Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sun streams in through the window of Yamaguchi Tadashi’s bedroom. He blinks himself into awareness, sparing a glance over at the clock on the windowsill. 

6:25. 

Shit.

If he doesn’t get out of bed right this instant, he’ll be late for morning practice, he realizes. He throws himself out of bed and runs straight over to the mirror, where he finds himself caught up for a second by his reflection.

He stares at himself: at the freckles dotting his face, at his hair, which he’d had recently cut. He twists his face into a menacing expression. Does it look like a captain’s expression? he wonders. He looks older, feels slightly more mature, but is he that different than he’d been when he’d first joined the team, nervous about his own ability and usefulness to the team? Is he really that pivotal to the team - when Hinata has his quick attacks and Kageyama has his genius skills and Tsukishima has his blocks and all he has is his serve to set him apart, a serve which Kageyama could probably easily replicate? Is he the strong leader that Karasuno is in desperate need of this season?

“Tadashi! Hurry up, or you’ll be late for school!” 

Shit, shit, shit. He rushes through his morning routine, throwing on his uniform and telling his mother goodbye before he heads off to school. She stares at him, tears welling up in her eyes. “My Tadashi,” she says softly. “Starting his third year. You’ve grown up so much, you know. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you, Okaasan,” Tadashi says, kissing her cheek. “You know that’s all I want.”

His mother tsks, flicking him on the arm. “You need to set your goals higher, son.” Her face softens. “You have to go for the things you want, Tadashi. Please keep that in mind.”

It’s an odd piece of advice for his first day of third year. Still, Tadashi nods, assuring her that he’ll go after what he wants. 

Well, most of the things, at least. Aside from the one thing - the one person - he’s always wanted that will remain impossible.

That person meets him near the gates to Karasuno, his eyes narrowed as he stares at the gym in front of him. “Another year of this place,” he grumbles. “At least after this year, I’ll finally be rid of it forever.”

“You’ll miss it,” Tadashi says cheerfully. “Good morning, Tsukki.”

Tsukishima’s expression doesn’t change. Still, one glance at Tsukishima’s expression tells him that Tadashi was right: that there’s something bittersweet in his eyes as he looks at the building ahead of them. “I’ll be glad to be done with the one brain cell squad,” Tsukishima says, though, because it’s not like Tsukishima to be sentimental: not out loud, at least.

Tadashi laughs. “I’ll have you know that Kageyama got into the sixties on his last math test,” he says teasingly.

Tsukishima purses his lips, shaking his head. “And even that was only because you tutored him for hours.”

“Well, it’s not like I could let a necessary member of the team fail one of their classes,” Tadashi says diplomatically.

“You really are a captain. Constantly sacrificing your own sanity for the greater good. So disgustingly captainly,” Tsukishima says flatly. It’d probably sound like an insult to anyone else, Tadashi thinks. But he knows Tsukishima, maybe better than anyone else does. He knows that Tsukishima means it more as a compliment than anything. So he just grins in response.

“Well, I’d hope so,” Tadashi says. “Otherwise Ennoshita will have made a really terrible decision as to who to pass the captaincy down to.”

Tsukishima stops, his gaze searching as his eyes fall on Tadashi. Then, slowly, he shakes his head. “He didn’t,” Tsukishima says firmly.

“Oh,” Tadashi says weakly. It’s two words, hardly anything, and yet it feels crucial somehow: as though those two words are the axis his world is spinning on right now. His breath catches in his throat; his heart speeds up, thundering in his ears. It’s impossible, he reminds himself frantically. Tsukishima believes in him. Of course he does; he’s Tsukishima’s best friend. It’s only natural. 

Anyways, it’s very much not the time for another one of Tadashi’s crises. He has a team to lead now: underclassmen that will look to him for direction, not to mention trying to manage his fellow third years. There’s a lot of work to do. Karasuno has no time for a captain who can’t control his own emotions.

Hinata and Kageyama are already there when they get there, of course. Tadashi can count on one hand the amount of times he and Tsukishima had gotten there before their resident freak duo. Hinata grins at them as they walk in. “Hey, it’s the captain!” 

“Well, don’t hit the captain in the head when he walks in this year,” Kageyama mumbles.

“Hey! Shut up, Bakageyama. That was one time!” 

“And it was a bad omen for last year’s season.”

“We got to Nationals, did we not!” 

“And then lost to Inarizaki and those annoying Miya twins.”

“Great to see you two never change,” Tsukishima says, lifting an eyebrow. “Just somehow manage to kill more brain cells every year.” 

Hinata and Kageyama just stare at him. Tadashi holds his breath for a moment, sends up a silent prayer that he won’t have to break up a fight between the third years on his first day as captain. But then Hinata just starts laughing, and even Kageyama doesn’t look as annoyed as usual. “You’re the one who never changes, Stupid shima!” Hinata says, ‘patting’ Tsukishima on the back. Tsukishima glares down at him, but doesn’t even bother pushing Hinata away. Yamaguchi blinks.

He thinks back to the Tsukishima of first year and can’t help but smile to himself as he watches Hinata talk to him. But then the door opens and the underclassmen trickle in, chattering to each other, and Tadashi thinks to himself, it’s go time.

No more time to be miserably pining. He’s the leader now.

.

“Five more serves,” Tadashi tells one of their first years, Koyama, who simply nods and picks up the ball to give it another go. He makes his way over to Tsukishima next. “How’s the serve coming along?” 

“Fantastic,” Tsukishima says dryly, then serves it directly into the net and sighs. 

“Tsukki,” he says with a sigh. “You’re getting too in your own head about your serve. Stop overthinking it.”

“The King over there has had his serve mastered for years now,” Tsukishima hisses, low enough so that no one else can hear him. It always shocks Tadashi a little when Tsukishima is upfront with what’s bothering him, but he feels honored, in a way, to get to be the one that hears it.

Or maybe he’s just that whipped.

“He’s him, and you’re you,” Tadashi says firmly. “You have your own strengths. For example, you’re better at not failing tests.” He shoots a conspiratorial grin at Tsukishima, whose eyes glint with amusement: a subtle thing probably only Tadashi would notice. “So don’t worry about what the Ki- Kageyama is doing. Keep working on your own serve so I don’t have to talk to the coach about replacing you as a starter.”

Tsukishima blinks. “You wouldn’t,” he says, his voice accusatory but also fearful.

“I might,” Tadashi says. “That new Ishikawa, he’s a middle blocker. And his blocks are rock solid.”

“Shut up.”

