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You did the same thing every morning before school. Woke up before the sun could breach the sky, took a warm shower to wake yourself up, and grabbed your uniform from the closet to lay out on your bed. Then, you'd start to put on your meticulously crafted facade. First, you grabbed whatever make-up you could find and think about what you'd wear for the day. You never did much except the occasional eyeliner and foundation to block out the little blotches of red on your cheeks and under your eyes. Sometimes you'd throw a little color on your eyelids, put on a little gloss, shape your cheekbones a bit, but it wasn't much. Just enough.
Then you'd begin to tame the unruly mess that was your hair, combing it until it was in some sort of cohesive style that might stay half the day until practice after school. By then you didn't care, your hair was long enough to pull back anyways, so you usually did. But, at least for classes, you spent a fair amount of time tidying your hair until then. The guys on the team often called you girly, you didn't really care, you could kick their asses to Tokyo and back and they knew it. Even Oikawa, the man with too many adoring fans, liked to tease you.
It was fine, because it meant they never saw the real you. The one who scrubbed off all of that make-up in a fit of fury because it suffocated you with how fake it felt. The one who screamed into his pillows so his parents wouldn't hear him and start to ask too many questions again and again like they might have cared. The one who cried every morning in the shower to get it out of his system before school. It was better that they thought you were a pretentious girly boy, it made it easier to deal with. No one liked you very much anyway.
After you'd finish with trying to tame your hair, you'd put on your Aoba Johsai uniform, gather your things in your bag and head down to grab a light breakfast before slipping into your school shoes and heading out. You didn't live too far from the school, so the fact that the sun was too high in the sky didn't worry you. You were never late.
School was uneventful, like always. Aside from the remarks you got from your teammates, the third years mainly. Mattsun and Makki, mainly. They never meant any harm, they were more like family than what you had at home. You'd snort and turn up your nose, only to bust into fits of giggles when they rolled their eyes. You'd amuse them when you answered snidely to Oikawa, even Iwaizumi thought it was funny, the way the teen would bristle. It made you feel a little better, even though it was only for a little while.
Practice was the same everyday, too. The team was training for the prefectural qualifiers for Nationals. The whole team was accounted for, even the snide spiker, Kyoutani. The snide spiker just a year under you. The snide spiker you never admitted to anyone about having the smallest of crushes on. He always commanded so much energy and power, that you were enarmoured by it. You never had enough raw skill, but you did what you could, that was enough for you. It was enough for the team, not for him, though. He refused to hit your tosses, snapping about how there wasn't enough effort in them. You knew that, but you didn't care enough. Yahaba and Oikawa could set for him. That was enough.
You wished you could push yourself enough to care, it would be so worth it to see all of that raw power unleashed because you were finally enough for him. But you knew you wouldn't be. He hardly even looked at you, you sometimes heard him mumble something about being pretentious enough to even outdo Oikawa, those were the days you went home and thought about throwing all of the make-up you owned in the trash and cried into your pillows. You could never figure out why someone a year your junior could make you hate yourself even more.
But he certainly could.
It was no different today. You were hanging around with Oikawa, pestering him like you always did. Holding onto that fake confidence like it was all you had left. It sort of was, but you didn't want to think like that. Not right now. Kyoutani was doing drills with Yahaba again, since you were occupying Oikawa with your useless banter. Evidently, it soon wasn't enough and he had come over, scowl set in place like always.
You immediately fell silent, glancing away as he asked Oikawa, though it was more of a demand, to come set for him. Oikawa agreed started to head over after jutting his tongue out at you, which you only returned with a tiny smile.
That smile shattered, however, when Kyoutani turned a heated scowl toward you. It made you flinch, lips pressing into a thin line. He reminded you of everyone else that looked at you, like you were disgusting, like you were too high on your horse to even deal with anyone else. It made you want to cry, but you fluttered your lashes and tried a coy smile instead. "What's the matter, Mad Dog? Can't take your eyes off me?"
When he snorted at the notion, you kicked yourself for ever being so stupid. He was even more digusted, nose crinkling, eyes hooded into a nasty glare that made you feel small. Made you want to cry and beg someone to do you the favor of ending your life right there. He didn't say anything for a while, Oikawa was squawking over at the net next to Iwaizumi, something about being dragged away in favor of "Mad Dog-chan" being able to speak with you alone. Being able to seemed like the wrong way to phrase it.
More like was displeased to, if his expression told you anything.
