Chapter Text
October, 2012
Just after Spring Tournament Qualifiers
&
Six months until graduation
“Kuroo?”
“Hm?”
“I like you.”
“No you don’t,” Kuroo replied automatically, not bothering to lift his head from his geography notes. His pen's ink was beginning to run faint across the page, and he was more focused on how he was going to swipe one of Yaku's pens without him noticing than what he was actually saying. “You hate me. Have the topgraphical formations of Mt. Daisen rotted away your brain that much?”
He wouldn’t be surprised. The late autumn sun leaning heavily on the window behind Kuroo, seeping through to thicken the air, dry out his throat, his mind hazy and hot. The quietness of his empty apartment was pierced by Yaku sucking in a breath.
“Kuroo.”
A fluctuation in Yaku’s voice made him raise his head. Yaku was staring at him from across the table, biting at the side of his thumb. His geography textbook was spread out in front of him, his notebook layered above it, covered in his messy, constrained handwriting. Two pens sat in the middle groove of his book, and he was clicking on and off the cap of a highlighter. The noise rang out quick and sharp in Kuroo’s empty house.
Kuroo set down his dying pen, surveying the crinkle between Yaku's brows with tentative curiosity. His captain instinct kicked in; told him to approach this carefully. Which disturbed him a little. He’d never had that response to Yaku before.
“What is it?”
“Do you understand what I’m saying? I like you. Romantically.”
“Ah —“
Kuroo’s mind churned, slowed from five hours of cramming as much information as possible in before their end of term exams. He blinked. Looked at Yaku’s scrunched brow. Blinked again.
“Is this a tactic to throw me off before the test?”
He examined the line of Yaku’s mouth. It wasn’t quirked up in that certain way it always was when Yaku teased him, like only he knew the joke. It was set dead and — Kuroo’s stomach coughed up a stone. His lips were quivering. The sheer strangeness of it knocked Kuroo off guard — Yaku cried, yes, he cried a lot more than the average teenage guy, but he was mindful with his vulnerability. He owned it and accepted it with the heavy expectation of everyone else to do the same.
This time — how Yaku met his eyes, it felt like he was holding in a flinch.
“Tch.” Yaku shook his head. “Of course you’d think that. Not everything is a strategy or an underhanded tactic, Kuroo.”
“Oh. So you’re…” Kuroo moistened his lips, trying to think of a joke and failing. “You’re serious.”
“Yeah.” Yaku’s teeth peeled a thin strand of skin from beside his thumbnail. Kuroo almost told him off for it. “I’m being serious. I couldn’t… I couldn’t not tell you.”
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been confessed to before. It had happened once or twice — but never from someone so close to him, always a classmate, someone whose life tangentially brushed his; not someone whose life intersected like a shard of glass. Kuroo had never been faced with this before.
He drew in a painful breath.
“Yakkun, I’m sorry but… I’m not gay.”
There was a thick moment where Yaku’s hands, resting on his textbook, slid back into his lap. A flush rose around his ears. A ghost of a thought ‘ cute’ flickered through Kuroo’s mind before an onslaught of guilt banished it. Yaku blinked at him once, twice, looking utterly — confused? — for an instant before a familiar set of his mouth showed his annoyance. Kuroo exhaled, wondering how best to handle this.
“Well, I’m not either,” Yaku snapped back.
“Huh?”
That didn’t match up with what he just did; which Kuroo still had a little trouble digesting.
“Man, you’re hopeless,” Yaku rolled his eyes. “Have you ever heard of bisexuals before?”
Kuroo frowned, then it clicked. “Oh, like both?”
“Yes.” Yaku still sounded on edge, his words sharpened with sarcasm. “Nice work, genius.”
“Hey, just because I rejected you doesn’t mean that you have to be so rude,” Kuroo remarked. “Where would I have come across that before?”
Yaku stared hard at him. “You really clicked with Fukurodani’s ace over summer.”
“He’s gay, he’s not…” Kuroo trailed off.
Now that he thought back, Bokuto had only said that he liked guys — not exclusively guys.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. You assumed,” Yaku scoffed. “Y’know what, I’m glad I was wrong. I didn’t want to date an asshole like you, anyways.”
“Hey.” Kuroo clenched his jaw. “How was I supposed to know that bisexuals existed? We don’t get taught that in school, and it’s not like people just go around announcing their sexuality.”
Yaku flicked a pencil over at him. “Whatever. Speaking of, don’t declare that I confessed to you. I’ve already got enough public shame associated with me thanks to Lev picking me up in the corridor. If this gets around, it’ll obliterate the last of my social status. I don’t intend to spend my third year in high school being mocked for... for going after an ass like you.”
