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The changing room has never felt stuffier. Ennoshita thinks maybe it has to do with the unpredictable high turnout of first-year applicants for the club this year, all bright-eyed and eager for a chance to shine on the team that had reached Nationals against all the odds (much to Hinata’s frustration, for his spotlight has dulled a bit in the face of bigger and taller kouhai). The club room is hardly big enough to house their collective mass, and maybe Coach Ukai would need to duke it out with the basketball coach after all, for the bigger changing space.
But a small, traitor part of him—the part that had caused his gaze to linger on Daichi’s back on graduation day, for long after everyone else had already turned away—thinks maybe it’s the elbow digging into his side, the chiseled (he curses himself for noticing) arm attached to it struggling to pull loafers over Tanaka’s dangling foot.
Ennoshita sighs, prying the joint from his kidney and ignoring Tanaka’s yelp as he almost topples over from the sudden loss of support. “Mind not crushing my organs?”
“Wow! Sorry, Chikara!” he laughs, the words said like a hurried gust of wind and yet somehow still managing to be the loudest sound in the bustling room.
Chikara.
That’s an annoying moniker he’s managed to pick up from Noya, some form of third-year solidarity according to their unmovable philosophy. We’re heading towards three years together, we can’t just call each other so informally! Noya had argued, and Tanaka had predictably hung on to every word of his proclaimed master. So he’s Chikara now, and Tanaka has begun his relentless charge of being called Ryuu in return; if that means sometimes ignoring Ennoshita in the middle of practice until he complies, then so be it.
Well, no matter. Ennoshita has his own form of revenge.
He sighs, clanging shut his locker and picking up his bag. “Whatever. Hurry up or you’ll be late to class, Shuu.”
“It’s Ryuu!”
He hears the indignant squawk on his way out and almost smirks, if Narita hadn’t caught his gaze then and gotten that knowing look in his eyes like the first time Ennoshita had tried out his revenge and his teammate had chuckled some nonsense about him being too dense and a little bit dangerous and a complete sadist. Ennoshita thinks complete is a bit much.
Kinoshita falls into step beside him, just before the door shuts and the noise gets bottled up past the barrier. “You’d make his day if you just called him Ryuu, you know.”
Ennoshita huffs, pulling his bag higher up his shoulder and ignoring that hot sensation on his neck. “I don’t know why everyone is making such a big deal about it, honestly. We’re just teammates in a club.”
“He adores this team and everyone in it, you know that.” Kinoshita shoots him a strange look, almost like he’s disappointed or maybe like he’s trying to figure him out. “And you love this team just as much as he does. I don’t get why you’re talking like that these days. And when you’re captain now too.”
Being captain has nothing to do with it, Ennoshita wants to say. It has nothing to do with the team either, or how the two of them fit into it. It has everything to do with Tanaka—stupid, stupid Tanaka who strips too much and laughs like the world is a gift and says Chi-ka-ra like it’s some precious pearl he’s been temporarily allowed to hold instead of just the name of a boy out of so many on his volleyball team.
Instead, he huffs and breaks away from his teammate where their paths diverge, feeling strangely like he’s running away even though there’s no feeling he hates more in the world.
(And yet, somehow, every time Ryuu burns on his lips and leaves as something else, it feels just like running away).
He’s so… annoyed these days.
Maybe annoyed isn’t the word. Agitated (maybe?)—at everything.
Everything has him on edge these days: the team and their impending tournament, his captaincy and his capacity to hold the weight of the title, his future and where he plans to take his life, graduation day approaching soon and the inevitable good-byes.
It’s stupid then, so stupid, that Tanaka’s hair sits at the top of the list.
Tanaka had started their first pratice of third-year sporting a soft sort of fuzz on his head that had taken them all by surprise. It’s grown slightly longer now, sprouting into small curls that work to soften his hard-looking exterior. But at the beginning of the term his locks had been nothing more than baby hairs that had made him almost into a whole new person. And Ennoshita had noticed.