“Keep up the good work then,” Tadashi says, his hand brushing Tsukishima’s arm - and, man, had Tsukishima’s arms always been so muscular? Had he always been so built? No, he’d been a twig for a lot of their younger school years. He’s probably lingering way too long, he realizes all of a sudden, and pulls his hand away like he’s been burned, keeping his head down as he steps off the court.

“You’re doing a good job, y’know.” The voice comes from beside him, too recognizable, and he can’t help but smile.

“Hm,” Tadashi says. “You really think so?”

“Yeah,” Yachi says, nodding her head. “I can’t say the Karasuno team is exactly easy to manage, especially with everyone always trying to argue and things within your year, but you do a good job of keeping it contained, I think.”

Tadashi grins. “Well, thanks. I appreciate it. How’s the search for a new manager going?” 

“You’d think it would be easier since we consistently go to Nationals,” Yachi complains, “but no! I haven’t found a single soul yet! They all want to manage basketball or something more ‘exciting’, as if volleyball isn’t the most exciting sport out there. And then I start thinking, what if I never find a manager? What if next year they go into the season manager-less, and then someone gets dehydrated because no one is refilling his water bottle and then faints on the court, and then he trips someone else and they fall - “

“Yachi!” Tadashi cuts her off before she can get any further with her tale of woe. She looks up at him, a blush on her cheeks, and he shakes his head. “None of that is going to happen. Seriously. You’re going to find someone, I promise.”

She breathes out a sigh, then nods. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Thank you.” She pauses. “Hey, Tsukishima-kun looks happier this year.”

Tadashi’s head swerves around to look at her. “You think?”

“Yeah,” she confirms, her ponytail bouncing as she nods. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just totally crazy here, but it looks like there’s more of a light in his eyes, more like he’s willing to go all out, almost like Hinata and Kageyama do. Though - not quite to their level, of course.”

“Huh.” Tadashi stares back at the court, at Tsukishima tossing the ball into the air again and jumping, his fifteenth attempt at a jump serve that day. “You might have a point there.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re the captain this year,” Yachi says, and it doesn’t even sound like she’s teasing - more like a simple observation of fact.

Tadashi swallows. He doesn’t want to think about what that could possibly mean. He’s far too afraid of getting his hopes up for the impossible.

.

They don’t win their first practice game against Date Tech, and Tadashi can’t help but feel responsible. 

They miss too many of their serves. Not only the first years, either, or even the second years - Tsukishima misses one of his, which seems to put him in a mood for the rest of the game. Their ace keeps getting stuffed by Date Tech’s blockers; it seems that Date Tech hasn’t yet dropped their emphasis on blocking, and they don’t know how to deal with that as of yet. They know too many of Hinata’s tricks, too. It’s just all around not a good game.

Yamaguchi puts his towel over his head in their locker room and sits down on a bench. Hinata, of course, slaps him on the back. “C’mon, Captain, we played a good game! And we’ll totally kick their asses next time.”

“Hell yeah we will!” Hayakawa, their first-year libero, enthuses. “I’m gonna get better with my digs and my passes off of blocks! Then we’ll be totally unstoppable!” 

“Yeah! Hayakawa has a lot of growing to do, but I bet he’ll be really good!” Hinata agrees. Hayakawa looks at Hinata with shining eyes. He’s always idolized Hinata, and it’s entertaining to watch from the outside. 

Or it would be, at any other time. 

“Tadashi.” Tsukishima’s voice is straightforward, matter-of-fact, and the fact that he’d used Tadashi’s first name indicates that this is something serious. He glares over at Hinata and Hayakawa to get them to back off, then, once they’ve stepped away, says, “Stop blaming yourself.” 

“I’m not,” Tadashi mumbles, but he can’t manage to make the words sound convincing.

“A team isn’t just their captain, you know,” Tsukishima says. “Daichi-san was a great captain, but we still lost a ton of matches in the beginning, remember? As cliche as it sounds, we needed time to grow.”

“I’m not Daichi, though.”

“Right. But no one’s expecting you to be him. In fact, none of the first or second years even know who that is.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right there.” Tadashi sighs. “I just… it sucks to lose. And, losing just makes me think… I mean, d’you really think I’m cut out for this?” 

“Don’t ask such stupid questions,” is Tsukishima’s response.

It’s so very Tsukishima that it startles Tadashi out of his own self-pity for a second, and he snorts a little bit. There’s something reassuring about the fact that Tsukishima’s reactions are so steady, so predictable. His heart aches with the desire to keep things like this forever - to keep Tsukishima around forever. He knows it’s an impossibility, a selfish desire. So, instead, he says, “Why is that stupid?”

“I wouldn’t have voted for you to be the captain if I didn’t know you were cut out for this,” Tsukishima says, no hint of uncertainty in his voice. “So don’t act like the two brainless fools that somehow we’re unfortunate enough to share a year with. You should know that you can do this.” It’s obvious that you like those two brainless fools, even if you pretend you don’t, Tadashi wants to say, but doesn’t. And then - he really believes in me. Tsukishima, the coolest person I’ve ever known, believes in me.

It’s enough to spark a little bit of a fire in him.

“Okay,” Tadashi says, his lips turning up into a little bit of a smile. “Fine. I’ll do better. Sorry, Tsukki.”

“Shut up, Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima says, but it’s the fond bickering that’s associated with routine rather than any actual venom. “Now hurry up already. You have a team to give a motivational speech to.”

“Hey, will you help? I have a couple of compliments about the last game that I want you to deliver to Hinata and Kageyama -”

“No. Absolutely not.”

Tadashi laughs, and Tsukishima faux-glares at him, and it feels like everything is right in the world again. For now, at least. 

He’s still not happy about how the game went, still not fully confident in the team’s decision to have him as the captain. But when Tsukishima is in front of him, telling him that he’s cool, that he’s worthy of being the captain, it’s hard not to believe.

Still. He wishes.

.

Training camp rolls around too quickly. They get training camp invitations automatically now; going to Nationals two years in a row and making it decently far each time has cemented Karasuno’s status as somewhat of a powerhouse school. And people eye them with less derision as they walk into the camp. It almost feels like respect. 

“All right,” Tadashi says, clapping his hands to get the stray, chattering first and second years - and of course, the two idiotic third years - to quiet down. “People are expecting a lot of us this year. We’ve got a big legacy to uphold. And I’ve had one training camp where we had to do flying falls every single game, so I’m not looking to do it again.”

“Ha! That training camp was fun, though!” Hinata enthuses. 

“Losing every game was fun, dumbass? Apparently we have very different ideas of fun.”