Despite his combative tone, Kuroo picked up on something else; a nervousness. He was covering, with the tendons standing out on his neck, the slight, discomforted squint of his eyes. He looked off balance, one fingernail cutting into the end of his notebook in quick, fast lines. Kuroo felt a tightness in his chest. He’d almost forgotten that Yaku wasn’t invulnerable.
“Dude,” he started. “I’m not gonna out you to feel good about myself. How low do you think I am?”
Yaku snorted, but his shoulders lowered. He picked up one of his pens. “You don’t want me to answer that.”
He returned his gaze to his textbook, gnawing furiously on his pen. The clear plastic splintered under his canine. “I… I appreciate it. I’ll — I won’t hide anything, but the thought of it being gossip…”
“Yeah. ‘Course, man. I wouldn’t say anything. I won't.”
“Thanks.”
A deep silence embedded itself in the room. Kuroo felt it pouring down the back of his throat like oil, greasy and suffocating. He tried to swallow it away; failed. The sunlight on the back of his neck wasn’t a pleasant warmth anymore. It was gripping his nape, squeezing his spine up to rest just under the surface of his skin like a pus-filled spot.
“So,” Yaku started. His voice jumped out far too sharply. Under the desk, Kuroo’s leg jerked. “What did you get for question three?”
November, 2012
Five months until graduation
Kuroo wished he could say that things returned to normal after Yaku’s confession.
They almost did — Yaku’s retorts to his teasings were nearly sharp enough, or nearly too harsh. Kai’s brow would twitch. Over the past two years, the rhythm of their arguing had been manufactured to perfection, and Kai could infer the slightest deviation. Yaku and Kuroo had once walked in on Fukunaga recreating a fictional debate with them, Kai suggesting lines from the side for his improv impersonations. The worst thing was that Kai’s lines sounded exactly like what they’d say. Paired with Fukunaga’s impersonation skills, it had been a humbling experience. So Kuroo knew that Kai knew for sure that something was going on between them.
He hadn’t confronted either of them on it — yet. Another missed meet up by Yaku and he might. Kuroo had a sense that both of them were struggling to pretend nothing happened. Under the light slanting into their classroom, he found his mind drifting back to what Yaku had said, gazing at Yaku’s left ear, the one with the freckle — or was it a mole? — on the lobe.
I’m glad I was wrong.
Wrong about what? It had to be either Kuroo being gay or liking him back — likely both, but he wasn’t sure, because he didn’t know how Yaku could’ve come to that conclusion.
Kuroo paid attention — it was what he prided himself on. There was something gnawing on his centre. How did he miss it? Yaku liking him? Yaku wanting to date him? It was so far fetched that it sent Kuroo rocketing off his axis, detached from the familiar orbit of their bickering.
And the way Yaku was pulling back — it caused a horrible ache to open in Kuroo’s gut. It hadn’t affected the team’s synergy — Yaku was too much of a professional to let that happen, but their relationship had fractured. A missed beat by Yaku as they debated which jpop group was better, a beat where he backed off and he shouldn’t have.
He shouldn’t have. He did, like fingernails scratching along Kuroo’s skin.
“— it’s simply objective,” Kuroo finished, a display of confidence sure to tick Yaku off.
Yaku’s fingertips drilled into the surface of Kai's classroom table, his gaze dropping off for a stark moment before rising again, refreshed, as if steeling himself. Yaku was hesitating before he spoke now, the usual abandon of his banter stalling. His mouth flexed in that particular way it did when he was listening to Kuroo saying something he thought was wrong, his eyes flat and unimpressed, and yet he left it.
An awkward silence descended on their table as Kai gazed at Yaku, expecting a response to Kuroo’s overblown, exaggerated declaration. Yaku slung an arm over the back of his stolen chair, looking towards the back of the classroom, where Kai's classmates were streaming in after lunch break.
“Yeah, sure man. Whatever you want to delude yourself about.”
He pushed back from the table, his chair scraping along the worn floor. Kai raised an eyebrow, meeting Kuroo’s gaze. Kuroo shrugged.
“You know I can see you guys, right?” Yaku asked, unamused.
He stood up, grabbing the back of the chair to drag it away. Kuroo knew he should do the same; Kai's classmates were settling down, and the teacher would be nipping in soon, but there was a tug in his chest that screamed that nothing was resolved, that they shouldn't be done so soon. It wasn't normal.
"Does this mean I win —" Kuroo began.
"Good afternoon everyone!"
