Chapter Text
Kei isn't a romantic.
He doesn't care for flowers or gifts or tacky confessions behind concrete buildings with the smell of sweat thick between the adrenaline and the hearts beating a mile a minute from anticipation. His own heart remains mutinously steady when he’s approached by girls whose shoes scuff the pavement as they stutter out their undying feelings for him, and he stares resolutely forward if he’s ever in the presence of people engaging in public displays of affection.
He’s just not wired to thirst after attention. He’s content with being an outlier, standing on the fringes of friendships and relationships without the need to reaffirm or reiterate the existence of affections by the people he decides to keep. Yamaguchi laughs at him. “You're funny, Tsukki,” he says between cherry soda and popsicles. “You don’t need to be romantic to want to be loved. You only need to be human.”
Kei used to think that the apathy that clung to him was a gift. It made him feel safe, not having the stickiness of want cloying the back of his throat – a confirmation of feelings is enough, the need for reaffirmation is desperate. These are his books and those are his rules.
He should’ve known that the apathy wouldn’t slip through the cracks; he should’ve expected doubt to come creeping through the door he’d left open in his crude, cold arrogance.
-
Kei started dating them ten months ago. There was nothing sweet in the confession; no shoes scuffing the ground or words falling over each other in an ache to be said. There were no racing hearts on his end, no fierce blushing or wide grins or lips pressed against lips, no. It had been fleeting, so fleeting. Kei had almost missed it.
Bokuto had dragged him out with them to eat and they’d spent the entire meal in silence. Kei scrolled mindlessly through his phone while they waited to pay, ignoring Akaashi’s gentle reprimands telling Kuroo and Bokuto to pipe the fuck down if they didn’t want to split the entirety of the cheque between just the two of them. They’d paid and walked him to the bus stop. He hadn’t looked up from his phone apart from a vague glance when Akaashi had stepped in front of him, placing a light hand on his arm. His words had been straight to the point without any opulent embellishments.
“We like you,” he’d said, voice unwavering. “We want to go out with you.”
Kei had raised a brow, glancing between him and Bokuto and Kuroo, who were watching him carefully to gauge his reaction. He’d slipped his phone into his pocket and stood straighter.
“Go out?” He’d repeated. “With all of you?” Which had been met with nods and a chorus of assertion. He’d shrugged; it didn’t take much thought. He liked them well enough. He could grow to like them more.
“Okay,” he’d said casually. “I like you too. Let’s go out.”
-
In hindsight, he only has himself to blame for how things fall to pieces.
-
“Tsukki, Tsukki, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi sings. “Tsukki’s phone is ringing. Tsukki, answer your phone.”
It’s sunny outside and Kei burns far too easily. Yamaguchi’s applying sunscreen to the nondescript parts of his body that he can't reach, like the nape of his neck and the backs of his shoulders. He sighs at the way his phone buzzes pathetically on the table and then sighs louder at the caller ID. He hits answer and holds it to his ear.
“Kuroo-senpai,” he says. “I’m sorry. I'm running late.”
There’s a hum on the other end and a vague rustle. “We agreed on nine, Tsukki. Akaashi and Bokuto have had an hour to practice. We’re going to lose because of you.”
Kei rubs at his face. He says, “It’s hot outside and I burn easily,” as a riposte.
There’s a pause and then, “Oh.” Another pause and a snicker. “Bokuto’s talking shit about you.”
Kei looks down at his shoes. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, Kuroo-senpai.”
There’s another rustle. “He wasn’t really, Tsukki. I lied.”
Kei almost laughs. “I know. You're a shitty liar. I’ll be there in ten.”
He hangs up without waiting for an answer. Yamaguchi’s fingers rub circles into his skin. “It’s weird,” he notes and Kei tilts his head.
“What’s weird?”
He feels Yamaguchi shrug behind him. “I don’t know. You’ve been dating for ages but nothing’s changed. You still call them senpai.”
Kei hums. “Is that a bad thing?”
Yamaguchi presses against his shoulder blades and spins him around. His skin is tanned from the sun, face smattered with freckles, eyes sincere as he regards Kei with a hard look. “Do you like them, Tsukki?” He asks. His voice his soft.
