Archive of Our Own

The thing about Kageyama Tobio is that he likes the quiet.

There's a misconception that seemed to have floated around in high school that his aloofness stemmed from the rumors that he didn't like to talk to people. They say that all Kageyama ever thinks about is volleyball—it's all he lives, breathes, and consumes. That unless you approached him with the topic of the sport; he wouldn't have anything to say to you.

To be fair—it was true to a degree. It still is.

But Kageyama thinks he would enjoy it.

Talking to people, that is.

Not that he'd really know since other people took the liberty of removing him from the conversation before he could even utter a word.

(He'd first noticed this one afternoon in his second year of high school. He'd just got out of class, visiting his usual vending machine that sold his favorite blueberry milk when he overheard Hinata by the courtyard raucously chatting with their seniors Tanaka and Nishinoya.

Stabbing the straw in his drink, Kageyama silently ambled over to them. The sun was warm on his skin, making his bangs feel all hot and sticky on his forehead. He thought about getting a haircut soon.

"I'm glad to hear Shimizu-senpai is doing well!" Hinata was saying with a grin towards Tanaka.

Kageyama wasn't stupid. He could see the way the older boy's cheeks flushed pink as they talked about the girl he's been pining for since forever. And it's not like Nishinoya was subtle either—he'd deliberately thumped Tanaka on the back with a proud nod.

Volleyball may occupy ninety-five percent of Kageyama's brain, but that remaining five percent was more than enough for him to take notice of Tanaka's feelings.

Standing next to Hinata, Kageyama quietly tuned into their conversation as he sipped on his milk. They'd shifted to one of their seniors that had just graduated, something about Daichi being interested in a girl in one of his college classes.

That's when Tanaka's sharp eyes flicked to Kageyama as he sent him one of those upwards boyish nods. "Oi, Kageyama—I heard a girl from Ennoshita's class asked you out. How'd that go?"

Watanabe Hikari.

Kageyama didn't know anything about her except for her name, that she was a year older than him, and that she was as loud and outspoken and radiant as her name 'Hikari' translated to. She was nothing but extremely friendly to him (to everyone), so he'd been quite taken aback when she'd approached him a few days ago when practice ended with a confession letter and a box of chocolates.

He's never really given much thought about girls or dating in general. Not until Hikari.

Not until he realized there was a part of him that seemed to unlock after that day—a near imperceptible part that he wouldn't come to understand until years later when he meets her.

Kageyama opens his mouth to reply Tanaka, only to be rudely cut off by Hinata bursting out into laughter. The tangerine-haired boy was giggling, waving a hand at Kageyama's direction absentmindedly. "Kageyama turned her down, don't even bother asking him. It was very blunt and enough to make any girl run away crying."

And then Hinata did that stupid thing he liked to do—flattened his hair against his head in attempt to look like Kageyama.

"'Thanks, but I'm not interested'," Hinata grumbled in a deeper voice, eyes narrowing into slits.

Kageyama rolled his eyes.

Tanaka slapped a hand over his forehead as Nishinoya's jaw hung agape. "What?" the libero cried out, theatrically falling on his knees. He reached over to grip the ends of Kageyama's neatly pressed uniform shirt and shook it dramatically. "You rejected Hikari-chan?" And just to drive his point home, he repeated her name in a whisper of muted horror. "Hikari-chan?"

Kageyama blinked, unsure of what all the fuss was about. "Yes," he started.

Nishinoya's wail of anguish followed. "How dare you!"

He slurped his blueberry milk down to the dregs, and he frowned a little when he came up empty. He wished the school sold the bigger sizes, the ones that you find in the supermarket or even in Coach Ukai's store. He was about to give his response as he tossed the empty milk box into the trash next to them, only for the upperclassman to speak for him.

"Come on, Noya," Tanaka huffed with a playful grin. "Y'know Kageyama doesn't look twice at any girls' direction. All he cares about is volleyball. Right, Kageyama?"

It's a little unsettling to have someone speak for him. To have someone else assume what he likes and doesn't like or why he does the things he does—especially when they were wrong.

Kageyama's frown deepened slightly, eyebrows furrowing along with the action. He looked more pensive and thoughtful rather than upset, he wished they'd allow him a little more time to speak his thoughts. To even give him the chance to open his mouth.

"Don't think too hard, Kageyama, you'll hurt yourself," Hinata jabbed with a snicker, slapping him hard on the back between his shoulder blades. "You already used up all your brain power taking that test this morning."

Something snapped in him as he growled, "Boke, Hinata, boke!"

This elicited guffaws from the other three before the bell rang in the intercom, signaling that break was over and it was time to return to class. He didn't even get to tell them that the reason he'd turned Watanabe Hikari down wasn't because "all he cared about was volleyball". He thought she was conventionally pretty with a nice smile, he knew she was smart and that she was friendly enough that she'd get along with the rest of the volleyball club if he were to date her, and he felt warmth when she handed him the box of chocolates.

It wasn't that he didn't see her as a potential girlfriend. If he really wanted to, Kageyama knew it wouldn't be too hard to fall for a girl like her.

It was because she was too outspoken for him. Enough for him to know that if they did end up dating, she'd end up taking the initiative to speak for him. To fill in the blank spaces where Kageyama enjoyed the quiet. To talk when sometimes all he wanted was to bask in the silence.

(Yes, he thought about all this in the seven-point-five seconds gap between her confession and his rejection.)

But Hikari had been understanding enough to nod at him and apologize for bothering him. He'd opened his mouth to offer his explanation for turning her down, but she smoothly cut in saying he was probably focusing on training anyways since the prefectural qualifiers were coming up. She didn't run away like what Hinata had said, she still came to walk by the volleyball club the next day and waved at Kageyama from afar.

Kageyama didn't correct her—didn't properly clarify that he didn't reject her confession because of volleyball training. But he decided after that day that he didn't feel like bothering anymore to speak up. He told himself he should just get used to people presuming his thoughts and actions. That there was no point in explaining himself anymore.

Nobody wanted to hear what Kageyama Tobio has to say anyways. Not unless it involved volleyball, because that's all he is—the genius setter. The volleyball prodigy. It's the only time his opinion mattered.)

(Until he met her.)

Kageyama is nineteen when he's faced with an actual, real-world, adult dilemma.

Fresh out of high school, he'd been offered a contract to play for the Schweiden Adlers as their setter. And he'd said yes without a single doubt in his mind, jumping to sign the deal right away. None of his classmates were all too surprised when he did so, not even Hinata who'd wished him luck before hightailing it to Brazil where Coach Ukai had helped him look for connections to get into beach volleyball.

Eager to snatch the opportunity that practically landed on his lap, Kageyama packed his bags and moved to Tokyo in an apartment he'd found online that was decently sized and had a reasonable rent. It was a two-bedroom place not far from the training center and was also close enough to the train station and the bus stop for whenever he needed to go somewhere. There was someone who occupied one of the bedrooms, and the landlord had accepted Kageyama's application as the second tenant.

With his bags on the floor, Kageyama stood in the middle of the living room of his new apartment with the keys in his hand.

To be perfectly clear: his new, and now, empty apartment.

Because the person who was supposed to be his roommate had a family emergency overnight, prompting him to literally pack everything he could and return to his hometown in Kyoto. Leaving Kageyama with an apartment one bedroom too large for him alone and a rent too hefty for him to pay as a high-school graduate who hadn't even started playing for the Adlers.

The sound of his neighbors shutting their front door rattles Kageyama out of his thoughts, and his eyes cut to the keys in his hand. His key and the spare key.

Quietly, he pockets both of them and glances around the apartment.

He can tell that his could've-been roommate had left in a hurry. He hadn't grabbed all his stuff, leaving behind appliances like a coffee machine and a toaster. The living room rug is askew, and Kageyama fixes it straight.

Padding down the hallway, he first peeks into the shared bathroom between two doors—he grunts appreciatively when he sees it's surprisingly clean. He checks under the sink and finds a couple of cleaning supplies sitting in the cabinet. He makes a mental list on what was missing, deciding to drop by the store to pick up some groceries later.

The bedroom to the left is clean and completely empty—Kageyama assumes this is supposed to be his room he'd be moving into. He goes to push the curtains aside, letting sunlight stream into the room. He nods to himself, liking the size of the room as he already arranges the furniture in his head. There's not much clothes in his bags, but he still appreciates the large closet.

He goes into the other bedroom, and he's not all too surprised to see a bed frame left behind along with a desk. Other than that, the place is fairly clean considering how short-noticed the other guy had to leave town.

Kageyama sighs to himself as he returns to the living room and slumps into the couch that was also left behind. For a long moment, he stares out into the balcony where the sun sits high in the clouds.

He's a grown man now. This shouldn't be too hard for him to manage.

He can do this. He has to do this. Otherwise he wouldn't be able to afford to live in this nice apartment before the Adlers can give him his paycheck.

Kageyama defeatedly slips his phone out of his pocket and ponders for a second on who would be the best to reach out to.

He scrolls through his contacts and taps on a name, bringing his phone to his ear as he listens to it ring.

"Sugawara-san," Kageyama greets politely when he hears the older boy pick up the phone, "how do I let people know I'm looking for a roommate?"

The first time Kageyama meets her is a week after he'd officially moved into his new apartment.

It's right before lunch time when he receives a confirmation text from her that she's on her way and would arrive on time for their scheduled meeting. When he'd called Sugawara that day he'd first arrived in Tokyo asking for help on posting online that he was looking for a roommate, Kageyama had almost instantly been bombarded with a shitload of crazies on the internet trying to move in with him.

He'd set up a screening survey right away with both Sugawara's and Daichi's help, creating the appropriate questions that would help him sort through the ones he definitely did not want to live with, and the ones he thought had the potential to meet for the second part of the interview.

It worked in weeding out the ones Kageyama didn't think would match well with him as a roommate, and he'd only had to actually meet with a handful.

So far, he has two candidates in mind: one was a musician who was a few years older than him (but he's inclined to reject their application since Kageyama didn't think he could handle listening to the cello at the hours they said they'd be practicing—Kageyama was a light sleeper), and the other was a tattoo artist who said they're really quiet and cleans after themselves (but then—Kageyama doesn't know how he feels about their snake and the fact that they want to put its enclosure in the living room).

He hopes third time's a charm and that this one would be his roommate.

Her screening survey seems perfectly fine to Kageyama, and a part of him wonders if she's even real. Every answer she'd given is aligned to what he's looking for.

He tries not to get his hopes up, but with how he seems to be buzzing in excitement throughout this morning's practice gives him away to his teammates. Every time the ball touches his fingertips, every serve he sends across the court, every jump he makes to block a spike—everything seems to go in Kageyama's favor.

He feels good today. Really good.

"Looking sharp today, Kageyama," calls out a voice to his right.

Kageyama gulps down the rest of his water bottle, wiping the sweat off the back of his neck. He turns to throw a glance at the white-haired, twenty-year-old outside hitter. "Thank you," Kageyama says politely with a small bow.

Hoshiumi Korai tips his head back to laugh, thumping a hand against his back. "Always so formal, Kageyama. Lighten up, would ya?"