The teacher rounded the door and Yaku turned away, slotting the borrowed chair under a desk two columns away and a row in front of Kai's. His hair was growing longer. Kuroo watched as he swept a gathering of curls from his temple, his lips parting in a quiet sigh that Kuroo couldn't hear. He wanted to call him back, tell him that they weren't finished, to stick to the script that they'd developed and perfected together. Just because he'd confessed, it didn't mean things had to change.
He felt someone prod his forearm.
"Hey," Kai said. "You should probably get back to your own class. Shinozaki-sensei is staring at you."
"Yeah." Kuroo swallowed, standing up. He gave the teacher an apologetic, shallow bow. "Sorry, I…"
What? He was doing what? Staring at Yaku and thinking of how to make things alright between them again? He would rather strip naked in class than admit that.
"I lost my train of thought there," Kuroo finished, smiling at Kai.
Kai only blinked up at him, his soft brown eyes diffusing a patience that squeezed Kuroo's chest. He looked like he knew what Kuroo hadn't said. With a lump in his throat, Kuroo spun his borrowed chair back to the desk beside Kai. He didn't like the sensation of being read; even when it happened with Kenma, who he could rarely hide anything from, it still gave him a twinge of unease.
Slipping out into the corridor before the class officially started, Kuroo lightly bounded down to his and Yaku's class, luckily only a door down from Kai's. Under the warning stare of the teacher, Kuroo gave him a sheepish smile as he entered. They were on good terms — Kuroo was a diligent student, and Haruto-sensei let his minor infraction slide.
Kuroo wound through his classmates up from the back of the class to his desk, a row behind Yaku, one column over. As he took his place as quietly as possible, Yaku turned slightly, just enough to link their gazes together and gave a disapproving shake of his head. Kuroo nearly dared to flip him off in response, but Yaku had already turned back to the front before he could decide to risk it. That wasn't right either. Even when Haruto-sensei was in a bad mood, Yaku would twist around and make sure Kuroo saw him stick his tongue out at him after Kuroo missed an answer, face creasing up in amusement at Kuroo's reaction.
To his utmost frustration, Kuroo’s mind churned over and over during the lesson, the prefectures of Korea rolling over his back like water. He had to fix this somehow. It had only been a few days, but Yaku’s standoffish demeanour was leaving a horrible taste in Kuroo’s mouth, a stuffiness in the back of his throat.
It wouldn’t leave him alone.
So when Yaku began running to his extra physics class, Kuroo took advantage of the thin break between classes to tail him, jogging down the corridor. Yaku had already reached the stairs, pattering up it in quick, determined steps, sheets of paper peeking out between the notebooks, books and pencilcase clasped to his chest.
“Yakkun,” Kuroo called out.
He drew the attention of a couple of girls passing by, but no more than a curious glance. One of them looked again, but Kuroo wasn’t in the mood to turn his head and avert his gaze from Yaku to check if she was cute. Kuroo was tall, suave and handsome; he never had any trouble having girls initially interested in him. For once, it wasn’t what he was focused on.
Near the top of the stairs, Yaku hesitated, the briefest hint of irritation crossing his face as he stared back at Kuroo.
“What? I’ve got to get to —“
“Can we talk? After practice. Hang back for a few minutes, okay?”
A flash of anticipation in the narrowing of Yaku’s gaze.
“Yeah. Okay.”
Before Kuroo could say anymore, he spun away and jogged up the rest of the stairs, his red and white sneakers vanishing from Kuroo’s sight. Everyone else in the corridor had melted away into their respective classes. Kuroo stood there, aware of his breathing and an absence.
Yaku hadn’t even attempted to argue. It was weird. It was so weird. Kuroo’s mouth tasted of metal. It could’ve been that he was just rushing to class — but it had never stopped him before from throwing at least a quick jab back.
The sound of the door next to him rolling closed shocked Kuroo into action, turning to see his teacher arching his eyebrows at him.
"Am I holding class in the corridor now, Tetsurou?"
"No," Kuroo blustered out, ducking back into the classroom. "Sorry, Sensei."
Later the same day
Lev’s blood dripped onto the court, and Kuroo couldn’t stop laughing.
“Nice one!” Yamamoto yelled from behind Kuroo, accompanied by a hefty slap of his knee as he cackled. “You knew your head was the biggest obstacle for the ball, didn’t ya? Smart move!”
"Ah…" Fukunaga blinked, dropping his hand back to his side. "Sorry…"
“Ow….”
Stooped over, Lev nursed a tiny pool of blood in the centre of his creased palm. On his left, Inuoka turned away, looking a little pale. Shuffling up beside him, Kenma surveyed the slow dribble from his nose with mild interest.
