Chapter Text
The rain had come out of nowhere, transforming the bright afternoon into a heavy downpour by the time the final bell rang. It was the last day of Hitoka’s first year—a milestone that felt both massive and quietly lonely. Standing by the shoe lockers, she stared out at the sheets of water blurring the courtyard, the cool, damp scent of wet concrete settling deep into her lungs.
She didn't have close friends in her regular classes. But as she clutched her bag to her chest, she reminded herself of the family she had found in the boys' volleyball club. She had come a long way from the terrifying moment she had to tell her mother she was joining, transitioning from a shy, indecisive girl into someone a bit more vocal and reliable.
But reliability didn't help when you forgot your umbrella.
Yachi sniffled, a slight flu making her nose pink. “Why did it suddenly rain… It was so sunny a while ago,” she muttered. Her slumped shoulders and watery eyes made her look like she was on the verge of tears.
It was already pulling up at 7:00 PM. She was the last one left, having stayed behind to organize the storage room before the school break started. Kiyoko-senpai had been pulled away early by Coach Ukai for urgent paperwork, leaving Hitoka alone with her thoughts.
She took a deep breath, trying to steady the fluttering in her chest. Think practical, she told herself, swallowing back a sniffle. If I run to the gate, my bag will get soaked. But it’s the last day of school, so the papers inside don’t matter anymore, right? She let out a worried hum, shifting from foot to foot. But if I stay here too long, the caretaker might lock the building with me inside…
With a heavy sigh, she tightened her grip on her bag, bracing herself to sprint into the storm.
“What are you still doing here?”
Hitoka jumped, her sneakers squeaking against the concrete.
Towering near the lockers was Tsukishima, lazily sliding his indoor slippers into his locker and trading them for his outdoor shoes. His black Karasuno tracksuit was zipped up to his chin, framing his usual cool expression.
“T-Tsukishima-kun!” Hitoka gasped, her voice jumping an octave. “W-what a pleasant surprise!” She let out an awkward laugh.
He didn't look amused. Adjusting his glasses, he fixed his pale eyes on her. “You didn’t answer the question,” he said, his voice a low drawl as he tied his laces.
“I-I was organizing the storage room before leaving. Since it’s the last day of school, you know? Hehe…” She trailed off, trying to fill the silence. “W-what about you?”
“Nothing serious,” he murmured.
As he spoke, Hitoka’s eyes tracked his hand as he slid a crisp, white envelope into his tracksuit pocket. Ah, she thought immediately, a knot of intimidation tightening in her stomach. Tsukishima-kun really is popular. Another confession letter…
Before she could spiral further, Tsukishima reached into his gear bag and pulled out a sturdy umbrella. He popped it open with a soft snap, the wide canopy creating a shield against the misty air drifting into the entrance.
Hitoka’s heart did a little flutter. A—ah, he has an umbrella, she thought frantically, her hands clenching around her bag strap. Should I ask him if I can walk with him? No, I shouldn't trouble him, he probably wants to go home alone, and I’ll just get in his way—
While she was battling her internal monologue, Tsukishima paused at the threshold of the rain. He didn't look back, but he tilted the umbrella slightly, leaving a clear, dry space beside him.
“Are you coming or what?” he asked, his tone deadpan but patient.
Hitoka’s face flushed pink. Relief washed over her so fast she felt dizzy. “T—thank you so much!”
She quickly shuffled forward, stepping into the dry haven beneath the umbrella. The height difference instantly made her feel small but entirely sheltered from the storm.
The two walked silently toward the school gate, the steady drumming of rain against the fabric filling the space between them. Hitoka was a ball of nervous energy, her fingers shifting against the strap of her bag as her mind raced to find something to say.
T-this is the first time I’ve actually walked alone with Tsukishima-kun, she thought. And I’ve never really talked to him that much without everyone else around. Now that I think of it, Tsukishima-kun is always with Yamaguchi-kun!