“I didn’t even know you could grow hair, Tanaka-san!” Hinata had whooped, gazing up at him in awe as he so often did.
Tanaka had barked a laugh. “I just kept it nicely shaved for a more manly look, kiddo! But Nee-san thinks I should go for a new look for my third year, so here I am.” He’d splayed his arms and spun once, giving them all a thorough look at his person. And maybe Ennoshita had been so entranced—surprised, he tells himself—that he had let the ball slip from his fingers.
Tanaka had looked over at the gentle, telling thump, at the boy who couldn’t peel his eyes away, and beamed. “It’s got that soft, short hair feel too! Wanna find out, Ennoshita?”
Taking Ennoshita’s limp hand into his hard grip, he’d guided the pads of his fingers past his forehead and across his scalp, through the tiny, tiny forest of hair that grazed his skin like gentle kisses but left it feeling like an inferno everywhere that touched Tanaka’s skin.
“Doesn’t it feel amazing?” he’d laughed, that full and boisterous smile of his that always took over his face completely.
Ennoshita’s throat had closed up in every way, from the lump that was impossible to swallow to the breath that hitched along his airway, every nerve of his fingers supercharged to feel as much of their ace as they could in this short interval of time when the touch was innocent and lasting.
But the red on Tanaka’s cheeks had been sobering, as had his embarrassed laugh when he’d dropped his captain’s hand and shyly admitted, “Minami-chan from my class said she really loves it. She called it c-cute.”
And Ennoshita—he hasn’t stopped feeling agitated ever since.
The title of ace is one Tanaka takes seriously.
Ennoshita can see it, from the glint in his eyes to this new ferocity in his spikes, power radiating from every inch of his body, at any moment ready to land the kill. Ever piece of the boy is strong, hard, from his will to the physical manifestation of it, and has only grown more so since the title of ace had been crowned upon him.
But some parts of him, Ennoshita thinks exasperatedly, really never change, when a particularly satisfying spike has him ripping his shirt from his torso and swinging it above his head to loud applause from their juniors.
“Who’s the man!” he roars, thriving under the attention. Noya swings from his hips with a joyous laugh, almost lifted off the ground in their enthusiasm.
“Okay, okay, settle down,” Ennoshita drawls, clapping his hands once for attention. The exaggerated roll of his eyes doesn’t lessen the boys’ enthusiasm any. “And for god’s sake, put your shirt back on. Why do we go through this every time?”
(Why does, every time, his heartbeat have to stutter at the first peek of Tanaka’s smooth stomach underneath the hem of his shirt, his blood have to thicken when Tanaka’s skin stretches and tightens with each move he makes)?
“Tanaka-senpai, you are so cool!” Hinata squawks, Kageyama wordlessly nodding behind him like admiration had taken his words prisoner.
“Don’t encourage him,” Ennoshita mumbles under his breath.
The praise has Tanaka straightening, causes his shoulders to broaden and his hand to meet the back of his neck in a bashful move. A quiet “aw, shucks,” slips past his lips, and even Ennoshita cannot contain his soft smile. Their ace and their juniors have always had a special, untouchable sort of relationship based off their mutual respect, and he knows how much it means to Tanaka. It’s not something he can come between.
But Noya is the one to jab Tanaka hard in one rib, eliciting a small grunt, eagerly jerking his head towards the gym doors. “Don’t look now,” he says gleefully, “but the girls’ volleyball team is passing by and I think they got an eyeful of you, Ryuu!”
All eyes swivel towards the doors, where indeed a rather giggly gaggle of first-year girls pretend they hadn’t been peeking through, in admiration of this shirtless boy with the toned muscle and sheen on his overworked body that causes his skin to glisten. Tanaka snaps to attention, shyly directing a wave their way, and flushes further when that sets off another round of delighted giggles.
“Ryuu, you’re in!” Noya whoops, punching him rather forcefully in celebration, and laughs at the disbelief on his best friend’s face.
Ennoshita breathes out slowly.