“Well, not that! But that camp was where we met Bokuto-san for the first time! And where Tsukishima got to hang out with all the captains and learned those badass secret blocking techniques!”

All of the first-years and second-years tilt their heads to look at Tsukishima. Ishikawa, their first-year middle blocker, mutters under his breath, “Is that what these training camps are for? Secret techniques?”

“Okay, okay,” Tadashi says, clapping his hands. “Back on topic. We’re here to win, yes, but also to improve. We’re here to learn from other teams and perfect our techniques before the actual tournaments. So that’s what all of you should focus your energy on.”

“Gonna yell in my face again this year, captain?” Tsukishima says beside him, snarkily, as they walk towards the courts.

Tadashi’s eyes flit over towards him. He looks good when he’s snarky, looks good when he’s saying things to piss people off, looks good all the time, in fact. Tadashi aches with the desire to say something to him, but doesn’t know what, and knows it’d be a bad idea regardless. This is one avenue he’s certain it’d be dangerous to pursue. So, instead, he just smiles. “Not unless you get back into that phase of calling volleyball just a club again.”

“I’d never dare speak such words of sacrilege,” is Tsukishima’s response. Half-sarcastic, but also half not, Tadashi thinks. 

He’s come so far in just two short years. Tadashi’s heart aches with something heavy.

“Yamaguchi-kun.” 

He tears his gaze away from Tsukishima, his eyes landing on the current captain of Nekoma, who greets him, as always, with a soft smile and a wave. “Teshiro-kun,” Yamaguchi says. “It’s good to see you.”

“You as well. We’re playing you first,” Teshiro says. “Lev and Inuoka are… a little too excited about this match.” 

“Ah. I’m sure that our team will be just as excited,” Tadashi says. “But keep this in mind. This might be just a training camp, just a practice game, but still - we’re definitely in it to win it.” 

Teshiro’s eyes search Tadashi’s face, his cat-like gaze almost too reminiscent of that of their previous captain, the too-cunning Kenma. Then his lips tilt up. “Oh, don’t worry. We are as well. Best of luck to you.”

Tadashi feels a lot of affinity towards Teshiro, he thinks as they play. Teshiro hadn’t ever been a starter until this year; Nekoma had been built around their previous setter, so there’d never been much need for a backup unless Kenma was injured or exhausted. But he’d seemed quietly determined the few times he’d been put in. He’d never been flashy on the court, not when compared to his other first years such as the tall Russian Haiba Lev or the promising young libero Shibayama Yuuki, but he’d claimed the captain position regardless. Tadashi wonders if he feels the same way that Tadashi does, about the captain position feeling like a heavy crown to wear.

So he asks later that night, after they narrowly beat Nekoma by a mere two points, after they play five games and win four of them and they’re all devouring their dinner. He’s standing with Teshiro and the captains of the other teams at the camp, feeling even more nervous at the fact that there’s a nationwide-acclaimed wing spiker standing alongside him. He whispers to Teshiro, “Do you ever feel weird about being your team’s captain?”

“Hm,” Teshiro says. “Yeah, kind of. I guess most teams don’t really expect it to be me.” He flashes a tiny smile, though. “But it’s nice to prove them wrong.”

“Do you feel like you deserve it?”

“I don’t know. But Kenma and the rest of the team saw some sort of potential in me, so that’s something, I guess.” He takes a pause, then looks up at Tadashi thoughtfully. “If you’re wondering the same about yourself, I think you make a strong captain. You seem to manage your fellow third years, as well as your underclassman, very well. You just have to understand that for yourself.”

Who knew that the cat would end up being the wisest? His words are too true, hit too close to the heart without Tadashi even saying anything to indicate he’d needed them.

“Thanks,” Tadashi says warmly. “You… well, you’ve got a point.”

Teshiro nods. “Good things happen when you start to believe in yourself,” he says, softly, mysteriously, his gaze drifting back to his team. 

It feels like there’s something more hiding behind his words, but Tadashi doesn’t know if it’s purposeful and can’t find a way to pick it out. He leans back against the wall and sighs.

.

During lunch the next day, Tadashi walks up to where Tsukishima is to hear, “Well, Yamaguchi” and can’t help pausing behind him to eavesdrop a little bit. He’s only human; he’s always been curious about what Tsukishima has to say about him when he’s not around.

“He was a perfect choice for our captain,” he says. “Someone had to keep the low brain cell organisms of our team in order. It couldn’t be me. I’d probably have killed them by now.”

“It’s just…” the other person says, “he’s not that interesting, is he? He’s not the genius setter of the team, or the skilled blocker, or the little shrimp that can jump, so… it’s an odd choice.”

“It was the right one,” Tsukishima says firmly.

“Right, sure. If you say so.”

Tadashi steps back away. He’s not surprised that people question Karasuno’s choice in captain. If he was a member of another team, he’d probably question it himself. There are all these genius members on the Karasuno team, and yet they choose this random former pinch server to lead the team? 

But he can’t get it out of his head. Even though Tsukishima had defended him. Even though there’s no reason for him to care about some random guy from some random team that decided to complain to Tsukishima.

He bites down on his lip and tries to push it all away.

.

“Hey, Yamaguchi!” 

Hinata’s voice is almost always bright and cheery. Tadashi envies it in a way. He wishes that he could be more naturally optimistic, could worry less and smile more. He forces a smile onto his mouth and hopes that it’s convincing. “Hey.”

“You’ve seemed off today! Did something happen? I mean, we won most of our games, way more than last year, so…”

Tadashi shrugs. “Nothing in particular, really. I guess I’m just tired.”

“Tsukishima didn’t say anything to you, did he? No, wait, he wouldn’t do that to you! He mostly is only nice to you! It’s just me and stupid Kageyama that he says mean stuff to.”

“D’you actually think he’s nicer to me than other people?”

“Well, more than me and Bakageyama, for sure! And more than the first years, and the second years too. Actually, I’ve never seen him be nice and try to be encouraging to anyone but you, and one time Yachi when she spilled something and he offered to help her clean up.”

Tadashi’s brain starts whirring on a completely different path. He’s never thought about it before, but well, Yachi is pretty. And their age. And a girl. And Tsukishima’s never been exactly mean to her, not the way he is to the other first years on their team, like Hinata and Kageyama. “Wait - do you think that Tsukki, like, has a thing for Yachi?”

“For Yachi?” Hinata laughs, too loud. “No, I definitely don’t think so! But I guess I wouldn’t be able to tell even if he did. Hey, can I ask you something personal?”

Tadashi winces and braces himself. “Uh. Yeah, sure, I guess.”

