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Kei saw the team’s roster before he even applied to the damn job. He has no one to blame but himself. Himself and, of course, Hinata Shouyou. Kei will be dead and gone and blaming Hinata Shouyou when his grandchildren forget to light incense in his name.
This time, it is definitely at least partially Hinata’s fault that Kei is here. Hinata told him about the job opening. Hinata put in a good word with the head coach. Hinata encouraged him to stick with volleyball halfway through his university degree, instead of pivoting to focus on rock climbing on a whim and a crush on a pretty girl. Hinata was probably there the day Akiteru first picked up a volleyball, guiding his hand towards it instead of a basketball in junior high—forever condemning Kei to a lifetime of circling the drain that was men’s volleyball.
That is to say: Kei can only blame Hinata—and himself—for his current predicament: the painfully uncomfortable moment of being introduced to the Division 1 team he will be working with, his first job out of university, and hearing Bokuto Koutarou, star player of the Black Jackals, say, “Tsukki?” in the most betrayed, heart-wrenching way imaginable.
“Bokuto-san,” Kei replies, aiming for friendly yet professional but something catches in his throat at the sight of an adult Bokuto Koutarou, in the flesh, and he ends up sounding a little constipated.
“Tsukki!” Hinata yells, like Kei didn’t explicitly tell him several times to not call him that at work, please Shrimpy, get this into your tiny, tiny brain.
“Hinata,” Kei sighs, trying not to sound too resigned. It has been barely a couple of ours into his first day and he is already wondering if it’s too early to quit. “I told you to try to be professional.”
Luckily, everyone likes Hinata and thinks he’s funny and the awkward moment is broken with laughter from the team. Even the head coach, Coach Foster, an imposing, austere woman that reminds Kei a little of when he first met Kiyoko-san, smiles a little.
Bokuto gets jostled around by his teammates, breaking his gaze, and Kei finally feels like he can breathe. He wasn’t ready for the intensity of Bokuto’s amber eyes. He had forgotten what it felt like to have Bokuto’s undivided attention, if only for a moment.
After a minute of noise—almost exactly—Coach Foster claps her hands twice and everyone, players and staff alike, falls into two neat lines facing each other. Kei ends up in the middle of the staff line, next to all the other assistant coaches, across from Bokuto who is looking at him intently, like he can worm his way back into Kei’s mind through eye contact alone.
Kei meets his eyes for one second, two, and then breaks to look at his boss and focus on the words leaving her mouth—the training plan for the day. At the beginning of the day, he got a folder full of stat sheets and dietary plans and blank paper, and now he fills up a page with hurried notes and questions to ask later.
The lines break with a sharp blast of the coach’s whistle and Kei nearly jumps. One of the assistant coaches, a woman barely as tall as Hinata, who introduced herself as “Tsumugi, the Jackals’ resident butch”, tells Kei that he is shadowing her for the rest of the day. And so, Kei spends the rest of the morning scribbling page after page of notes and questions, writing so fast his hand hurts, so fast he can barely think of the last time he saw Bokuto Koutarou in person.
The last time Kei saw Bokuto in person was the last day of their Tokyo training camp, his first year of high school. It was early in the morning and about half of the Tokyo students had woken up to say goodbye to Karasuno. Bokuto was there, being loud and obnoxious with Kuroo, and Kei was determinedly trying to avoid them both.
He was still reeling from Yamaguchi yelling at him, the word “pride” bouncing around his skull. Pride as a motivator. It made sense, explained why the rest of his teammates acted the ways they did. But for himself? What did he have to be proud about?
Kei stook off to the side, headphones on but nothing playing. He closed his eyes and hoped he looked sullen and sleepy and, above all, unapproachable.
No such luck.
“Tsukki!” Bokuto called and Kei opened his eyes to Bokuto stumbling to a stop right in front of him, phone in his outstretched hand. Reluctantly, Kei slid his headphones off.
“Give me your number.” Bokuto demanded, waving his phone in Kei’s face.
“Why?” Kei asked flatly.
“Let’s keep in touch!” Bokuto said and pressed his phone into Kei’s hands. “You can tell me how things go and I can give you wise advice.”
Kei really did not want to give Bokuto his number. “You’ll be annoying.” Bokuto didn’t relent.
“I won’t call you.” Bokuto promised. “Only texts, full of all my knowledge as your senior.”
“So, like, three texts, then.” Kei said and Bokuto cried out like he had been wounded, spinning and falling back dramatically against Kei.
Kei stumbled under the weight and they both went crashing down, Bokuto landing on top of him. For a moment, all Kei could do was lay there, dazed and out of breath.
“I won’t get off of you until you give me your number.” Bokuto blurted.
“Oh my god,”
Kei ended up giving Bokuto his number. Before they had even left Tokyo, he had almost 20 texts from him.
Hinata is waiting for Kei when he finally leaves, hours after practice ended for the players, after a very stressful debriefing with all the staff. His head is swimming with names and numbers and tactic diagrams and all Kei wants to do is go home and scream in the shower.
But there is Hinata, looking tired but excited as Kei walks up to him. “What’s up, shrimpy?” Kei asks, glad to see Hinata too—despite himself.
“Let’s go to dinner!” Hinata exclaims. “It’s your first day; it’ll be my treat.”
