Chapter Text
Yachi’s POV
Hitoka Yachi had a secret.
It wasn’t about volleyball, or about her grades, or even about her obsessive habit of buying way too many pastel-colored pens. No—her secret was far more dangerous, far more embarrassing.
She was a Fujoshi.
Not just a casual one. Not just a “oh, I’ve read a BL manga once or twice” kind of girl. No, Yachi was the kind of Fujoshi who carried around a sketchbook that was, in theory, meant for “banner ideas and mascot doodles.” In reality, it was filled with hand-drawn manga panels starring the boys of Karasuno High School.
And her magnum opus?
The one pairing she returned to over and over again, through rough drafts and imagined scenarios and late-night fever dreams?
Tsukishima Kei and Yamaguchi Tadashi.
High School, First Year
Yachi first noticed it during a routine practice.
Yamaguchi had just messed up a serve—he apologized, flustered, cheeks red. Tsukishima, with his trademark sigh, adjusted his glasses and muttered something that sounded mean from afar.
But Yachi, who was watching very closely, caught it. The twitch at the corner of Tsukishima’s mouth, the way his voice dropped softer than usual.
She froze. Oh no. Oh yes. That was… intimacy. That was… canon.
From that moment on, she watched them like a hawk.
The way Yamaguchi hovered near Tsukishima’s shoulder, never more than a step away. The way Tsukishima passed him the first water bottle. The way Yamaguchi’s laughter came easiest when Tsukishima was involved.
Yachi filled three notebooks that semester alone.
But of course, TsukkiYama wasn’t her only ship. Oh no. Yachi ran a whole mental Ship Power Ranking™, updated weekly like it was a fantasy sports league.
Rank 1 (Unshakable, Supreme): Daichi x Suga. The parents. The soft power couple. Every look = fanfic fodder.
Rank 2 (Chaotic Rivals-to-Lovers): Hinata x Kageyama. They were practically a BL cliché come to life—sweaty rivals, forehead-to-forehead shouting, too close, too loud, too obvious.
Rank 3 (Her personal hill to die on): Tsukishima x Yamaguchi. The hidden gem. The slow burn. The childhood-friends-to-lovers arc that deserved a novel.
High School, Second Year
Yachi had a theory.
Hinata and Kageyama weren’t just teammates. They were a live-action BL manga with too much budget.
Exhibit A: Constant bickering, nose-to-nose, red-faced shouting matches.
Exhibit B: Training scenes where sweat dripped dramatically and they collapsed on the floor together.
Exhibit C: The feeding scene — Hinata once shoved a rice ball in Kageyama’s mouth mid-practice. Yachi almost fainted.
For the sake of science, she ran tests.
“Hinata,” she asked sweetly one day, “if Kageyama wasn’t on the team anymore, what would you do?”
Hinata, without hesitation: “Die.”
Yachi nearly scribbled MARRIAGE CONFIRMED in her notebook.
“Kageyama,” she tried later, “if Hinata had to move schools—”
“I’d transfer,” Kageyama said flatly, then went back to drinking milk.
Yachi screamed into her clipboard.
Meanwhile, her Tsukishima Jealousy Radar™ had reached Olympic precision.
When Yamaguchi laughed too brightly at Hinata's dumb jokes? Tsukishima’s jaw tightened.
When Yamaguchi lingered too long with Kageyama, helping him with tosses and serves? Tsukishima adjusted his glasses three times in one minute.
When Ennoshita-san complimented Yamaguchi’s serves? Tsukishima made a snide comment that didn’t even make sense.
Yachi clapped silently like a fan in the stands. Peak tsundere seme behavior.
High School, Third Year
By the time third year rolled around, Karasuno had weathered wars, tournaments, heartbreaks, and growth. And then came the twist no one saw coming:
Captain Yamaguchi. Vice-Captain Kageyama.
It was like fate had handed Yachi a brand-new ship on a silver platter.
They looked so good side by side at practice—Yamaguchi steady and encouraging, Kageyama scowling but quietly following orders. When Yamaguchi corrected him, Kageyama listened. When Kageyama barked at the first years, Yamaguchi softened the edges.
It was dangerous. Too domestic. Too… married.
Yachi, against her better judgment, started a YamaKage folder in her sketchbook. Just in case. She only filled maybe half a notebook with them—soft touches when passing clipboards, matching captain/vice sweatbands, that one time Yamaguchi offered him half of his bento and Kageyama actually took it without complaint.
Her pencil flew across the page.
“NEW POWER COUPLE ALERT. Captain x Vice-Captain dynamic. Classic. Delicious.”
The team’s practice matches that semester were a whole new kind of BL content. Yamaguchi would encourage Kageyama—“Good set, Kageyama!”—and Kageyama would nod seriously, almost shyly, muttering, “Thanks, Captain.”
Yachi practically screamed into her notebook.
“He calls him CAPTAIN?? Are you kidding me?? That’s straight-up BL dialogue!!”
But it was a fling, and she knew it. Because every time she saw Tsukishima standing at the gym door, watching his Tadashi smile so easily with Kageyama, Yachi’s jealousy radar went nuclear.
Tsukishima’s eyes narrowed. His foot tapped. His lips pressed into a thinner line than usual.
And inevitably, Yamaguchi always drifted back toward him, standing at his shoulder like he belonged there.