She sneaked a hesitant glance up at him. His expression remained neutral, his long fingers securely gripping the handle of the umbrella, focused on keeping the rain off them.
“W-where’s Yamaguchi-kun?” Hitoka asked, finally breaking the ice, her voice sounding smaller than she intended over the sound of the downpour. “The both of you usually walk home together…”
Tsukishima didn't look down at her, his stride remaining steady and slow enough for her shorter steps to keep up. “He went ahead,” he said smoothly. “I had to take care of some things before heading home.”
“Oh—I see,” she murmured, looking back down at her shoes.
A heavy, puddle-splattered silence settled over them again, but it felt a little different now. Even though he wasn’t saying much, she noticed the way he held the umbrella—tilted a fraction more toward her side, making sure the damp wind didn’t catch her shoulder.
Lost in her thoughts, Hitoka’s focus drifted away from the pavement. Her feet moved forward on pure muscle memory as she tried to brainstorm another conversation starter. Because of that, she completely missed the large, murky puddle stretching across the walkway—and the uneven dip in the concrete right before it.
Her foot caught the edge. She stumbled forward with a sharp gasp, her balance deserting her.
Before she could face-plant onto the wet asphalt, a firm hand shot out, gripping her securely by the shoulder and anchoring her back in place.
“You should watch where you're going,” Tsukishima said, his voice dropping right next to her ear. He didn't let go immediately, ensuring she had her footing before his hand dropped back to his side. “Are you really this clumsy?”
Hitoka’s face erupted into a burning crimson. She frantically bowed her head, her hands flying up to cover her warm cheeks. “I’m sorry! Please forgive me!” she squeaked out, her voice laced with panic. “It’s… it’s a thing I’m working on… P-please bear with me…”
Tsukishima let out a soft sigh through his nose, his pale eyes tracking the way she vibrated with nervous energy. “What station are you going to?” he asked, shifting the conversation.
“Oh! Shimokitazawa Station!” Hitoka answered quickly. She offered him a small, apologetic smile, not wanting to impose any longer. “You can just drop me off at the entrance. It’s already getting late, so you should head home early, Tsukishima-kun.”
“Exactly why I’m walking you all the way there,” Tsukishima replied smoothly, not breaking his stride as they approached the street corner. He adjusted his glasses with his free hand, a teasing smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “We don’t want our manager getting mistaken for a lost kid. It’d be a hassle to look for you.”
Hitoka flinched, her mouth falling open into a playful, indignant pout. “T-that was totally uncalled for!”
When they finally stepped under the brightly lit awning of the station, the heavy downpour became a distant roar. Tsukishima closed the umbrella with a crisp snap, shaking it to rid the canvas of excess water.
While he did that, Hitoka’s eyes darted around the crowded terminal. I have to treat him to something, she thought determinedly, her fingers digging into her skirt pocket for spare change. It’s the absolute rule of politeness! Spotting a glowing vending machine tucked near the ticket gates, she immediately scurried over. She fed a few coins into the slot and pressed a button.
A heavy thump echoed from the dispenser. She fished out a chilled carton of strawberry milk and walked back to where Tsukishima was waiting.
With a small puff of her chest, she held it out to him. Tsukishima stood there, his tall frame towering over her as he stared down at the pink carton, then at her.
“Aren't you supposed to be the one drinking this instead?” he teased, his voice carrying that familiar, mocking lilt.
Hitoka pouted, her cheeks puffing out as she thrust the carton closer to his chest. “This is a thank-you gift!” she insisted, instinctively bending into a formal bow.
“Don’t bow at me, you idiot,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words as his long fingers wrapped around the carton, taking it from her. He slipped it into his tracksuit pocket alongside the white envelope. “Besides, it’s the least I can do. You’re always helping everyone out in the club.”
A genuine smile broke across Hitoka’s face, her nervous energy melting away into confidence. “It’s my job,” she reasoned, tilting her head up to meet his gaze with a rare, triumphant grin. “But Tsukishima-kun’s job is to block balls, not to help me out.”