“Do you have a thing for Tsukishima?”

And there it is.

It’s been too many years now of being in love with Tsukishima, but Tadashi has yet to speak the words out loud. But right now, after keeping it inside during the first day of practice and the practice game and the training camp, keeping it all pent up deep within him, he feels as though he’s ready to explode. 

“Something like that,” Tadashi blurts out, and then follows it up with a quick, “But you really, seriously can’t tell anyone, okay? Including Tsukki - no, especially Tsukki.”

Hinata’s face looks as solemn as it does when he’s serious about a volleyball game as he nods. “Of course I won’t tell Tsukishima! But uh, why haven’t you told him yet?”

Tadashi blinks. “I can’t tell him, of course.”

“Well, you could,” Hinata says. “It’s more that you won’t, but I don’t get why. He probably likes you back, you know.”

“He doesn’t like me back. Not that way, at least.”

“You don’t know that,” Hinata argues, his expression scrunching up like this is a subject that he’s passionate about or something. “You haven’t actually told him, right? So he hasn’t said he doesn’t like you that way.”

“I’ve known him a long time,” Tadashi says, glumly. “Trust me, I wish what you’re saying was true. But it can’t be, okay? Tsukki… he sees me as a good friend, I’m sure, but not much else. So I think it’s best if I just keep it to myself. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.”

“Hmm,” Hinata says, drumming his fingers on his own thigh, to his own rhythm - exactly the way Hinata does everything Hinata does. “But don’t you ever think about what you want, though? Like, don’t you ever just want to go for something because it’s something you want?” He picks his arms up and waves them around, a kinesthetic demonstration of a romantic concept, exactly the kind of thing Tadashi has come to expect from Hinata over the years. “Like, in a game! Sometimes a ball isn’t like, specifically for you, or anything. But you go after it anyways, because you want that ball!” 

Of course Hinata would make Tadashi’s love life into a weird volleyball metaphor. Regardless of its absurdity, Tadashi feels his mouth tilting up. “So you’re saying just like we go after balls, I should go after Tsukki?”

“Tsukki, and everything else you want!” There’s a wild look in Hinata’s eyes. “If you’re asking what I think, I think you are quick to sacrifice your own happiness for other people’s happiness. Like, you won’t tell him because you think it’d make him unhappy! But what if it would make you happy? Or even better, if it could make you both happy?”

“Hm… I guess you’ve got a point there,” Tadashi concedes. “But what can I even say in a situation like this? Hey, Tsukki! Hope your day’s going well! By the way, I’m in love with you.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“That’s a terrible confession. God, Hinata, please tell me you’re not going to confess to anyone like that!”

“Well, I guess I won’t now! But I thought it was fine! Straight to the point.”

“Just help me come up with something better,” Tadashi begs. He’s well aware that he’s coming off as pretty desperate to be begging Hinata of all people for help, but at this point, he’s fairly desperate. 

“You’ve known Tsukishima for a while, right? Just bring up some of your favorite memories! And then…” Hinata’s eyes grow wide as he keeps talking, his arms waving maniacally, and Tadashi listens raptly. 

By the end of their talk, well, maybe it’s just Hinata’s occasionally thoughtless bravery rubbing off on him, or maybe his words somehow got through, but confessing to Tsukishima sounds like a possibility all of a sudden. 

A possibility. Not a sure thing. But it could happen, and that’s more than Tadashi’s ever had.

It’s just that Tadashi’s never been exactly good at chasing after things he wants.

Back in elementary school, he’d really wanted to be the cool main character in the class play. The main character was a really cool knight! With a sword! He was a hero, young Tadashi had thought. And then, by some chance, he’d managed to snag the role. And he was about to get fitted for the armor and everything when another guy in the class had approached him. 

“Hey, uh, Yamaguchi-kun,” he’d said, fiddling with his hands nervously, “I know you got the main role fair and square, so if you want to keep it, you can! But it’s the role of my dreams, really. So if you wouldn’t mind trading with me, it would make me so happy!” 

Tadashi’s heart had plummeted. He’d blinked, considering. He really wanted the role… but on the other hand, if he let his classmate down, it was clear that his classmate would be really upset. And that was the last thing young Tadashi had wanted.

So he’d sighed internally, plastered a grin on his face, and said, “No, of course you can have it!” Anything to make his classmate happy. And that was how Tadashi had gotten stuck with his classmate’s role instead: the role of Horse #2. 

It’s a pattern that’s persisted throughout his entire life. In middle school, he’d thought a girl was cute for a while, but one of his class friends had mentioned that he thought she was cute, so he’d stepped down and even hinted to the girl that his classmate might be interested. He’d switch lunches with Tsukishima when his lunch was better than Tsukishima’s, because it’d make Tsukishima happy, even at the cost of his own happiness. 

It’s hard now to think that he has to break that pattern. But he’s eighteen years old.

Maybe it’s time for Yamaguchi Tadashi to break out.

.

He finds it hard to sleep that night. Scenarios of his confession to Tsukishima going horribly wrong flash through his mind, and at about three in the morning, he gets out of bed and heads to the bathroom, splashing water on his face. “Get it together,” he mumbles to himself, a command and a plead.

On the way back from the bathroom, he runs into Yachi. Yachi stares sheepishly at him. “W-what are you doing up?”

“Needed some water,” he says. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Shouldn’t you?” she counters, and then her eyes widen. “Sorry! Oh, sorry. I shouldn’t speak that way to the captain, of all people! But I mean, you should probably be asleep too, shouldn’t you?”

“It’s fine,” Tadashi says with a laugh. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve got a point. I just have a lot on my mind these days.”

“Well, I mean! I’m here if you want to talk about it. Not that you have to or anything, but if you wanted to.”

Tadashi looks at her. It occurs to him not for the first time how lucky he is: to have a team of people around him that care about him and want to help him. His first instinct is to tell her no, it’s okay, but then he reminds himself that he’s supposed to be going after the things that he wants, and well, it couldn’t hurt to have reassurance.

So he nods. “I just… well, let’s just say that there’s something I want to do. Something I should’ve done a long time ago, probably. But it involves putting myself out there in a way I haven’t ever before, so I guess I’m a little bit afraid. Does… is that too vague?” 

“You want to confess to someone?” Yachi asks quietly, then, “Oh, sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed! I just - that’s what it sounds like!” 

“No, you’re right. I do.” Tadashi sighs, crossing his arms across his chest. “And I don’t know if I have the courage. I mean, it takes a lot of strength to tell someone you’re in love with them. And I feel kind of like a coward most of the time.” He gives a small, self-deprecating laugh.

