Chapter Text
"No son of mine is going to wear eyeliner like a damn fairy."
Kyoutani frowns, his dad's words ringing in his ears. He steps onto the train, taking a seat near the back the way he always does. The girl with blue streaks in her hair gives him a faint smile. She pulls open her book-bag and withdraws her eyeliner and a compact mirror. She hands them over to him, and he nods in thanks.
"That's a nice bruise you've got there," she says, gesturing to her own cheekbone. "Did you get into a fight?"
"Something like that," Kyoutani says gruffly. He doesn't feel like sharing more. Although the two of them share a commute on his way to Aoba Johsai, he's never asked for her name, and she's never asked for his. Their relationship doesn't extend past her allowing him to use her eyeliner every morning before school. It started when she noticed him watching her apply it. She offered it to him, and he'd taken it. After he'd shakily applied it, she told him he looked "tough," which pleased him. Ever since then she let him use her eyeliner, noting that he's gotten better at applying it, though his lines still seem uneven to him.
He sinks back in his seat, opening the compact and using the small mirror to carefully line his eyes with the black ink. She nods appreciatively, as he hands them both back to her once he's done.
"I think that's your best try yet," she tells him, smiling.
His lips twitch, but he simply nods and turns to look out the window. His reflection in the glass glares back at him. The bruise on his cheekbone looks dark, but as he deepens his glare, he notices that the intensity of his eyes with the eyeliner detracts from the mark. He hopes that people will be intimidated by his eyes enough to look away before they see the bruise.
He should've expected it not to work on Yahaba, though.
"What happened to you?" the second year asks, narrowing his eyes at Kyoutani's face.
"None of your fucking business," he growls, slipping past him to make it to the club room. Thankfully Yahaba doesn't persist in questioning him, but Kyoutani remains wary throughout the rest of the practice.
Two weeks later, he misses his train.
It was for the stupidest reason. He'd forgotten to take the trash out. A simple mistake. He was attempting to rectify it, when his father decided to go on a tirade, cussing him out and calling him "ungrateful" and "pansy" and other such words. Kyoutani stared down at the floor, curling his hands into fists and wishing he had the courage to say or do something, anything.
But he's a coward, so he didn't.
And now he has to run to school, which means no eyeliner to toughen his looks, to distract from the still healing bruise on his cheekbone that's now turned a sickening yellow-green color. Needless to say, he's in a very sour mood by the time he gets to practice. People have been giving him second glances in class and in the hallways, and he wants to punch a wall, but he grits his teeth and walks straight past his teammates to the club room.
"Hey!" Yahaba calls after him.
Kyoutani ignores him.
He feels a hand on his arm and quickly wrenches away. Turning, he glares at Yahaba, who holds up both hands defensively.
"Whoa, hey, down boy. I just wanted to see if you're okay. I can tell something's off."
"I'm fine." Kyoutani keeps his words clipped short, turning away from Yahaba to peel off his shirt. He's conscious of Yahaba's eyes watching him, so he quickly pulls on his jersey, hoping he didn't catch the other bruises on his back.
"You look different." Yahaba's voice is lightly curious, but Kyoutani stiffens, hunching inward.
"No, I don't."
"Yeah, your eyes look different. Can I see?" There's a brush of fingers against Kyoutani's shoulders. Before he can really think about it, Kyoutani finds himself turning around to frown at Yahaba. Yahaba's wide brown eyes widen further in surprise. Then he grins faintly.
"Kyoutani-kun, do you usually wear eyeliner?" he asks.
Kyoutani immediately scowls, curling his hands into fists. The last thing he needs today is Yahaba ridiculing him on top of everything else. He growls low in his throat, darkening his glare as best he can.
"You have a problem with that?" he asks, doing his best to keep his voice from cracking. "You think it's dumb or something, right? You think it's girly. Stupid. Go on. Say it. I know you're thinking it."
Yahaba regards him thoughtfully a moment, his lips pursed. "Wait here," he says, gesturing vaguely with his hand, before exiting the clubroom.
