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Washio Tatsuki knew he was in for trouble the day he accidentally let it slip.
"Or guy," he'd said, "I’m not picky."
Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Komori had been asking him what kind of girl he liked, and Tatsuki knew he was just using this as part of some weird mating dance with Suna, but for some fucking reason he answered honestly.
Crap.
Double crap, if the gleam in his friend's eye is anything to go by.
"Don't," he warns, "Komori, don't you dare—"
🪽
Konoha laughs so long and hard that Tatsuki frowns at the phone, genuinely concerned he might have broken him.
"Ohhhh... oh boy." He sighs, sounding blissfully entertained. "This is the best day of my life."
"It's just a date," Tatsuki warns him. "I didn't promise him my soul or anything."
"No no—let's go back to you agreeing to a blind date with a guy set up by your teammate with no eyebrows."
He frowns. "Komori has eyebrows."
Suspicious and potent silence is all he gets in return, until finally, he has to sigh.
"...He has very tiny and silly eyebrows, but they exist. Look, it's just one date. If we don't hit it off, it's fine. If we do..."
Konoha hums. "Yeah, Tatsu-chan. That's the question isn't it? What if you do?"
🪽
Tatsuki knows he's bi because in high school, Konoha dragged him out on a date, and it actually went rather well. Then, by the time he got home, he had a whole damn panic attack about it, broke up with him, and cried. It was... messy, and stupid, and it took him a few more years to really understand what it meant, but the friendship they'd maintained after was more important than trying to pursue anything, and then he moved to Shizuoka. So, really, he'd never been functionally gay, not like Bokuto and Akaashi who had the grand romance everyone dreamed of.
Growing up next to that... yeah, it was a little odd. He didn't see himself in either of them, knew that if he grew to like someone later it wouldn't look like that. But he also learned that you were allowed to look at another man like they hung the moon and stars, it wasn't some secret to ashamed of. In fact, that was really the bedrock of it all—Tatsuki didn't want to feel like love was a guilty pleasure.
He had dated girls as well, but... the type of girls that liked him didn't seem to align with the type of girl he liked. He just wanted... he wanted someone to see him as a person, not a Boyfriend. He wanted someone he could talk to honestly. He was tired of games, of pretend, and he could get a perfect score on Dating but what was the point if you didn't really like them?
Ugh. He wouldn't say he was given to overthinking, usually. But this date has him—
The doorbell rings. Tatsuki pulls his head out of his closet and goes to answer it, not sure who it could be, only to come face-to-face with Suna Rintarou.
"So, I heard you have a date tonight," he cuts in with, smoothly, not bothering with pleasantries. He's still typing on his phone as he lets himself into Tatsuki's space, somehow taking up the whole room despite his slouching indifference.
"Let me guess. A little weasel told you?" He shuts the door and sighs. Should have known no one on this team can leave well enough alone.
"Naturally. And I've been bribed to act as your support staff, and make sure you're dressed." He gives Tatsuki a cursory once-over. "You clean up well, I suppose."
Tatsuki's really not sure if he should take a compliment on his, uh. Showering abilities. Because that's pretty much all he did. "Thanks?"
Suna steps closer and hums. "You have nice skin."
"I grew it myself." They stare each other down for a moment, before Suna retreats with a snort of a laugh and Tatsuki almost smiles.
"Okay, fair enough. Show me your closet, big guy, let's get you dateworthy."
🪽
He was worried at first, but Suna turns out to be actually good at this, landing him in a nice navy button-down that he forgot about, black jeans that he thought didn't fit anymore (Suna assures him they do), and a pair of shoes he probably only wore to Bokuto and Akaashi's wedding.
After a moment's critical thought, Suna pops another button down at his collar, and rolls up his sleeves.
"There. Now you're good."
He glances at himself in the mirror, and. He is, actually. Good, that is. He looks like he made an effort, like he cares, but... he still looks like himself.
"You know, if this volleyball thing doesn't work out, you'd make a killing as a fashion coordinator."
"Does that mean you're going to pay me?" Suna brightens up.
"No. Get out of my house."