When he spoke, he said it loud enough that the gymnasium halted. Everything, everyone, froze. The only thing beating was your aching heart under that disgusted, heated stare. You felt yourself slowly break around each syllable he spoke. You felt the pain of facing your parents and coming out. Felt the shame. Felt the hatred they had. The hatred everyone seemed to have. Felt the fakeness of everything you did to make yourself feel okay everyday. Everything broke, because your junior, the one you had stupid, unrequited feelings for, opened his mouth and said.
"You really do fucking love yourself, don't you?"
No one moved, your own breathing had hitched in your chest. Everything was crumbling down. The happy facade, the attempts to try and bring yourself up. The attempts to cover nights of crying, make yourself feeling nice. All the self esteem you had so desperately tried to build up came crashing down like fragile glass. You tried to blink away the tears, clearing your throat several times to choke down a sob threatening to crush everything no one even believed. You could hear someone else speak, it sort of sounded like Matsukawa, but whatever he could have been saying was drowned out by the dull throbbing in your head. Kyoutani was standing there still. You wondered if he was waiting for some sort of reply. You wondered if it was worth keeping up the charade.
When you finally decided it wasn't, you let a few tears roll down your cheeks, blurring any expression you might have seen rising to your junior's face. It left streaks in the powder foundation, smudged the eyeliner at the corner of your eyes. You didn't care anymore. What was the point? When you blinked at a few of the tears to see better, you noticed the other third years shifting. It almost looked like they cared. You knew better.
You replied loud enough for the entire gymnasium to hear. Kyoutani stood in shocked silence at the sadness you never wanted anyone to hear in your voice.
"Well, I guess someone has to."
You turned away from him, hating how your voice had broken at the end of your sentence. You made your way through the still gymnasium to your things, grabbed your duffel bag and excused yourself to the locker rooms. You needed to clean your face off, tear streaked eyeliner was hard to clean off once it dried. You'd learned that from experience.
No sooner did you close the locker room door, did the gym behind you burst to life again. Like nothing had ever happened. You let every tear that wanted to fall, fall. You sobbed into the empty locker room, rummaged around in your bag for the removal wipes you kept on hand and went to the mirror tucked away near the back. You didn't bother to look at yourself, you knew what you looked like.
Disgusting.
That's what you were, no matter what you looked like on the outside, you were still the same. Your parents didn't want a gay child, it was revolting, against everything nature had ever written out. If you were into boys, surely you were a mistake. They made that very clear. When you wore make-up it only made you look pretty. Nothing about you was actually attractive. You were too reclusive, too snobby, self centered. Nothing you did to try and pick yourself up benefited anyone but you. That was just as bad as not having anything to do with anyone. You weren't supposed to fit in, who could ever want a vile, stuck up freak?
Who could ever love you, if not yourself? You didn't even love yourself, not really. You knew everything about you was wrong, you weren't good enough, even for yourself. Who could ever in their right mind, look at you with with anything but disgust and pity.
No one.
You wiped at your eyes with the removal wipes furiously, trying to get the remaining eyeliner off before it smudge into your skin and stained it. You discard it, worked the other lid raw, discarded that one too. Scrubbed your cheeks, wanting to scrub the skin away. Wanting to throw yourself in the trashcan with the wipes.
When you finished removing everything, you looked into the mirror, chest heaving. Your eyes were puffy, cheeks red and splotchy from labored breathing and the sheer embarrassment of crying so openly. You looked even worse without the make-up, but what did that matter? You were fake either way. What was the point anymore.
When the door to the locker room opened, you hung your head. Probably Kyoutani come to berate you some more, or worse, Oikawa or Iwaizumi. They'd give you some sort of shitty pep talk that would be tailored to make you feel better. You'd nod along to the words, apologize for causing a scene. Go back to practice. Train for the qualifiers. Pretend to be okay.
Be okay.
But when no one spoke, you wondered if they had just peeked in to see if you were there, alive. You held your breath, kept your eyes trained on the drain in the sink and waited for anything to come. It didn't, for a long time. You thought maybe they'd left, until you heard sneakers squeak against the floor. You didn't have the strength or the will to acknowledge it, you had to be selfish again and ignore them. Absently, you rubbed at your eyes, wanting to rid them of the leftover tears before they saw them.
But then, everything became warm.