“Obviously. I wouldn’t be going out with them if I didn’t.”
Yamaguchi’s hand reaches out to smooth back Kei’s hair. “Do you love them?”
Kei blinks. Shrugs. “I don’t know. I've never thought about it.”
“Then think about it.”
He does. He sighs. “I don’t know,” he repeats slowly. “Maybe. Yeah. I think so.”
Yamaguchi bites his lip. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.” But he doesn't continue, only plays with Kei’s hair a bit and chews the gum in his mouth. He smells like cherry. Kei grits his teeth.
“Don’t just stop,” he says tensely. “What is it?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing Tsukki, forget it.”
But Kei can't. “I won’t be able to forget it. You might as well tell me.”
Yamaguchi sighs. “I want you to be happy,” he says.
“I am happy.”
“Yeah, okay. But I want you to continue being happy, dumbass.”
Kei blinks, bemused. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Yamaguchi’s incessant stroking ceases. His face crumples into something resembling sympathy that Kei despises.
“You love them,” he says and his voice is tight. “But you don’t kiss or hold hands or go over to each other’s houses and watch stupid documentaries about sea creatures or polar bears or fucking black holes. You love them but they don’t ask you out other than to eat at that shitty diner two streets over from the aquarium, they don’t text you good morning or goodnight or have a nice day – all you do when you're together is practise volleyball and listen to them tell you how much you suck at the game. You're not even close to them. Tell me honestly, Tsukki, how is that different from anyone else you talk to?”
Kei sits straighter. For a second, he feels as though the air has been punched out of his lungs. His fingers twitch in his lap. He’s not sure what he expected but it wasn’t this.
“They confessed to me, Tadashi,” he says softly. “They’ve told me they like me. They don’t need to keep saying it for it to be true.”
Yamaguchi rubs at his temple. He closes his eyes. Kei watches him closely when he looks back up again, smile plastered onto his face.
“Okay Tsukki. So they’ve told you,” he says resolutely. “But have they showed you? You can point at a cat and call it a dog, that doesn't make it a dog. Do you have any actual proof that they like you? I mean, how do you know?”
And therein lies the problem, because really, the truth is that he doesn't.
-
Kei makes it to practice in seven minutes and thirty-six seconds.
He’s tired. He doesn't even feel like playing today, but it’s as Yamaguchi said; they hardly meet outside of practice and Kei doesn't want to come across as needy by asking to meet them somewhere else instead. He’s the kohai between the four of them – it riles him up more than it should.
“You're not even trying, Tsukki,” Bokuto whines after Kei misses another block. They're playing two against two; Kuroo glares at Kei scathingly as he takes his place with a low sigh. Akaashi serves cleanly and Kuroo retrieves it, hitting it back over the net. Bokuto shoots it to Akaashi who tosses it easily.
Bokuto jumps, fingers spread wide, face tight with concentration. Kei stares. His fingers make contact with the ball and Kei hears himself gasp. A perfect spike. The ball hits the ground and rolls away.
There’s a moment of complete silence. Like a penny dropped into the sea, Kei is lost beneath the waves.
“If you weren’t going to put in any effort you shouldn’t have come, Tsukishima-kun.”
The honorific is tacked on patronisingly. He hadn’t wanted to come. He shouldn’t have.
“I'm sorry, Bokuto-senpai.”
Kuroo laughs. “Why’d you come all the way here if you weren’t feeling up to it?”
Kei looks down at his feet. “I didn’t realise until I got here. I'm sorry.”
Kuroo laughs again. Kei moves towards the bench and grabs his things, slinging his bag over his shoulder and exchanging his sports glasses for his regular ones. He stands at the door for a beat.
“See you next time, Tsukki,” Bokuto sings without looking at him.
Akaashi watches him silently, brows drawn in.
-
He’s on the bus when it hits him.
They don’t touch me, he thinks dazedly. The realisation carves a hole right through him. He remembers Akaashi’s hand gentle at his wrist when he asked him out. He doesn't remember anything after it.
He shoves his headphones on, teeth gritted. Damn Yamaguchi for making him paranoid. He turns the volume to max and stares resolutely forward.