For a split second, she felt an immense rush of pride. I actually won an argument against Tsukishima-kun!
Tsukishima’s face contorted into a slightly annoyed, defeated expression. He clicked his tongue, turning on his heel without a word and walking toward the turnstiles.
“W-wait for me!” Hitoka gasped, her brief moment of victory evaporating as she hurried to catch up with his long strides.
They walked together up to the platform where her train was scheduled to arrive. The evening rush hour was reaching its peak, the platform swelling with a sea of commuters.
“I’ll see you next school year, Tsukishima-kun!” Hitoka said, turning to him with a bright grin. “You better eat well during the break!”
“Yeah, and you better grow a tad taller by the time I see you again,” he shot back smoothly, adjusting the strap of his gear bag. A softer look crossed his features. “See you, Yachi.”
Hitoka smiled and raised her hand to wave goodbye. But just then, the train doors slid open with a heavy hiss.
The surge of the crowd was instantaneous. Before Hitoka could take a step back, a dense wave of commuters pressed forward, desperate to secure a spot inside the car. Hitoka’s small frame was caught in the crossfire. Someone’s heavy briefcase clipped her shoulder, and another person bumped past her, completely throwing off her balance.
Tsukishima’s pale eyes widened as he caught the sudden shift in the crowd.
“Yachi—”
Before he could reach out, Hitoka’s foot slipped on the slick platform tiling. With a sharp gasp, she lost her footing entirely, falling hard onto the concrete floor as the crowd continued to press blindly around her.
Before her palms could impact the hard floor, a pair of long arms wrapped firmly around her torso, lifting her effortlessly out of the path of the crowd. Tsukishima had moved with a sudden urgency, pulling her small frame completely out of the sea of rushing people and tucking her safely against his side.
But the moment her right foot touched the ground to stabilize herself, a sharp flash of agony shot up her leg.
“O-oww…” Hitoka gasped, her face instantly draining of color. She gripped Tsukishima’s tracksuit sleeve for dear life, trying to force a weak smile through the pain. “E-everyone’s in such a rush today! Haha…”
She tried to put a fraction of her weight on it to stand up properly, but her ankle buckled immediately, a soft whimper escaping her lips.
Tsukishima looked down at the unnatural angle of her foot, his expression calm. “I guess you dislocated your ankle,” he said casually, his voice as flat as if he were reading a weather report.
Hitoka froze, her eyes expanding to the size of saucers. “D—d—d-d-disloc—ated?!”
The sheer weight of the word made her vision swim. Her knees turned to absolute jelly, and she genuinely felt like she was about to pass out right there on the platform.
“Relax, we can put it back,” Tsukishima said. A slow, distinctly mischievous smirk played at the corner of his lips, deliberately leaning into her panic. “If we twist it hard enough.”
That was the final straw. Hitoka let out a faint groan, her head lolling back as she half-passed out from sheer terror, her entire body weight slumping directly into Tsukishima’s chest.
“Hey. Wake up,” he muttered, his arm tightening around her waist to keep her upright.
Supporting her securely, he guided her as she awkwardly tiptoed on one foot, helping her navigate through the fading crowd toward a vacant metal bench near the platform wall. Once she was seated, Tsukishima casually dropped to one knee on the cold station floor, unbothered by the dirt, and gently lifted her injured leg to rest across his knee.
As his long, cool fingers wrapped around her ankle, Hitoka’s face erupted into a chaotic blend of pain and intense embarrassment.
“M-my socks are wet! Please, it’s too embarrassing!” she squeaked, squirming slightly and trying to pull her leg back. The rain had soaked through her shoes earlier, and the thought of Tsukishima touching her damp school socks was mortifying.
But the subtle movement sent another sharp jolt of pain through her joint, causing her to hiss.
Tsukishima didn't let go. Instead, he tightened his grip just enough to keep her still, his pale eyes lifting to fix her with a deadpan glare. “Do you want me to fix your ankle, or do you want to care about your wet socks?”
