Chapter Text
A soul mate isn’t necessarily the person you love most. It’s the person who sincerely challenges you in the aspects of life that everyone else can’t. Soul mates fight. But god damn they love, too. - Trevor Harvey
“You are without a doubt the most aggravating person I’ve ever known. And I know Kuroo.” Their noses are nearly touching, heat radiating off two sets of angrily flushed cheeks, and Kei feels his lips turn up into a sneer. He could probably count every eyelash on Kageyama’s face this close if he wanted to, can definitely see the varying shades of blues in his eyes, and the tiniest hint of freckles from being out in the sun all summer. He can also feel Kageyama’s heavy breath settling across his lips, warm and familiar and far too intimate for what they’re doing, and sometimes… sometimes Kei wonders just why they have to get into each other’s spaces so much when they argue. Why they lean in close enough to touch nearly head to toe, bodies flushed with anger, fingers trembling, and nerves thrumming with… well everything. It’s too much to bear sometimes. So he leans away, pulls himself back up to his full height, and looks down his nose at Kageyama. “You know what? Do whatever you want. What do I care?”
It takes him forty-three minutes to come back after nearly slamming the door shut behind him. Sometimes he thinks that maybe it’s too much. That something obviously went wrong somewhere down the line and whatever twist of fate that led to him being Kageyama’s soul mate was really just a knotted thread. Just a few more tugs, a few more arguments and heated words, and the whole thing would come unraveled. Sometimes he looks down at the mark around his ring finger, the band of shifting blues and purples and reds, and turns his hand over to read Kageyama’s name resting there just above his palm and wonders.
It had been one of their last games in their final year of high school and Kei had landed after a particularly difficult block and turned to see Kageyama’s hand held up for a high five and, for whatever reason, for the first time ever he reciprocated the gesture. Their palms met and Kei watched in wonder - and a touch of fear - as the solid black line around his ring finger suddenly shimmered and shuddered into a blur of color. He had jerked his hand away with a scowl and Kageyama had simply tilted his head a little and shrugged. After three years he was mostly used to Kei’s sudden shifts in mood when it came to that border of friendly and too friendly. When Kei switched out he had wrapped a little extra tape around his fingers, covering the band and ignoring Yamaguchi’s questioning glance, and watched as Kageyama absently rubbed at his wristband with his mind most likely already back on the game and far away from Kei’s strange actions.
Kei waited for the reaction. Waited for the shouts from Hinata or Kageyama after the game. He waited while they changed. Waited while they drug themselves out for food. Waited while they trudged to the bus and flopped onto the seats with weary sighs. He knew there was no way Kageyama had missed it. He was wearing a different wristband, this one almost more of a bracelet, instead of the cloth one he wore during games and even if he was an idiot sometimes Kei had come to acknowledge that Kageyama was actually rather observant about a lot of things even if he didn’t know how to show it well.
He had been lost in his own thoughts as the bus started up and then someone had moved his bag out of the spot next to him - where he put it because he liked riding alone most of the time - and dropped themselves into the now open spot. Mouth opening to tell them to fuck off he stopped when a pale wrist filled his vision.
What was once no doubt a black band - he could only assume because Kageyama rarely went without a band or bracelet of some kind covering his mark - was now gold and silver shimmering between two thin black lines. Then Kageyama turned his palm towards Kei and he saw his name in thin white strokes against the skin. Kei held out his own hand, palm up and free of the tape on his fingers, and watched Kageyama carefully touch the band, finger hovering over his name for a moment, and then nod. Then he went back to his own seat and Kei was left alone with his thoughts.
Kei is always a little worried when he comes back after times like this. Worried that this time will be the time he pushed to hard with his snappy words and cold glares and that he will come home to an empty apartment.
The first thing that tumbles from his lips when he sees Kageyama curled up in the chair wearing one of Kei’s sweatshirts and playing with the cuffs is “I’m sorry, Tobio,” and the next thing he says as he sinks in front of Kageyama and rests his head against Kageyama’s bent knees is “I love you.”
—
Having a soulmate isn’t easy. Tobio understands this well. Especially when you and your soulmate both have troubles with communicating even after spending years together.
He runs his thumb along the shimmering gold and silver band around his wrist and stares at the crisp script in the center, right over his veins. He hasn’t taken the words Tsukishima flings at him while they’re fighting to heart since sometime the year after high school. Not since the time Tsukishima had sneered at him with frustrated tears in his eyes because neither of them could make the other understand what they wanted and they had wound up spending the night sprawled on the couch, exhausted, before finally admitting that maybe there was something there between them, something there for them to strive for together.
Tobio’s never been sure why the fact that Tsukishima is his soulmate feels so right. They argue a lot. They push each other’s buttons without even thinking about it. Tsukishima is prickly most days but, maybe luckily, Tobio can be hard to crack.
He stares at the swirling colors peeking out from the sweatshirt he took from Tsukishima’s side of the closet and remembers.
They had just finished the game, winning but barely, and he was rubbing at his wristband, wondering where they were going to be taken for food and if he remembered to do his homework and reminding himself to remember to toss his wristband in the laundry because his wrist was starting to itch. He was about to tug it off and stuff it in his bag but something stopped him. He paused and Hinata rushed over to yell at him about something to do with the game and he let his attention wander to his friend. It wasn’t until they had all changed and he was about to slide the bracelet that Yachi had gotten him for his birthday last year on that he realized his mark had changed. He slowly turned his wrist over to see the name printed there and jumped when Hinata called out from the door to hurry up.
He wasn’t sure why he didn’t confront Tsukishima right away. It’s not like the two of them ever shied from arguments around their team. But something, maybe that same instinctual something that kept him from pulling his wristband up earlier when Hinata was right there, kept him quiet. He let his thoughts be dragged away from the silvery gold on his wrist and focused on the food in front of him.
When the bus finally started towards home and the rest of the team was mostly asleep Tobio finally gave in to his curiosity and slipped back to Tsukishima’s seat. He moved the bag and sat down, sticking his wrist in front of Tsukishima’s face before he could yell at him and watched the way his eyes widened as Tobio turned his hand towards Tsukishima so he could see the thin white lines that made up his name on Tobio’s wrist. Tsukishima held out his own hand and Tobio saw his name neatly settled just above Tsukishima’s palm on a band of purple and blue around his ring finger. He touched it gently, reassuring himself that it was real, that this was real, and then went back to his seat.
They could deal with the rest when it came.
When Tsukishima storms out parts of Tobio are always sure he won’t be back. That this will be the time Tobio turns around and there’s no one there. No sarcastic remarks, no raised eyebrows, no scoffing laughs. This time the door won’t open and Tsukishima won’t look at him in wonder and shock when he sees him still here.
That his voice won’t shake when he says Tobio’s name and stumbles over an apology. That he won’t hear the way Tsukishima’s breath catches as he says “I love you,” and waits for Tobio’s response.
Tobio picks up Tsukishima’s hand from where it’s tangled in the sweatshirt Tobio borrowed and kisses the band on his finger.
“I’m sorry too,” he mumbles against the skin, “I love you, Kei.”