Well, if Hinata is paying…
For the dramatics, Kei sighs and pretends to think about it while Hinata vibrates in front of him. “Alright,” he says after an appropriate amount of time, suppressing a smile as Hinata cheers. “Just remember, I know what your dietary plan looks like now.”
Hinata groans dramatically. “Don’t think about that right now.” He grabs Kei’s hand to pull him along, to whatever greasy hole-in-the-wall he has in mind. “You’re off the clock. Work-life balance, remember?”
Kei snorts. “What do you know of work-life balance?” Hinata squawks and starts to protest, reminding Kei of all the things he supposedly does outside of volleyball. Most of his friends are involved in professional volleyball in some capacity, which really makes Kei’s argument for him.
This argument carries them through the bustling streets of Higashiosaka, up a flight of stairs and into a crumbling restaurant booth. Kei doesn’t actually know Hinata’s diet plan but when he orders, Kei pointedly raises an eyebrow until he chooses something else, grumbling the whole time. Kei smirks and orders what Hinata originally wanted, just to mess with him a little. He doesn’t make a fuss when Hinata orders them both beers though, even though he is sure Coach Foster would definitely have an issue.
They toast Kei’s new job and Kei takes a moment to bask in that feeling: he has a job, his first job out of university, for an incredible team, with a friend he actually likes—though he will never say it out loud. It’s a great moment, nearly perfect, if it wasn’t for—
“What’s the deal with you and Bokuto-san?” Hinata asks, after he has chugged nearly his whole beer.
Kei swallows and stalls, saying, “Pace yourself, tiny. I’m not letting you go to practice with a hangover.”
Hinata rolls his eyes. “I’m not getting another one. Answer my question.” He points at Kei with his glass and stares in his intense, unnerving way.
Kei absolutely does not squirm. “Nothing happened,” he lies. “We just… haven’t seen each other in a while.”
“Sure. And I’m guessing the last time you saw him, you stomped on his heart?” Hinata leans back, still fixing Kei with that stare. Hinata always sparks questions in Kei. How is someone so short so intimidating? What did Kei do to still have Hinata as a friend, so long after high school? And most importantly, when did he get so observant?
“When did you get so observant?” Kei mumbles, looking away from Hinata to the kitchen where their waiter disappeared. They do not magically reappear to save Kei.
Hinata meaningfully stays quiet.
Kei sighs. “I don’t know how he feels about it, but that’s really it. You know we talked while we—” he gestures between him and Hinata— “were in high school, but we fell out of touch when university started.” He shrugs. “It’s weird seeing someone after all that.” It’s mostly true.
It’s also a ridiculous over-simplification, but Hinata accepts it, nodding and changing the subject to some video game he picked up on Kenma’s recommendation. Kei nods along, but his mind is still wrapped up in high school and Bokuto.
“We talked” wasn’t even half of it.
Kei had called Bokuto after that match—the one that had sealed the deal for him, fully sold him on the sport. Not immediately, of course. It was several hours later, on the walk home, after he had already split from Yamaguchi.
He was still excited, all of his limbs thrumming and tired in a way he wasn’t used to yet. He needed to talk to someone, someone who knew how it felt to be so excited over a single point. And the only person he could think of was the boy who had spent all of training camp trying to get Kei to understand, to see the tragedy and joy that could be held in a single point.
Before he could even really think, really worry about how they didn’t call, Kei had his phone out and was calling Bokuto.
“Hello?” Bokuto said when he answered, mumbled and confused.
“Were you asleep?” Kei asked, suddenly sidetracked.
“Tsukki?” Bokuto instantly perked up. “I was just napping—wait!” How did your game go?”
“We won.” Kei said with a small private smile. That felt good to say, good to know he played a part in that win.
“Yes!” Bokuto cheered, so loud Kei had to pull his phone away from his ear.
“Bokuto-san,” he complained.
Bokuto didn’t listen, continuing to ramble excitedly, “Congrats! That’s one step closer to nationals; that’s so exciting! Of course, that’s as far as you’re going because we’re going to crush you.” He sounded so cheerful saying it, Kei couldn’t help laughing. “Is that why you called?” Bokuto asked. “Just to say you won?” He sounded excited by this, like it meant something that Kei wanted to keep him updated on how Karasuno was doing.
“Well, yes. But also…” Kei sighed, running a hand down his face. Now that he was actually here, saying it out loud felt a little silly—very silly actually. But this was Bokuto Koutarou, bold to the point of shamelessness. It was hard to feel silly around Bokuto, if only because he was so silly himself.
“I get it now.” Kei said in a rush. “One point is really all that matters. I get what you were trying to say. And it feels good.”
“To win?” Bokuto asked, uncharacteristically quiet.
Kei laughed a little, helplessly. That’s what he thought Bokuto had meant, what Hinata and Kageyama were so obsessed with, but it wasn’t that. It was so much smaller—and so much bigger. “To do well,” he said simply. “It feels so good to play well.”
“You got it, Tsukki-dude!” Bokuto cheered and Kei didn’t even have it in him to be annoyed at the nickname. “That’s exactly what I love about volleyball! I’m glad you’re feeling it too.” He was so genuine it made Kei feel like throwing up—but that was why he had called, wasn’t it? Bokuto’s earnest enthusiasm was infectious and Kei found he wanted a little bit of it himself.
“Me too,” Kei said. He didn’t mean to; it practically slipped out of him. But maybe because it was just Bokuto, he didn’t want to take it back.