“Okay… practice,” he says. Maybe he’s a little too firm, but he’s ignored by both boys nonetheless, even when his eyes turn to slits and Narita warily senses his rising temper. “And put your shirt back on, Shuu.”
“—it’s Ryuu!” Tanaka wails, the return to practice an abrupt one, and grumpily pulls his sleeves over his arms.
Ennoshita’s busy smiling sweetly at the first-years buzzing by the door, asking kindly for them to let the team concentrate and getting flushed apologies in return. He thinks he hears a “petty" somewhere in Tsukishima’s sudden cough, but some silky voice whispers assurances in his burning ear that surely he just thought one of the girls to be pretty.
“Boo, boo!” Noya groans playfully, swinging past him on his way back to the court. “Buzzkill-Chikara!”
“Captain Chikara,” he sighs back wearily.
“You killed Ryuu’s rare chance to show off his manliness to all those cute girls!”
“Ahh, don’t worry about it,” Tanaka interrupts, before Ennoshita can even begin to roll his eyes. On his way past, he slaps his captain’s back and jilts him for a few steps, clueless about his own strength. “I’m cooler in real matches anyway!”
“Modesty suits you, Tanaka-san,” Tsukishima sneers from the back, then has to dodge a furious swipe of Tanaka’s arm.
Ennoshita sighs, but it’s full of affection; he’d brought focus back to practice only to lose it all again, but somehow, this time, he’s okay with it.
He’s alone with Tanaka in the changing room. It might be the first time this entire school year. (Maybe because he had planned it to be this way).
Tanaka’s humming some cheery tune as he kicks off his training shorts, his shirt lying two paces behind, and Ennoshita might have his face between his hands as his foot jiggles impatiently underneath the bench, but really he’s looking through the cracks made by his overlying fingers. He follows the dip of Tanaka’s underwear, and notices things—that smooth patch of Tanaka’s stomach, no hair disappearing messily into the fabric of his briefs, and his throat is grainy like sandpaper. Who notices these things about a volleyball teammate?
“Er. Sorry…”
The quirk of Tanaka’s eyebrow tells him he’d been the one to utter the words, and he mumbles nonsense under his breath before sucking in air.
“Sorry I, uh, ruined your chance or whatever today,” he explains, awkwardly. His leg is shaking even faster and he feels entirely like he’s about to come undone.
“Oh. Ha, don’t worry about that,” their ace chuckles, turning back to untangling the pieces of his uniform he had thrown haphazardly into his locker. “There are other chances. And, well, they were all kinda cute but… not my type, you know?” He looks almost guilty as he admits it, maybe to Noya for his betrayal or to those girls for his unkind words.
“I didn’t know you had a type more specific than female,” Ennoshita says, watching him quizzically.
“Hmmm, well, female is actually a little too narrow…”
Something pulls at Ennoshita’s stomach, pulls at it and tugs at it and twists it around its fingers. He mistakes it for same old agitation, and he wishes his leg would settle but it seems to have grown its own mind. “What do you mean?”
“Ah. Damn. I don’t really talk about this but since it’s you and all…” He rubs the top of his head, into those insufferable curls, and shifts from discomfort.
Ennoshita leans forward with interest.
“I don’t really… care, you know?” He shrugs noncommittally, returning to his uniform.
Ennoshita leans back. He’s frowning now. “What do you mean?”
“Male. Female. Some mix of the two. Doesn’t really matter to me.” He shrugs again, but his face has hardened and there’s something like steel in his eyes, and Ennoshita knows this is a topic much more serious than disrupted practices or the insufferable curls on his head.
“I-It matters to me,” he chokes out, tripping over the words because he’s never said them aloud, but this is Tanaka and he thinks that makes everything okay as he finally stutters, “M-Male.”
Tanaka blinks once, abandoning his uniform altogether to lock eyes with him. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“Why didn’t you?”
A frown. “Because. The first-years.” It deepens. “I didn’t want them thinking I was ever… looking at them like—that. You know?”