Kyoutani stands still, stiff and silent, blinking at the door. He's not sure what's going on, but his curiosity is piqued, so he remains where he is until Yahaba comes back, waving a small black stick in his hand.
"Did you know Oikawa likes to experiment with makeup? He's quite good, actually. Has a youTube channel and everything. You should check it out."
"Like I'm going to go out of my way to look at that guy more than I have to already," Kyoutani grunts.
Yahaba grins, and he appears to be fighting a laugh. "Okay, hold still," he says, stepping closer and raising the eyeliner toward Kyoutani's face.
Kyoutani leaps back immediately, slamming against the shelves behind him with a wince. Yahaba freezes, his lips parting slightly. Heat rushes to Kyoutani's face, and he feels like an idiot. Yahaba bites his lip, looking from the eyeliner to Kyoutani.
"I'm just going to help you apply this. Is that okay?" his voice is soft, almost gentle, and Kyoutani bristles.
"Of course it's okay," he snaps, his chest aching, though he's not sure why.
Yahaba looks skeptical, but he moves forward again. He seems wary, like he's afraid Kyoutani will bite his hand off if he gets too close. But Kyoutani keeps still, his muscles trembling from the tension coiling through him. Lightly, Yahaba places his fingers against Kyoutani's eyelid, propping it open, as his other hand rests just barely against Kyoutani's cheek. The eyeliner gets closer, and Kyoutani resists the urge to recoil. Very carefully, Yahaba runs the tip of the pencil along Kyoutani's lower lid.
Kyoutani watches Yahaba's face, seeing the pinch of concentration tightening his features. He purses his lips, breathing quietly through his nose. Kyoutani can feel it against his face, their proximity is that close. He feels hot, there's a burning sensation low in his stomach, but he's not sure why or what to do about it, so he simply remains frozen, a statue of nerves and confusion. Yahaba's hands are gentle on his face, and the pencil never wavers too close to his eye.
Once Yahaba is done with the one, he moves on to the other. This time his tongue pokes out between his lips just slightly, and Kyoutani's knees feel weak. He curls his hands into fists, pressing them back against the shelves, opening them then to grasp at the wood. It creaks beneath his hands, but neither he nor Yahaba flinch at the sound. Yahaba pauses, but only briefly, before he continues.
It seems like twenty years have passed by the time Yahaba pulls away with a satisfied nod. Kyoutani feels lightheaded from the heat pulsing through him, and he doesn't extract himself from the shelves. Instead, he stares at Yahaba, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, wondering why the hell his body is betraying him like this.
"Aren't you going to check to make sure I did it right?" Yahaba asks with a laugh. His voice seems a little strained, a little breathless, though Kyoutani doesn't know what to make of that.
Slowly, he steps away from the shelves, making his way over to the mirror that Oikawa set up near his "area." None of them are really allowed in that space, but Kyoutani doesn't care. He stares at himself in the mirror, noticing immediately how much smoother and more even Yahaba's lines are. The black frames his eyes in a way that's almost appealing, though it also lends to his tough exterior just the way he likes it.
It's weird. This is weird.
He turns away from the mirror, quickly changing into his gym shorts and shoes. Yahaba lingers by the shelves, twirling the eyeliner between his fingers.
"That's it? No thank you?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.
Kyoutani grunts, standing and making his way toward the door. He still feels flushed and nervous, so he doesn't acknowledge Yahaba's sarcastic "holy shit Yahaba-kun, your lines are so perfect! thank you so much!" even though the way he lowers his voice to a gravelly register sounds nothing like him.
None of his other teammates say a word about the eyeliner, though they surely noticed how much better the lines look. And after practice, Yahaba finds him rinsing it off in the boys bathroom. He appears startled, maybe even a little hurt.
"You're washing it off?" he asks, his voice tight.
Kyoutani glances at him and then back at the mirror, scrubbing at his eyes with a piece of wet paper towel. "My dad'll kill me," he mutters.
