he’s furious. But his fingers are restlessly prodding at the ice pack and the way his mouth is pressed into a trembling line doesn’t spell anger, not really.
Tobio stands up on shaky feet. Tsukishima doesn’t look at him, but. But— his breathing goes still when Tobio approaches him. He gasps, or something like it, when Tobio reaches for his hand. But Tobio’s not reaching for his hand. He’s reaching for the washcloth. It’s smudged with blood. It needs to be rinsed out.
Ice cold water. Ice cold hands. Ice cold eyes. At least he’s looking.
“I don’t want to leave you alone,” Tobio says. He’s still staring at the sink. Because, you know. He might die if he looks at— “What if you pass out or something? Aren’t you—” He struggles to find the word. “Anemone?”
“What?” Tsukishima sounds so utterly bewildered that Tobio has no choice but to look at him. And sure enough, he’s squinting at Tobio like he’s the dumbest motherfucker in the world. He might be. Tsukishima only looks at him like that when he’s done something particularly stupid. “Am I what ?”
“Anem—” Tobio tries. “Enamored? An—” Fuck. “You don’t— I don’t know, you don’t have enough blood in you, or something?”
There’s a beat of silence. And then Tsukishima lets out a sharp burst of an exhale that Tobio only realizes is a laugh when it continues to cut through the quiet. Something in the air starts to dissolve. Tobio frowns again, but most of the fight has left him and it’s mostly just confusion. Confusion, and— and— Tsukishima keeps laughing. His face is all bright and open and beautiful and Tobio can’t stop staring.
“Do you mean anemic ?”
What a stupid fucking word. “Yes.”
Tsukishima leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he looks at Tobio. He tilts his head. His hair slides across his forehead and into his eyes. He’s still smiling; it’s half-mean. He’s still looking. Tobio wonders how clearly he can even see without his glasses on. Can he see Tobio’s face from there? Can he see everything written on Tobio’s face, from there? Tobio wants him to. He’s tired of hiding it.
“I’m not, for the record,” Tsukishima laughs, a soft, huffy thing. “Anemic. Yamaguchi just jokes that I must be.”
Tobio hasn’t heard a single goddamn word Tsukishima has just said. “Okay.”
He steps away from the sink and walks towards the beds. Tsukishima’s horrible eyes follow him all the while, and somehow even more focused still as he comes closer. His laughter is fading from his face now, but his eyes are still bright. Bright and gold and beautiful. Tobio sits down on the bed next to him, nudges Tsukishima’s knee to get him to face him properly. Tsukishima complies without complaint: a first. But this whole week, month, year has been firsts for them, so maybe Tobio should learn to adjust.
It’s horrible and familiar all over again, being this close to Tsukishima, with a million and a half things hovering in the air between them. He opens his mouth to speak but finds that he has no idea what to say. Tsukishima does, though: “Are we doing this again?”
Tobio’s heart rattles something fierce inside his ribcage. Are they?
“Depends,” he says finally. His brain is on auto-pilot. He can’t quite feel his limbs. He can only feel Tsukishima’s eyes on him, sharp and piercing. “Are you going to run away again?”
“I didn’t—” Tsukishima starts to say, and then cuts himself off. His mouth twists and he glances away. The skittery, nervous look on his face makes Tobio’s pulse jump tenfold. He wants to hold Tsukishima’s face in his hands to keep him still. “I panicked.”
It’s as close to an apology as Tobio will get. He looks away, too. Maybe it’ll help Tsukishima relax a bit. He reaches over slowly and slots his fingers between Tsukishima’s knuckles where they rest on the bed. It’s a bit awkward, but that’s to be expected. They’re both a bit awkward right now. That’s okay. “I shouldn’t have cornered you.”
“You weren’t cornering me,” Tsukishima says, shaking his head. His voice is tight. He looks at Tobio. Tobio doesn’t look back.
“Wasn’t I?”
“No. Confronting me, maybe.”
This is the first time they’re talking about it. Not that there’s much to even talk about. Tobio, fed up from all the feather-light brushes of Tsukishima’s knuckles against his as they walked home from practice; on edge from the hot press of Tsukishima’s eyes on him around school; skin prickling, heart racing as he stepped close, close, closer to Tsukishima in the storage closet after practice. Feet touching. Hands touching. Nothing else. As enthralling as it was unbearable. How romantic, being surrounded by the smell of synthetic leather volleyballs and cleaning products. How romantic, with their faces damp with sweat and creased in exhaustion.
Tobio had been too scared to do anything, after all. Just hold his hand and stare. Get a little too close but not quite close enough. Try to say something but get nothing out. He could only watch as Tsukishima’s face had flushed crimson, could only stand there and try, just try, as Tsukishima’s warm stuttered breath hit his face. Had to try and get his bearings as Tsukishima had untangled their fingers and left Tobio alone.
“I didn’t even say anything, though,” Tobio says.
“I had an idea of what you wanted to.”
“Which was?”
Tsukishima’s face twists. It’s ugly and endearing and Tobio has never wanted to kiss someone more. “I’m not saying it.”
“Then I won’t, either.”
“Fine.”
“ Fine .”
But Tsukishima still moves his hand, adjusts his grip so that their palms are fitting flush against each other, so that their fingers are delicately lacing together. He’s not looking at Tobio. He’s looking at their hands.
What a sight they must be. Two boys sitting across from each other on a bed in the school infirmary. One’s got his legs folded underneath him. The other’s cross-legged. Their knees are bumping together. They keep exchanging glances, and the sun’s starting to set, sending long planes of orange light across their faces, across their eyes, nose, lips. Their hands are intertwined but it’s a skittish thing, like they’re not sure what to do next. And they’re not sure what to do next. They’re not sure of anything right now because they’re only just starting to look at the shape of the world and wonder where they fit inside it. They’re wondering how high they want to climb and if they can even reach those heights at all. Everything about the future is uncertain but they’ll try anyway. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Just try, and see where it gets you.
“I like you,” Tsukishima says finally, and it’s the softest thing Tobio’s ever heard. It’s the prettiest sound in the world. His face is pink and his eyes are fluttering and Tobio’s so giddy he could just about scream, probably. He could just—
“I like you, too.”
And then finally, finally, Tobio takes Tsukishima’s face between his hands, leans in, and kisses him.