And then Bokuto started cooing down the phone and the moment was thoroughly ruined. “Alright Bokuto-san,” Kei rolled his eyes.
“They grow up so fast!” Bokuto cried, clearly not listening. “It’s so amazing to see your guidance pay off.”
“Goodbye Bokuto-san.” Kei said firmly.
“Bye Tsukki!” Bokuto sang and hung up before Kei could say anything about the nickname. Still, as Kei kept walking home, he was hardly upset. And later, after he took a much-needed shower, there was a message.
Bokuto: good job dude!!
Three words and yet they left such a glow in Kei’s chest.
The first few weeks, Kei’s days are so busy and full there is no time for things to be awkward. He is too busy learning names and strengths and where all the bathrooms Hinata could have hidden are. But as he starts to get more settled, things with Bokuto start feeling worse. Bokuto has never been subtle and it’s quickly clear he has not changed in the last four years. He is trying to avoid Kei while also not making it obvious that one of their strongest players is avoiding one of their coaches and, as a result, everyone knows.
Hinata keeps trying to talk to Kei about it, cornering him during water breaks and after practice, and Kei is running out of ways to say “no, I don’t know what his deal is or why he’s suddenly incapable of being professional.” His coworkers have questions, he can tell, and if Bokuto doesn’t stop looking like a kicked puppy, Kei is going to get beat up in an alleyway. Everyone on this team loves Bokuto, beyond him being an incredible spiker, and this is really hurting Kei’s attempts at fitting in.
Even Coach Foster is curious, fixing him with a look—stern and a single raised eyebrow—clearly silently asking, “Is this going to be a problem?” Kei shakes his head, but it’s a lie. It’s not up to him if this will be a problem or not—it’s up to Bokuto. And Bokuto will not talk to him. Coach takes him at his word and has Kei shadow Tsumugi, who is—just his luck—leading spiking drills.
Death would be kinder. Kei thinks to himself as he hides behind Tsumugi—difficult because she’s significantly shorter than him. It’s not a complicated exercise, lots of gentle serves with a focus on aiming, but Bokuto keeps messing up—missing his target, touching the net, and getting more and more worked up about it. His mood is steadily dropping, quieter and quieter, and with it drops the rest of the group.
When Bokuto misses the net entirely and the rest of the players start whispering furtively among themselves, Tsumugi turns to Kei. “This is your mess,” she says and it’s not a question but Kei nods, resigned to fixing it—somehow.
“Let me try again.” Bokuto is saying to the setter, their reserve who also looks close to tears, and he jumps when Kei carefully touches his shoulder.
“Let’s get some water.” Kei says quietly and Bokuto nods, stumbling as he follows. Kei leads them to the farthest water fountain he can think of, ignoring the looks from the rest of the team. Some of them are threatening, most of them are curious, and Kei can’t choose which one is worse.
“Sorry,” Bokuto mumbles as they leave the gym. It’s almost a surprise, except it feels so typically Bokuto. And while Kei doesn’t know this Bokuto, he knows the Bokuto of four years ago—and more importantly, what to say to him.
“For what?” Kei asks and the eye roll is audible in his tone. “Don’t be stupid,” he really wants to say, but that’s not professional.
Bokuto frowns. “Messing up,” he says, like it’s obvious.
“It’s practice.” They’re at the water fountain now and Kei turns to face Bokuto properly. “Apologize for something real.”
This seems to take Bokuto back and, privately, Kei feels a little pleased. He doesn’t know how Coach Foster or Tsumugi have been managing Bokuto’s moods, but it’s nice to know he can actually be helpful—like he might actually be a good coach.
“Sorry for being distracted.” Bokuto says slowly, like he’s trying to figure out what he’s allowed to be sorry for.
“Anything we can do to remove distractions?” Kei asks and now it’s Bokuto’s turn to not to say, “Don’t be stupid.”
Kei winces. It’s clear what’s distracting Bokuto but Kei’s not about to quit just so practice will go smoothly.
But Bokuto surprises him. “I think talking helped. I should be good now.” He smiles his bright, media-ready smile and Kei is suddenly hit with the recognition of 24-year-old Bokuto, an adult even as he is emotional. He turns back to the gym, calling behind him, “Thanks, Tsukishima!”
An instinctual “don’t call me that” dies in Kei’s throat. The missing nickname feels like a loss.
Kei can't tell you when it happened but, by his second year of high school, he and Bokuto started spending hours on the phone together, talking. They didn't just talk about volleyball, though they did talk about it a lot. They talked about their families, commiserating over them both being the youngest sibling. Kei couldn't imagine having twin older siblings; he kept seeing Akiteru in a skirt, splitting like a cell in mitosis. (Bokuto laughed hard at this image when Kei told him—after Kei re-explained what mitosis was.)
They talked about how Karasuno was shaping up, though it was mainly Kei complaining about the new first years—full of energy and admiration for Kageyama and Hinata, but not enough for the rest of them.
“Bo, he's our captain!” Kei yelled down his phone, on the way home from practice after one particularly annoying first year was rude to Ennoshita. “Why would you be rude to your captain?”
“Yeah!” Bokuto yelled back. This is why Kei liked calling Bokuto. It didn't matter what Kei was mad about, Bokuto immediately agreed with him. It felt good to have Bokuto on his side, so thoroughly. Kei would call it Bokuto's best quality, except that kind of made him seem like a dog.