He goes, laughing all the way.
🪽
All he was told was the name of a restaurant, a time, and that a table would be reserved under 'Komori'. He's pleasantly surprised to arrive at a very traditional, almost farmhouse-looking place, attached to a small museum. He ducks through the curtains, slides the shoji door open, and immediately inhales the sweet scent of smoked fish, baked yams, and fresh rice.
"Welcome," the hostess bows, an older woman with a beautiful kimono featuring seasonally-appropriate maple leaves and bush clover. "Do you have a reservation?"
Behind him, the door opens again, and something about the way the air moves pings his senses—whoever this is is tall.
"Yes, it should be under 'Komori'."
There's an intake of breath from behind him, and he turns—only to look a man directly in the eye, neither up nor down. He's pretty, actually, fine features and silky hair, but he's also a bit gangly, not quite grown into his height, all narrow and inelegant.
He also looks kind of like a deer caught in bright lights, too stunned to speak.
The hostess bows. "Right this way, then—"
"Wait!" The man clears his throat, shaking himself a little like he has to readjust. Then he bows. "Sorry. I'm the other half of that reservation, actually."
She has a smile on her face that's a little too knowing for Tatsuki's comfort, but she leads them to their table with perfect grace, and sets menus down.
The man across the table immediately buries his face in one, but in a way that's obviously just embarrassed. For all his poise, Tatsuki's finding him quite easy to read, which is something of a relief.
"Washio Tatsuki," he introduces himself. "And you are..."
"Oh my god." The menu gets slapped down to the table, and now he's... putting his face in his hands? His very red face, apparently. "Of course I know who you are!!"
He's a little taken aback at that. He didn't think he was well-known or anything, sure he's been a starting middle blocker for Raijin for a few years, but... he's not one to stand out, either on the court or in interviews.
"You... do?"
"Yes! What self-respecting middle blocker doesn't know your name?" Before Tatsuki can respond, though, he sighs, letting his hands drop, and clears his throat to start again.
"Sorry. I'm Bessho Kazuyoshi, I play for the Penect Jaguars in Div-2, you're... basically my idol, I have no idea why Hoshiumi-san thought this was a good idea..."
Huh. So, Komori talked to Hoshiumi, his buddy from the under-19 championship team, who... knew Bessho, apparently.
Wait. Hang on.
"Your idol?" Tatsuki lets out a little chuckle. "That's a bit much, isn't it? I'm just a human being, I promise."
"A stupidly hot human being," Bessho mutters, almost too low for him to hear.
Tatsuki's ears go pink. So, it was like that, huh? Well... This was already going better than just about every date he'd been on. At least they both loved volleyball. He picks up the menu and hums. "And you haven't even seen me with my clothes off."
There's a long pause, Bessho frozen entirely, then he seems to come to some decision and sputters. "That's—absolutely not!! You can't be hot and funny! What am I supposed to do, then, stand around and look pretty?"
"Sure," Tatsuki says easily, letting a grin rise to his face. "You're doing a great job already."
He lets Bessho bluescreen for a while more, as he picks out what he wants from the menu. It's actually nice, this pace. He can't keep up with conversational mavericks like Suna and Komori sometimes, but the way Bessho has to think everything through gives him enough space to breathe. This is actually...
This is...
This is actually going well. Like, really, really well.
An old, familiar anxiety tugs at the bottom of his stomach. What if he doesn't... what if he DOES—
"I'm just gonna be honest here, are you interested in the museum at all? Because I just moved to Shizuoka this summer and I've been dying to get around and see the dorky, stupid sights. If you think it's dumb that's fine, I just want to prepare myself now..."
Tatsuki waits, patiently, for Bessho to talk himself out, feeling fonder by the second. "I want to see the museum," he murmurs, wryly. "I would especially like to see the museum with you."
Tatsuki's always liked stuff like that. Like this whole place, the traditional atmosphere and preservation of culture—he truly does love it, he thinks it's important, and he's never needed to pretend his interest is ironic. That being said, going to museums alone isn't much fun, and that Bessho was the one who brought it up...