“I don’t think a coward could run the team the way you do,” is Yachi’s response. “To me, it takes a lot of strength to be the leader of a team and keep all of those boys under control. For me, I… I’m too timid to be able to do it. But you do. You scold them and get them in the right places at the right time and help them improve. I can tell that the team is only getting better under your leadership. If you have the strength and courage to be able to do that, then I don’t see why you couldn’t use it to confess!”

“But what if he… what if they say no? What if I ruin everything?”

“Then at least you know you tried, I guess,” Yachi says with a shrug. “Sometimes you just have to give things a try, y’know? Even if you fail!” 

“That sounds like something Hinata would say,” Tadashi replies, shaking his head.

“Maybe it’s a good thing that he’s rubbing of on all of us,” Yachi says with a laugh. “I wish I had his tenacity.”

“You do, though,” Yachi says. “I think you do, at least.”

He’ll do his best, he thinks. He’ll try to channel some of that tenacity. 

Maybe Yachi’s right. Maybe he does have it within him. Maybe he can be the team captain that he’s always wanted to be and use those powers to also confess to Tsukishima.

But, he thinks with a gulp - he’s going to need some time.

.

 The training camp ends, and Tadashi still doesn’t confess to Tsukishima.

They sit together on the ride home. Tsukishima listens to music through earbuds this time, and, glancing over at Tadashi, he offers him one. It’s a big gesture, coming from Tsukishima. He’s a big fan of music: of the experience of fully listening to music. He doesn’t usually like listening to music only out of one earphone. 

Tadashi tries not to read too much into the fact that he’d let Tadashi use one of his earphones. He focuses himself on trying to keep the second and first years quiet enough that at least some of the people on the bus can get some sleep.

“How do you think we’ll do in the tournament?” he asks as they head back to their houses. Tsukishima is the best person to ask about this kind of thing; he never sugarcoats anything. Everything he says is what he means. 

Tsukishima gives a small grunt. He gives Tadashi a look that Tadashi doesn’t fully recognize, then says, “Not bad.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah. I mean, the idiot duo has only gotten better, and you’ve improved as well,” Tsukishima says. “The first years are strong, if not annoying. Our ace has improved since last year. I’d say we have a decent chance. And, well. We’re under good leadership.” He grimaces, as if remembering who their vice-captain is. “Half-good, at least.”

Tadashi nods, his chest feeling light. “If I can manage to keep the team alive until then.”

Hinata’s yelling in the back with their ace, Nishimura, who’s a strong but loud second year, and Hayakawa. Kageyama looks on with big eyes, chiming in to tell Hinata he’s a dumbass every few seconds. Tadashi turns around to give Hinata a look , and Hinata nods in response, understanding that he’s meant to be quieter. He keeps his voice down for only a few minutes before it increases all over again. Tadashi thinks that it might be a lost cause.

He glances over at two of their other teammates, seated near the back of the bus. Koyama, their wing spiker, and Ishikawa, their middle blocker, both first years. Ishikawa stares back at Hayakawa, raising his eyebrows at him, then narrows his eyebrows and puts his own headphones. It’s all too familiar. 

Tadashi thinks back to the ragtag team of their first year and smiles to himself. We can do it, he thinks firmly. We can.

The guitar from the band playing out of Tsukishima’s earbuds and into his ears seems to echo the sentiment somehow.

.

They work hard to prepare for the tournament, and Tadashi still doesn’t say anything to Tsukishima. 

They’re at practice together every day. Tadashi watches him as he practices his blocks against Hinata’s spikes, tries to cooperate with Kageyama and argues with him. Tadashi then has to throw himself into breaking up their quarrels and arguments. He also distracts himself with guiding the first years: guiding Hayakawa’s receives and wishing Nishinoya was here to give demonstrations, assisting Koyama with his serve, trying to improve Ishikawa’s block times. It’s almost to the point that Tadashi doesn’t have time to plan his confession.

But then, when he’s lying in the bed at night, it comes back to him all over again. He can’t possibly be worthy of Tsukishima’s love. He can’t possibly be worthy of the captain position. 

Somehow it feels like the two things are intrinsically connected.

Therefore, he makes a deal with himself: if they somehow manage to make it to Nationals, then he’ll confess to Tsukishima. It only makes sense. If he’s worthy of getting the team to Nationals, then he might just be worthy of Tsukishima as well. He’ll use this opportunity to go after what he’s always wanted, in two different, and yet the same, ways.

Or maybe it’s just Hinata and Kageyama rubbing off on him, making him believe that volleyball and love are somehow two entwined concepts. Either way, he writes it down on a paper, signs it himself, and stores it in his drawer. He’s contractually obligated to do it now.

Well, shit.

.

Time flies by in a flurry of receive practices, spike practices, serve practices, until, finally, there are only a few more weeks of practice before qualifiers. Tadashi jumps into high gear. He watches his teammates during practice games, taking mental notes about things that they need to work on. He stays for extra practice with some of the first years. He throws balls and barks out orders in a voice that he barely even recognizes, a voice that’s commanding and loud. He breaks up arguments between Kageyama and Tsukishima, buys the first years pork buns, plays the role of the perfect captain. And then they make it to qualifiers. 

The first rounds of qualifiers are against teams that are good, but not great. They play to the best of their ability. Still, it’s not even close - 25-15, 25-13, 25-17. Games that are out of reach. It’s a new feeling to stand on the side of the powerhouse, to look at the teams on the other side and not feel inferior to them.

Tadashi is quick to remind his team, though, that just a few short years ago, everyone had considered them to be exactly the same as those teams: a nobody school, not competition at all for teams like Aoba Johsai and Shiratorizawa. Therefore, they have to be sure not to get cocky or think that any game is a sure win. Sometimes the greatest teams come from teams that have been beaten down for years.

And then, they finally get to the semifinals and face Aoba Johsai once again, just as they had in Tadashi’s first year. But it’s a far different team than the team they’d played back then. Their captain Kunimi eyes him from the other side of the court, his gaze shrewd. Tadashi smiles back at him. “We’ve been looking forward to this match,” he says cheerily, offering him a hand. “Let’s all play our best.”

Kunimi’s eyes narrow, but he forces half of a smile onto his own face. “We always do,” he says flatly. “But I look forward to seeing you try.” His voice drops a little, though, as he says, “How is the King doing?”

“The King?” It takes a minute for the nickname to register in his head, the nickname Tsukishima had always snidely used to describe… “Kageyama?”