Hitoka instantly slammed both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with apologetic panic. “Gomen!” she blurted out from behind her fingers, shrinking back into the bench.
Being part of a high-level sports club meant Tsukishima was no stranger to injuries. He had seen enough sprains and jammed fingers to know exactly what he was doing. He was analytical, a genius at picking up details quickly, and fixing a minor joint misalignment was second nature to him.
He wrapped his large palms firmly around her foot, carefully calculating the exact angle needed to slide the joint back into place. But as he began to softly twist it to gauge the tension, a strange thought drifted through his mind.
Why is her foot so small?
Compared to his own hands, her foot felt incredibly delicate. It made him instinctively adjust his grip, applying just a fraction less pressure than he usually would. Not that he would ever admit it to her.
He looked up, meeting her terrified, watery gaze with a perfectly bored expression. “I’m twisting it on three,” he lied smoothly. “Three… two…”
Snap.
He twisted it firmly on two, completely cutting her off.
“Eek—!” Hitoka squeaked, her entire body tensing as she grabbed the edges of the bench.
She braced herself for an agonizing scream, but instead, a sudden wave of relief washed over her ankle. The sharp, binding pressure was gone, replaced by a dull, throbbing ache. It was still painful, but the terrifying tightness of the dislocation had vanished.
“You did it on two!” she gasped, her voice trembling as she looked down at him, her chest heaving from the adrenaline. “Tsukishima-kun, you cheat! You said three!”
Tsukishima rose to his feet, dusting off the knees of his black tracksuit trousers with an unbothered shrug. A small smirk played at the corner of his lips. “If I said three, you would have tensed up and made it harder. Don't complain when it worked.”
Hitoka dug into her pocket and retrieved a crumpled handkerchief, gently dabbing at the tears still clinging to her lashes. “Why does the last day of class have to be this painful?” she murmured, letting out a heavy, defeated sigh.
“It’s because you aren't looking where you’re going,” Tsukishima countered, letting out a soft sigh of his own. He adjusted his gear bag on his shoulder and stepped closer to the bench. “Come on.”
“What?” she asked, sniffing softly, her nose still a bright, congested pink.
“I’m taking you home,” he said matter-of-factly, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. “You’re just going to dislocate your ankle all over again if I leave you alone in this sea of people.”
Before she could protest or apologize for being a burden, Tsukishima extended his hand toward her. It was a long, massive hand, his fingers pale and calloused from hours of blocking practice at the net. “Put your weight on your left foot. I’ll handle the rest.”
Hitoka’s face erupted into a fresh flush of warmth. A sudden wave of gratitude washed over her, completely eclipsing her embarrassment. “T-Tsukishima-kun, you’re a hero!” she gasped dramatically, carefully placing her small hand into his wide palm.
Tsukishima’s expression immediately curdled into a deadpan grimace. “Any more of those comments and I’m leaving you here.”
Despite the threat, his grip on her hand was steady, supporting her weight effortlessly as he helped her stand and guided her toward the approaching train.
When the doors slid open, they were instantly met with the suffocating squeeze of the rush-hour crowd, but this time, Hitoka didn't get swept away. Tsukishima’s height was a massive asset. He stood like a solid, unyielding anchor in the middle of the packed train car, his tall frame naturally creating a small, sheltered pocket of space just for her. With one hand securely holding hers and his other hand resting firmly on her upper arm to stabilize her against the rocky movement of the train, he completely shielded her from the jostling commuters.
It was only then, locked within the quiet safety of his hold, that the reality of the situation finally caught up to Hitoka.
I'm… holding a boy’s hand, she realized, her heart suddenly doing a violent, erratic flutter against her ribs. This is the first time I’ve ever held a boy’s hand like this.
A furious crimson crept up her neck, her cheeks tingling with a strange warmth. Panic seized her brain, and she frantically shook her head from side to side to scatter the thoughts. No! Don’t think that way, Hitoka Yachi! He’s a teammate, and you’re absolutely not allowed to have a crush on a teammate! It'll make things weird, and then the club will fall apart, and we'll lose nationals because of my forbidden feelings—!