"I've told you before to block with your arms and hands."
Next to Kuroo, Fukunaga muffled a snicker with his palm.
"I did," Lev protested, sniffling wetly as he rubbed his index finger under his nose, smearing the blood across his upper lip. "I really thought I did! I tried to…"
He looked so pitiful that Kuroo nearly regained control of himself, until he caught a glimpse of Kenma’s exasperated expression. The sight invoked a fresh swell of laughter from his stomach, almost painful. Inhaling, he swallowed the chuckles back down, clearing his throat. Enough laughing. He should probably be responsible now.
“It happens,” he started, reaching through the net to clap Lev on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, okay, man?”
"That's the reddest blood I've ever seen," Teshiro mused, popping out behind Lev and nearly setting Kuroo off again.
Because he was right — Lev's blood nearly looked cartoonish, a saturated, bright red splatter on the court.
“Did I get the point?” Lev asked, his voice slightly stifled by his fingers pressing in on his nostrils.
Kuroo threw his head back and cackled. "Good priorities for our future ace!"
“Pinch the bridge of your nose, not your nostrils!” Yaku’s voice sliced in as he ducked under the net, barely having to swing his torso down. “Don’t get any more on the court. Jeez, you’re managed to get it everywhere…”
He lifted a hand to Lev’s chin to tip his head back, a concerned crease in his brow. Kuroo arched an eyebrow.
“Yakkun, aren’t you being a bit harsh? It can be cleaned away. We do have mops.”
"Ah! Here!"
Coach Naoi ran over to them, followed closely by Nekomata, who presented Lev with a packet of tissues from his pocket. Kuroo reckoned it was a requirement to be an elderly man to have at least three packets on you at all times.
Shortly after, Lev was steered away from the court, protesting, to wait for his spike-induced nosebleed to clear up.
“Inuoka, your serve,” Kuroo called out, and the queasiness left his face, bounding down to the end line.
“Sure thing, Kuroo-san!”
While Lev hunched over morosely on the bench, they played on under the watchful eye of Coach Naoi — minus one player, but that was a minor adjustment. They fell into a rhythm, Teshiro practising his signals with the more experienced team members, with Kuroo, Fukunaga and Yaku for support. On the other side, Shibayama was backed up by Yamamoto, and Kenma was as solid as ever. It made Kuroo prouder than he thought possible, having seen Kenma grow with Nekoma. His team.
He hit a straight, compensating for Teshiro's slightly too low toss, which was neatly picked up by Shibayama. Landing, Kuroo examined Kenma's stance, his face, for a hint of where the ball was going. He found nothing. Damn him. Even after spending an entire childhood together, when Kenma put his mind to concealing it—
There.
Kuroo shifted to the left as the toss went up, not knowing consciously what in Kenma's manner had tipped him off, but knowing that Kenma was going to send it to the left, to Yamamoto.
As soon as he launched himself into the air, he knew that something was awry. It may have been the eager tilt of Yamamoto's chin as he caught sight of the court beyond Kuroo's outstretched arms, or the shifting of feet behind him, or simply a gut instinct, but when Yamamoto rotated his shoulder in a beautiful, fluid roll, arching the ball towards the net, Kuroo knew he would get past him. He knew Yaku would move to his left, where Yamamoto was aiming, adjusting to close off the straight, ensure that he couldn’t change his mind. Straight to their libero.
Like Kuroo had guessed, Yamamoto slammed the ball past his left arm. Kuroo was moving to go back, to fake an approach when he heard it thud against the floor with a deafening finality. He hesitated, surprise rushing through him. Wasn’t Yaku covering that part of the court?
Twisting around, he stared at Yaku splayed out on the floor in the wrong direction, blinking in disbelief. They'd mixed up their coordination. Yaku's throat bobbed as he pressed his palms flat against the court, pushing himself back up. Behind him, the ball rolled over the sideline. It seemed a little surreal, to see that space on the court where Yaku should be, but wasn't. He had been there for the past three years.
"I'm sorry," Yaku called out, bringing himself to a crouch. "I didn't pay enough attention. That was my bad."
"No," Kuroo said, his feet unsticking from the floor to stride over to Yaku. "It's okay, I don't think I moved fast enough for you to pick up on it."
Yaku was biting his thumb. Kuroo offered him his hand. Yaku took it, legs straightening out. He let go too quickly, as if a fissure was forming between their toes, as if by holding on any longer he'd topple in.
"Thanks," he said.
It was only when Kuroo resumed his position did he realise that the rest of the team was silent, shuffling in place.