“Yes,” Kunimi says.

“He’s… well, I guess you’ll see in this game,” Tadashi says. “But we’re especially proud of our third years. I personally think that they’re the cornerstone of our team.”

“Ah,” Kunimi says flatly. “Well, I guess I’ll see, then.”

Aoba Johsai is entirely new. They don’t have Oikawa, the genius setter, and since Aoba Johsai hasn’t gotten to Nationals in recent years, strong new recruits don’t seem to be joining the team. Their first year setter just doesn’t possess the same kind of skill Oikawa had. He can’t compete with Kageyama, who’s only improved since joining the team two years ago. They take down Aoba Johsai easily - 25-20, 25-19, in two straight sets Seeing the devastated looks on Kunimi’s face along with his vice-captain’s - Kindaichi, he thinks? - Tadashi almost feels bad. It’s not exactly a fun way to go out.  But then Hinata tackles him, jumping onto his back, and his underclassmen are yelling and patting him on the back, and Tsukishima - even Tsukishima gives him a tiny little smile, more of an I-told-you-so smile than anything, but it’s enough to make Yamaguchi’s heart soar. 

It’s only one game. But it’s a game that they’ve won with him as the captain, a game that they didn’t even have to struggle for. 

And that feels like a rush of confidence being shot into his veins.

Just one more game.

.

They end up having to face Shiratorizawa again. It comes as no surprise to anyone. 

The night before the game, Tadashi feels the nervous energy thrumming through his veins. He steps out of his house to go for a run. He needs to burn off some steam, he thinks. 

And then, on the way back to his house,  he runs straight into Tsukishima.

“What are you doing?” he asks, stepping back so that he doesn’t have to suffer through feeling Tsukishima’s warmth against his. It feels weird, he thinks, that they’re on the same level now. He no longer has to look up to meet Tsukishima’s gaze. They’re on equal footing.

Tsukishima shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep,” he says. “So I decided to go for a walk. What, are you nervous or something?” 

“Or something. I mean, it’s only the most important game of the year so far.”

“It’s not like we’ll die if we lose or something.”

“Oh, don’t you act like you’re above all this! I saw you grinning after we won the Seijoh match yesterday. You’re just as nervous as anyone else. That’s why you can’t sleep.”

“I had a Coke with dinner.”

“Shut up, Tsukki,” Tadashi says, elbowing him in the side. He exhales, lets the air out of him. “D’you ever think about the fact that this is it? This is our most important season. After this, we’re not going to ever have a qualifiers again. We’re not going to play high school volleyball again.”

“Hmph. I’ll be glad to leave that smelly ass gym behind.”

“We’re not going to play together again.”

Tsukishima pauses, as if caught off guard. “You don’t know that.”

Tadashi tilts his head up to take in the night sky. His heart thumps in his chest as he says, “Well, I don’t know how far I’ll continue with volleyball. It’s fun and all, but I’m not quite on the level of the… well, volleyball idiots. They live and breathe volleyball. Why, do you think you’ll continue?”

Tsukishima looks away. There’s a hint of red on his cheeks, one that Tadashi can’t comprehend until he finally speaks again. “I don’t think I’m ready to quit yet. Just because I think there’s things I haven’t done yet. Not because I actually like it or anything.”

Tadashi laughs. “Of course not.”

Tsukishima looks at him then, really looks at him. Tadashi finds that his breath gets stuck in his throat. Tsukishima’s never looked at him like this before. He breaks the gaze after a second, though, before either of them can make a move, and says, “Well, you should probably get some sleep before the big game, Captain. ”

Tadashi swallows the lump in his throat. He wants more. God, he wants more. But he has a deal with himself. 

One more game.

As he steps through the door to his house, he can’t tell if the rapid pounding of his heart is caused by his encounter with Tsukishima, his run getting his blood pumping, or his nervousness for the game tomorrow - and the possibility of his confession. Maybe it's a combination of all of them. 

He has no idea what tomorrow will bring, and that fact makes him more nervous than anything.

.

“Hey,” Hinata says, peering over the top of the bus seat at them. “Tsukishima. Is your brother coming to the game?”

Tsukishima groans. “I told him not to.”

“That’s not an answer, though!” 

“God, I hope he’s not. But, knowing him…”

“He’ll be there,” Tadashi says. “He texted me earlier to ask what time the game started and what area of the gym it’s in.”

Tsukishima’s head jerks around to stare at Tadashi accusingly. “My brother texted you and not me?”

“He probably knew you wouldn’t respond,” Tadashi says. “You’d never have told him where it is.”

“And what, you did?”

“Of course I did,” Tadashi says, elbowing him lightly. “You have to have people there to support you!” 

“Yeah!” Hinata chimes in again. “And Karasuno needs a cheering section! Since Tanaka-san graduated last year, we don’t have his sister there cheering for us anymore, and Natsu’s started coming but she’s only one person, and she’s still pretty young. Especially for this Shiratorizawa game, since they always have that huge cheering section - “

“Dumbass,” Kageyama cuts in. “It doesn’t matter how big our cheering section is. We’re going to win no matter what.” 

“You don’t know that! And plus being cheered for makes you feel good, which makes you less nervous and less likely to mess up!” 

“Can the idiot patrol please stop spewing bullshit for the next hour so that I can get into the right headspace.”

“See, even Tsukishima agrees! You need cheering to help you get into the right headspace!”

“That’s not what I said.”

Tadashi watches as Tsukishima gripes at Hinata and Kageyama, smiling to himself, a little, secret smile. It’s a tiny smile that doesn’t fall from his face until his team  walks into the gym and sees the Shiratorizawa team waiting for them.

Goshiki, the Shiratorizawa captain, isn’t quite as foreboding as Ushijima had been. Still, he seems like nothing to be trifled with as he gives Tadashi a firm handshake. 

They can win regardless, he thinks. But it won’t be easy. 

The Shiratorizawa team is still a powerhouse. Their first years are talented; that becomes obvious within minutes of the game starting. They have a first year that seems like he must be approaching seven feet. Tsukishima gives him a look, a look that says “you expect me to block this guy?”, and Tadashi nods. Yes, he does expect Tsukishima to block this guy. Yes, he knows Tsukishima can. 

He’s the first serve of the game. It’s a weird kind of pressure, or maybe it’s just pressure that he puts on himself: the belief that this one serve will set the stage for the rest of the game. If this serve misses, they’re screwed, Tadashi thinks to himself.

So he won’t miss.