But it’s okay to admire someone, it’s completely normal! a softer voice inside her mind argued back defensively. Even Tanaka-san admires Kiyoko-senpai openly every single day!
He’s just helping you because you're a clumsy mess, Yachi! Get a hold of yourself! the louder, anxious side of her brain shouted over the other, demanding absolute control.
Lost in her internal trial, she didn't notice the way Tsukishima’s eyes briefly flickered down to the top of her blonde head, his gaze lingering on her flustered expression as she muttered to herself under her breath.
By the time they finally stepped off the train and onto the platform of her home station, the worst of the rush-hour crowd had thinned out. The digital clock on the station wall clicked over to 8:00 PM. Hitoka sank onto a nearby waiting bench, her ankle throbbing with a dull, heavy ache as she looked at the time.
Panic, sudden and overwhelming, seized her entire brain.
“I-it’s almost time! The inbound trains are going to stop running soon! The station might lock you out, Tsukishima-kun!” she gasped, her hands fluttering in the air as she imagined him stranded, sleeping on a cold station bench all because of her.
“Then let’s make this quick and stop panicking,” Tsukishima countered smoothly.
Without a shred of hesitation, he adjusted his gear bag so it hung entirely on one shoulder, stepped directly in front of the bench, and dropped into a low crouch. He turned his broad back to her, creating a solid wall of black Karasuno fabric right in front of her face.
Hitoka blinked, her mind completely blanking out. “W-what are you doing?” she asked, entirely oblivious to his actions, her head tilting in pure confusion.
Tsukishima let out a low, impatient huff through his nose. “Hop on my back, stupid,” he muttered, his voice dropping into a gruff, slightly rushed cadence. “Just tell me where your place is so we can get moving.”
What Hitoka’s panicked eyes completely failed to notice, however, was the faint dusting of a burning pink that had quietly settled over the tips of Tsukishima’s ears, contrasting sharply with his pale hair.
“B-but—!” she stammered, her hands flying to her chest. A piggyback ride?! From Tsukishima-kun?! My weight will crush him, his spine will snap like a twig, and then Karasuno will lose their star blocker—!
Before her internal spiral could fully take over, Tsukishima tilted his head back, fixing her with a sharp glare from over his shoulder. His pale eyes narrowed into an expression of absolute annoyance.
The look worked instantly.
With a squeak of pure submission, Hitoka’s survival instincts kicked in. She scrambled forward and awkwardly threw her arms around his broad shoulders, hopping onto his back before he could decide to leave her at the station forever.
Tsukishima effortlessly hooked his long arms under her knees, hoisting her up into a secure hold as he stood up to his full, towering height.
Tucking her chin into the high collar of her jacket, Hitoka buried her burning face against the smooth fabric of his shoulder. “Please forgive me…” she muttered in a tiny, mortified whisper.
With Hitoka securely on his back, Tsukishima stepped out of the station and into the cool night air. Fortunately, the rain had finally dwindled down to a soft, misty drizzle. Following her hesitant directions, they navigated through the quiet streets, and Hitoka couldn't help but feel a tiny wave of relief—her apartment was incredibly close to the station, which meant she wouldn't be a burden to him for too much longer.
As they walked under the warm glow of the streetlamps, the sheer weight of everything he had done for her tonight settled deep into her chest.
“Tsukishima-kun,” she murmured, her voice muffled against the high collar of his tracksuit jacket. “Thank you… I feel like I’m only alive today because of you.” She let out a small, emotional sniffle, her fingers tightening slightly around his shoulders.
Tsukishima’s face instantly twisted into an annoyed grimace, though he didn't adjust his grip on her knees. “Shut up,” he muttered, his voice a low, grumpy rumble beneath her. “How do you even survive on your own every day?”
“I don’t usually get this distracted!” she protested, her cheeks flaring with a sudden, defensive warmth.