They both fidget, looking about the room instead of each other, sporting matching red cheeks. This topic is one of delicacy, which isn’t something either is used to expressing with each other. Ennoshita marvels, still, that this boy who at first glance would be passed over as some brute actually took such things into consideration, that he had actually mulled over the repercussions of what others might misunderstand.
“Yeah, I get it. It would change—everything.”
He dry swallows, thinking of everything that has changed already.
So Tanaka likes boys, and Ennoshita likes boys. But that doesn’t necessarily mean they both like each other.
(Ennoshita doesn’t think the world could ever be that kind to someone who’s always running away).
But it does make them more aware of things when they’re alone in the club room. Well, Tanaka doesn’t seem to mind, until he looks over his shoulder to find Ennoshita adamantly avoiding eye-contact with his bare skin and his cheeks suddenly match the fire-engine color of his briefs. Suddenly he’s shuffling on his clothes a little faster, humming so off-tune it’s clear it’s a forced attempt at breeziness, and Ennoshita calls himself stupid, stupid, stupid for ever wondering what a teammate’s ass might feel like under his hand (and for deciding it would feel quite nice).
“Maybe I’ll… go on ahead…” he starts slowly, already rocking his heels as if planning to pull himself up. But the rest of his body doesn’t comply with his wishes.
“You gotta lock up the club room, captain,” Tanaka reminds him, looking almost confused that something so consistent in his after-practice routine would slip his mind.
“Oh. Right.” There’s no bite in his tone, but he snaps, “Hurry up, then.”
“Everything all right, Chikara?” he asks instead, abandoning his uniform altogether and making his concern clear on his face. “You’ve been, uh, moody? Lately?”
Ennoshita looks away. “Everything’s fine.”
“Things okay at home?”
“Just… a lot on my mind,” he sighs, all too aware that it’s not Tanaka’s ass in front of his eyes anymore. Just one of the many things burned into the back of his mind.
“Ah. If it’s school stuff, I might not be of much help.” He scrunches his nose, pondering the problem but all too aware that school is not his strong point.
“It’s just some personal stuff,” Ennoshita breathes out. “Don’t worry about it.”
“But our captain always looks so sad these days, how can I not worry?” he rebuts, poking Ennoshita’s forehead hard once for emphasis, taking him by surprise. His startle reaction seems to make Tanaka smile. “Anything you wanna get off your chest?”
Just my shirt. “Are you going to give me advice?”
“Hm. Depends on what it’s about.”
And Ennoshita looks him straight in the eye, mildly amused even though his stomach is knotting like some balloon artist had mistaken his intestines for a toy, and tells him, “I have a crush on the stupidest boy in school.”
Tanaka’s mouth falls open. He obviously hadn’t been expecting that. “Oh.”
“Any advice?” He quirks an eyebrow.
“Uh…” How cute he is, Ennoshita thinks, with the bridge of his nose turning red and his fingers sheepishly tangling into his hair. “I don’t even have any advice for myself, Chikara. What’s, uhhh, what’s he like?”
“He’s loud—obnoxiously loud.” The response is immediate. “Sometimes I wonder if he just likes hearing himself talk, because half the things he says don’t make sense. And he thinks he’s some tough guy, he’s got everyone convinced he is. He loves his muscles too much, it’s kind of gross. And he drools too much in his sleep, that’s even more gross. His report card would give my poor mother a hear attack.”
Tanaka whistles low. “Damn. Then why do you even like the guy?”
“Because. His hair.”
“…His hair?”
“It’s cute.” He eyes those insufferable curls that—all right, he’ll admit it—aren’t insufferable at all, and they make his mouth crinkle into a smile. “Stupidly cute, really.”
“So you really like him because of his hair…?”
His disbelief makes him smile more. He shrugs. “Well, there are other things. Like how his confidence is actually kind of charming. And if he’s next to you, you can’t help but feel secure. He might be obnoxiously loud, but when he’s not around suddenly things seem too quiet. The things he says don’t make sense, but they make everyone laugh. His tough guy act will never be enough to hide his big heart. He hates school but he loves volleyball so much that he’ll push through anything for it.” Embarrassed, Ennoshita smiles up nervously through his lashes, and finishes, “And when I miss a receive and he can tell I’m being hard on myself, he’ll tell me I’ll get it next time for sure, or that I shouldn’t feel down over one point. And the funny thing is, when it’s coming from him, that’s exactly what I need to hear to not run away again.”