He visualizes the serve going over, zipping past the players, touching down onto the court in between their players in the back. He visualizes the other team’s players going for it, falling on the court, then looking up at him with wide eyes once they realize that they’ve missed it. He smiles to himself. 

Then he tosses the ball up in the air and jumps for it. 

It’s a good, high toss. Perfect, he thinks as he slams it down to the other side. Just as he’d imagined, the Shiratorizawa players lunge for it, but they don’t connect with it. The ball hits the ground with a satisfying whack and Karasuno takes the first point. 

Tsukishima turns to give him a nod, in true Tsukishima style, and it feels good. 

The game continues. Tadashi serves again, and this time the Shiratorizawa players aren’t as taken off guard. They receive it and send it back to Karasuno with a hit, a hit that Hayakawa receives. Kageyama tosses it; they have three players run up to it, including Hinata, who the Shiratorizawa players block, but it’s Nishimura that hits it instead. Tadashi smiles to himself. The greatest decoy after all.

Shiratorizawa takes the ball back after those two points, but the game continues in much the same pattern. It never really feels as though the game is out of Karasuno’s control. Kageyama alternates between the possible spikers in a way that means Shiratorizawa often can’t keep up with who it’s going to. His tosses are fast and clean. They have a few missed serves, mostly from first years, but overall they play in an efficient way with very few mistakes. And they take the first set easily. 

“We can do this,” Hinata says, his eyes big. “We can win this! We can go to Nationals again!”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, dumbass,” Tsukishima and Kageyama say in unison, then glare at each other. Tadashi hates that he finds it adorable. He puts a hand on each of their shoulders, though, as a warning: it’s exactly the wrong time to be starting a fight.

“We can do this,” Tadashi says warmly. “I want you all to close your eyes right now and envision us winning. Imagine the way the crowd would roar, the sound of the ball smacking against the floor, the looks on their teams faces and the sound of your teammates. Envision it,” he says, clenching his fist, “because that way, we can make it a reality. We can do this, Hinata’s right. We will do this. But we’ll have to fight our hardest to get there.” 

They do their cheer and head back to the court, and Tadashi almost thinks that he sees a bit of a spring in the step of his teammates. And they follow through.

They play like they’re going to win. They still mess up, of course: a couple of missed serves yet again, a couple of flubbed hits, and a few that are blocked by the strong blockers on Shiratorizawa’s team. But the score ends up at 24-20, and Tadashi has the ball in his hand, up to serve yet again. He takes a deep breath. It’s not as though this serve is the end of the world, after all, or even of the game. If he misses this, the game continues. But he’d prefer it didn’t. Still, the memories of his missed serves from first year flood into his mind, unbidden. 

He breathes in, calming his nerves. This won’t be like his first year. He’s different than he was back then. He’s… evolved.

This time, he visualizes. He serves. It soars over the net.

It’d be nice to end the game right there, but he’s not so lucky. The Shiratorizawa players receive it, pass it to their setter, and get a hit in, a hit that’s directed right at him. It’s a hard hit, a hit with a lot of force behind it, and for a second Tadashi freezes right where he stands. He has to get this, his brain screams. But his legs don’t seem to work.

“You can get it, Tadashi,” he hears from somewhere on the court. It’s not particularly loud, not screamed the way Hinata would, but it rings in his ears nonetheless. Tsukishima. Tsukishima is here. Tsukishima is cheering him on. 

He wants this ball. He wants this win, and he’s going to go after it with every fucking thing he’s got.

His legs propel him forward, faster than they’ve ever moved him. He hits the ground, probably, but in the middle of his fall, his arm also hits the ball. It flies up off the ground, headed in an arc towards the net. Limbs aching, he pushes himself back up to his feet and jogs back to the court, just in time to see Kageyama set the ball to Tsukishima, of all people, who slams it down with surety to the other side of the court. It hits the ground with a satisfying thud.

Tadashi drops back down to his knees. Tears flood his eyes all at once in this moment of realization. They’ve won. They’re going to Nationals, under his leadership. They’ve won. He’s not a failure after all. 

He’s not a failure. He went after what he wanted, and he got it.

Hinata comes up and sticks a hand out to help him back to his feet. “C’mon, why are you crying?!” he says as he pulls Tadashi back up. “You should be happy, right? You’re our grand captain who got us to Nationals!”

“Maybe he’s crying because he’s happy, dumbass,” Kageyama responds, to which Hinata responds with a glare and a “Like you know anything about emotions, Bakageyama!”

“We did it,” Tsukishima says, his voice low. “We’re going to Nationals again. God, just when I was looking forward to finally retiring and being done with all these dumbasses.”

“Shut up, Tsukki,” Tadashi says, unable to stop himself from laughing. “You scored the winning point. It’s your own fault.”

Hinata tackles them then, drags all the third years together into a hug. Tsukishima doesn’t lean into the hug, but, surprisingly, he doesn’t pull away either - almost as though he’s resigned to the fact that it’s happening. Tadashi laughs again, tightening his arms around Tsukishima and Hinata’s backs. His heart thrums in his chest. He hasn’t forgotten what comes next. 

So, after they’ve been congratulated by the coaches and been given another motivational speech, Tadashi tugs Tsukishima into the bathroom with him. Tsukishima gives him a raise of his eyebrow - what are you doing? - and Tadashi gives him a wide-eyed look. Trust me. 

Apparently Tsukishima does.

Tadashi’s drunk on adrenaline and euphoria, and he knows that if he doesn’t do it now, he probably never will. He’ll keep making excuses for why he can’t do it. He’ll keep saying that it’s not the right time, that Tsukishima would probably prefer another location, that maybe he’ll say no and Tadashi won’t be able to handle the rejection. But right now, right now, he can do it.

He closes his eyes, leaning back against the bathroom wall, and he visualizes. Just as he’d done with the serve, just as he’d done with the serve: he visualizes himself confessing to Tsukishima, smoothly and fluidly, the confession falling from his lips so naturally. He visualizes the tiny little hint of a smile on Tsukishima’s lips as he says those three fated words in response. He lets himself feel the happiness that rushes over him as Tsukishima takes Tadashi into his arms, and just before he’s about to lean in to kiss Tsukishima, he opens his eyes. 

Visualize what you want, and go for it.

“Tadashi?” Tsukishima says warily. His given name again. How fitting. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Tadashi replies. He feels like he’s going to throw up a little bit. Maybe Hinata is rubbing off on him, after all. 

“You pulled me into a rancid bathroom. I’d hope you have some rational explanation for this.”