Yachi closed the YamaKage folder. It was fun while it lasted.
Graduation Day
By the time Karasuno stormed Nationals, Yachi had reached peak frustration.
She’d sat through years of longing glances, of small touches, of Tsukishima pretending not to care while clearly caring way too much. And what did she get for her patience? Nothing. Not a single confession.
On graduation day, she lingered by the school gates with Kiyoko, watching the boys mess around with their diplomas.
“Yamaguchi looks good in a suit,” Kiyoko murmured, mostly to herself.
Yachi almost screamed. “Right?! He looks good next to Tsukishima, too, don’t you think? Like, ridiculously good? Like groom-and-best-man good??”
Kiyoko gave her a look. “You’ve thought about this.”
“I—no! Maybe. Yes.”
Meanwhile, Yamaguchi was helping Tsukishima fix the awkward angle of his tie, both of them bickering under their breath. Yachi slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from squealing.
“Just confess already,” she whispered into her palm.
They didn’t.
College Years
Yachi thought maybe, maybe, once high school ended and they were away from the safety net of Karasuno, the truth would come out. Maybe Tsukishima would stop being a coward. Maybe Yamaguchi would grow bold.
Wrong.
Even in college, they were the same.
She’d visit them sometimes—Tsukishima at Sendai, Yamaguchi at another university close enough to commute. They’d still walk together, still sit across from each other at cafés, still banter like an old married couple.
And still, nothing.
At one café meet-up, Yachi found herself third-wheeling so hard she nearly cried.
“Try this,” Yamaguchi said, pushing his parfait across the table toward Tsukishima.
“I don’t like sweets,” Tsukishima deadpanned, but he took the spoon anyway.
Yachi stared. This was literally a shoujo scene. She could practically see the sparkles, the background flowers.
“Do you want some too, Yachi-san?” Yamaguchi asked kindly.
“No!” she yelped, clutching her sketchbook. “I—I’m fine!”
Tsukishima gave her a long look, the kind that said you’re being weird again. Yachi avoided his eyes and pretended to doodle the café interior. In reality, she was drawing Tsukishima with whipped cream on his lip while Yamaguchi leaned in to kiss it away.
She wanted to scream.
Winter Break, Second Year College
By now, Yachi had ascended to a higher plane of suffering. Watching TsukkiYama was like reading a slow burn fanfic where the author updated once every three months, and the word count was just banter, banter, banter.
At a reunion party with the old Karasuno crew, everyone noticed. Even Hinata, who was usually too dense to notice when someone had a crush, leaned over to Yachi and whispered, “Hey… are Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, like… together?”
Yachi nearly burst into tears. “No! They’re not! Can you believe it? Years! YEARS of unresolved tension! This is worse than a hiatus!”
Hinata blinked. “What’s a hiatus?”
“Never mind,” Yachi groaned, sinking into her chair.
Across the room, Yamaguchi was fixing Tsukishima’s scarf, fussing about him catching a cold. Tsukishima muttered something sarcastic in return, but didn’t move away.
Yachi buried her face in her hands. “Just kiss already.”
Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Hinata nudged Kageyama.
“If I went pro overseas, you’d still set to me, right?”
Kageyama blinked like it was the dumbest question on earth.
“Obviously. Who else would I set to? You’re my only spiker.”
Hinata lit up like the sun. “I knew it!”
Yachi’s pen nearly tore through her notebook. Vows. Literal vows.
Spring Break, Third Year
She tried one last test.
“Hinata, Kageyama—if one of you ever dated someone, would you tell each other?”
They both went silent. Hinata tilted his head. Kageyama frowned.
Then, in eerie unison, they said:
“Why would we date someone else?”
Yachi almost passed out.
The Breaking Point
It happened on a quiet spring evening. Yachi was walking home when she spotted them ahead, standing at the corner by the bookstore.
Tsukishima was holding Yamaguchi’s wrist, tugging him closer so he wouldn’t step into the road too early. Yamaguchi laughed, the sound warm in the fading light.
And Yachi—exhausted, long-suffering, at her absolute limit—snapped.
She marched right up to them, fists clenched, sketchbook under her arm.
“Enough!” she exploded. Both boys startled. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting?! High school! College! I’ve filled dozens of notebooks! And for what? To watch you two dance around each other like a badly written romance subplot? Just admit you’re in love already!”
Silence.
Yamaguchi’s eyes went wide, face blooming red. “Yachi—w-wait—”
Tsukishima’s jaw tightened, but his grip on Yamaguchi’s wrist didn’t loosen. He pushed up his glasses, glaring at Yachi. “You’re insufferable.”
Then he turned to Yamaguchi, voice low, almost annoyed.
“…She’s not wrong, though.”
Yachi almost blacked out.
Yamaguchi sputtered. “Wh—you—” His voice broke into a laugh, nervous and bright. “You could’ve said that years ago, you know.”
“I know,” Tsukishima muttered.
Yachi clutched her notebook to her chest, tears in her eyes. “Finally,” she whispered, like a priest witnessing a miracle.
That night, she opened a fresh notebook. On the first page, she drew them walking hand-in-hand under spring blossoms. No sparkles, no added drama. Just them, finally canon.
And for the first time in years, she didn’t need to imagine the ending.