"I'll do my best."

Hoshiumi is still chortling to himself and shaking his head when he walks away, hollering out to Hirugami about some workout regimen he's been meaning to try, when Kageyama feels a presence sidle up to him. He dips his head slightly again in another small bow when he meets Ushijima's gaze.

"Oh, that's right," the former Shiratorizawa ace mumbles in his usual stoic manner, face devoid of any clear emotion. Kageyama hears the faint curiosity humming in the undertone of his voice, though—he recognizes it enough to know that's also what he himself sounds like. "You asked to be excused for the rest of today's training to meet another of your prospective roommate, correct?"

"That's right," Kageyama says, brushing his fringe away from his forehead to help dry his sweat a little faster. "But I'll be in all day tomorrow and a few hours after to make up for today's lost time."

He hates the thought of missing practice, it's almost like skipping a meal. It's an itch he needs to have scratched every single day—a hunger he needs to be satiated; otherwise, it might very well drive him mad.

Ushijima looks over mindlessly at their older teammates, his hands firm on his hips with his chest heaving slightly from their drills as he catches his breath. "You're a hard worker, Kageyama," is what he says.

And that's more than enough for Kageyama.

Amongst everyone on the roster of the Schweiden Adlers, Kageyama finds he personally connects with Ushijima the easiest. Despite the fact that they'd endured an intense rivalry during Kageyama's first year, and pushing aside the bitterness that still coated his tongue on Shiratorizawa rejecting his application—he seems to understand Ushijima.

His silence speaks to him in volumes louder than Hoshiumi's resounding voice.

"Oh, if I may offer one small piece of advice—" Ushijima lingers by Kageyama's side before walking off to begin their cool down routine. There's a small twitch in the older boy's mouth as Ushijima lets out a very soft chuckle. "You might want to smile a bit. Don't go scaring her off now—she might be the one."

She might be the one.

Somehow, those words seem slightly unsettling to Kageyama—the double meaning behind them bothers him a little.

But he lets it slide and nods.

He showers in the locker room, being mindful of the time before he dresses and makes to leave. He gives another polite farewell to his teammates who were heading off to the cafeteria before making his way home. Kageyama ponders on what she might look like, since the screening survey didn't include a photograph of any sort—only her name, age, a few necessary details along with her responses to his questions regarding living habits and such.

Kageyama wonders if he's mistakenly assumed the day would turn out in his favor when it starts to rain.

The heavens open up at the exact moment he steps into the awning of his apartment building's main entrance, rain pouring in heavy sheets and darkening the skies in ominous clouds and rumbling thunder. He curses under his breath, sliding inside before he can get drenched.

He's thankfully dry when he removes his shoes in the genkan, glad that he wouldn't have to take another shower before meeting her. Kageyama checks on his phone when he strides in his living room, carefully setting his gym bag on the floor next to the couch. He throws himself unceremoniously on the cushions, glimpsing at the lack of new messages in the last fifteen minutes.

She's probably caught in the rain somewhere, Kageyama thinks as he considers opening their chat to offer a reschedule if it would work better for her when—

He shoots up from where he's sprawled on the couch, eyes wide and sharp at the direction of the door. A series of knocks follow after a couple more seconds of silence, and he rushes to get the door.

Yanking it open, Kageyama opens his mouth to say his greeting when his gaze drops—and lands on her.

And suddenly, it's like all the air seems to trickle out of his lungs and the only sound he can hear is the erratic pounding of his heart. His fingers loosen their hold on the doorknob, arm somehow slackening to his side like he'd lost all his strength.

Because there she was—drenched from the rain with her hair plastering to her skin, clothes soaked and dripping water on the carpet outside his front door. Her shoes make a squelching sound when she shifts her stance, her fingers fiddling with the strap of her messenger bag.

Kageyama blinks, and he focuses on her face.

She's pretty.

Like really pretty.

Her lashes are long and cling to one another like stars from how wet they are (her whole face is glowing with rainwater; she hasn't wiped it off yet), and Kageyama thinks they frame her eyes nicely. It makes his throat thick when she visibly brightens at the sight of him opening the front door, and the gentle curl of her lips that broaden to a smile . . .

There's a strange lurching in his chest that brings him discomfort.

(He wants to see her smile again just to test it.)

(It's for science.)

"Hi," she says, her voice is soft and breathless. And Kageyama thinks he wouldn't mind if he has to listen to her talk all day long. She brushes off a wet strand of hair that sticks to her cheek. "I'm here to see the apartment?" She offers her name.

Jolting back into the present, Kageyama does whatever he can to not stutter like an idiot (Hinata) and quickly holds the door wider for her. "Yes, of course, come in."

He shuts the door gently behind her, eyes sharply observing her every movement as she gingerly removes her shoes and props them up. Suddenly aware of her wet clothes clinging to the frame of her body, Kageyama moves past her as he quickly sets down an extra pair of slippers for her.

"Let me grab you a towel real quick," he tells her.

She makes a small noise of protest, head whipping towards him. "Oh, no, that's okay—"

Kageyama already disappears around the corner, heading into the bathroom where he keeps his extra towels and grabs his fluffiest one, hoping it would be enough to dry and warm her. He hurries back out to where she stands awkwardly waiting for him, her feet shoved in the slippers he'd laid out for her.

"If you need another towel, please let me know," Kageyama says, watching as she shyly accepts the one he practically thrusts into her hands.

Her face is all flushed a tomato red, eyes darting everywhere but his face. "Thank you, Kageyama-san," she murmurs softly, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she starts scrunching her hair with the towel.

Something about her stirs a strange feeling behind his ribs.

He leads her further into the apartment, not missing the way she curiously glances around the place and takes in the common area with what looks like an impressed nod. Kageyama doesn't sit them at the kotatsu he'd set up in the living room by the couch, but rather to the bar stools by the kitchen counter.

He feels she'd be more comfortable there instead of the intimate space a kotatsu would provide. And he seems to feel a little calmer when she settles on the bar stool, brushing her palms soothingly down the pleats of her skirt as she drapes his towel over her shoulders. Her hair hangs over it, the water trapping in the fabric as it dampens to dry.

Kageyama silently notes the warmth of his apartment, wondering if he should bring the heat up a little more so she doesn't catch a cold. But before he could contemplate on this even more, she opens her mouth to speak:

"You have a very nice place, Kageyama-san," she compliments, meeting his eyes with a gentle smile. "Thank you for taking the time to see me today."

He holds her gaze, trying not to ponder on the strange twinge in the pit of his stomach when her lashes flutter with each blink. "It's no trouble at all," he tells her sincerely, voice his usual sharp bluntness. It's the same way he speaks to everyone, yet a small part of him suddenly wonders if he should inject a little more warmth in his tone. "If anything, really, you'll be doing me a favor if you end up moving in. I'm in desperate need of a roommate, you see."

She's nodding along to him, and her unwavering eyes make him feel as though she'd happily sit there and listen to him talk on and on without interrupting him. Like she's actually listening to him.

"What are you looking for in a roommate, Kageyama-san?" she asks.

He quirks an eyebrow faintly and counters, "Why're you moving out of your university dorm?"

A soft chuckle leaves her, not a hint of tension on her shoulders. Kageyama finds that her eyes crinkle in the corners when she does so, cheeks round when she laughs. "To be honest, I had not expected the dorms to be very strict during the summer semester. With my major, I planned on going to California for the next two summers to intern for a previous high school senior of mine. My family had moved all the way to Hokkaido, so it would be impractical to move my things in and out of the dorm from Tokyo to Hokkaido before and after every summer."

He doesn't nod along, but his eyes never stray from hers. Kageyama has never realized how piercing his gaze can be once focused, not until Hinata had once mentioned it to him years ago—yet she doesn't squirm under his scrutinizing eyes.

"Right," he says, his memory sharp enough to remember her screening survey. "You're a freshman in Todai for sports science, correct?"

She hums her confirmation. "Money isn't a problem for me, so even though I'll be out of the country during summer, I'd still be paying my half of the bills."

She's his age, but unlike others still searching to find who they are and who they want to be, she seems very well-versed with herself. She knows what she wants.

Kageyama spends the next half an hour asking her some more questions about living habits. Which then proceeds to open a whole new conversation about their personal likes and dislikes.

He finds out they're rather similar—she goes to bed quite early since she wakes up at dawn to go jogging, she spends a good amount of her time either in classes or in the library studying, and she prefers the solitude of staying at home on the weekends curled up in the comfort of her bed. She's not a fan of large crowds or parties that can overwhelm her, she likes cooking and eating different kinds of food, she doesn't really drink alcohol because she dislikes the tipsy feeling it gives her, and she enjoys watching sports on the TV.

She used to play sports herself in high school—Kageyama becomes heavily intrigued by this. She graduated from Aoba Johsai the same year he did from Karasuno, and she'd been an athlete during her three Seijoh years. She'd done track and had even gone to nationals with her tennis club and volleyball team.

Kageyama is thoroughly surprised since he's not once bothered to watch any of the girls' games—he wonders if he'd have seen her play during those times they'd been on the same arena.

He finds out she's the kind of person who prefers to listen to music through headphones or earphones (which he greatly appreciates since Hoshiumi tends to blast his Spotify playlist out loud in the locker rooms), that she likes to do her dishes while cooking to avoid having them pile up in the sink, and that she switches between hot and cold showers (meaning she won't hog all the hot water).

By the time their conversation begins to dwindle down, the clock reads three o'clock in the afternoon. She'd already been here for a few hours, and Kageyama barely feels like he's even scratched the surface of getting to know her.

He says her name, testing it with the deep baritone of his voice and the way it curls his tongue—God, even her name is pretty. "If we are to be roommates, what's something you'd require of me?"

She purses her lips in thought, eyes gliding across the kitchen in front of her and the living room behind her. Her hair is dry, but his towel still sits around her shoulders—sort of like a comfort blanket now. "I would say a clean common area, but it looks like you've kept the place very tidy. So . . . ," she trails off, a flush across her nose and cheeks.

It makes Kageyama's chest squeeze all of a sudden at the sight of her blush.

"I guess—if I come upon any spiders—" she jerks her head to a bow, hair curtaining her face, "—please take care of them for me!"

A pause.

And then there's laughter, it's sharp and a little biting—but it's warm.

And it comes from Kageyama.

His head is tipped back, arms loosely crossed over his chest as his deep laugh echoes in the space between them. It dies down into chuckles after a while, and when he finally looks at her once again—her eyes widen ever so slightly at the mirth in his gaze and at how his smile lingers on his face.

"Sure," he says lightly, voice tinged in amusement. "I can do that." And then he adds: "When do you want to move in?"

She mirrors the smile on his face. "How does tomorrow sound?"

Kageyama blinks slowly, somehow finding his breath catching his throat at the dimples on her face. "Tomorrow's perfect." He gets up first, waiting for her to follow his lead as his lips twitch at how he towers over her. "Let me show you around the apartment."

Kageyama should've kept his mouth shut.

It's around late autumn, when the gingko leaves scatter across the street in front of his apartment building, that he receives a text from Hinata. All the tangerine-haired boy sent is a picture of him and his Brazilian roommate Pedro with a text that says: My roommate came to watch my game!