It startled you, causing an undignified sound to pull from your chest, and you froze. Eyes wide and staring into the sink, your mind worked to register a body behind you. Arms around your waist. Hair against your cheek, a face pressed against your neck. A warm, heaving chest pressed against your back, arms tightening a fraction when your own breath stuttered. When you managed to pull your eyes away from the drain and to the mirror, your eyes locked on a set light brown eyes, the only thing distracting you from them was the pinkish brown hair against your cheek. Your breath hitched again. You couldn't tear your eyes away. He wouldn't let you.
"H-Hanamaki-san, what are you doing?" You tried to laugh, make it seem like you hadn't just rubbed parts of you skin raw and cried your eyes out. The sound choked you, the arms around your waist squeezing a little tighter.
Hanamaki didn't say anything, just held your gaze for a long time. You wanted to look away, didn't want to let him see you like this. You were already disgusting enough. He only let his eyes move away to free your own when another set of footsteps filtered into the locker room. How much more torture would you have to endure? You followed his gaze, because what could possibly be worse? You were already a nervous wreck, what did it matter who else saw you. You were disgusting, it didn't matter.
That was what you told yourself, until another friend rounded the corner to the sinks. You wanted to die now. Matsukawa looked so sad, but still like Matsukawa, all droopy eyes and messy hair. He was pouting a lot like Oikawa liked to do, and you nearly choked when he jabbed at Hanamaki's ribs.
"Oi, don't hog 'im."
Wait... what did that mean?
Hanamaki's grip tightened around your waist again and you could barely see it, but his tongue was sticking out at Matsukawa. Why was he doing that?
"Too bad! I got to him first so I get to have the first one!"
First what?
Matsukawa rolled his eyes before making his way over to the sink. You were the most confused you'd been in a long time. More confused than when you first had feelings for a boy, more confused than when your mom and dad had said it was 'unnatural', more confused than you had ever been. It wasn't a bad confused, but you didn't really get it. He leaned against the sink next to the one you were now pretty much trapped against. There was something, strange, about the way he was looking at you. Hanamaki was shifting behind you, what you could see of his face looked like a whiny child. This was very confusing, but the look in Matsukawa's eyes made you feel small again. It was different than how Kyoutani had made you feel, though.
This look that made you feel so small, also made you feel warm.
Then, you felt very, very warm.
You had been too caught up in your spinning thoughts of mainly confusion when you heard Hanamaki's very indignant squawk from your side. You blinked several times before you registered more hands, more warmth, on your skin. Against your face.
Against your lips.
You blinked again, twice more. Then it hit you like a runaway freight train. There was a soft, warm pressure against your lips. It wasn't moving, just pressing against your chapped lips like soft petals on a flower. A warm flower, attached to Matsukawa's face. Your face turned about fifty shades of red, you wanted to jerk away but Hanamaki, despite his insistant whining, had you locked in a vice grip. His eyes were barely open, but they were open enough to lock onto your's and hold you there. It didn't help the rising temperature in your cheeks.
You wanted to die right there.
When Hanamaki barked a laugh and shoved at Matsukawa, the other teen clicked his tongue and flicked the near pink-haired boy on the forehead. You felt like you'd missed something. What you didn't miss was the little jabs they were making.
"See, you're a shit kisser, Mattsun!"
"At least I got the first one."
Hanamaki sounded offended, but he leaned his head against your shoulder gently, a hand finding one of your's and a thumb rubbing over the skin. "First kiss doesn't count if it's shit, Mattsun."
First kiss... that had been... your first kiss.
With Matsukawa Issei, one of your friends.
You wanted to scream, for what reason, you didn't really know, but the urge was suddenly very strong. It only intensified when Hanamaki turned you gently around to look at him. You hated at that very moment how tall they were in comparison to yourself. But he, too, had a strange look in his eyes, one you couldn't place. It made you reel back a little before another pair of lips were pressed against your's.
Screaming became the furthest idea in favor of maybe just fainting on the spot.
This wasn't right. This wasn't happening. You were most definitely not being kissed by your other friend, right after one had just done the same thing. Surely, this was some sick dream. No one would kiss something as disgusting as you.
The warmth against your lips told you otherwise, and when another source of warmth fell onto your skin, just below your eye on the crown of your cheekbone, you felt your mind crumble. What was going on? Surely, most surely, this was not real. Something was wrong, they'd been dared or something. Oikawa had done this, to torment you. Yes, that was it. This was just a practical joke, Mattsun and Makki, at it again.
When brown eyes locked with your's, your chest seized, and you barely had a second to breathe before the lips from your cheek had drifted back to your own. Those golden brown eyes vanished elsewhere and warm attention was given to your jawline. Everything was wrong about this.
