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In his life, there are often more things than not that keep Tendou guessing.
Blocks. The occasional pop quizzes on subjects he dislikes. Their coach’s attitude for the day. The menu for next week’s meals in the cafeteria. Other people’s emotions.
“Tendou, I’m sorry, but I think it’s about time for you to leave.”
Hearing the low, measured voice from above him, Tendou flicks his gaze upwards. He is lounging on the carpet with his back against the base of the bed–identical to his own in a different room, though far more bare. Ushijima meets his gaze squarely, having gotten to his feet during a lull in their animated (mostly on Tendou’s part) conversation.
And Tendou waits, because Ushijima is sure to give him a reason.
“It’s almost nine PM.”
“Hm?” Tendou’s gaze now swivels to the simple analog clock hanging innocuously on the wall. “Curfew’s not for another hour, and even if it gets a bit past, I’m pretty good at not getting caught! Oh, but if you want me outta here–”
“That’s not it,” Ushijima cuts in, unusually hurriedly. “But I plan to sleep soon.”
“At nine?!” This time, Tendou does not hold back his shock, arms and legs bouncing dramatically into the air to accompany his dumbstruck jawdrop. “That’s pretty dang early, if you ask me!” He cannot remember the last time he himself has gone to sleep so early–certainly not since elementary school and bedtimes imposed by his parents. If anything, Tendou is conscious that he tends towards being a night owl, to the detriment of early morning practice on some occasions.
Unruffled, Ushijima nods back at him matter-of-factly. “I attempt to get around ten hours of sleep a night, more or less.” He glances over to Reon sitting at the other desk in the room, who’d perked up at Tendou’s exclamation. “Reon is my roommate, and we have a prior agreement. But you’re a guest. It would be rude of me to sleep first.”
“Oh, is that all?” Understanding floods through Tendou with a little chortle for the way Ushijima had looked so grim, brow furrowed slightly deeper than usual. “Well, don’t worry a wink about that, and I’ll let you get to it.”
“Now that I think about it, you do usually start getting ready for bed a lot earlier than this,” Reon calls, spinning a pencil between his fingers. “Time flies when you’re having fun, huh?”
Tendou does not miss the way Reon’s words seemed to give Ushijima pause. But that is not for him to contemplate, and Tendou hops to his feet with a beam. “But I getcha, Wakatoshi-kun! Ten hours a night.” Casually scooping up his textbooks, his unopened notebook, and the magazine he had brought, Tendou gives Ushijima a pat on the shoulder with his free hand as he breezes by, beelining for the door. “Then I’ll see you both tomorrow morning at practice. Night night!”
In the hallway, Tendou hears the door open again after him and turns back to look. Ushijima has one hand on the door handle and is standing tall and straight where others might have pushed the door open with their shoulder. He looks positively gentlemanly. “Tendou,” he says, his gaze direct as ever. “I hope we can talk again tomorrow night.”
In his life, there are often more things than not that keep Tendou guessing.
In his heart, he makes a new little tick mark in the list of things that he doesn’t have to.
“And then the machine just started spewing whipping cream everywhere and oh boy was the instructor pissed when he got back, because that was some expensive milk they were using. I won’t tell you how much in case you pass out.”
“I don’t think hearing the price of something is something to pass out over. And I believe the instructor was at fault for leaving the room without explanation.”
“Oh Wakatoshi-kun, my knight in volleyball armor! I could just kiss you.”
“I would enjoy that if you were here.”
A joyous guffaw escapes Tendou from his seat on the bench in the mid-afternoon sun, slapping his knee, heedless of the glances of passing parkgoers it draws.
Even years after they have left high school and gone their separate ways, Ushijima’s blunt and frank honesty towards anything not pertaining to volleyball is still a deadly blow to Tendou’s heart.
Especially when it is directed towards their relationship.
By now, they have spent more time apart in different countries than their three years together in high school, but Tendou is certain their call times have more than doubled or even tripled (all thanks to him). It is something they have always known would come to pass, always understood would be their reality, and in all honesty, this distance between them feels right for who they are now. If they already have each other, but not yet their dreams, then what exactly is wrong with going off and pursuing them?
Tendou supposes this is the sort of mature, no-frills relationship that adults have, and more than once, has pondered his own habits in acting the part. He may slack off on being a proper human being at times–skipping meals, pulling all-nighters, indulging in the occasional excess glass of wine (he swears there is magic cast on the grapes in Paris) in his pursuit of chocolatiering, a career in of itself that doesn’t quite lend itself to being the picture of perfect health, but the same can’t be said of Ushijima. As a professional volleyball player, there is nothing more important than a diligent routine in all aspects of life, physical and emotional. In sickness and in health.
“Wakatoshi-kun, it’s about ten PM for you now, isn’t it?” The question is rhetorical, because Tendou has never needed to guess the exact time in Tokyo for a long time now, as he always knows when to wind down.
“It is. I’m impressed that you always seem to know.” Yet Ushijima seems to remain newly surprised each time, his tone palpable through the phone. Tendou gives another barking laugh.
“Just a lucky guess! I won’t keep you any longer, go and get your ten hours. I know you’ve got an early day tomorrow.”