And of course—of course—Kageyama couldn't stand to get one-upped by Hinata, so he proceeds to ring the boy's number. He's in the living room of his apartment, getting ready to whip up dinner since she's still finishing up classes, when Hinata picks up.

"Hello?" came Hinata's scratchy voice along with a grainy video call, but Kageyama can see the beach in the background. "Kageyama?"

Eye twitching, he gruffly asks, "What do you want?"

A pause, then—

"Eh?!" He can see Hinata's bewildered face on the screen. "You're the one who called me, Bakageyama!"

"Shut up, you're one to talk!" Kageyama grumpily chews him out. "Why'd you send me that photo? Do I look like I care what you and your roommate do?"

(He definitely seems to care enough to have FaceTimed Hinata the second he received that text.)

Hinata looks as though he's unsure if he wants to hang up or burst into a fit of incoherent anger. He goes for the latter. "Because—you don't—Pedro is—gah!" He lets out a string of curses that makes Kageyama sneer. "I was trying to make a point that I'm better than you since I have a roommate who goes to watch my games."

Kageyama arches an eyebrow. He totally forgot to tell Hinata that he ended up finding a roommate, and that they've been living together for four months now. Matter of fact—he hadn't gone out of his way to tell people about him having a roommate. The only ones who know are Ushijima and Hoshiumi (since they'd asked him how it had gone the following day) and Sugawara who'd called him up briefly to ask about the roommate listing that Kageyama had taken down.

"Oh," he bluntly says with a shrug. "I do have a roommate now, forgot to tell you. But she doesn't come to watch my scrimmages because she's too busy with classes."

Hinata's nodding absentmindedly. "Okay, Kageyama, sure. Whatever you—wait, wait, wait!" His dumb gold eyes widen at whatever Kageyama had said just now clicking to him. "Did you just say 'she'? As in—your roommate is a girl?"

Kageyama doesn't understand why Hinata is fussing over a minor detail. He nods, however, eyes drifting away from the phone as he glances up at the ceiling in a thoughtful manner. "Yes. She's actually quite smart. She majors in sports science and she's going to intern for Iwaizumi-senpai in California for the next two summers. Oh, and did you know—she did three sports in high school? She has incredible stamina. She goes jogging in the morning too, I've gone with her for a couple of mornings—she can give you a run for your money, I think."

The setter would have gone on talking were it not for the fact that he doesn't think Hinata is actually paying attention. And because the stupid orange-head starts screeching his ear off about how "there was no fucking way you're rooming with someone you actually tolerate—and a girl, no less!". He wishes he can smack Hinata upside the head and maybe even send a dropkick or two.

But suddenly, Hinata's eyes narrow very suspiciously. "Wait a second, you're just messing with me, aren't you? Your roommate isn't actually a girl, and you're just trying to look cooler than me."

Kageyama rolls his eyes with a scoff. "Why would I lie about this?"

Hinata responds without skipping a beat, "Because Tanaka-senpai thinks you'd be the last among you, me, Tsukishima, and Yamaguchi to get a girlfriend."

An irk mark thumps out of Kageyama's forehead. "Don't you dare compare me to that four-eyed asshole ever again."

"Tanaka-senpai also said you'd deflect by calling Tsukishima names."

"She's real, okay." Kageyama resists the urge to stick his tongue out childishly.

He considers sending Hinata a photo that he'd taken of her a few weeks ago when she'd made some dumb joke that had her suppressing her own laughter since it was the middle of the night—leading to her snorting out blueberry milk out of her nose. Kageyama didn't think the joke in itself was funny, but there's always something with the way she says it that had him laughing anyways. He'd snapped that photo despite her protests and weak attempts at swatting his phone out of his hands, only for him to raise it high up in the air where she couldn't reach.

It had gone something like—

(It's the third night in a row that Kageyama finds himself slipping out of bed at three in the morning, his neighbors next door arguing again about God knows what this time. He yawns in utter exhaustion, leaving his room as he sees her own bedroom door left open by a crack.

Wordlessly, he pads to the kitchen and silently flings open the refrigerator. His eyes fall on the neatly arranged lines of blueberry milk boxes—the kind you can only get in the grocery store. They'd both gone for their biweekly grocery run a few days ago, and she'd already grown accustomed to the particular brands that Kageyama likes and dislikes—he can still remember her instantly reaching for the blueberry milk boxes that he prefers the best.

Taking two, Kageyama walks past his living room to where the sliding door that leads out to the balcony is.

She's already sitting on one of the foldable lawn chairs, just like how he seems to find her in the same spot at the same time in the last two nights. He slides the door open to slip out before shutting it behind him.

"I almost thought you weren't coming, Kageyama-kun," she says in that sweet voice of hers, tilting her head to glance up at him with a grin that sends his head spinning. "You seemed to sleep through the first ten minutes."

He grunts, playfully flicking her forehead with his free hand before claiming the second lawn chair next to her for himself. "Practice got me all tired—I almost didn't even want to get up," he admits, handing her a milk box at the same time she tossed a bag of chips on his lap.

"They might not stop fighting any time soon," she says, stabbing her straw clean through and taking a gulp of milk. "Apparently, the husband didn't come home until an hour ago. The wife thinks he's having an affair."

Kageyama winces. "She always thinks he's having an affair." Then he sighs. "If she's right, that's fucked up of him."

She nods fervently as she mumbles, "She does everything for him and he doesn't seem to appreciate it. She deserves someone better. Someone who comes home on time and dotes on her like a loving husband should."

He doesn't realize his face had softened into one of affection as he stares at her side profile, watching the way she watches the stars glittering in the night sky. A part of him feels strange—like he can't help but to wonder if the odd emotion in her voice is from her speaking from experience. He knows she's currently not in a relationship, and he knows better than to pry into her past, but . . .

Swallowing a little roughly, Kageyama carefully asks, "Did you ever . . . ?"

Somehow, words fail him.

(Or maybe he doesn't want to hear an answer he doesn't like.)

She catches on quick to what he's trying to ask, and she chuckles dryly. Bitterly. "Yeah. My third year at Seijoh, except—" she can't look him in the eyes, "—I was the absent girlfriend. I'm the one who devoted all my time to volleyball and tennis. Track season was over by then, but we were heading to nationals with my volleyball team. Same for tennis." She blows out a puff of breath. "He deserved so much better than someone like me."

Kageyama doesn't know if the twinge in his chest is because he's glad she wasn't on the receiving end of the pain or from something else. Something dark and green and ugly that bubbles low in his stomach from the thought of her having a —

"I'm sure you tried your best to make it work," he offers instead, his voice coming out all strange. He didn't sound right. He didn't sound like himself.

She drinks the rest of her blueberry milk, the empty slurps making Kageyama realize he hasn't even poked his straw through yet.

Her eyes are glassy when she turns to him, almost like they're reflecting the iridescence of the stars in the night sky. Starlight lines her lashes, every blink sending a pang to his chest. And when she smiles faintly at him—crinkles on the sides of her eyes and all, Kageyama finds he's unable to look away from her.

She doesn't respond to him, doesn't deny his words or say thank you for his attempts at comfort. She just takes them as it is and lets out a long exhale, a chill running down her spine as she shivers slightly.

"You cold?" Kageyama mutters.

She tells him no, but he's shrugging off his hoodie already—it has a logo of his old Karasuno volleyball club on the front along with his last name and number on the back. It's worn out by now and smells thickly of his body wash—he hopes it doesn't bother her.

His fingers brush her hair when he hands her his hoodie. He swallows again—it's rougher, his throat practically closing up on him. His eyes dart away from her, focusing on something. Anything.

"Thanks, Kageyama-kun," she hums, gingerly putting it on. His eyes betray him, flickering to her small yet lean frame cocooned by his hoodie. It's endearing in a way—the sleeves falling past her fingertips.

It awakens something primal in him. Something possessive. Kageyama doesn't quite understand why this is so.

"When do you want it back?"

Kageyama notes the nearly imperceptible way she seems to snuggle into the fabrics. His chest squeezes; his heart lurching almost painfully.

"When the weather is warm," he says quietly, knowing that wouldn't be until late spring next year when she'd make her trip to California shortly after then.

She smiles and holds on to his promise.

That was nearly two months ago—and they'd been regularly spending a couple of sleepless nights in the balcony since then.)

"—it's okay, Kageyama, you don't have to lie about—"

The front door swings open, making Kageyama snap his head up from Hinata's stupid pixelated face on his phone to his roommate who'd just come back from class. She's layered up in a coat and a scarf already, since Kageyama knows she gets cold rather easily—he's proven right by the faint pink tips of her ears and the splotch of red on her cheeks.

"Tadaima," she calls out by habit, removing her shoes by the genkan neatly.

Kageyama isn't even paying attention anymore to Hinata, all his focus now solely on her as he responds back, "Okaeri."

He watches as her face lights up when she sees him, padding across the living room to him. "Oh? Kageyama-kun, you're home early."

He wonders if she even gets stressed from school. He's heard her talk about her workload enough times to know there's a lot on her plate. Yet somehow, she's always with a smile on her face whenever they're in the same room.

Kageyama hums his reply as she shrugs off her bag and unbuttons her coat. "Coach let us out early today. I was going to make us dinner."

"Great! I'll help," she says without hesitation as she fully removes her coat. "Oh? Are you on the phone?"

He doesn't hear her at first, his eyes falling on the hoodie she's wearing. (His hoodie.) "Huh?" he says stupidly when she repeats her question, taking her hair out of it's ponytail and letting it fall around her shoulders. "Oh, yeah—it's a classmate of mine from high school. The one I told you about who went to Brazil. Wanna say hi?"

He waits for her to nod before glancing down at his phone to where Hinata had fallen silent. The dumb boy's eyes are comically wide, his face all pressed against the screen as though he can hear her and Kageyama better.

"Oi, boke Hinata," Kageyama grunts out. He doesn't notice the amused glimpse she sends his way, not having heard him use this tone of voice ever before. "My roommate wants to say hi. Be nice and don't say anything stupid, you hear me?"

He isn't surprised when Hinata growls out something defensively, only to swiftly snap his mouth shut the second Kageyama swivels the phone to face her. She's smiling so sweetly—the one that makes her eyes crinkle and her dimples flash—and it fills Kageyama with a strange sense of smugness when his hoodie on her is clearly visible on the camera.

She introduces herself to Hinata, telling him it's nice to finally kinda-sorta meet him and that she's heard a lot about him from Kageyama. Hinata laughs and says he hopes it's nothing bad or paints him in a light that's too immature.

They chat a little more, to the point where he doesn't even remember the purpose of the call in the first place.

Kageyama's too busy pondering on why his chest feels all tight and tingly whenever her laughter echoes in the apartment.

Their first Christmas together isn't anything like the other ones Kageyama has spent before.

It's snowing heavily outside, and Kageyama is watching the clock tick by in the corner of the microwave in the apartment. It's a little past five o'clock in the afternoon, and he's wondering if she'd forgotten their plans. She's supposed to be on her way back now so she and Kageyama can get started on their movie marathon (he'd already made dinner, and had even picked up some of her favorite pastries from the bakery earlier).