It made him feel a little less lonely once he split off from Yamaguchi. He knew he could call Bokuto, who was getting off practice of his own, and they could talk about anything. When Kei wasn't angry, Bokuto was full of useless “sage” advice and funny stories. When Bokuto was upset, because he messed up during a game or the convenience store was out of his favorite drink or he was losing it a little being the youngest on the team all over again, Kei was there with a wry comment or a backwards compliment.
Kei would go home and do his schoolwork while on the other end of the phone, all the way in Tokyo, Bokuto would cook or do laundry or stretch, keeping up a mindless monologue the whole time. Kei learned a lot about Bokuto that year—despite his best efforts, he told Bokuto in a deadpan. He knew what Bokuto's favorite things to get at 7/11 were. He knew Bokuto's workout regime. He knew the shows Bokuto was watching, the teammates he was going out with after practice, the cats that hung out on the compound wall outside Bokuto's apartment building. He knew the last time Bokuto had talked to Kuroo, his mom, his older sisters. He knew enough about Bokuto's sisters to tell them apart, without ever having met them.
Kei never thought about how much Bokuto knew about him.
Kei wakes up ten minutes late and his day is immediately ruined. He scrambles to get ready and leaves his apartment in a rush—and without breakfast. On the way out the door, he drops his keys and kicks them down the stairs. For a second, he just stands there, seriously considering leaving his door unlocked instead of wasting the seconds to get his keys and properly lock his door. He trips getting onto the bus and nearly loses his bus card. When he goes to take a sip of his coffee, he realizes he forgot to add cream.
In the end, Kei shows up exactly on time for their morning meeting. He might as well have been an hour late, for the harsh look Coach Foster shoots him. He slinks into his seat, trying not to look her in the eye. She watches him move across the room and so does everyone else. For a long moment, as Kei gets his notes out as quietly as possible, no one says anything. This is exactly how Yachi describes anxiety. Kei thinks half-hysterically.
Finally, thankfully, Coach Foster starts talking, about the plan for the day and how the rest of the week was going to go, and Kei slumps a little in his seat, slowly releasing his breath. It's okay. This was his first time being not-early. He's fine.
Next to him, Tsumugi leans over and whispers, “Your shirt's inside out.”
Kei is an adult. He very resolutely does not scream.
“That's why everyone's staring.” she adds helpfully. Kei considers murder.
The plan for the day, it turns out, includes three-aside games. Kei is told to stay with Tsumugi and she talks to the spikers about their aims for the day. It’s all so much more detailed than any practice game Kei has ever personally played. In high school, the goal was straight-forward—win—and in university the only volleyball he played was for fun. But for the Jackals, practice games are about trying specific plays and player combinations. And under Coach Foster, that’s all practice games are for. Keeping score is secondary, only useful as a signal to change out teams.
The games go well, until they don’t. A game hits stalemate, both sides exchanging points but never pulling past for a two-point margin, growing more and more frustrated. When Bokuto’s side hits 30 points, Coach Foster calls for a timeout and the players head to their supervising coaches.
Tsumugi has plenty of encouraging words for her players but they don’t seem to be landing. The three of them stand around and drink water in the sullenest way Kei has ever seen.
“I know what to do.” Bokuto mumbles to himself. Kei turns to look at him properly and Bokuto startles. “Never mind,” he says hurriedly but Kei isn't appeased.
“What do you mean?” Kei asks.
“Never mind,” Bokuto insists. “This isn't about winning—I'll focus on what I'm supposed to.” The words are Bokuto's—he's the one saying them but it doesn't sound like him. It doesn’t at all sound like he means them; it sounds like he's saying what he knows he should say.
“Bokuto,” Kei says firmly. Bokuto looks up at him, blinks his big amber eyes and something clenches in Kei's chest. He's going to hear it from Coach Foster, but something about the dejected slump of Bokuto's shoulders, his uncharacteristic hesitance—Kei can't find it in him to care.
“Do it,” he whispers and smiles a little at Bokuto's surprise. It feels funny to be on the other side of the advice-giving but right, in a way. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission, right?” Bokuto smiles back, clearly recognizing the reversal of roles.
Coach Foster's whistle blows and the players head back onto the court. Bokuto follows, smile growing as he jogs back to his spot. He glances back at Kei once and winks, like there's not a million people around them. Kei rolls his eyes and hopes no one can tell how he really feels.
“What are you doing?” Hinata asks from somewhere around Kei's elbow. Kei doesn't jump.
“I don't know what you're talking about.” he lies.
Hinata squints up at Kei, clearly disbelieving. “Don't get fired.” he says finally. Kei huffs. Who does Hinata take him for?
Bokuto's team wins and he yells like he just won the Olympics, high-fiving his teammates before shaking hands with the opposing team. Kei stays composed and claps politely while next to him, Hinata screams. As players change places with congratulations and claps on the back, Kei risks a look at Coach Foster. She's frowning at him, silent and clearly disapproving.
Well. At least Bokuto's happy.
“This is all Hinata’s fault.” Kei said when Bokuto finally picked up. It was the start of his final year of high school and him and Bokuto were well past greetings on the phone. They talked all summer and when the school year started again, Kei fell back into his old habit of calling Bokuto on the way home.