But for once, you let yourself cave in. You told that angry, spiteful voice to shut up, let your hands move on their own, no longer still but finding a nest of hair somewhere above you to thread into. Your eyes fluttered slowly, falling away from the strange look set into the darker eyes that were now locking onto every slight twitch until you couldn't see them anymore. You could still feel them, however, feel them staring into you like they were looking for something.
What they were searching for, you didn't know. Didn't care. All you cared about was that feeling of having someone hold on, someone kiss and squeeze and hold you to keep you from falling to pieces on the floor. All you cared about as moving your lips against the much softer ones still locked onto your's. About the scrape of what had to be teeth under your jaw. About having your breath taken away.
For once, all you cared about was that maybe this was what being loved felt like. Being warm, held so close that you could melt into the other person. The fact that there were two people made your head spin so fast behind your eyelids that it made you dizzy. Everything was warm, and soft, and so nice.
When everything vanished, you tried not to let yourself feel let down. They probably realized that they'd made a mistake. You tried not to let the hurt bubble up but it surged forward like a battering ram, breaking down all the careful walls and making you want to cry and wail into the cool air of the locker room. Your hands fell away from the dark locks they'd tangled into, and you felt the urge to cry until they found solice in another heap of strands. Soft moving, gentle lips were replaced by one's that even tasted like a whiny jealousy. You would have laughed if you had had the second of breath to be allowed, but they moved faster than the others, you found it hard to keep up. Especially when the set before was making its way to your collar bones. You pushed away the tears and let yourself have another moment of nothing but warmth and soaring happiness at the attention. At the prospect of being wanted. Nothing else mattered when Hanamaki pulled your lip with his teeth before kissing the offended skin with an oddly soft possessiveness that made your heart do flips. Nothing mattered when Matsukawa took a bit of skin between his teeth, sucked hard enough that you could feel it bruise but didn't care what it would imply once anyone outside this locker room saw it.
Nothing mattered because you let yourself feel wanted. Let everything fill your mind until it was hazy and drunk on the affection. Let your heart pound against your ribs almost painfully because it couldn't process everything at once. You let them make you feel okay, for once, without the make-up, without the false prudish attitude, without the glass confidence you'd managed to gather.
You were broken, bound to fall apart if they let go.
But they didn't let you go.
Hanamaki was the first to pull away, breath warm and dancing with your own in the small distance as he rested his forehead against your's. He nudged at Matsukawa, said something about not leaving so many marks, then chanced a look at you again. The smile on his lips told you he must have liked whatever he'd seen, but it was still soft and steady. Matsukawa placed a couple more lazy kisses against your cheeks before leaning his head against your's as well. He didn't say anything, didn't look any different, just looked like the same old bored Matsukawa.
Except, he was smiling, too. Just a little.
You wanted to ask what that had been about when the locker room door burst open, making you jolt in a sheer flood of fear.
The others, however, deadpanned at the tell tale squawking of one Oikawa Tooru. He was going on about something when he rounded the corner, barreled over almost immediately, and untangled you from the hold the two teens had had you in. He said something about attacking you when you were so upset, but it held no real malice. It only added to the confusion. Had he known they were going to do this? What even was this? What did any of it mean. You tuned out the conversation to try and piece it together. Oikawa's shrill snap at the bruises on your neck made you flinch into reality. He was snapping at the taller teens like a mother hen, though they looked as bored as could be. It wasn't until they both caught your vacant stare and winked that you couldn't help but cover your mouth and laugh.
It turned out, that you'd always been loved. By your team, your friends, the family you had at Aoba Johsai. The troublesome duo had made plans to tell you before heading to the qualifiers, but couldn't help but find Kyoutani's crude outburst the best time to tell you. You'd thanked the berated junior silently when Iwaizumi and Oikawa made sure to let him know he had been far too rude. You'd thanked him silently for the hands clasped around either of your's. Thanked him for giving you the wonderful awakening you had had.
A week after, you used the concealer in your bag to hide other things, much to Oikawa's surprisingly motherly dismay. Feelings for Kyoutani forgotten, the fake act thrown to the wind. You had two very silly, very wonderful boyfriends that made you feel loved. No matter what, they always made you feel so loved. Even as Seijoh fell to Karasuno at the qualifiers, they made sure to keep you up, keep you strong. Keep you loved.
And you were always loved, and happier than you could have ever even dreamed.