“Oh? Then what exactly was making you so distracted today?” he asked smoothly, his tone laced with that familiar, analytical curiosity.
Hitoka’s breath hitched. A fierce blush erupted across her entire face, turning her ears a violent shade of crimson. Her mind flashed back to the way she had been desperately staring at his hands, overthinking his height, and panicking about Yamaguchi. It was him. He was the distraction.
“N-NOTHING worth mentioning!” she squeaked out, her voice jumping an octave as she frantically looked around for an escape route. Spotting a familiar structure ahead, she quickly pointed a trembling finger forward. “A—ah! That’s my place right there!”
Tsukishima glanced at the modest apartment building, letting out a soft sigh through his nose. “It really is right next to the station.”
He didn't complain further, carrying her effortlessly into the building and pacing steadily up the stairs all the way to the fifth floor. But by the time they finally reached her door, Hitoka was already awkwardly shifting, preparing to slide down from his broad back.
Before she could even untangle her arms, the apartment door abruptly swung open.
Madoka Yachi stood on the threshold, her sharp, professional gaze sweeping over the scene in a fraction of a second.
Hitoka froze, her soul practically leaving her body. “K—kkk-k-k-onbanwa!” she stammered, her hands flying into the air in a flurry of panic. “I—I accidentally broke my ankle, so Tsukishima-kun here had to give me a ride home! Hehe…” She offered a weak, trembling smile, praying her mother wouldn't see right through her.
Madoka tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked from Hitoka’s flushed face to the towering boy holding her. “From his back?” she questioned, her voice perfectly calm but carrying that undeniable weight of authority.
Sensing the tension, Tsukishima smoothly set Hitoka down on her good foot, supporting her elbow until she was leaning securely against the doorframe. Then, adjusting his glasses, he offered a perfectly polite, flawless bow. “Nice to meet you, Hitoka’s mother,” he said, his voice dropping into a respectful, polished cadence. “It’s getting quite late, so I should be heading home now.”
“Wait a second,” Madoka interjected.
She turned back into the apartment for a brief moment, returning with a neat plastic container holding a small, beautifully decorated cake. She extended it toward the towering blonde boy.
“Take this,” Madoka said, her expression softening just a fraction. “I apologize for my daughter. She’s an absolute klutz, and I truly thank you for taking the time to bring her all the way home.”
Hitoka stood trapped between them, her head swinging back and forth like a spectator at a tennis match—staring at her mother’s rare display of gratitude, then at Tsukishima, who was blinking down at the cake with a completely uncharacteristic look of surprise.
“This is very kind of you, Yachi-san,” Tsukishima said, offering another flawless bow. He accepted the container, his long fingers wrapping securely around the plastic. “I will definitely be looking forward to this when I get home.”
He offered a soft, genuine smile—the polite, charming version of himself that he usually kept strictly reserved for adults.
Madoka’s expression softened completely, a rare, pleased smile touching her lips. “What a kind boy,” she remarked, nodding approvingly. “Take care on your way home.”
“Thank you. Goodnight.” Tsukishima turned his pale eyes back to Hitoka, his expression shifting back into that familiar, subtly teasing look. “See you then, Yachi.”
With a final, quiet nod, he turned on his heel and walked down the dimly lit hallway, his long strides steady as he headed back toward the stairs. Hitoka watched his retreating figure until he disappeared around the corner, her heart still doing a slow, heavy thud against her ribs.
The heavy click of the apartment door shutting broke the silence.
Hitoka stiffened, her shoulders hitching up as she slowly turned around on her good foot. Madoka was standing there, the professional, strict demeanor completely replaced by an amused, knowing smirk. She crossed her arms, leaning against the wall.
“So,” Madoka began, her tone laced with a rare, playful mischief. “Tell me all about this young boy.”
Hitoka’s face instantly erupted into a fresh, blazing crimson, the heat radiating all the way to the tips of her ears. She hid her face in her hands, her voice muffled in pure, agonizing embarrassment.
“M—mou, Oka-san!”