“What’s Hinata’s fault?” Bokuto asked instead of immediately trash-talking him, no questions asked, the way Kei wanted him to.
“Everything, Bo.” Kei groans dramatically and it felt like it. “He wants to do something stupid, because he’s ridiculous and because it’s our last year of high school.”
“You should do it.” Bokuto said immediately—which is the exact opposite of what he was supposed to say.
“That’s the exact opposite of what you’re supposed to say! You don’t even know what he wants us to do.” Kei kicked a rock into the road.
“Okay, okay, sorry. What does Hinata want you guys to do?” he asked, too excited for Kei’s taste.
“Dye our hair.”
“Nice.” Bokuto said. “What color? Like, are you guys gonna match?”
“No color!” Kei exclaimed. “No matching—my mom would kill me if I even ask!”
Bokuto laughed and, like always, Kei smiled, the way he always does at that sound, a swoop in his stomach to match.
“What color though?” Bokuto asked, and Kei relented.
“Orange, for Karasuno,” he said. “And that’s why it’s so stupid—he won’t have to do anything to his hair!” Bokuto laughed even harder at that and again, Kei is pleased in a way he did not want to examine.
“You should do it.” Bokuto urged.
“Bokuto,” Kei said flatly. “What part of “my mom would kill me if I even ask” did you not understand? Those aren’t even very big words.”
“Rude!” Bokuto yelled and Kei, used to Bokuto’s sudden jumps in volume, tilted his phone away from his ear. “Anyway, who said you had to ask.” Kei did not like where this was going.
“What do you mean?” he asked. He was not interested in getting in trouble with his parents the first week of school, even if he was a little interested in dying his hair.
“Just do it anyway.” Bokuto said simply. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission!” Kei scoffed.
“Don’t laugh!” Bokuto insisted. “That’s how I do most of the fun stuff I do—that’s what I did when I bleached my hair the first time.”
“And look how well that turned out.” Kei said dryly.
“Beautifully,” Bokuto said, ignoring Kei’s sarcasm. “You should do it. I think it’ll look good.”
“Yeah?” Kei asked, softly. That meant something, sent bugs swooping through his stomach again and heat to his cheeks. He did not want to think about why.
“Yeah, dude!” Bokuto said enthusiastically. “You guys are gonna look so cool and threatening on the court!”
He was talking about volleyball. Of course he was. Despite himself, despite his best efforts, Kei was disappointed. “I’ll think about it.” He said, trying not to let his disappointment show. “Okay, I’m almost home now. Bye, Bokuto.” He wasn’t—but he was too emotional, and too annoyed about being emotional, to keep talking.
“Bye Tsukki!” Bokuto sang and, as always, hung up before Kei could say anything about the nickname.
For a moment, Kei just stood there in his quiet, dark neighborhood, blushing and annoyed. He was going to dye his hair, he knew it now, and it was going to be because Bokuto said it looked cool.
“This is becoming a problem.” He said to himself, out loud.
Kei gets invited to drinks one Friday with some of the players, with a mumbled excuse of “we’re all the same age anyway.” Coach Foster is close enough to hear and she doesn’t say anything, so Kei agrees. Hinata was invited too and they head over together when Kei is done for the day.
As they walk, Hinata gives him the rundown of who will be there and all the drama that’s happened—who’s dated whose ex, who’s whose ex, who fought who on a dare in the parking lot that one time. The only thing he fails to mention—the most important thing, Kei would argue—is that Bokuto will be there. And there he is, at the table the players have commandeered, his back to the door. Kei knows it’s him, of course, by the sight of his stupid hair and the sound of his stupid laugh.
Immediately, Kei wants to leave. He nearly turns around to do just that, when someone notices them and waves them over. Kei still wants to leave but Hinata grabs his hand and drags him along.
“Don’t be weird.” Hinata orders in a whisper.
“You’re telling me.” Kei rolls his eyes, but he takes the seat Hinata pushes him into and greets the group politely. They’ve saved beers for the two of them and a lukewarm beer is pushed into Kei’s hands. He accepts it, grateful for the distraction. He’s ended up across from Bokuto all over again. Bokuto looked startled to see him and Kei almost feels like he’s intruding, even though he was very clearly invited.
Who cares what Bokuto feels about him being there? The other players are full of questions for him—what did he study in university? Sports management. When did he start playing volleyball? When he was 10, because of his older brother. Where the Karasuno-Nekoma games really as intense as Hinata says? More so, because Hinata has a much higher standard for intensity than a normal person since he himself is so intense.
“What was Hinata like in high school?” one of them—opposite hitter, 190.3 cm, Kei can’t remember his name—asks, leaning across the table to do so.
“Smaller,” Kei says dryly and there’s laughter all around. Bokuto smiles, slowly losing the surprise from his expression.
“I’m more than small!” Hinata protests and Kei laughs with the rest of the group. The player who asked is still looking at him expectantly, though, and Kei realizes he wants a real answer.
There’s a lot of other jokes he can make, but Kei settles on something true, “Hinata’s always been insanely dedicated. It’s always been something I’ve admired.”
Hinata screams and tackles him in a hug. Kei rolls with it, even though he ends up pressed uncomfortably into the table and making eye contact with Bokuto, who’s laughing as he watches Kei with a Hinata-level intensity.
“What was Tsukishima-san like in high school?” someone else asks Hinata.