The man across the table sighs, relieved. "Okay, okay, I didn't know if Hoshiumi's friend picked this place on purpose or what, it's just..."
Tatsuki hums. "A place you might have picked yourself?"
"Yes! That! It's just that we, the youth, grew up around all these historically important places and most people don't even care, they think it's just for tourists, but if we as a Japanese people stop caring about our own heritage... oh, I'm. I'm sorry." He cuts his rant off, swallowing against... nerves? Shame? Bracing himself for judgment? "Sorry, I was rambling again..."
"I like rambling," Tatsuki says, and finds he truly means it. "I'm not a big talker, but I like to listen." He tries to think of a way to put it. "...You've heard of Bokuto Koutarou, right?"
"Yeah, who hasn't?"
"...I went to school with him. We're friends, at least I think we still are. Trust me, he's a much bigger chatterbox than you are, a chronic oversharer for that matter, but I never thought that was a bad thing. He calls me just to ramble sometimes, even now."
"Wow," Bessho says. "That's... you're a seriously good person, aren't you?"
"I try to be, I guess." Before he can elaborate, their waitress comes by to take their order, and it's no surprise that they both choose some of the more traditional, regional dishes, including the signature tororojiru. A smile bounces back and forth as they order, and after, Tatsuki picks up where he left off.
"So, lay it on me, motormouth. I can take it."
🪽
Bessho—or, Yoshi, as he insisted on being called halfway through the museum—looks a bit like he's going to puke as he awkwardly but directly asks if Tatsuki's interested in pursuing 'evening activities' at a 'more private' location.
"Or not," he qualifies, with an embarrassed laugh. "Like, I know I'm not much, but—"
"Yoshi." The nickname in Tatsuki's deep voice just kind of stops him dead, which is very cute, and makes his decision even easier. "I'd love to, but I should warn you—I've never been with a guy beyond making out, so."
Yoshi's jaw drops. "Wait. Wait wait wait. Hang on. You." He puts a palm on the front of Tatsuki's chest, like he's bracing himself as he wheezes for breath. "You. Washio fucking Tatsuki. Have never...?"
"No?" He shrugs. "I've been on a lot of first dates, but. I don't think I could be interested in someone if I didn't like them."
"And you're saying I—" Yoshi's voice literally squeaks.
"..." When the rest of that sentence does not seem to be forthcoming, Tatsuki raises an eyebrow. "...Yes. I do, as a matter of fact, like you."
Yoshi makes an inhuman whine of a noise, that he'd actually love to hear again, maybe somewhere outside of a restaurant slash museum parking lot?
Tatsuki steps forward, slides an arm around the other man's narrow waist so he can murmur in his ear (and how much does he love that he doesn't have to bend down for it?) "Come back to my apartment with me," he says. This close, he can feel the shiver that provokes, body betraying an honesty that his face doesn't show.
"Well, if you insist," Yoshi responds, with a shaky laugh.
🪽
"So?" Konoha's voice is softly critical, over the line. "Feel like running away?"
"No," Tatsuki murmurs, and he can hear the warmth in his own voice, the stupid rush of fondness that hasn't left, even when Yoshi had to race out the door so he wouldn't be late to practice. "I like him, Aki. I really, really do. I want to see him again." Soon? Yeah, soon.
Konoha blows out a breath that he can tell is... immensely relieved. "Good," he says. "I'm happy for you, idiot. Now, all you have to do is send Komori-chan an edible arrangement that says 'Thanks for the Dick'."
"No." Tatsuki's brow furrows. "That makes it sound like he's the one I—"
"I know, I know! That was the joke! Never mind. If someone as weird as you can find love, it looks like there's hope for the rest of us."
"There was always hope for you. You're attractive, charismatic, and intelligent. I wish you all the best in your endeavors."
"God, you sound like that guy from the Adlers. Never mind, I gotta go, but... Tatsuki?"
He waits, thumb hovering over the 'end call' button. This was either going to be very sweet, or extremely inappropriate—
"Does he have a better dick than me? Be hone—"
Tatsuki cuts him off with a truly satisfied grin.