He’s probably imagining things. The swoop of fear is unfounded. They like him – they told him themselves.
He tries to ignore the way his heart thuds painfully in his chest.
-
From: Akaashi Keiji
Is everything okay? You weren’t acting like yourself today
Meet me at the ice cream place in 20?
It’ll just be me
-
Kei is at the ice cream place in fifteen minutes but Akaashi’s already there.
He’s sitting on the stairs a little way off, leaning back on his hands in a strangely juvenile position. Kei stands for a second just staring and then walks over.
“Akaashi-senpai.”
Akaashi startles and looks up. “The senpai isn't necessary, Kei-chan,” he says. “I've told you before.”
Kei doesn't answer. He steps forward and sits down, close to Akaashi but not quite touching him. Akaashi watches him, expressionless.
“Sorry,” Kei says. “About today.”
Akaashi waves him off. “It’s okay,” he assures. “Do you want ice cream? I was going to buy you some, but I wasn’t sure what flavour you’d want.”
Kei blinks. He’s thrown off, if nothing else. They don’t do this – this meeting outside of practice thing, so Kei can't get a read on it. Akaashi smiles at him softly and Kei feels his fingers shake. It’s making him sick. As soon as he’d gotten the message, he’d felt sick.
“Is there a reason you called me here?” He asks, ignoring the offer. He curls his fingers into fists and swallows hard. He wants to reach out and press his palm against Akaashi’s leg, touch the strip of skin beneath his shorts as an affirmation that the slow curl of doubt which has plagued him since the morning is unfounded. He stares at his fingers but they stay curled in his lap. He doesn't know how to reach out for something he wants. He doesn't know how to take.
“No reason,” Akaashi says, tilting his head. “I just wanted to see you.”
It’s not even inherently romantic. Yamaguchi says it to him all the time but it still softens the pressure on his chest. He feels like a child again, face turned towards the sea as the waves lap him up like starved, deranged animals. There’s a feral sort of desperation inside of him clawing its way out. He wraps his arms around himself to keep it in.
Akaashi buys them ice cream. Kei chooses a bright blue bubble gum flavoured scoop and Akaashi chooses a pink cotton candy one. They sit outside on the step, legs splayed out in front of them like children.
“This is good,” Akaashi hums. “Can I taste yours?”
Kei rolls his eyes and offers the tub. Akaashi takes a spoonful and sticks it into his mouth.
“Bokuto would love this flavour. I didn’t expect you to have such a sweet tooth.”
Kei looks down. “Mm,” he says quietly. Akaashi smiles at him when he looks up.
“Are you going to skip tomorrow’s practice?”
Kei’s stomach twists. He should go. He won’t see them again for at least a month once they go – a month of radio silence followed by a sudden burst of noise. It’s deafening.
“I don’t know. I might.”
“But you also might not?”
“Yeah.”
Akaashi nods. He plucks Kei’s empty tub from between his fingers and throws it in the bin.
“Shall we do something else, Kei-chan?”
Kei-chan. Kei’s breath are ragged.
“If you want, Akaashi-senpai.”
Akaashi hums. “Maybe I’ll just walk you home.”
Kei bites his lip. “You don’t have to. It’s a long walk.”
“I have time.”
They walk in silence as the sun dips below the horizon. Akaashi walks him right to the door and then turns to face him. His expression contorts for a second as he blinks up meet Kei’s eyes, a small frown between his brows. He makes an aborted movement before settling for another tentative smile.
“See you, Kei-chan,” he says softly. “Take care of yourself.”
He doesn't touch him. Kei lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding and drowns.
-
“He bought me ice-cream.”
Yamaguchi’s head is in Kei’s lap and he’s watching him upside down. They're in Yamaguchi’s room which is smaller than his own but so much nicer because its void from the ever present, low level passive aggressiveness his parents give off. Yamaguchi grins.
“Ice-cream?” He repeats. “What flavour did you choose? No wait – don’t tell me, let me guess. How many scoops did you get?”
“One.”
“Bubble gum, Tsukki.”
Kei huffs a laugh. “You're right,” he says and Yamaguchi preens.