"Let that be a lesson!" Kuroo called out, clapping his hands together. "You can't practice enough, and things will go wrong no matter how often you do. The important thing is to shake it off and try again with a fresh mind, got it?"
Even amongst the nods and agreements, Kuroo felt uneasy. That move had been like breathing to them since second year. In fact, when had they last screwed up that block-recieve combination? It had to have been —
May, 2010
"What the hell was that?" Yaku snapped out. "What exactly were you blocking there? No wonder my team trounced yours in middle school."
Kuroo leered over him, knowing full well that it’d make the damn mouthy gremlin angry. "I was closing off the straight, thank you very much."
"No you weren't." Forced to lift his chin to glower properly at Kuroo, Yaku folded his arms over his chest. "You were, and then you changed your mind, and that opened the way for the straight — while I was waiting for a cross. You're not doing your job."
Their furious voices were just low enough to hide their arguing from the second and third years, knowing that the upperclassmen would scold them if they overheard them fighting. Nekoma was all about connection, and they seemed to have tried to enforce that by authoritarian means, stamping out all and any disagreements. Kuroo thought that they understood the concept utterly wrong — it wasn't about surface getting along, it was about understanding each other.
Then again, he didn't seem to be doing too well on that aspect, either.
Yaku's face was shoved up near his, his nose scrunched up in contempt. Kuroo drove back the urge to put his hands around his neck. To his utmost frustration, Yaku was right. He had questioned his decision halfway through his jump and swapped, going for a kill block instead.
That didn't mean he was about to let Yaku steamroll over him.
"I did what I thought was best," Kuroo hissed out.
"You did what you thought best for you," Yaku accused, jabbing his finger into Kuroo's chest. "You wanted the satisfaction of a kill block, didn't you? Maybe you should try out the satisfaction of actually nailing an overhand receive for once."
"Hah?" Kuroo nearly growled. "Watch what you say. You talk a lot of bullshit for someone who only specialises in one area."
Yaku's grin flashed like lightning in a thunderstorm, sharp and electrifying. "Which is why I know when I'm right. You know it too."
"Hey!"
Yaku and Kuroo jerked apart, quickly wiping their expressions clean. They gave each other one last, quick sideways glance; an unspoken agreement to finish their bickering later.
"Is everything okay over there?"
"Yes!" Yaku and Kuroo called back, only a beat out of synch, their voices overlapping.
Their senior gave them a dubious look, but chose not to comment more. "We're gonna go. You guys can handle the cleaning, can't ye?"
“Of course,” Yaku said, bowing shallowly.
Kuroo followed his lead. Usually, he wasn’t fond of cleaning duty — today, he welcomed it. With the seniors gone, it offered him and Yaku a chance to sink their teeth into one another and struggle to verbally tear each other apart. Kuroo’s heart was beating fast in anticipation.
“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Yaku and Kuroo responded in kind, gaze cutting across to each other as soon as their elders’ backs were turned. Kuroo held Yaku’s gaze steadily, watching out of the corner of his eye as their captain stooped down to slip on his outdoor shoes. It seemed to take an age. The crease in Yaku’s brow grew ever more prominent, his throat working, and Kuroo could tell it was killing him to keep all the things he wanted to yell at Kuroo for inside. Good. The tighter that Yaku clenched his fists, the happier Kuroo was.
“And another thing,” Yaku burst out as soon as their seniors were probably out of earshot, “It’s like you put your claim on the ball, like you don’t want me to save it, it has to be you!”
“If you want the glory all the time, just say that,” Kuroo sneered back.
Yaku’s face turned red.
“That’s not what I’m saying! You’re intentionally twisting my words to —“
He was interrupted by Kai holding out a sweeping brush to his chest. Kai smiled at Yaku and Yaku bit down on his lower lip, taking a moment to glare at Kuroo before accepting the brush.
“Thank you,” Kai replied, turning to Kuroo. “Maybe you could collect the balls?”
“Saves him busting mine,” Kuroo answered, making sure to just have the faintest hint of a smirk as he looked pointedly over Kai’s shoulder at Yaku.
Yaku stalked forwards, but Kai set a mop across his chest.
“If we get out of here quickly, we can go to that ramen store before it closes,” he said, and damn — how had he learned to handle them so fast?
Kuroo and Yaku’s stomachs rumbled in sync. They locked eyes, then nodded, coming to a silent truce.
“Fine,” Yaku relented, turning away. “Let’s be quick.”
“Race you.”
“You’re on.”
Back to November, 2012
They got through the rest of practice without any more mess-ups, to Kuroo’s relief.