Maybe I should text her, he thinks to himself as it now strikes five fifteen, and he slides his phone out of his pocket. He's starting to get worried, especially with the snow. He told her not to go all the way to campus that morning just to study, but she was pretty stubborn at times.

His finger hovers over their chat just as his phone rings—it's her.

He swipes to pick up the call in an instant, her name slipping out of his lips in unbridled concern. "Is everything okay? Where are you?"

There's faint ruffling from the other end of the line, followed by her whispering, "Kageyama-kun . . . , I need your help."

His keys are already in his hand as he shrugs a coat on. "I'm on my way," he breathes out, "where are you?"

Kageyama drives in the snow for the first time that day. The streets are fairly busy, most people out at this time, but he still manages to make it to her campus much faster than if he'd taken the bus. He pulls into the visitor parking lot, keeping the engine running with the heat cranked up before jogging over to the library. He follows the instructions she gave him earlier, going to the fourth floor and maneuvering his way around the rows of bookshelves where he easily spots the study room number she said she's in.

Carefully, he pushes the door open after knocking twice.

And he freezes by the threshold, laughter beginning to rise from deep in his chest at the sight that greets him.

She's damn near latched herself onto the wall, the furthest corner from the door Kageyama's standing in. The study room is small, but she somehow managed to climb atop the ledge, hovering over the desk that still has her laptop and books scattered across.

Her eyes snap up to Kageyama the second he enters, and he swears she whimpers his name almost pleadingly.

"Okay, okay," he murmurs, snapping into action as he swiftly finds the huge fucking spider crawling on the wall next to the door. He uses a scrap piece of paper, scooping it up and sending it skittering away outside the door. And once he's certain he sees it disappear into the rows of books, he turns back to her with a small chuckle.

There's discomfort etched on her features, but somehow she still looks pretty as she stares wide-eyed at him. "Is it gone?" she asks warily, knuckles burning white from how hard she's gripping the ledge to keep herself propped up.

Kageyama chuckles again, it comes out hoarse and rougher than normal. Walking over to her, he can't help but to feel the tautness of his face smoothen until a small smile graces his lips. "Yeah, it's gone," he says, and she sighs loudly in relief. "Wanna come down from there so we can go home?"

She carefully shifts her weight around, slowly attempting to unlatch herself so she can stretch her leg out to step on the table below her. Except, she trembles at the sudden movement—she must've been hanging onto the ledge for quite some time, because she'd lost all feeling in her legs.

Kageyama lurches forward before she can fall, hands clamping tight on either sides of her hips to stabilize her. "Be careful, you dummy," he chastises under his breath, pretending like the sudden proximity doesn't make his stomach feel all sorts of funny.

"Sorry," she murmurs, placing her hands on his shoulders so he can help her down.

He clicks his tongue. "Told you to study at home, didn't I?" He waits until she's holding him firmly before he easily carries her away from the wall, hands firm on her hips. He takes a few steps back, not realizing that she'd instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist.

She's suddenly stiff in his arms, and it's not until he glances up to meet her eyes did he finally notice the position they're in. His breath hitching in his throat, Kageyama feels his face burn when their gazes lock. Her eyes are wide, her face a little too close that he can see the flecks in her irises, and his hands are warm and too broad on her waist.

And Kageyama makes the mistake of letting his eyes drag down to her lips—pink and plush and soft. She hiccups when he lingers too long at them, snapping back up to her eyes.

Roughly, he whispers: "You okay?"

Almost like speaking too loud would disrupt whatever this is between them.

She's never heard him talk like that before. All deep and husky and gravelly—

(—like something in him aches for her.)

She nods, her voice comes out breathless when she whispers back: "Yeah."

For a tense moment, neither of them speak—all they hear is the sound of their quiet breathing, the way she can feel his palms so warm seeping through her sweater, and how Kageyama's eyes turn half-lidded and molten as they flicker down to her lips in a silent prayer.

One hand slides around her waist, holding her up as the other trails down to grip her outer thigh, close to her knee.

Kageyama doesn't understand why his heart is beating so fast and so hard, he can practically feel every thump lurch out of his throat.

Then a voice comes through the intercom, loud and blaring as the librarian announces they're closing early for the day ("because it's Christmas, for God's sake—go home") and the spell between them breaks.

They move apart, almost like a fire sparks to life between them. His hands are buried in his pockets and hers are rummaging swiftly through her things, shoving them all in her backpack. He doesn't see the bright flush on her cheeks nor does she notice the way Kageyama is tugging uncomfortably against the collar of his sweatshirt, suddenly feeling incredibly warm.

"I got it," he says, taking her bag as he slings a strap over a shoulder. He leads the way out of the study room, slowing his steps when he realizes she's shuffling her feet behind him almost in a shy manner. "Oh, I think I just saw the spider behind that row of books."

She yelps, darting forward so her fingers clutch tight around Kageyama's free arm. "What? Where?" She's clinging onto the crook of his elbow, pressing herself to his side as she nervously glances to the direction Kageyama vaguely jutted his chin to.

"Trick of the light—I was mistaken," he says airily, fingers flexing momentarily—almost like he's imagining her holding his hand instead. "Stay close though, it might come back."

She doesn't let go of his arm as he walks them back to his car.

The smirk on Kageyama's face borders on adoration rather than triumph.

(It stays all throughout the night as they open Christmas presents, eyes soft and smirk curling into a smile.)

When spring comes, Kageyama is busier than ever with practices. The Olympics is scheduled in only a few months in July, and he's channeling most of his focus into training. His condition is at his prime, and he doesn't want to disappoint his teammates by slacking off.

Kageyama leaves early in the morning to go to the gym for a light workout with Ushijima before heading to the courts for drills. The rest of the day is spent with more exercises and a couple of scrimmages. A couple of players from the Black Jackals who were part of the national team would come for practices as well until the late hours of the day.

He sees his roommate on a few dinners they still get to have together in the week. She'd either bring back take out for the two to eat or he'd cook something if she's still in campus, and leave it in the fridge for her to heat up when she gets home.

They haven't been to the balcony in a while. Kageyama trying to get his full eight hours of sleep at night, and her spending most of her time studying.

(He worries she's overworking herself.)

The two still go on their jogs or run a few days a week together, but it's been less frequently these days since she's been sleeping in. Kageyama doesn't try to wake her—the violet bags under her eyes make him frown every time they get darker.

("You need to go to sleep," he told her one Saturday as they watched a movie in the living room. He'd spent the last fifteen minutes watching her instead of whatever was playing.

She hummed dismissively, legs sprawled out over the couch with her head on his lap. She was wearing his hoodie again, hood over her hair with the sleeves past her fingertips. "'M fine," she told him with a yawn, shifting slightly to meet his gaze.

He watched her for a second longer, knowing she's forcing herself to stay awake just so they can spend this bit of time together. They'd barely seen each other the last couple of days, and it's the only day off Kageyama has that she doesn't have to be in campus.

"You're going to pass out any second," he mumbled, reaching up to lightly tug on the hood.

She giggled softly, the sound coming out more like a breathless chuckle as she pulled the hood off so her hair spilled like velvet across his lap. Kageyama swore his heart stops when she rests her cheek back on his thigh, making herself comfortable as her eyes fluttered shut.

"S'okay if I nap here?"

His voice is strangled when he said, "Of course it is." And he should stop himself, but he didn't—his fingers gently tangled in her hair to run down the length of it.

Soothingly, almost like how a lover would.

She hummed gratefully, lips curling as her lashes rest on the apples of her cheeks. "Kageyama-kun," she murmured, voice turning into a sleepy lull as she yawned.

"Hm?"

"Tell me how practice went this week."

He paused his ministrations on her hair, blinking in confusion at the request. "I thought you wanted to take a nap."

"I like listening to your voice though," she said, her shoulders rising and falling a little deeper as her words began to slur. "Makes me feel all warm inside."

He's glad she has her eyes shut and she's on the brink of sleep, because his cheeks turned impossibly warm. He can practically feel his ears grow red as he returned to gliding his fingers through her hair, ever so slightly scratching her scalp and tugging on the base just gently enough.

She's practically fucking purring on his lap, and Kageyama thinks he might die.

He muttered to her in low, hushed tones—telling her about all sorts of finger exercises he's been doing to strengthen his muscles and precision, about Hoshiumi's ever growing vertical, about Bokuto and Atsumu being a pain in his ass, and all the in between of everything else.

She fell asleep on his lap, curled up like a kitten as he draped a blanket over her. He puts the TV on mute as he silently watched the rest of the movie, fingers still stroking her hair with the sound of her quiet breathing filling the space.

Despite him not fully understanding his own feelings, Kageyama's heart raced.)

She doesn't go for a jog with him that spring morning, but it doesn't worry Kageyama as he lets her sleep in.

He returns home when the sun begins to peek through the clouds, taking a swift shower before he gets ready to leave again. He lingers by her bedroom door, seeing the absence of light in the small crack at the bottom—she should be awake by now to get dressed for her morning class.

He pads over to the kitchen instead, wondering to himself if her class got canceled and she's taking this opportunity to sleep. He pulls some food out of the fridge, plating it before covering it on the counter for her. Writing a small note, he tells her to call him when she wakes up—and that he'd make dinner for them tonight so she should try to come home on time.

Kageyama spends the next few hours in the training center. He's talking with Yaku Morisuke later that afternoon when he gets a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: good afternoon, kageyama-san. this is sato kaori, a classmate of—

He blinks in recognition of both his roommate's name and of Kaori's name (he's definitely heard her talk about her classmates before).

Unknown: i was wondering if you could meet me in the café next to campus today? i have some notes from today's lecture that she'll probably need since she's sick and—

Kageyama's mind drifts off.

Sick.

She's sick.

She's home sick and this whole time he didn't even know.

He sends a swift reply to Sato Kaori, pocketing his phone before heading straight to his coach's office to inform him he needs the rest of the day off and tomorrow as well. Kageyama's glad he took his car today, driving to the café where he bows apologetically to Kaori for her efforts and thanking her for the notes. He makes a quick trip to the grocery store to pick up a few curry cubes and to the pharmacy where he sort of stares at all the over-the-counter medicine stumped.

"Yachi-san," he says to the phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, hands busy browsing amongst the different cough syrups. "What kind of medicine do I get someone who's sick?"

He listens carefully, nodding even though his former high school classmate can't see him, obediently grabbing fever reducers and flu, cold, and cough medicine along with some cough drops. He drives home, mentally taking note of every instruction Yachi gives him as her voice echoes in his AUX—making sure she sweats her fever out, making sure to put a wet towel on her forehead, making sure she eats something, making sure she's hydrated . . .

(—the list goes on, but Kageyama soaks in every little detail.)

The apartment is still when he walks in with his groceries in one hand and Sato Kaori's notes in the other. He puts the notebook on the coffee table and heads to the kitchen where his eyes fall on the breakfast he'd prepared for her earlier that morning, untouched.