“Hah. Well, I might not call it rational,” Tadashi replies, his heart pounding. “But, uh, Tsukki, I have to tell you something, and if I don’t do it now, it’ll never happen, so… well....” Get it out already, Tadashi! He reprimands himself internally. “Well…”

“Well? What is it? Just say it already. It can’t be that life-changing.”

Tadashi takes a deep breath, then says, “I’m in love with you! I’m really in love with you, and I suck at going after the things I want, but I want to start trying!” But it’s not quite says, actually. No, it’s more like yells: yells directly into Tsukishima’s face, leaning in a little bit too close, as he had when he’d yelled in Tsukishima’s face about how uncool he’d been acting back in first year. 

Tsukishima’s eyes widen, and he stumbles back a little, as though he’d been caught off-guard. He’s silent for a second, but then he straightens up, shifts to get back on balance, and gives a little chuckle.

Is...  is that a rejection? Tadashi stares at him, his mouth drooping slowly the more Tsukishima doesn’t speak. Finally, Tadashi manages, “Well…?”

“Tadashi,” Tsukishima says, his voice warmer than Tadashi’s ever heard it, he thinks. “Man, I always knew you were cooler than me, but this just confirms it.”

What?

Tadashi blinks. “Tsukki, I… what?”

“You confessed to me before I could work up the nerve to confess to you,” Tsukishima says, his gaze on the ground and his cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink, probably matching the pink dusting Tadashi’s cheeks as well. “You’re really cool these days, Captain. ”

“A-are you saying…?”

“Yeah. I’m in love with you too.” He looks a little bit bashful still as he keeps his gaze down. “You probably should’ve figured that out a while ago, but whatever.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know you’d go for someone like me?!”

“What, the captain of the Karasuno team that got the team to Nationals, the one girls are in love with because of his ‘kind spirit’, the one that intimidates other teams with his killer serve while being one of the best people to ever exist? Don’t be stupid and self-deprecating.” Tsukishima’s mouth tilts up the little bit it had in Tadashi’s imagination earlier. “It makes you slightly less attractive.”

“Oh, only slightly?”

“Mm.”

“And how attractive was I to begin with, then?”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, in typical Tsukishima fashion. “Take a guess.”

“I’d rate myself a solid 6.9.”

“Shut up, Yamaguchi… and, for the record. You would add at least three points to that, stupid.”

Tadashi looks down. He’s never thought he’d ever hear those kind of words from Tsukishima’s mouth, much less talking about him, but he lets himself smile as he says, “Sorry, Tsukki.”

Tsukishima steps closer, taking Tadashi’s face in his hand, his skin soft against Tadashi’s - softer than Tadashi would’ve imagined. His thumb strokes over Tadashi’s cheek reverently. The way he looks at Tadashi: it’s far from cold and unfeeling. He says, “Well, shit. Probably should’ve said something a long time ago,” in a mutter that seems to be mostly to himself. 

And then he leans in, pressing his lips to Tadashi’s. 

He kisses in a way that’s rough, and yet soft, much in the way Tadashi knows Tsukishima himself to be. He twines his own fingers into Tsukishima’s hair, longer now than it’s ever been, and gives it a gentle tug that Tsukishima seems to appreciate. Tsukishima kisses even harder, his lips almost bruising, until Tadashi finally steps away, his breath coming too quick.

“We’re in a gym bathroom,” Tadashi points out in between breaths, “that you, may I point out, called ‘rancid’.”

Tsukishima’s nose wrinkles up. “I’d almost gotten used to the smell of shit until you pointed it out. Thanks.”

Tadashi laughs, taking his hand and giving it a little squeeze. “We can continue later,” he says, happily, hopefully.

“We’d better,” Tsukishima grunts, squeezing back before he lets go.

It’s even better than what Tadashi had envisioned, somehow. And he smiles to himself. 

He’d gone after what he wanted for once in his life, and this time, what - who he wanted had wanted him right back. It’s a glorious feeling. Tadashi never wants to let go of it.

.

A couple of weeks later, after one of their pre-Nationals training sessions, while he and Hinata are both getting water, Hinata turns to him. “So,” he says, sounding like he’s about to say something with his usual bluntness, “did you confess to Tsukishima?”

Tadashi nearly chokes on the water in his mouth. Coughing, he manages to say, “Uh, well…”

“That sounds like a yes!”

“How does that sound like a yes?!”

“It just does! Well, I want to ask what he said in response, but judging by the way you’ve been smiling more recently - and he’s been smiling more recently - I think it’s a yes! You should teach him to smile better, by the way. When he smiles these days, it just looks like he’s planning something evil, and it freaks me out. Though I guess it’s still not as bad as Kageyama’s smile -”

Tadashi grits his teeth. “Hinata. Please. But yes, he said yes, and yes, I’m happy, and I hope he is too, and don’t you dare say a thing about it to him, so help me god.” 

Hinata makes a squeaking noise that’s a little bit concerning, then grabs onto Tadashi’s hand. “I’m so happy for you two,” he says sincerely. “But you’d better not give him preferential treatment, okay? If Suckyshima runs less than me and Bakageyama, he’ll rub it in our faces, and that’ll be annoying !” 

“Believe me, it won’t be like that,” Tadashi says, shaking his head. “He knows I expect a lot of him, especially with Nationals coming up. Each of us performing at our best ability is essential to getting anywhere in the tournament.” 

“You’re such a cool captain, Tadashi,” Hinata says, elbowing him. “But hey, how does it feel? To go after something you want like that?”

“It feels great,” Tadashi says with a nod. “Amazing, actually. And who knows? Maybe next time I’ll fight you for that last pack of gummies in the vending machine.” 

Hinata’s eyes widen. He mutters a quiet, “maybe I shouldn’t have given you that advice after all,” to which Tadashi only laughs in response. Tsukishima heads over to them then, his water bottle in his hands and a little smile in his eyes, despite his usual flat tilt of his mouth. Tadashi grins at him, and a little bit of pink spreads over Tsukishima’s cheeks, unnoticeable probably to anyone but Tadashi.

“We’re getting dinner tonight on the way home,” Tadashi says cheerily. “Lots of meat to get you prepared for the tournament.”

“Can’t wait,” Tsukishima says dryly. Tadashi thinks he almost means it. 

Turning back around and looking into the gym, at the team he has in front of him - knowing he has Tsukishima behind him, today and always - Tadashi feels more confident than he ever has. About the tournament, about life in general, just about everything.

He is Tadashi Yamaguchi, Karasuno’s captain and Tsukishima’s Kei’s boyfriend, but most of all, these days, he’s a guy who goes after what he wants. 

And it feels amazing.