It was a near miracle on his part — Yaku’s misstep was unusual in itself. When paired with his recent confession, the error weighed heavier in Kuroo’s mind, blanketing over his usual sharp stream of in-match observations. It only confirmed his instinct that he needed to talk with Yaku, address the dead elephant in the room. It was beginning to smell.
He wasn’t sure if it would help, but he had to try. He’d always been able to talk to Yaku openly. Surely Yaku wanted to clear the strangeness between them as much as Kuroo did. They couldn’t let this affect the team, their chance at winning Nationals. Kuroo owed it to them.
“Hm.”
Something about that distant hum cracked into his thoughts, firmly reasserting himself into the present. Kuroo frowned, spinning around to spot the source of Fukunaga’s musing. He was standing in front of the storeroom, staring in, still holding one door by the handle.
A creature slipped out of the storeroom to wind around Fukunaga’s ankles, tail curving over his shin. As Kuroo strode over, Fukunaga bent down and stroked the cat’s head, its ear flicking back at the touch.
“Hey, little guy,” Kuroo greeted, crouching down near it. He outstretched his fingers. “How’d you manage to get in here? You hungry?”
It stared at him, unimpressed. The kitty was beginning to attract more attention; Yamamoto parked a full cart of balls next to the storeroom, eyes glinting.
“Yo, I didn’t know we had a mascot!” Then he squinted at the cat. “Is that the same one that used to hang around last year?”
“Nope,” Fukunaga said. He ruffled the cat’s leg, to which it flicked its leg, as if disgusted. “Look, the white patches are different. The other little critter had the white stripes down the sides of his front left and back right, this dude has bigger patches on all of his legs. Very stylish.”
A couple of paces away, the cat plopped its butt down and started licking the area that Fukunaga had touched. Resting his hands on his knees, Fukunaga only waited in a crouch, staring intently at it, as if studying.
“I’m surprised the other one didn’t come back,” Kuroo mentioned. “You fed it enough.”
“Lev must’ve scared it away,” Yaku announced from behind Kuroo.
Nearby, Lev detached from his conversation with Inuoka, spinning around in response to his name.
“What? What did I do?! I didn’t do anything!”
At the abrupt movement, the cat scurried off, reflexively hiding behind the closest non-moving object — Kenma Kozume. Kenma gave it a slow, curious blink, returned by the cat, and Kuroo felt the urge to laugh at how similarly they reacted bubble up in him. He swallowed it down, the edges of his mouth twitching. Laughing would definitely drive it away.
“See?” Yaku clicked his tongue in an accusation. “You’re driving away this one, too.”
“Haah…”
Lev deflated, bent neck warping his six foot five frame to just below Kuroo’s height. Kuroo straightened up, enjoying his brief moment of being the tallest on the team again. Pattering up to Lev, Shibayama nudged his elbow with a little smile.
“If you feed it, I’m sure the cat will warm up to you. And if you move slowly! Let it sniff your fingers.”
Kuroo folded his arms over his chest, watching as Shibayama coached Lev through interacting with a cat with proper etiquette. He was glad that they were getting along — it had taken some time for him and Yaku to click together.
I like you.
A lump arose in Kuroo’s throat. Maybe they’d gelled together too well. He’d always regarded it as something of a surprise that him and Yaku started hanging out outside of school and practice, so perhaps it made sense that Yaku’s confession had also taken him off guard. He just hadn’t expected any of this — their friendship, their partnership working so well on the court. Kuroo was used to working for what he sought, and to have something sneak by him, a relationship as strong as his and Yaku’s formed without his explicit effort, struck him as odd. Yaku lived in his blind spot, just over his shoulder, always picking up what Kuroo couldn’t.
Speaking of the devil, Kuroo mused as Yaku stepped up beside him, also watching their two juniors try to coax the cat over for a pet.
“Was there a cat that hung around in first year, or am I inventing things?” Yaku asked Kuroo.
Kuroo clutched his shirt in mock horror. “You mean you don’t remember Snuffykins? How could you forget her! You’re truly heartless.”
“Right.” Yaku gave him a flat look. “You could’ve just said yes, y’know.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Kuroo huffed out. Lev managed to pet the cat, his long fingers trailing delicately down its back. Kuroo cheered internally. “And you should feel bad for forgetting about her existence.”
“Well, I don’t.”
There was a silence between them as they both observed their younger teammates, Inuoka eagerly joining the fray and inadvertently spooking the cat further. It scampered out from behind Kenma's legs and slunk under a bench, posted low to the floor.
With a sigh, Kuroo scratched his head. “We’re not gonna have any cats hanging around if they continue on like this.”