Kageyama takes the bag from the pharmacy with him when he walks to her bedroom door, knocking a few times as he calls out her name. There's no reply; he announces that he's going in.

He's never been inside of her room before, but he's seen it plenty of times from his own room directly across of hers when she'd leave her door open. There are a few posters on her wall of some favorite shows or characters of hers, and there are several post-it notes and diagrams of the human anatomy and physiology stuck to the wall above her desk littered with papers. It's dark in her room, her curtains are drawn to block out the sun.

He spots her instantly—buried under a mountain of blankets with only a couple of strands of her hair spilling out. Kageyama calls her name gently, shuffling closer to her bed as he crouches down so he's eye level with her.

"Hey," he murmurs, fingers dipping under the blanket so he can carefully peel it off her. "It's me, I brought you some medicine."

Her face is flushed red when he lays the blanket over her chest, her eyelids fluttering as she stirs a little in her sleep. The violet bruises under her eyes are darker, the tip of her nose is pink, and her mouth is slightly parted. She breathes with so much more effort than normal, she sounds horribly congested.

Kageyama's stomach twists painfully.

He says her name again, a little louder, as he presses a hand against her forehead. Her skin is searing hot to the touch, and this makes him frown deeply as she moans in response to his call.

He's digging in the bag for the thermometer he'd gotten earlier when she finally manages to crack an eye open. "Hey, you're awake," he notes, his voice unbearably quiet like he's worried talking any louder would cause her more pain than she's already in. "I need to take your temperature, okay?"

"Mmph," she groans out, nose all clogged up as she resorts to breathing through her mouth. Her eyes struggle to stay open but she allows him to pull her arm out from under the blankets so he can place the thermometer in her armpit. "Kageyama-kun?" she wheezes out, her voice terribly hoarse and scratchy.

"I'm here, you dummy," he mumbles, scowl on his face as he plucks out the beeping thermometer that indicates her high fever. "I can't believe you didn't tell me," he mutters under his breath before grabbing the bottle of fever reducer pills. "Be right back, you need water."

Her eyes tiredly slide shut as he hurries outside to the kitchen for a glass of water. Since he's already out here, he fills a small basin with cold water as he grabs a towel from the closet. He returns to her room, seeing she'd fallen back asleep.

"C'mon, you need to take this," he coaxes her back awake, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to help her sit up. She makes a small whining noise of protest at the action. "I know, I know," he cooes, pressing the pill and glass of water in her hands. "I promise you can go back to sleep after."

"'Kay," she croaks out, obediently taking the pill and drinking a sip of water. He urges her to drink a little more and she does so until he's satisfied enough.

He lays her back on her pillow, her breaths coming out as puffs and wheezes. He makes a mental reminder to have her take her cold medicine later after she eats and to bring a box of tissues too.

"I'm gonna be right outside, okay?" he tells her, wringing water out of the towel before neatly folding it into a rectangle and laying it across her forehead.

She makes a noncommittal sound as he tucks her in.

"I'm leaving the door open so I can hear you if you call for me."

She falls back to sleep, not even acknowledging him anymore.

Kageyama's chest tightens as he rises to his feet and hesitates for a moment. A part of him doesn't want to leave her.

He forces himself to return to the kitchen where he washes his hands and gets started on cooking.

When Kageyama was little, he and his grandfather were inseparable. He took Kageyama everywhere with him—especially to play volleyball. He told him all sorts of stories growing up, told him he should always listen to his older sister and be good, told him to treat the elderly with respect and the women with kindness. He also taught Kageyama how to cook—one of which being his favorite comfort meal: pork curry over a bed of rice with soft-boiled eggs.

He'd eat it over and over if he could. It was the one dish he'd always ask his grandfather to make for him on the rare occasion he'd fall ill—

—and it's the one dish Kageyama refused to make again when his grandfather passed away.

He gets to work quietly, placing great care with every slice of the knife on the pork belly. The hiss of the vegetables that he'd thrown in is the only sound in the kitchen as he prepares another boiling pot of water for the eggs. He times it perfectly down to the second, making sure to swiftly toss the eggs in an ice bath.

Kageyama checks on her when the rice cooker indicates that there is a few more minutes left and while his curry simmers.

She hasn't moved from the position he'd last left her in, and he lets out a sigh as he perches on the edge of her bed. Kageyama dips the towel in the basin of water again, wringing it as he rests a palm on her forehead. Her fever is still there, but her face isn't as flushed as it was earlier.

"Food will be ready soon," he tells her, stroking the hair away from her face as he places the towel back. He makes to get up, but she groans at the sound of his voice, making Kageyama pause.

She sniffles a bit, eyes fluttering open to aimlessly glance around the room before focusing on him. A sigh leaves her, a breath of relief that has him curling his fingers around the blanket. "You're still here," she whispers, blinking drowsily.

"I never left, dummy," he grunts. "Just went to cook something for you to eat."

Her ears seem to perk up at his words as she smiles. "You cooked something?" She winces a little at the dryness of her throat. "I could eat."

"Yeah?" Kageyama smiles back as he gets up to help her sit up against her pillows. "Good. Because you need food in your stomach before I can give you your medicine." He tosses the towel back into the basin and turns to leave her room. "I'll be back in just a minute."

Her next words make him freeze.

"Thank you, Tobio."

Kageyama wonders if she can hear how loud his heart is beating against his chest. He wonders if she can feel it hammering against his skin if she were to press her fingers on his ribcage this very moment.

He throws her a glance over his shoulder, taking in the tired smile on her face that doesn't quite meet her eyes, yet speaks volumes on how much she appreciates him. He watches the violet circles under her eyes and how they make his chest physically hurt.

"Don't overwork yourself next time," he says softly, gently. "I'm always here if you need anything."

The smile she gives him, Kageyama comes to realize, is his favorite thing in the world. It brings her dimples out and causes the corners of her eyes to crinkle.

She eats every bite of the curry he made for her, even happy to accept the second helping Kageyama practically forces into her bowl.

And when she sighs in content from how full she is, she takes her medicine obediently without complaints along with a: "Thanks, Tobio. That was the best meal I've had in a very long time."

Kageyama has to hide his smile like a fool.

When she leaves for her summer internship with Iwaizumi Hajime in California, it hits Kageyama hard like a freight train how much he misses her.

It happens one day when he comes home from a long day of practice. The Olympics are right around the corner, and he's been working like a dog on his serves.

The lights are off when he walks in the apartment, silence greeting him as he lingers by the genkan longer than usual. He stands with his shoes that he's just removed in one hand, gym bag slung across his chest as he stares at the line of shoes before him.

She'd brought her tennis shoes and a pair of her nicest sandals, saying that Iwaizumi would have some house slippers she could use in his small apartment she's gonna be staying at. Her running shoes are next to Kageyama's, along with her heels for formal wear and even her boots for "when she wants to look edgy".

He neatly lines his own shoes next to hers and takes a step into the threshold of the apartment, flicking the lights on.

And it hits him then.

How he finds her in every crevice of the apartment, how she seems to fill every corner and every space, obliterating every dark void so all Kageyama can see is her.

The plants she'd brought home one day when she'd gone to the farmer's market sits in the living room. She'd claimed they'd brighten up the place, and Kageyama had shrugged then—but now he diligently waters them and makes sure he has the curtains open during the day so they'd get sunlight. There are picture frames on the mantle, ones that she'd printed out. It holds moments frozen in time of her and Kageyama, of her and her friends, of Kageyama and the rest of the Schweiden Adlers.

He drops his bag on the floor next to the couch, entering the kitchen where he opens the fridge.

Lines of blueberry milk boxes fill the inside—the kind you can only get from the grocery store.

(The brand Kageyama likes the best.)

She'd gotten it the day before her flight. Had surprised him with it when he drove back home from the airport that day, turning his insides into a wreck when he realized she's still taking care of him even while hundreds of miles away up in the air.

His throat closes up when he steps out of the kitchen, eyes flitting to the glassed sliding door that leads to the balcony.

To their balcony.

Where they sit and talk about anything and everything. Where they sip on blueberry milk and snack on chips in silence, watching the stars and moon in reverence.

Kageyama casts his eyes away and walks to his bedroom. He lingers in front of her closed door, thinking back to the last time he'd been inside—that had been when she'd called him Tobio for the very first time.

Missing her a little more than he should, Kageyama quietly goes in his bedroom and shuts the door behind him.

She looks different when Kageyama picks her up from the airport at the end of summer.

Her hair is longer, the color a little lighter like she's been in the sun; her skin has a golden glow to it, her cheeks perpetually rosy; her eyes glitter and light up when she sees him across the arrivals section of the airport; and her smile takes his fucking breath away.

"Tobio!" she squeals, abandoning her luggage as she runs to him. His arms are stretched wide open for her, knees slightly bent as she jumps and—

"Oof!" Kageyama catches her with ease, both her legs wounding around his narrow hips as he's enveloped in her scent. His eyes flutter shut instinctively, nose burying in her hair as the momentum causes him to spin them both around once.

She's so warm, body pressed against his with her arms tight around his neck. He thinks she's laughing in glee, ruffling his hair as she tells him how much she misses him—all he can think about is how perfectly she fits in his arms. How his fingers dig into her hips like they've always belonged there. How his chest is squeezing his stupid heart so painfully, yet all he feels is how goddamned elated he is that she's back.

When he finally sets her back down to her feet, Kageyama has to wrench himself away from her. To grin at her like normal—because they're just friends and she's just his roommate.

"I missed you so much, Tobio!" She's practically beaming at him, her face splitting wide from how her smile takes up the entirety of it.

(And, God—there it is. There's his favorite smile in the whole world. The one that brings out her dimples and crinkles around her eyes.)

"You got big," she croons playfully as he reaches for her bags, a finger prodding his biceps revealed from the t-shirt he's wearing. "And did you get taller too?"

An odd sense of male pride surges throughout Kageyama as he stands a little taller. "A bit," he says with faux humility. "Couple of centimeters."

She nods, totally impressed as she gushes about how she has to crane her neck even more to meet his eyes. "So, so? Did you miss me?" she teases as they walk side by side to the exit that leads to the parking lot. "You did, didn't you?"

Kageyama doesn't reply.

He doesn't say anything, save for a light huff and a roll of his eyes that definitely appears way more affectionate than intended.

He lets her talk about California—the beaches, the internship, Iwaizumi's apartment, Iwaizumi's blunt words and flat stares, Iwaizumi's exasperated sighs every time she gives silly comments.

His eye twitches, fingers curling a little tighter around the wheel with every mention of his former senpai from Kitagawa Daiichi.

But then she starts to drift off in the middle of traffic, mumbling how much she actually misses Kageyama and how he makes a much better roommate than Iwaizumi does.

When she does fall asleep, Kageyama murmurs: "Of course I miss you, dumbass."

Kageyama is twenty when he gets into bed with a girl for the first time.

It's the dead of winter, a little after the holidays, when their heat stops working. Their building's front door is blocked, they've been snowed in since earlier that afternoon. Luckily for them, Kageyama is one step ahead as he'd already gone and picked up some groceries and few days prior.

The cold doesn't register to either of them until it's a little past midnight.