“Tall,” Hinata complains, loosening his grip so he drapes over Kei instead of suffocating him. “A nerd.”
“I’m the only reason you passed.” Kei interjects.
“Smug,” Hinata adds and Kei scoffs.
“I’m still smug.” He points out and the rest of the table laughs like they’re glad he said it so none of them had to. He doesn’t mind. He has plenty of reasons to be smug and besides, it’s fun.
“Hard-working,” Bokuto says, startling Kei. “Focused,”
“Yeah!” Hinata agrees, pushing on Kei’s shoulders so he can kneel on his chair. “Tsukki taught our team so much about blocking!” Kei, basically pressed into the sticky table by Hinata, is caught off guard by both of them—the return of a genuine compliment from Hinata, the unexpected one from Bokuto.
“You knew Tsukishima-san in high school too?” someone asks Bokuto eagerly. Kei hadn’t realized this wasn’t well known.
“Yeah!” Bokuto nods, not looking at Kei. “Taught him everything I knew.”
“Yeah, it barely took him an evening.” Kei said with as much dignity and as drily as he can while being smushed into the table. Hinata finally lets up a little, letting him set up properly.
“Hey!” Bokuto exclaims. “I was giving you advice even when you were a third year.” The others at the table lean in a little, eager for more information about their newest assistant coach, but Bokuto stops himself from saying anything else. From his sudden closed-off expression, Kei can guess they’re both thinking about the same thing: Kei’s third year was when they stopped talking.
Kei quickly changes the topic. “So, do you guys come here often?” he asks and the conversation quickly turns into an animated discussion of all the nearby bars—what place had the best beer selection, the cutest bartenders, and, most importantly for this group, what place will play volleyball games on request. From there, the conversation and the drinks flow easily.
Eventually, Kei extracts himself from under Hinata to use the bathroom. After he washes his hands, he stares at himself in the mirror for a long moment. This is nice. He got invited to drinks after work, like a real-life working 20-something. Bokuto and him are still awkward around each other but it’s not too bad. Things are nice.
With that, Kei heads back to the table. Bokuto’s back is to him, so he doesn’t see Kei approaching, but Kei still hears him clearly when he says, “—no, no we stopped talking when Tsukki quit. It’s such a shame too; he had a lot of potential.”
For a moment, all Kei can hear is a rushing in his ears. Four years later, and that’s still what Bokuto thought happened—he could almost laugh. Hinata is scowling, 172 cm of fury leaning over the table to give Bokuto a piece of his mind. Kei beats him to it.
“Fuck you,” he says, struggling and just managing not to yell. The table whips around to look at him; clearly none of them had realized he was right there. Bokuto startles and scrambles to explain himself.
“No, Tsukki, I just meant—” Kei cuts him off.
“Don’t call me that.” He steps forward until he’s looming over Bokuto, forcing him to look up at Kei. “Four years,” he says, dropping his voice so the rest of the table can’t really hear. “Four years later and you still don’t get it.”
“Tsukishima—” Bokuto tries. Kei shakes his head and steps back. When he looks back at the table, Hinata is standing with Kei’s coat in his hand. He’s mad too but he’s following Kei’s lead, and Kei is hit with a rush of gratitude for his friend. Hinata may be annoying, but he has Kei’s back—on and off the court.
“Fuck you,” Kei repeats, loud enough for the rest of the group to hear. There’s no way this isn’t getting back to Coach Foster—their assistant coach cussing out a star player at a bar is not going to stay a secret—but Kei can’t bring himself to care.
Without so much as a look at the rest of them, Kei storms out with Hinata right behind.
Kei and Bokuto stopped talking on an otherwise average Tuesday evening. As usual, Kei called Bokuto on his walk home. He was tired from practice and school and the only thing he wanted was to hear Bokuto’s voice and he didn’t want to think about that too hard. He just dialed Bokuto’s number and let Bokuto’s stories about the part-time job he had picked up wash over him.
When Kei got home, he didn’t say anything, just took his shoes off and let Bokuto keep talking. He flopped onto his bed, still feeling sweaty and gross from practice but he didn’t want to stop talking to Bokuto. After a while, Bokuto ran out of steam and asked, “How was your day?”
Kei groaned. “Hinata is so annoying.” He complained and Bokuto just laughed. “He was leading part of practice today, and he’s just so intense, Bo. It’s hard to keep up with him, and I’ve known him almost three years now.” Bokuto hummed and Kei continued, “He doesn’t know how to keep things at a normal person level so we’re always either doing too much or not enough.”
“What was today?” Bokuto asked, like he can’t hear how tired Kei is.
“Too much,” Kei whined and Bokuto just laughed at him, the jerk. “Jerk,” Kei mumbled but he was smiling. He turned onto his side so he could keep his phone on his ear without holding it there.
“I don’t get why Hinata is leading practice, if you have all these opinions about it.”
“He’s vice,” Kei explained though he was sure Bokuto already knew that. “He’s gotta lead drills. Besides, he’s learning. It’ll be fine.”
“Yeah but, you’d do so much better.” Bokuto insisted and Kei’s chest warmed with the praise. He knew he would be better and it still meant more to hear it from Bokuto.
“Thanks,” he said, trying to sound unbothered. “But Hinata’s going pro and, we all agreed, he needs to build the leadership skills if he wants to be an actual asset.”