“Leave them be.” Yaku’s voice was warm with amusement. “Shibayama’ll rein them in.”
“I’m not so sure about that….”
“He’ll learn to.”
“Hey!” Teshiro raced past them, tearing up a fish stick in his hands. “Guys, try this!”
His voice was the loudest and most animated that Kuroo had ever heard, and he thought maybe that Yaku was right, that the first years would find their own tempo in time. Taking the shred of fish stick, Lev crouched down by the cat and set it in the centre of one plate-sized palm. Kuroo held his breath as the cat sniffed the tips of Lev's fingers, then dared venture a little further, placing a paw on his hand. Lev looked like he was going to explode from happiness, his cheeks puffed out in an effort to stifle his squeal of delight.
"Guys! Look at this!" he whispered out, or attempted to. He was dreadful at it. His whisper emerged as roughly a normal speaking voice. The cat flinched back a fraction, but didn't run.
Yaku and Kuroo stood side by side and watched their juniors figure it out. Opposing the abundance of energy in front of them, the air around them felt quite still, as if the wind had decided not to touch them. Kuroo had a sense of a path looping around to the start point, remembering the harsh words of their seniors when they were in first year.
“Yakkun.”
“Yeah?”
“Are we good senpais?”
“Where’s this coming from?”
“Just a thought.”
Yaku hummed quietly. “I don’t think you should be asking me. Ask one of the first or second years.”
“Okay,” Kuroo said lightly. “I didn’t think you wanted Lev to speak for you, but I guess I was mistaken.”
“You want my opinion?” Yaku squinted up at him. “Why? I mean yeah, I’d like to think so, but in the end it doesn’t really matter if we think we’re good or not. It matters if we actually had a good impact on our juniors.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Kuroo held Yaku’s gaze for a moment, then returned to a delighted Teshiro cuddling the stray cat. “I think I know the answer already, in any case.”
He waited for a jab from Yaku, some retort about Kuroo thinking too highly of himself, but it never came. Yaku sighed.
“It’s nearly done with now,” he said. “It’s pointless looking back and wishing we’d done things better. I’m gonna go clean up.”
“Are we still on for —“
Yaku had gone before Kuroo finished the rest of his sentence.
Clearly they were, because as their teammates filtered out of the gym, citing buses or trains, usually leaving in groups of two or more, Yaku hung back. He spoke briefly to Yamamoto and Fukunaga, who he usually caught his train with him. They left, waving their goodbyes.
Kuroo wondered what Yaku had told them. Maybe that they had a study session together? But having one without Kai would be unusual. The gym was nearly empty now, and Kenma was floating over to him, an air of expectation around him.
“You go on ahead,” Kuroo said to Kenma. “I’ll catch up.”
Kenma’s eyes flicked behind him, to where Yaku was fiddling with the strap of his gym bag, lingering. This wasn’t unusual — often Yaku was one of the last to leave, locking up, making sure that the lights were off and nobody left their keys behind, but Yaku wasn’t good at pretending. And Kenma was too good at seeing.
Kuroo stepped into Kenma’s view of Yaku.
“Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” Kenma said. “Don’t be too long. It’s cold.”
He slouched out the entranceway. Kuroo turned around to Yaku looking at him, the adjustment of his bag strap abandoned.
“This better not take long. You can’t leave him out in the cold,” was his only comment, with a slight tilt of his head. “At least give him your jacket.”
Spreading his arms, Kuroo blinked at Yaku, feigning hurt. "What about me? I get cold too, y'know!"
Yaku rolled his eyes. "He's the one waiting outside. If you're that sensitive to cold, you can always ask for it back after we're done here."
"I have an idea of how to speed up proceedings," Kuroo began.
Yaku snorted.
"You talk like an old man."
A gust of wind swept into the gym, chilling Kuroo's back, and he turned around, spotting Kenma loitering by the gated exit. He lifted his head, as if sensing Kuroo's gaze — and damn Yaku, he did look cold.
"This old man will be right back," Kuroo mentioned, trotting out the gym doors.
After a quick handover, where Kenma accepted the jacket, his own slipping under Kuroo's bigger one easily, Kuroo returned to the gym. Although he felt the cold, the jogging had heated his skin, furls of steam appearing to float from his bare forearms. Yaku was waiting for him in the same spot, his knuckles paled on the strap of his gym bag, slung over his shoulder.
“Thanks for this,” Kuroo began, sliding the gym door mostly shut against the chilling air. He left it a shade open. He might suffocate otherwise. “I know you’ll probably have to get the next train now.”
“Mm.”
