Chapter Text
His mother left two hours ago.
Sometimes he sees her when he gets home--a pale woman with a haunted look in her eyes and alcohol-scented breath. Most of the time she just ups and leaves without even leaving a note or money for dinner, which means another night of cold yakisoba for Kageyama.
He huddles into the sofa, a blanket over his shoulders and his measly dinner half-eaten on the coffee table. He stares disinterestedly at the TV screen where an old cartoon is playing. As he watches the colorful characters on the screen interact with each other with big, exaggerated smiles on their faces, coldness gnaws at his chest.
On a rare occasion where his mother was sober, she said that coldness was called loneliness, an emotion she herself was familiar with.
(Kageyama doesn't hate his mother. He couldn't hate her for something she has no control of. Whenever his mother returns home he'd always tuck her into bed and leave some sort of breakfast on their kitchen table.)
Outside of the volleyball team, Kageyama spends most of his time alone. Not out of choice. He didn't choose for his dad to work overseas. He didn't choose for his mom to be only good at taking of herself. He didn't choose to be socially inept and have people scared at him.
Kageyama turns off the TV, plunging the room into a stifling silence. If he listens carefully, he can hear the hum of the airconditioning, footsteps outside his house, a cat meowing as he clangs inside a bin and his next-door neighbor shouting at it.
His thoughts press against him, threatening to swallow him whole. The coldness in his chest spreads all over his body, numbing his senses and the thin blanket on his shoulders does nothing against it.
Stop that, he tells himself. I am not lonely. I'm not. This is nothing new. You're used to being alone anyway.
Yes, he's used to it.
But it doesn't mean he likes it.
With slightly trembling hands, he reaches for his phone and dials a number.
-
Tsukishima's house is generally a noisy place. He hears his mother singing to herself, pans sizzling in the kitchen, the door opening, his father saying i'm home, his mother responding welcome back and Akiteru loudly talking with someone on the phone.
It's noisy, noisy with life, constantly reminding Kei that he is not alone.
Then, another noise enters the fray—his phone beeping, a familiar beat starting, Lorde's voice filling his room with lyrics that speaks of royals, a tune specially reserved for someone.
Tsukishima doesn't sit up from his bed. He reaches a hand over to his bedside table and he answers the call, putting the caller on speaker.
“King,” he greets. “To what do I owe the honor? Stuck on a homework question again?”
The teasing is easy and familiar. He already expects the angry retort from the other side, but all Kageyama lets out is a shaky sigh.
“Shut up. Just--,” he inhales,”--listen for a moment. Please?”
That makes Tsukishima sit up. Rarely does Kageyama use the word 'please.' He looks at the clock on his bedside table. It's close to 9pm. Kageyama is usually asleep by now so he can get his eight hours and still wake up early for his morning run. Why was he calling Tsukishima of all people at this time?
“What is it?”
“Remember that time?” he says, not exactly answering his question. “When we...fought over our families and you said-”
He pauses and Tsukishima could feel the hesitation in his voice.
“Actually never mind. It's stupid. I don't think you even remember. Sorry, I'll just--”
“I remember,” Tsukishima confesses.
It happened only a few weeks ago, after the Shiratorizawa match. They had a scuffle about Akiteru watching to support Kei, about Kei not appreciating that and Kageyama lashing out at him for taking it for granted. He remembered cornering Kageyama at the locker room and apologizing-well, not apologizing since Kageyama didn't hold him at fault-and Kageyama apologizing in turn.
He remembers his promise.
He told Kageyama quietly but firmly, that he's welcome to spend the night at his house if he ever needs company. Kageyama accepted it hesitantly, as if he didn't quite believe that Tsukishima meant it.
“Where are you right now?”
“I'm still at my house. I didn't actually think...”
He didn't have to finish his sentence. Tsukishima has a good guess. He didn't think Tsukishima would remember. He thought that those words weeks ago were just throwaway words out of pity or a misplaced sense of guilt. He doesn't know that Tsukishima meant it then and he still meant it now.
“Do you need directions?”
Kageyama makes a surprised noise. “I...I can come over?”
“Of course.” Tsukishima stands up and starts making his way downstairs. “I'll text you how to get to my house. Pack a toothbrush, sleeping clothes and bring your homework too. I might as well tutor you while we're at it.”
“You sound like a mom,” Kageyama says, amused.
“Get your ass over here, young man.”
“Yes, yes.”
When Tsukishima hangs up, the chill in Kageyama's bones recedes a little. It's not completely gone, still clinging to him in bits and pieces of himself, but there's a warmth that wasn't there before. It starts in his cheeks and the tips of his fingers. He revels in that tiny bit of heat before standing up and getting ready to stay over at Tsukishima's.