For a moment Bokuto was quiet, so long Kei was worried the call had disconnected. Finally, he said, confused, “What about you?”
“What about me?” Kei asked back, also confused.
“Why don’t you need the leadership skills?” Bokuto asked. He was speaking slowly and all the background noise from his end had stopped, like he was standing still, giving Kei his undivided attention. Another time—another, less confusing time—that would have been enough to set Kei’s stomach alight.
“Why would I need the leadership skills?” Kei asked. “I’m not the one going pro—”
“You’re quitting?” Bokuto asked—yelled.
“I’m not quitting.” Kei snapped back, grabbing his phone again and rolling onto his back. “I’m just not going pro.” What was Bokuto talking about?
“Same thing.” Bokuto spat and it was like a blow. All Kei could do was lay there, gasping for breath, while Bokuto kept talking. “Why would you quit—you’re such a great player! You have so much potential—”
Potential. Kei wanted to scream.
“So?” He didn’t want to yell, not at Bokuto, but it was all such bullshit. “Who cares about potential—I don’t want to.”
“So, what—you just quit?” Bokuto demanded, clearly not listening to a thing Kei said. “You’ll just throw it all away?”
“Throw it all away?” Kei repeated. It was like someone had pulled the ground from under him—why was Bokuto so mad about this? Kei had never pretended he wanted to go pro—he wasn’t throwing anything away. Not playing professionally didn’t mean it was all a waste. He was looking at sports management programs, at his chances at jobs for Division 1 teams—he wasn’t leaving volleyball behind.
“Yeah.” Bokuto insisted and Kei inhaled sharply. For a long horrible moment, they were both silent.
“You know what,” Kei said coldly, sitting up. “Fuck you, Bokuto. Just because you still can’t get into Division 1 doesn’t mean you get to give me shit for my choices.” And then he hung up, throwing his phone across the room in his anger. He fell backwards, covering his face with his hands.
What had just happened?
For a long moment, all Kei could do is lay in bed and stare up at his ceiling, at the peeling glow-in-the-dark stars Akiteru had put up for him so many years ago. He lay there, blinking back tears, somehow surprised at the hurt in his chest. Throw it all away? Bokuto was full of shit. Even if Kei never touched a volleyball for the rest of his life, it would have all been worth it to play at Karasuno for the years he did.
Eventually, he got up, leaving his phone behind. No one was home for him to talk to. His teammates would have answered the phone if he called but, horribly, the only person he wanted to call in that moment was Bokuto.
As if on auto-pilot, Kei did what he has always done when he was hurt, ever since he was a little kid and being hurt meant nothing more than a scrapped knee. He slipped into Akiteru’s dark and empty room and under his sheets. It was there, surrounded by the faint, familiar scent of his older brother, Kei could finally cry.
On Sunday, the Black Jackals have a friendly match that Kei entirely forgot about until his alarm goes off. Immediately, he’s hit with a bolt of adrenaline that has him shooting up straight. But when his heartrate calms down a little, he has to remember Friday all over again. The direct hit to a wound he thought had healed over. The looks of the other players at the tables, split between shock and embarrassment and intrigue. The look of shame on Bokuto’s face as Kei glared down at him—shame and defiance.
Kei spent most of Saturday in bed, finally getting up when Tadashi called to hound him over the phone. Tadashi knew more about Bokuto and Kei of four years ago, had teased their final argument out of him slowly over the span of months, and evidently Hinata had filled him in on the latest. But Tadashi only managed to get Kei to eat instant ramen and plug in his phone. And now Kei was sitting up in bed and strongly considering going back to sleep, instead of going to work at the job he fought tooth and nail for, all because he didn’t want to see Bokuto.
In the end, Kei gets up. He shows up 10 minutes late, with several messages and missed calls from both Hinata and Tsumugi. He’s well and truly late and he heads straight to Coach Foster to apologize. To his surprise, she just waves him off, telling him to go help Tsumugi set up the nets. Kei isn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth and he runs off to do just that.
“How are you still alive?” Tsumugi asks under her breath when he reaches her.
“I have no idea.” Kei breaths. As he works, realizes people are looking at him, players casting sideways looks as they stretch, other staff whispering to each other behind clipboards. It can’t just be because he was late, that much is clear. Has the story from Friday evening spread so quickly? Has everyone assumed he’s a quitter? Kei can see Hinata warming up, but he can’t make eye contact with him enough to silently ask, “How much respect do I have left?” He’s almost afraid to know the answer.
They finish right as Coach Foster calls everyone to their lines. It’s only as Kei falls into place next to Tsumugi that he notices Bokuto. He’s standing across from Kei, as usual, but he’s very carefully avoiding meeting his eyes. He doesn’t look ready for the game; he’s still wearing a hoodie over his jersey, hands shoved in the pocket. Worst of all, his hair is flat. Kei doesn’t want to care—he doesn’t care—but he finds himself scanning Bokuto for an injury, hoping he was just late or cold or something else, something unimportant. He’s so distracted he almost misses Coach Foster announcing the starters for the match but he still notices when Bokuto’s name isn’t said. Kei isn’t the only one surprised by this. When Coach Foster tells them to break, players immediately bunch together and start whispering, some of them looking at Kei as they talk.
Before Kei can react, Coach Foster is gesturing him over. He walks over, wondering if now is when he’s going to hear it for being late. Then he notices Bokuto standing next to her and he knows it’s about Friday.