“...I managed to sleep on the bus earlier today on our way to the venue.”
Tendou nods in understanding to himself, not for Ushijima to see. “Guess that hasn’t changed since high school, either! You always managed to conk out no matter how short the trip was. And then you would blink awake like nothing happened! Scared me outta my skin when I’d try to put a little braid in your hair.”
“Is that what you were doing all those times I woke up with you leaning over my face?”
“I refuse to testify,” Tendou chirps gleefully. “But all the more reason to rest up early after your match, yeah? I’m gonna watch the archive later and see how my ace did, so no spoilers!”
“Am I supposed to believe that you didn’t check the results already?” Ushijima asks, amused. “I look forward to your thoughts.”
“No worries, I’ll save my spamming for when you’re up and awake.”
“That would be an absurd time of night for you. There’s no need to time your messages for my convenience.”
“Aw, I do it because I want to! Anyway, sleep well, Wakatoshi-kun! G’night.”
“...Good night, Satori,” Ushijima replies after a pause as if there is more he wants to say, but when Tendou cocks his ear, there is only the customary dial tone left ringing.
When Ushijima begins playing in Poland, Tendou discovers both the benefits and the downsides to their relationship.
To be clear, the benefits far outweigh the latter. In the same timezone, there is far less need to maneuver and schedule their calls, and even visits to each other are much more feasible than before with only a quick hop and hour or so’s plane. The shortening of physical proximity is a ticklish thought and sensation in Tendou’s chest, of feeling that Ushijima is almost close enough to reach out and grab, despite the whittling of their time together as their separate careers take off.
The downside, if he can even call it one, is that Ushijima can now nag–er, strongly suggest improvements to Tendou’s daily routines.
Over the years, Tendou has always made sure to cut himself off at the appropriate times in the evening. For Ushijima’s sake, why wouldn’t he want to? He is perfectly used to going about his own business afterwards, into the night, occasionally a little too late into the night, but that is his own fault and no one else's.
It is much harder to justify it at the end of the night of a call with Ushijima.
“You will sleep soon after we’re done, won’t you?” Ushijima presses through the tablet screen, a towel draped around his shoulders as he runs a hand through freshly blow-dried hair. Tendou has to bite his lip not to swoon and automatically obey the urge to say yes, in the yes, I’ll do anything you say meaning. “Since you were out at a drinking party until late last night, it would benefit you to make up for it tonight.”
“Now, now,” Tendou laughs, twirling the cord of his earbuds around a finger. “We’re all adults here, and I can manage my sleep schedule just fine.”
“I did not deny that,” Ushijima replies mildly. “But we didn’t have to call tonight, either.”
“But you’ll be touring for a couple weeks from tomorrow, so I wasn’t going to miss out on tonight’s call.” Resting his chin in his palm, Tendou looks fondly into the screen. “On that note, it’s about time for you to head to bed, isn’t it, Wakatoshi-kun? Gotta make sure you get your ten hours!”
“...You’re always so insistent on that.”
Tendou tilts his head, studying the way that there is definitely a pursing of Ushijima’s lips, a slight drawing of his eyebrows, but the clearly withdrawn tone, audible even through the screen, fails to provide any answers. After all, Ushijima needs the sleep far more than Tendou, who has long stopped playing volleyball.
“Of course I am. What could be more important than a good night’s sleep for you, Wakatoshi-kun?”
He can see Ushijima’s contemplative glance downwards for a long moment, before he seems to give a reluctant nod. With all in agreement, Tendou beams and waves.
“Good night, Wakatoshi-kun!”
“Happy birthday, Satori.”
Not only had Tendou’s eyes bulged out when he saw the texts five minutes before midnight, but he is almost certain that they are now on the verge of popping entirely out at the sight of Ushijima filling his entire doorway, a modestly elegant bouquet of purples and reds laying in the crook of his arm.
“Wha– Why– How–” Tendou splutters, frozen like a plank of wood, jaw hanging slack. “Wakatoshi-kun?! What about… What about… Your sleep?!”
He does not know why, absurdly, that this is what he mainly takes issue with.
Just as Tendou has seen across a screen before, Ushijima now slightly purses his lips, live, right before Tendou’s eyes. It’s adorable.
“I still don’t know why you are so insistent on that,” Ushijima says flatly, “But there’s no problem with my schedule, regarding sleep or otherwise, and that’s besides the point. Even I have moments where instead of sleeping, I would like to stay up and spend time with you before we say goodnight. Especially today.” He tilts his head, and holds out the bouquet. “Do you think that’s childish of me?”
Tendou continues to gape as automatically, without the power to resist, he dumbfoundedly takes the proffered bouquet from Ushijima. Heat is running up his spine, the back of his neck, blooming into his ears and cheeks, and an odd chuckle escapes him as he continues staring. “...Wakatoshi-kun, anyone ever tell you that you’re such a romantic?”
“No,” Ushijima replies, after a moment of thinking. “I believe you’re the first person who’s ever said that about me. And I hope you’ll be the last.”
And Tendou realizes that he, too, is still childish enough not to let go of that.