“You always choose bubble gum when you're nervous. Were you nervous, Tsukki?”
Kei rolls his eyes. “No,” he lies. Yamaguchi laughs loud and easy.
“Liar, liar,” he sings. “You were nervous going on a date with your boyfriend~”
“It wasn’t a date.”
Yamaguchi raises a brow. “Right,” he says sceptically. “You spent the afternoon with your boyfriend, he bought you ice-cream and walked you home but it wasn’t a date?”
Kei scowls and Yamaguchi shrugs, delighted. “I'm sorry, Tsukki,” he says. “But if it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, then it’s a duck.”
Kei looks down at his fingers. “It wasn’t romantic or anything. We barely spoke. I kind of hated it.”
Yamaguchi frowns. “Tsukki. Hey, Tsukki, look at me. Why don’t you speak to him about it, hm?”
“There’s nothing to speak about. It’s my problem, not his.”
Yamaguchi pushes himself up onto his elbows. “What’s bought this on?” He asks slowly. “Usually you're so – oh. Oh no. It’s my fault, isn't it? Is it because of what I said this morning? You can ignore me, Tsukki, you know I'm full of shit. They love you, of course they love you. What does Akaashi-senpai call you? Kei-chan? Kei-chan, that’s so damn cute Tsukki. Are you really worried? Tsukki, Tsukki. Tsukki, look at me. I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Kei’s fingers are shaking again. He must look pathetic, if Yamaguchi’s concern is anything to go by. “You were right,” he says flatly. “There’s no proof.” He curls his fingers into white knuckled fists, nails pressing crescents into his palms. There’s a lump forming in his throat and he wills it away. He’s scared. He hates being scared.
Yamaguchi stares. “Oh,” he whispers. “Oh. You're so silly, Tsukki.”
Kei looks up. “What?”
There’s a hand on his shoulder. “I really thought you didn’t want. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? Tsukki, you know if you want something, all you need to do is ask.”
And therein lies the problem because Kei isn't used to wanting, he isn't used to reaching out and taking or touching or yearning. He isn't used to the acrid desperation clogging the back of his throat, making it harder to breathe. He’s choking beneath the waves, cries stuck under his tongue as struggles to the surface. Too far gone to call for help; he’s in too deep to be saved. He’s like a black hole, dragging in anything that dares to get too close.
“They won’t touch me,” he says, voice thick. “I don’t get it. Maybe there’s something about me that keeps them away.”
Yamaguchi’s hand slips into his own. “I don’t think that’s true,” he says, but Kei shakes his head.
“The three of them make sense. I feel like I'm watching them from the outside looking in.”
Yamaguchi watches him, expression indiscernible. “But Tsukki,” he says softly. “I don’t understand. Isn't that what you wanted?”
-
Kei’s been invited to practice after school the next day. Nekoma and Fukurodani have an extra week off, so Akaashi, Bokuto, and Kuroo will most likely be free to practice for at least two more days before they go back home. The class ends and Kei feels a lick of fear curl inside him. He doesn't want to see them. Not today.
He shoves his books into his bag and pulls on his headphones, closing his eyes and taking deep, measured breaths. There’s a knock against the table and he looks up with a sigh.
“Stingyshima,” Hinata greets. “What’s your Japanese Lit score?”
Kei closes his eyes again. “Seventy.”
“Seventy?” There’s a rustle. “That’s not fair. I got a third of that.”
Kei smirks. “You get as good as you give. Now fuck off.”
There’s a pause and then, “Is it true that you're being coached by Fukurodani’s ace and Nekoma’s captain?”
“Mind your own business.”
Hinata huffs. “That’s not fair, Crappyshima. They're so cool and they want to coach you. What do you have that we don’t?”
Kei’s eyes flicker up. There’s no spite in Hinata’s face and the words had sounded more like a whine than an accusation but they still manage to settle below the surface, squeezing into the gaps between his ribs and grinning wide, malign. He tries for a scowl and tells Hinata to fuck off again but his jab falls short. He turns away.
What do you have that we don’t?
It’s a valid question, isn’t it? And one that Kei can't answer.
The realisation alone is a noose around his neck.