Kageyama can barely sleep, his limbs had turned stiff and he's pretty sure his body heat isn't enough to keep him from trembling soon under the layers of blankets. He tosses and turns several times, eyes squeezing shut as he tries to force himself asleep.

Until someone knocks on his bedroom door, and he finds himself looking down at her shivering with a pillow tucked under her arm.

"Hi," she says, her voice lower than usual like she'd suddenly turned shy in front of him. She avoids meeting his gaze, making him arch a curious brow. "It's really fuckin' cold."

His mouth twitches as he fights a smile.

He's not dumb, he knows where this is going.

"Yeah, it is." He could barely conceal the amusement from seeping into his voice.

She laughs awkwardly, nervously, still trying to look at everything and everywhere but directly into his eyes. Kageyama casually crosses his arms across his chest, the white shirt he has on stretching a little from the effort as he leans a shoulder on the door frame.

He tips his head slightly, bed hair falling over his eyes as he blinks languidly at her.

She makes the mistake of glancing up at him, freezing as she's unable to tear her eyes away from his blue ones. "I—uh—hmm . . . "

Kageyama swallows hard. "What's up?" he asks with faux innocence, watching her cheeks turn pink as she bites her lip. His eyes linger a little longer than necessary on the action.

"You ever heard of body heat staving off the cold?" she manages to squeak out, her voice just shy of a hiccup. Her ears are bright red by now, and Kageyama doesn't have the heart to tease her any longer.

And because it's him, and she knows him whether or not he uses his words—he merely opens his door a little wider.

He bites the inside of his cheek when she visibly brightens and heads on inside of his room. "Wow, it's really tidy inside," she muses, head rotating to take in whatever her eyes can absorb in the darkness.

Kageyama chuckles, the sound a little husky as he shuffles a little closer to the foot of his bed. "You can take whichever side you prefer," he says, waving absentmindedly. He liked to sleep on the right side of the bed since it's next to his phone charger, but he didn't mind if he had to scoot over to the left.

Her eyes land on the pillow Kageyama was using, clearly on the right side. "Oh, I actually like the left side," is what she says, and throws her pillow into the mix.

He's suddenly aware of every little thing the second he slides into bed next to her—one of which being why the hell does his bed suddenly seem so small?

Their shoulders touch, every breath causing their skins to brush. They have the blankets drawn to their chins, his arms are stiff on either sides while she has her hands clasped over her stomach. Laying on their backs, they stare wide-eyed at Kageyama's ceiling—neither feeling very sleepy at the moment.

"You still up?" she whispers.

He snorts. "You know I am."

She shifts, turning to her side so she faces him. He follows her movements, turning to her. It's dark in his room, yet with the angle she's in right now, the pale moonlight spills over half her face and turns her hair lighter.

She blinks at him, eyes searching his face as Kageyama stops breathing. "You don't have to be so nervous," she murmurs to him, her breath fanning his cheek. "It's just me."

Her lashes look longer with every flutter, her cheeks pink from the cold—he wants to caress her face. "I'm not nervous," he protests lightly.

Her lips curl as she shifts a little closer. "You are," she insists, and he nearly melts into a puddle when he feels her hand shyly press against the curve of his shoulder, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. "You're barely breathing, Tobio. And you're so stiff."

"That's because I'm literally in bed next to a pretty girl," he blurts out.

He wants to kill himself.

He doesn't know who looks more flustered at the moment—him or her.

She's blushing furiously, eyebrows furrowed as she stammers, "I'm not—I don't—why would you—urgh." She makes to remove the hand she'd laid on his shoulder, only for Kageyama to reach up and clasp onto her wrist.

His fingers are long enough that they curl around her palm. Her hand is cold, but Kageyama's is warm enough that heat instantly seeps into her. She stifles a gasp when he slides around to entwine their fingers together.

"You are," he mumbles—it's quiet, but earnest. If Kageyama is anything, it's honest to a point. "You're so pretty."

And when she meets his eyes, she knows he means it.

When she weaves her own fingers through his, palms touching, Kageyama wonders if she can hear how fast his heart is beating. "Y'know, Tobio," she hums, giving their locked hands a tug so it rests on the space between them. Her lashes conceal her eyes when she lowers them to gaze at their hands. "You always take such good care of your hands."

He opens his mouth to explain why, but she beats him to it.

"I know it's because you're a setter. But I think your hands are just naturally pretty. Your fingers look like you could be a pianist."

The next thing he knows, she's playing with his hand in hers. Tracing up and down his fingers, brushing every groove and ridge like she's committing his touch to memory. Her hands aren't cold anymore, they burn hot the longer she holds his hand. Her eyes are half-lidded, almost as though this was making her sleepy.

Kageyama shuffles a hairsbreadth closer—enough that his body heat permeates to her. His nose grazes hers when she leans her head back to meet his eyes, mouths almost brushing when he murmurs low and deep, "Go to sleep."

"Will you wake me in the morning?"

His chest burns with longing. "I'll be right here when you wake up. 'M not going anywhere, pretty girl."

She falls asleep with her head on his pillow, nimble fingers intertwined with his long ones. Her forehead is pressed to his chin, Kageyama's cheek resting on the top of her head.

The wind howls violently that night, rattling the windows and tearing down electric lines. But two hearts stay warm all throughout the night, legs twined and lips curled.

(Kageyama realizes that he finally understands what he'd felt that day years ago—when Watanabe Hikari stood in front of him, confessing her feelings with a box of chocolates. The small part of him that she'd unknowingly unlocked.

It's how much Kageyama yearns for someone to fill the quiet spaces in his life.

To listen when he talks, and to laugh when he grins.

He's been desperately aching for someone like her long before he's even met her.)

Kageyama is twenty-one when he realizes he's in love.

It's almost the end of summer, not long since Hinata had called him to let him know he's returned to Japan and that he'd joined the Black Jackals. Kageyama had just come from a rather important meeting with Coach Suzaku—he has one week to make a life changing decision.

He checks the clock at the upper right corner of the microwave—one o'clock in the afternoon. That means it should be about nine at night in California.

She wasn't supposed to go there again this year since Iwaizumi had already graduated from Irvine last year. But then he decided to stay another year in a starting job to hone his skills as an athletic trainer, offering her another internship position—this one a little more professional than the last. Something that'd make her resumé look good for when she graduates next year.

His stomach flips as a memory creeps up on him—one from several months ago. Winter, her body pressed against his for heat, one bed, hands curled around each other's with fingers intertwined, lips almost touching.

They never talked about that day since then.

But sometimes . . . when they'd find themselves sitting side by side in the balcony—Kageyama can feel her watching him in the corner of his eye.

Curiously.

Like she's searching for an answer on his face to a question only she knows.

When they'd share the kitchen to cook a meal together, her gaze would wander from where she has her hip propped against the counter, mixing a bowl of salad with dressing. Staring at him in a way that has him having trouble breathing.

Like she's waiting for something. For him to do something.

Kageyama pushes all those thoughts down and grabs his phone from his pocket, leaning back against the counter as he FaceTimes her.

She picks up before the first ring even ends. (Almost as if she's been waiting for his call.)

Her face fills the screen like daylight breaking through the horizon—bright-eyed and wide grin. "Tobio!" she exclaims happily. (She's always this happy whenever she picks up his calls.)

The apartment suddenly seems brighter.

"Hey," Kageyama says her name, a smile on his face mirroring hers. "I got something to tell you."

Her grin doesn't waver, if anything, it grows. "Oh, me too! I have some incredible news to tell you." She looks over her shoulder briefly, and Kageyama can see she's sitting in the couch of Iwaizumi's apartment. "Hajime-kun, come here a sec!"

Kageyama's smile tightens at the name she uses on his former volleyball rival.

Hajime . . .

When did she shift from calling him Iwaizumi-san to Hajime-kun?

Kageyama doesn't know if he wants to find out the answer to that.

Iwaizumi Hajime shows up on the screen of Kageyama's phone—sharp, angular face with a pair of thick eyebrows and cold green eyes. His lips are set into its perpetual line, not quite a frown but not a smile either. He sits next to her, blinking at Kageyama as he sends the setter a boyish nod.

"Yo, Kageyama," he greets, voice even more blunt and cutting than Kageyama's. "How's it going?"

Kageyama politely inclines his head to a small bow. "Hello, Iwaizumi-senpai. Nice to see you again."

"Kageyama, I'm not your senpai anymore, you don't have to keep calling me that." Iwaizumi huffs a short bark of laughter.

She playfully rolls her eyes, mildly whacking Iwaizumi on his broad shoulder. "I think it's sweet he still calls you that. Let him."

Kageyama doesn't know what he's expecting—but it's definitely not the sight of Iwaizumi visibly softening. His olive eyes obvious, even in the grainy FaceTime call, when they slide to her in clear affection. His mouth smoothens out, the line of his semi-frown turning into a faint smile of adoration.

And Kageyama's heart fucking lurches in his chest when he watches the way Iwaizumi Hajime is watching the girl who makes Kageyama's world go round in utter, unbridled fondness.

Oh.

Oh.

Kageyama feels physically ill.

"Can I go first, Tobio?"

He realizes she's talking to him, asking if she can give her news first. His throat is thick as he forces himself to focus on her face—not on Iwaizumi who sits a little too close to her on the couch, their shoulders touching and cheeks practically pressed next to each other so they could both be in the frame of the video call.

Kageyama nods. "Yeah, of course."

"So, you remember me telling you how Hajime's workplace is a good name to put on my resumé that I interned at for a summer?"

He nods again.

"His boss wants me to work full-time here next year!" she says in one breath, giving him a "can you believe it?" sort of expression.

Kageyama's spine locks up as he freezes from where he stands, leaning against the counter. He feels it digging into his lower back, the only sign that he's still upright. That he hasn't sunk to his knees.

She goes on talking (just as Iwaizumi keeps his gaze on her): "Technically, Hajime is supposed to return to Japan next year for a permanent job that he'd gotten. But if I choose to come back next year, he's gonna stay in the company a little longer. And if he does, that also means I could move in here to his place after I graduate to save me the money and hassle of a new apartment."

And it's then that Kageyama feels his chest cave in on him, his stupid, stupid heart crumbling to the point he can hardly breathe.

It hits him hard at that exact moment. It hits him so fucking violently how he's in love with her.

He's in love with her.

He's so fucking in love with her that every fiber in him hurts as each word that leaves her stabs him in gaping holes.

He's so pathetically in love with her that it shatters him from within when he decides to open his big, idiotic mouth to cut her off before she could finish her sentence. Before she could say anything else that can wreck him even further.

Because that's how he feels right now—absolutely wretched.

And it kills him how his words don't represent how he feels truly.

"—I just found out today during the meeting, but I told them that I wouldn't—"

"I think you should do it," Kageyama interrupts—his words coming out stiffer and sharper than he intends.

It silences her.

She blinks, momentarily stunned at his suggestion. Even Iwaizumi is shocked as he finally fixes his eyes back to the screen where Kageyama is, eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

She laughs awkwardly, trailing off as she mumbles: "What?"