“Koutarou has some things to say.” She says when Kei walks up, and neither her tone nor face reveal what kind of things Bokuto has to say. “I expect politeness and active listening from both of you. You may take as much time as you need, provided we have no more issues after today. Understood?” And then, without waiting for an answer, she walks away to greet the coach other the opposing team, who’s walking through the gym doors.
This is an incredibly well-engineered intervention.
Bokuto turns to Kei, still not meeting him in the eye. “Let’s get some water,” he says and starts walking away without waiting for Kei’s response. Kei follows but not without looking around desperately for Hinata or Tsumugi. He sees both of them—both pointedly not looking in his direction. Great.
They walk in silence to the same water fountain. The silence is painful, only broken up by the faint noise of the friendly game starting behind them, but if Bokuto has some things to say, Kei isn’t starting off the conversation for him. It’s not a long walk and soon they’re standing in front of the water fountain, Kei looking at Bokuto and Bokuto looking back down the hallway.
Eventually, finally, he speaks, “Why did you decide not to play after high school?” It’s so far from what Kei expected—a rehearsed begrudging apology, a demand for an apology from Kei—it takes him aback.
“I did play after high school.” Kei says finally. “Just, not seriously.”
“In university?” Bokuto asks, still not looking directly at him. He looks so sad, so defeated, Kei doesn’t even feel like getting mad at him.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “In a club.” Bokuto nods seriously, considering this information. Kei knows he hasn’t really answered Bokuto’s question. He takes a deep breath and continues, “You know what I was like as a first year.” It’s not a question but Bokuto nods anyway, a small smile on his lips.
“I didn’t get why you guys—you, Hinata, Kageyama—why you guys like volleyball as much as you did. And when I figured it out, it felt so simple, I didn’t want to mess it up. And then, talking to you and watching Hinata and Kageyama—it’s so hard to be a professional player, and it takes so much work and I—” Kei cuts himself off with a sigh. He has never had to explain this out loud. Everyone else—his parents, Tadashi, the rest of his teammates, even Akiteru—they all took him at his word. No one but Bokuto felt so strongly about him continuing to play. But Bokuto is finally looking at him again, nothing but wide-eyed confusion on his face, and Kei wants him to understand, needs him to.
“I spent so long trying to like this game—why would I turn around and throw that all away? For what, to have a chance to be big? Just to hate it every time I play?” Kei gestures hopelessly. “I’m glad you guys like it, I really am, but it just can’t be me.” Bokuto nods seriously and he’s quiet for a moment, taking this in.
“I don’t think I could even watch a game if I’m not still playing.” He finally says, and it sounds so foreign to Kei.
“Like when you retire?” he asks, baffled.
Bokuto nods. “I’ll have to stop following volleyball entirely for a while. And I think…” he sighs, and squares his shoulders, looking Kei straight in the eye as he continues, “I've realized that I thought everyone felt like that. And I was afraid—” he takes a deep, shuddering breath— “I was afraid you wouldn’t talk to me anymore, if we weren’t playing volleyball together. I’m sorry.”
Not once, never, in the three years of late-night phone calls and of constant texts and of knowing everything and anything about one another, had Bokuto ever sounded so vulnerable or so afraid. Kei does not know what to do—and he could have stood there for ages, so taken aback, if it wasn’t for the growing look of apprehension on Bokuto’s face. And for that, there was only one thing to do.
“You idiot,” he says and he couldn’t hide the affection in his voice if he wanted to. He grabs Bokuto’s shoulders and pulls him into a hug. For a moment, Bokuto is perfectly still and Kei is worried he messed it up all over again, but then Bokuto unfreezes and melts into the hug. His hands wrap around Kei’s waist, pulling him in close.
They hug for a long moment. Kei breathes in slowly, greedily absorbing all that he can of Bokuto up-close-and-personal—his warmth, the smell of his cologne—before he has the courage to say, “I’m sorry too. I was mean and out of line.”
“It’s okay.” Bokuto says immediately, because he’s ridiculous. “I was mean first.” Kei rolls his eyes, even though Bokuto can’t see.
Kei feels Bokuto take a breath before he says, carefully, “I’m a little surprised I made you so upset.”
“What does that mean?” Kei asks. He doesn’t want to be mad at Bokuto again but he’s ready to.
“It’s just,” Bokuto shrugs. “You’re so cool. Why would what I think matter?”
“Oh my god,” Kei mumbles into Bokuto’s shoulder. He takes a deep breath and braces himself. “I had a crush on you, you asshole.”
“You had a crush on me?” Bokuto exclaims, delighted. “Tsukki, that’s so embarrassing!”
“I know that.” Kei groans and tries to extract himself from the hug. He doesn’t need to be pressed up against Bokuto when he’s confessing his embarrassing 4-year-old crush, but Bokuto doesn’t let go.
“I liked you too.” Bokuto whispers and his face is inches away from Kei’s so it’s not at all embarrassing that Kei blushes hearing that. Bokuto’s eyes dart across his face, taking him all in. “I still do.” Bokuto continues, still in a whisper.
“That’s so embarrassing.” Kei whispers back, but something’s swelling in his chest. Maybe, maybe, maybe now, maybe four years later—
Bokuto kisses him. It’s just as good as his younger self had hoped—better even.