Yaku's sneakers squeaked as he toed at a painted-on white line, waiting for Kuroo to close the door, the familiar thud. When he didn’t hear it, he glanced up, his cheeks reddened from practice. It was the same sight Kuroo saw almost nearly every day, apart from the untethered look in his eyes. Kuroo didn’t like the expression on Yaku; it didn’t fit his face somehow, the uncertain shape of his brow floating on the prominent ridge of his forehead.
“You called me here because things are weird now,” Yaku stated, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I didn’t mean for them to be.”
Kuroo nodded. “I know that. Don’t worry, it’s not like —“
Yaku clenched his jaw. “Stop that.”
Blinking, Kuroo felt a spark of irritation. “Stop what? Enlighten me.”
“You’re being a captain.” There was something despondent in Yaku’s voice. “You’re talking to me like you talk to Shibayama after he’s overthought something. Don’t — don’t.” His voice cracked. “It makes me… talk to me as a friend, Kuroo. Please.”
He glanced away, his throat working, and Kuroo abruptly realised that this was affecting Yaku a lot more than he let on, and he felt awful for not realising sooner. But Yaku — Yaku was so steadfast and reliable that he’d loomed in Kuroo’s blind spot, usually outside of the circle of players that Kuroo consciously kept tabs on.
Because Yaku would be there. He would always be there and say exactly what he was thinking, no deduction or prompting involved on Kuroo’s part. He’d taken it for a given, hadn’t he? But of course Yaku couldn’t talk about this to him. Had Kai heard about it in detail? Kuroo didn't think so — he didn't think that Yaku would place Kai in the position of knowing about this. Was Yaku holing it all up himself? Guilt protruded through Kuroo's lungs, sharpening his breaths.
Yaku was looking at him for an answer.
“Well?”
“Yeah.” Kuroo rubbed at his arms, the brief heat from exertion leaking away. He missed his jacket. “Yeah, I see what you mean. I didn’t realise I was doing it.”
“I know.” Yaku’s voice softened. “I made everything fucking weird. I’m sorry for that, but I still would’ve done it.”
“Why?”
The question had left Kuroo’s tongue before he was aware of it. They stared at each other, Yaku’s mouth slowly twisting into a grimace.
“Really? Our all-seeing captain is going to make me spell it out for him? I didn’t think you were one for an ego trip, but…” Yaku trailed off, the grimace melting away. “Oh. You… you really had no idea.”
His alert eyes tracked over Kuroo’s face, and Kuroo felt like the one under an all-seeing eye. Yaku had spent years watching his back on the court, hadn’t he? He would know Kuroo’s movements better than anyone.
“Of course not,” Kuroo burst out, gesturing. “Would I drag you here without a good reason?”
Yaku stared at him. “Yes. But I’m still waiting to hear your ‘good reason.’”
“After you — y’know, after, you said that you were wrong about something,” Kuroo began, a strange tightness in his throat. “It keeps repeating in my head, and I can’t… wrong about what?”
He was getting emotional. Kuroo inhaled; tried to take a step back without sliding into the calmness of being a captain. Yaku was right; this wasn’t a team issue. This was between them. And… Yaku wouldn’t hold his emotions against him, even if they did emerge ragged and messy and unpolished. Yet Kuroo couldn’t give him that. He wanted his feelings to be a cool, smooth affair, like water flowing over the rocks of events in his life. He’d succeeded so far.
“Ah.” Yaku chewed on the side of his thumb. From a few days ago, it was more tender, the skin peeling, the meat of it reddened. Kuroo caught a glimpse of fresh crimson on Yaku’s lower lip. “That’s it, huh? I thought you liked me back. I was wrong. That’s all.”
Kuroo’s mind gave two frantic, shocked kicks; what? why? and stalled.
“Oh,” left his mouth. “I see.”
He absolutely did not see. Of course he’d considered that that was what Yaku had meant, but hearing him say it aloud, state it as if it should be obvious…
“Yeah, so…” Yaku dragged a hand back through his hair, his curls springing up between his fingers. Kuroo could easily wrap one around his finger. “Is that all? I don’t have anything more I want to say. I’ll get over this, and I’ve tried my best to not let it affect the team. We’ll get to Nationals.”
Any wavering had vanished. He sounded like himself; certain, on the edge of arrogance but never quite tipping over.
Kuroo nodded. He hesitated, looking at Yaku, who was biting the side of his thumb again, looking back at him. In the pit of his stomach, Kuroo felt like there was something else to say, some perfect sentence that could dance along his tongue and gently weave everything back into place, dissolve the wariness in Yaku's eyes.
"Yeah," he said. "We will."