"You should take the job," Kageyama repeats himself, every word tasting like lead as his mouth turns bitter. His tongue is heavy, throat as dry as sandpaper when he swallows roughly. "It's a wonderful opportunity, and it would look fantastic on your resumé. You shouldn't—you can't turn down something like this."

Iwaizumi is silent throughout it all.

Even when she makes a sort of strangled, scoffing noise of disbelief.

But the worst part of it all is how she stares at Kageyama.

(Like she doesn't even recognize who he is.)

Her nostrils flare when she exhales and attempts to protest, "But you—"

"I'm going to Italy next year," Kageyama says, unable to contain the bite in his voice. He has to clench his fingers hard around his phone so he doesn't tremble.

The silence that follows is painful. It's unbearable and uncomfortable. It's a quietness that Kageyama has never been in with her before. He feels like he's suffocating—and he very well may be when she freezes and the stare in her eyes turns into one filled with agony.

"Are you . . . ?" her voice cracks in the end. "But you'll come back . . . , right?"

Iwaizumi looks like he wanted to be anywhere else but in the phone call right now.

"I'm moving to Italy," Kageyama clarifies. "Permanently. I took a setter position with Ali Roma, that's the news I wanted to tell you."

A lie.

A fucking lie.

Kageyama had been pulled into a meeting with Coach Suzaku regarding the Italian league's request to relocate to Italy and accept their formal offer to join their team as the official setter. He'd turned it down almost right away—had told Suzaku he has no intentions of leaving Japan. At least not right now.

(Not when he knows she's been talking about wanting to be the athletic trainer of Japan's national volleyball team.)

Suzaku had merely said Kageyama should go home and think about it—that he'd give him a week to make his final decision. Kageyama had been insistent that he wouldn't change his mind.

But here he is.

"You'd have to go through the pains of finding a new roommate anyways," he forces himself to say as calmly as possible, "so I'm glad to hear you got offered the position to move there. I think you should take it."

She chuckles.

It's detached and colder than anything he's ever heard before.

The smile on her face is foreign to him.

"Roommate," she repeats his words, the gaze in her eyes suddenly so far away. "Right. I should go."

Kageyama blinks. "Wait—"

"Thanks for the advice, Kageyama." His name coming from her lips stings harder than it should have.

Kageyama says her name. Almost pleadingly.

He's sorry—he didn't mean to say all that. He's just angry and petty and jealous and he misses her like crazy.

What he means to say is:

I love you.

Don't go.

Please stay with me.

"Italy is really lucky to have you."

He doesn't get another word out. He can't. She already hung up the phone—the last thing he sees being the gloss in her eyes as she musters a watery smile to him.

It's quiet again in the apartment that has pieces of her in every single corner Kageyama turns to.

He slowly sinks to the floor, his head burying in his knees with the heels of his palms pressed into his eyes like it could repress his tears. They fall, anyway, hot and wet down his cheeks as he feels wrecked inside.

He doesn't know how long he sits there on the floor—crying because he's so in love with his roommate, but he doesn't know how to express it to her.

By the time he rises back up on his feet, it's dark outside and his eyes are swollen.

He goes into the kitchen and pulls out ingredients from the fridge. He starts to make pork curry with soft boiled eggs.

"Tadaima."

"Okaeri."

"I won't be home until past midnight, no need to wait up for me."

"Okay."

"You'll have the apartment to yourself for the next few weeks, I have a couple of back to back away games."

"Okay."

—is what majority of their conversations consist of over the course of fall and winter since she'd gotten back from California.

She didn't let him know her flight was moved early, nor did she let him know she'd flown back with Iwaizumi. The spiky-haired boy was the one who'd rented a car and dropped her off at her apartment in the middle of the night. Kageyama had woken up the next morning, thoroughly surprised to see her shoes in the genkan and her hoodie (his Karasuno hoodie) in the laundry hamper.

They never revisited the conversation that one summer afternoon. Nobody mentioned Italy or California.

Matter of fact, they barely even talk to each other anymore.

No more chatting and giggling in the balcony during the witching hour, no more cooking together as they talk about their day, no more laying her head on his lap while watching TV together until she'd fall asleep from him running his fingers through her hair, and no more car rides together to the farmer's market or to the grocery store where he lets her fiddle with the radio to search for the most obnoxious song she'd sing her heart out to.

But even then—

The rows of blueberry milkboxes never seem to run out.

Her laptop is always plugged in at full battery percentage in the morning when she forgets to charge it before bed.

His kneepads are always washed and set neatly atop his gym bag after laundry day.

Her water bottle is always refilled in the morning before she heads off to campus.

They don't say the words they need to say to one another—yet it's clear in the little things they do that there's care in their hearts. That Kageyama loves her despite the cold shoulder she'd given him—he just doesn't know how to find the right words to make up for his mistakes.

I'm sorry didn't feel enough. It sounds scripted, empty, forced to make amends just to avoid the uncomfortable tension that began to seep into the home they made in the two-bedroom apartment.

So he lets things foster how it is—lets his guilt grow and eat away every piece of him until he knows it's too late to say anything. Too late to tell her how he truly feels.

Too late to call Italy and rescind his acceptance to the job offer.

The pain blossoming in his chest only grows.

"I'm going back to Hokkaido to visit my family during the holidays," she says a couple of days before Christmas when he comes home from practice.

She's sitting in the living room, her small suitcase splayed open as she sets some neatly folded shirts inside. Kageyama lingers for a second by the genkan, shoes halfway off as he blinks at the sight.

"Oh," is all he can muster up, stepping into the living room. He sets his gym bag down carefully, taking a seat on the couch. She's sitting on the floor in front of him, her back to Kageyama as she continues packing a few more clothes. "When will you be back?"

She pauses, fingers idly playing with the string of one of her hoodies. She doesn't turn to face him when she replies in a soft voice, "Early spring."

Kageyama freezes.

By the time she gets back to Tokyo, Kageyama would have already left for Italy.

His throat closes up, and all the words he had wanted to say earlier that summer nearly comes crawling out.

I love you.

Don't go.

Please stay with me.

Slowly, Kageyama starts, "I might already be in Italy before you get back."

She still doesn't turn to him. "I know," she says. But her voice is marginally quieter. Like she's already saying goodbye to him before either of them had even left.

"When do you have to go?" he asks instead.

She zips up her suitcase. "Tomorrow morning."

When Kageyama wakes up for his morning run, the apartment is quiet.

Empty.

She's gone before he can even say goodbye.

Spring in Italy is chillier and damper than it is in Japan.

Kageyama sniffles as he pushes open the door to the training center, wondering if the weather is triggering his sinuses. It's not as warm as it should be, and he wishes he'd put on that extra layer before taking the commute that morning.

He's been living in Italy for a few weeks now. The country is beautiful—so beautiful that he knows she'd like it even more than he does. The language is more romantic than Kageyama realizes, making him wonder how she'd sound speaking it. (Her whispering sweet nothings to him in Italian has definitely plagued his thoughts way more than it should.) His penthouse apartment is decently sized in the city, and it's quiet with no screaming neighbors at three in the morning.

But somehow, it's lonelier than ever.

The quiet that Kageyama onced relish feels empty. Like a blank space waiting to be filled by the sound of her voice and the melody of her laughter. The perfect view he has in his floor-to-ceiling windows of the city lights at night passes him without awe. He knows why—because now that he's gotten the chance to experience life with her, nothing else feels the same.

He trains hard—filling his days with exhaustion so he can stop thinking about her. Except, there's not really anything that can quell the raging storm that brews in his chest, how all he can still think about is how he still loves her after all this time.

He goes home to the empty void in his apartment with a soft "tadaima" without a response back. He lines his shoes by the doorway (because Italian apartments don't have proper genkan), leaving spaces where hers could be. Plants are in random corners of his living room, just a few that he'd picked up one afternoon because they reminded him of her. The stores here don't sell his brand of blueberry milk (the ones she always gets for him), so he'd experimented with whatever drinks they had to offer. He went with drinkable yogurt pouches.

A pack of Mulino Bianco cookies sits in his shelf—unopened and untouched.

They're a brand he knows she likes—she'd told him once a few years ago. He doesn't know what had compelled him to pick it up from the groceries the other day, just that seeing them in the snacks aisle made him ache for her presence.

"Hey, Kageyama," one of his teammates calls out his name, approaching him from where he sits trying to change in the locker room out of his sweatpants and hoodie.

Kageyama is halfway in removing his top. "Yeah?" He's gotten so much better in English now—especially since he'd practiced tremendously around his former Adlers teammate Nicolas Romero.

"There's a girl outside looking for you. Says she's your roommate."

Kageyama's head is trapped in his hoodie. He swears the sleeve somehow wrapped itself around his neck. "What—?!" he chokes out, tripping over the bench his blind ass didn't (couldn't) see. "Who—?!"

Nearly falling flat on his face, Kageyama manages to stay upright as he tears the hoodie off his head. His face is red, breaths coming out unevenly as he whips around to his blond teammate.

"Say that again."

The libero gives him a strange look but does so. "I can't tell if she's crying or if she's angry, but she looks really pretty. She your girlfriend, Kageyama?"

But Kageyama is already bolting out of the locker room before he can hear the rest of the question—he's in his sweatpants and a thin t-shirt that hugs him. He runs, mind going into haywire as he bursts out of the side door to the training center since it's closest to the locker room.

He's blinded momentarily by the sun, flinching at the brightness before he squints through it. His heart is pounding, but he wills himself to calm down when he whips around him to look for—

There she is.

She's standing by the main entrance, arms crossed as she leans against a pole. There's a small suitcase next to her—the same one he's seen her pack for Hokkaido the last time he saw her. It's obvious she came straight from the airport—the tags are still on her bag and her passport is sticking out of the pockets of her (his) hoodie.

Kageyama's legs turn to jelly with every step he takes towards her. He counts the days and realizes yesterday is when she should've returned to their apartment in Tokyo from her trip.

For whatever reason, she'd gunned it directly here to Italy.

To his training center.

To him.

(He desperately tries not to get his hopes up.)

He takes it one step at a time to her, taming the crashing waves that roar madly in his ears. He walks until he enters her line of sight—and she looks up.

Kageyama's breath catches.

His libero is right. She'd been crying. Her eyes are rimmed red, cheeks splotchy with color all the way down to her neck. And she's staring at Kageyama like she wants to ruin him.

He calls her name softly. Gently. Like saying it wrecks him inside out every single time.

She pushes herself off the pole, moving a few steps closer so they stand at a distance near enough for him to hear the shaky breaths she draw and the glossiness of her eyes.

Kageyama wants to sink to his knees. Wants to take her hands in his and press his forehead to her chest and apologize for driving her away. For driving a wedge between them.

He wants to beg her to stay, to come back to him. That if earning her friendship all over again like it's their first time meeting is what it would take for her to talk to him again—then he'd gladly do so.

Because this space, this distance, this silence is killing him more than he can fathom.

And Kageyama has always loved the quiet.

But he wants her voice to fill every corner of his heart, her laughter to invade his lungs, and her heartbeat to envelope over his own until he memorizes every sound she makes.