Yahaba says nothing to this, simply does his business. When he returns to the sinks to wash his hands, he turns his gaze to Kyoutani in the mirror. "Well, this probably seems self-centered to say, considering I'm the one who applied it, but you looked really great."
Kyoutani narrows his eyes, half-expecting Yahaba to be teasing him. It seems genuine, though that only confuses him further. With a smile and a tiny wave, Yahaba leaves the bathroom, throwing away the paper towel he used to dry his hands. Kyoutani stares after him, feeling a weird twisting feeling in his gut that's not altogether unpleasant.
The next day, he shakes his head at the blue-haired girl when she offers him her eyeliner. She blinks in surprise.
"Did you finally get your own?" she asks, looking pleased.
"Something like that," he admits, not sure why the back of his neck feels warm. He rubs at it and looks away out the window.
He goes to find Yahaba before school starts. He's talking with Watari, so Kyoutani lingers back, waiting until Yahaba seems to sense his stare and turns around. He raises his eyebrows, regarding Kyoutani with curiosity.
"Can I help you with something, Kyoutani-kun?"
Kyoutani stuffs his hands into his pockets, scuffing his foot against the ground. He glowers at it, wishing Watari would go away, or at least stop watching everything with interest.
"Can you . . . do it again?"
Watari begins coughing, and Yahaba's face pinkens. He turns to give Watari a look, but his teammate just grins at him, holding up his hands.
"I think my phone is ringing. I'll catch you later, Yahaba," he says, turning and hurrying away.
Yahaba sighs, turning back to Kyoutani. "What exactly are you asking me to do?" he asks, his smile strained.
Kyoutani lifts his head, blinking at Yahaba, before gesturing to his eyes. "What . . . you did yesterday."
Yahaba laughs, relieved. "Oh! That!" He places his hands on his hips, shaking his head. "Kyoutani-kun, do I look like a personal assistant to you?"
Kyoutani frowns, curling his fists in his pockets. His heart twists painfully in his chest, and he takes a step back. "Forget it," he mutters, turning away and wondering why he thought Yahaba would want to help him again. It was stupid. He's so stupid.
"Kyoutani, wait," Yahaba says from behind him.
There's a brush of a hand at his elbow, and Kyoutani freezes, though he doesn't look over at Yahaba.
"I was kidding." Yahaba's voice is quiet, apologetic. "Meet me in the boy's bathroom in ten minutes, okay? I have to go get it."
Kyoutani hesitates, before pulling one hand out of his pocket, revealing the stick he'd already bought the previous afternoon. Yahaba blinks at it before grinning slightly. He takes it with a nod.
"All right, then. Let's go."
Kyoutani doesn't admit it out loud, he doesn't think he ever could, but as he stands in the boy's bathroom before classes start and watches Yahaba's face as his hands rest gently against his skin, he feels safe. There's a warm feeling in his stomach this time, not quite as hot and disconcerting as the previous day. Yahaba talks this time as he works, rambling about something he learned in History, and his voice is normal. Not lilting in an imitation of Oikawa's grating voice, not teasing. It makes Kyoutani's pulse even out, it makes the nerves tightening his chest loosen, and when Yahaba steps back with a satisfied nod, Kyoutani has to resist the urge to reach out and pull him close again.
Instead, he turns toward the mirror, studying his reflection and the dark lines surrounding his eyes.
"Here," Yahaba says, holding out the eyeliner.
Kyoutani shakes his head. "My dad will blow a fuse if he finds out I have that."
Yahaba huffs. "So I'm supposed to keep it for you? And what? You'll come find me to do this again every morning?"
Kyoutani shifts his gaze over to Yahaba's reflection in the mirror. "Is that okay?" he asks gruffly, rubbing his palms against his thighs.
Yahaba starts, his eyes widening for just a moment, before he grins faintly. "Sure. Why not? I'm better at this than you anyway. We can't have you walking around looking like a raccoon, now can we?"
Kyoutani feels his lips twitch. It's strange. He wants to smile back at Yahaba, but it feels weird. He shakes his head instead, biting the inside of his cheek.
He's already looking forward to tomorrow.