Tanaka stares at him, flabbergasted, rubbing his chin, when he finishes. Ennoshita feels that sudden boldness ebb away under his stare, waiting for the response because there was nothing else that could be done.
“Wow, so…” Tanaka clears his throat. “Who is he?”
—of course. He should have expected as much. It doesn’t do away with the disappointment though, or the slight annoyance that he’d wasted a tense moment of worry on nothing.
He blurts out, “Are you serious?”
“Is it one of the first-years? Or, you’re not two-timing us with some neighborhood team, are you!”
Ennoshita scrambles to his feet with thin lips, that agitation back to itch under his skin, and almost bumps noses with Tanaka for how close he’s standing.
“You,” he hisses, rolling his eyes, “are the stupidest boy in school.”
And he’s set to stomp away, maybe throw his hands in exasperation to make a bigger show of his feelings. Except things sink in for Tanaka then, mercifully quick this time around.
“Ohh.”
Lockers aren’t exactly the most comfortable surfaces to lean against, Ennoshita’s beginning to learn. Metal digs into his back, the hard ridges pressing against his shoulders and his sides, sure to leave a red mark when he pulls away.
But he supposes he can bear with these small inconveniences, when a nearly-naked boy currently has the skin of his neck sucked between his lips, his hard grip on Ennoshita’s waist bolting him to the lockers.
Ennoshita does what he’s been dreaming of doing since they’d walked into this stuffy club room, and cups one cheek of Tanaka’s ass through the fabric of his briefs. It’s quite nice.
Tanaka jumps, pulling away with flushing cheeks. “Wow, Chikara, you’re so bold.”
Ennoshita is instantly defensive, the back of his neck going hot. “You’re the one who suddenly kissed me—!”
Tanaka shuts him up with another thorough kiss, laughing through it. He’s surprisingly not invasive, despite being the type of boy who seems like he’d like tongue. His kisses are more tender, though not without passion, and a little bit clumsy too—but that’s okay, because this is Ennoshita’s first kiss too and he’s just as clumsy.
Not knowing when to breathe, he breaks away short of breath, whining when Tanaka takes his angled neck to mean he can lavish attention on it once again.
And Ennoshita, through the haze of his lust-addled mind and stuttered breathing, finally gives him what he’s wanted.
“R-Ryuu—Ryuunosuke.”
There’s no preventing his feverish kisses after that.
He’s infatuated by it. Stopped in front of Coach Ukai’s store, he peers closely at his dull image reflected in the mirror and prods at the noticeable red mark on his neck. Every part of him—his neck, his bruised lips, his glassy eyes—give away that he’s been thoroughly kissed.
Tanaka’s presence announces itself by the tiny clang of the store bell, and he presses a popsicle into Ennoshita’s hand, one dangling from his own mouth.
“That old lady down the street definitely gave us a rude look,” he states, ripping open the package.
“Ignore the old bag,” Tanaka mumbles around his treat, rolling his eyes as he interlocks his hands behind his head. “Last week she smacked me with her broom because I was loitering around her house or whatever. I was just taking a shortcut to school!”
“Still. Maybe we should be more careful?”
“Save the making out for my room—got it,” Tanaka replies, then snickers at Ennoshita’s embarrassed silence. “I’m totally bragging to Yuu, though. He thought it was never gonna happen.”
“And I should talk to Hisashi and Kazu.” He grimaces. “They definitely knew it was going to happen.”
“The important thing is this happened.”
Tanaka’s humming at the sky, smiling that smile of his like the world’s handed him a gift. And Ennoshita doesn’t even try not to smile, although he does press his lips together and ends up almost cracking his cheeks because of it, he’s smiling so much.
Looking down at his feet, he mumbles, “We happened.”
fin.