"What . . . ," his voice trembles, and he has to swallow hard to clear his throat. "What're you doing here?"

She angrily wipes the back of her hand across her eyes, blinking away whatever bits of wetness still clung to her lashes. "Because you're so stupid!"

Kageyama opens his mouth to say something, but then she shoves her hand in the pockets of her hoodie and fishes out—

Her plane ticket?

No—

Kageyama goes rigid.

"Where did you find that?" he asks in a very low voice, face turning pale as his heart drops. She flattens the piece of paper open, unfurling the edges that clearly look like it's been previously crumpled into a ball. He lurches a step forward, hand halfway in the air like he means to grab it from her.

Her eyes are sharp when she gives him a look over the top of the paper. The message clear: Don't you dare take this from me, Kageyama Tobio.

His hand hangs limp to his side, dread seeping into his bones.

And then she opens her mouth and reads the content in a voice that's all anger—and all kinds of broken. Like she can't quite believe he'd ever write anything like this.

"Dear—"

Kageyama's stomach plummets to his feet. They're really doing this.

"—do you ever think about the first day we met? Because I do—a lot more than I realize. You looked like a drowned rat, all soaked and miserable in my front door because of the rain. I thought you looked so pretty, I didn't think it was possible for a girl to make me think that. God, you were so pretty I didn't understand why I felt all strange inside. Your hair, your eyes, your mouth, your smile. Did you know that you have—?"

Her voice cracks for a moment, a lump in her throat as she shakily inhales to steady herself. Kageyama is embarrassed, but he can't look away from her—every fiber in his body bursting in defeat.

"Did you know that you have the prettiest, most beautiful smile I've ever seen? The way your eyes crinkle at the sides . . . the way your dimples come out . . . Just perfect. So perfect. I swear I could talk about how it's my favorite thing in the world." She says the next line in a whisper, full of emotion that Kageyama can't quite place: "You look like my favorite thing in the world."

"You can stop reading now," Kageyama's voice is quiet, too small for a man his size.

"I think about you more than I should. More than a friend should. God forbid, more than a roommate should. I think about that Christmas when you called me to the library because of a spider. I held you in my arms for the first time. I didn't want to let go. All my stupid, simple brain could register at that moment was how soft your skin is and what you might taste like if I kissed you. I've never kissed anyone before—it was a frightening thought. But with you, it's all I could think of."

Kageyama's eyes flutter shut as he braces himself for the next lines. He wrote the damn love letter, of course he knows what comes next.

"Do you ever think about that winter our apartment had no heat? Because I do. Fuck, I really really do. You fell asleep that night holding my hand, telling me how pretty my fingers are and how they look like I could play the piano. I wondered if you could hear my heart pounding that night? Beating like crazy for you. You slept before I did, you snore a little by the way, and you definitely drooled on my shirt. But it's okay—because you were cold and wanted to cuddle up close to me. I got to hold you again in my arms all throughout the night. I got to stroke your hair and murmur how you drive me insane and all sorts of clueless about love. You held my hand that night—but you don't even know you've already held all of me. Every single piece of me that I was more than happy to surrender to you."

Kageyama bridges the gap, his fingers closing over her own. She jolts at the touch, not realizing how her hands tremble and how tears have begun to slip down her cheeks. "That's enough now," he says again. No anger, no resentment—just quiet and calm like he's the rock in her life that stays steady and firm.

The breath comes out of her strangled when he lowers their hands, putting the confession note out of sight. Her eyebrows are drawn together when she cranes her neck to meet his eyes, shoulders tense as they rise and fall with each breath. "You forgot to throw it away," she says, her voice tight. "I got back to Tokyo yesterday and you really were gone, just like you said. So I go in your room and you—" she exhales hard, "—you left this under your bed."

His hands are still loosely around hers, cradling her fingers like they're the most fragile things in the world. "I'm sorry, I thought I threw everything away."

He can feel her curl her hands into fists. "Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you ever tell me this is how you felt? All this time."

"I couldn't—not when I didn't understand what I was feeling." He's shaking his head almost desperately like he wants her to believe him. "I don't know anything about love or what it's like to feel that way for someone. I didn't realize it then, not until that . . . that call."

She knows the one.

"I came from a meeting with my coach that day. Told him I didn't want to go to Italy, that I'd rather stay with the Adlers here in Tokyo." He watches her eyes widen at the truth. "Because I didn't want to be anywhere you weren't."

She nearly stumbles were it not for his hands holding onto hers a little firmly. "But you told me—"

"I know, I know," he whispers guiltily. "I was dumb and jealous and hurt. I wish I could take it all back. I wish I'd never lied to you and said all those hurtful words to you. If only I could take back what I'd said, I'd have never told you to go. Never told you I'd move to Italy."

Then Kageyama's hands climb higher until they grip her by her upper arms. She isn't breathing, eyes unblinkingly staring up at him like he hung the stars in the sky just for her.

"I'm sorry," he breathes out. "I'm so so sorry. I wish I could take it all back."

He cups her jaw with a hand, palm warm and broad with his thumb brushing across her cheek. She shudders at his touch, nuzzling closer. "Tobio," she whispers his name, reverently almost.

And it nearly brings him to his knees as he holds her face with both his hands. She clings onto his wrists, lashes fluttering when Kageyama dares to move even closer—and presses his forehead to hers.

"I'm sorry for making you cry, pretty girl," Kageyama tells her, sincerely like it's from the bottom of his heart. "I wish I'd driven you to the airport that day."

He uses his thumbs to gingerly swipe off her tears. There are faint violet circles under her puffy eyes, signs of fatigue and sleep deprivation. His chest aches at the sight of it—he wants to hold her on his lap and lull her to sleep.

"All my life, I've only ever grown accustomed to the quiet. To being silent because everyone speaks for me. Nobody ever cares to hear my opinion, to listen to me talk about anything else that isn't volleyball."

She slowly opens her eyes to meet his, and he relishes in how radiant she looks despite the tear-streaked cheeks and slightly swollen lids.

"Not until you came along. All you ever did was talk about everything and nothing." He chokes out a laugh. "And somehow . . . somehow you wanted to hear me talk too. Like I matter to you."

"Of course you matter to me, Tobio," she says in an insisting voice, thick with yearning. She glides her fingers up so they tangle with his, still holding her on either sides of her face. "You matter so much to me that hearing you tell me to go . . . that hurt me so much. I thought you wanted me to go because I wasn't good enough for you. That I might never live up to your expectations and standards."

Kageyama's breath of a laugh cuts her off. He's looking at her like she'd just told him a setter's position is the least important on the court. "Are you kidding me right now?" He says her name—like he's chiding her. Or like he's making a point. "You have made the last few years of my life the best I've ever had. For years, ever since my grandfather passed, all that ever mattered to me was volleyball. But slowly, you took over that. I wake up—you're the first thing I think about. I go to practice—I think about whether you're having a tough day in your lectures. I go home—I wonder if you've eaten yet, because I really want to have dinners with you. I go to bed—and your face is the last thing I see because you're the only comfort I could ever need."

He makes a sort of scoffing sound, moving back a little so he can look at her at arm's length.

"You wrote the expectations in my book, you set the standards—long before I could even begin to understand them. Everything in my life directs me to you, and I genuinely don't know what I'd do if I ever lose the chance to tell you what I should've done all those months ago."

Her lips part, a soft sigh leaving her. "Say it," she tells him. "Say it, Tobio."

He swallows hard, throat bobbing. Without looking away or breaking her gaze, he says to her in a voice as clear as day, with no tremble and no doubt and no hint of hesitation: "I love you. Don't go. Please stay with me."

She's quiet for a second.

And Kageyama thinks he might actually fall on his knees if she doesn't say anything soon.

Then her lips curl up slightly, gracing him with a delicate smile. "You love me?"

All the air leaves his lungs when he breathes out, "I do, I love you."

"You want me to stay?"

He's nodding fervently, without a care in the world how pathetic he might seem. "More than anything."

And then she's giggling, eyes turning into crescents as the corners crinkle—sending a jolt of electricity straight into Kageyama's weak heart. "I still have to go back to Japan for my graduation, Tobio."

There's a silly, loopy smile on his face as his eyes soften marginally at the sound of his name. "Say that again," he murmurs out a plea, gaze flickering down to her mouth as he brushes a thumb along the outline of her bottom lip. "Please."

She knows what he means without explanation.

"Tobio," she calls his name with all the fondness and affection in the world. "Look at me."

It's incredible how much effort he has to put in dragging his eyes away from her mouth to look her in the eyes.

"I love you," she tells him. And Kageyama swears he can die right now the happiest man on earth.

Kageyama moves purely by instinct.

He closes the distance between them with just one step, sliding one hand around to cup the back of her head as he leans down to capture her lips in his. She gasps into the kiss as he breathes her in, mouths hot against each other as he holds her against him. Kageyama kisses her like it's his last day on earth, lips memorizing every curve of hers just so it forever remains imprinted into his memory. He kisses her like he's drowning and she's his only salvation, which she very well may be because when she kisses him back—all coherent thought fizzles out of Kageyama's brain.

She gets on her tiptoes without breaking the kiss, sliding her arms around his neck as she leans into him. One hand holding the back of her head and the other wrapped around her waist, Kageyama draws her even closer like he can't get enough of her.

He tilts her head for him, kissing her deeper so he can taste more of the minty flavor of her breath strip from earlier. But she pulls away for a second—panting hard to catch her breath.

He's not doing any better, his eyes are half-lidded and his lips are swollen and red from how hard she's kissing him back.

"You okay?" he breathes out shakily.

She doesn't answer him, merely pulling him back to her so their lips connect once more. It's a little rougher this time and wetter, mouths open as he slides his tongue in her mouth. She groans a little when he explores in messy swipes.

It's nothing like the calculated precision she's seen him play in out there on the court.

It's as though kissing her is the one thing that makes him lose control, where he doesn't have to think twice about—just that he wants to taste more and more of her.

She pulls away from him again because she's grown dizzy from lack of oxygen. Kageyama can't get enough of her, his arms wounding around her so he can bury his nose into her neck.

"Don't go," he whispers, a little broken. "Please."

He feels her slide her fingers into his hair, stroking the short length of it before her lips find purchase on his jaw. "I'm not going anywhere."

The exhale that leaves him is full of relief.

They stay like this for a little longer, just locked in each other's embrace like they're frightened the other might vanish if they let go.

Then she yawns, and Kageyama slowly pulls back from the hug. "Want me to take you back to my place?" he asks, fingers intertwining with hers as he reaches to grab her suitcase. "You look like you could use some sleep."

She lets him tug her away from the main entrance of his training center. "I kinda wanna watch you practice though."

He chuckles, changing directions to lead her to the side doors he'd come from. "Yeah, okay, if that's what you want. We can get something to eat after."

She presses into his side, glancing down at the strong lines of muscles running down his bare arms. "Why're you in just a t-shirt? It's cold outside."

Kageyama gives her a flat look. "Funny you say that when you're still in my hoodie that you've never given back to me."

"Hey, I can give it back right now if you want it. Bit of a warning—all I have under this is a bra. Your call."

"My scandalous, pretty girl."