Chapter Text
Semi has a big project for his 3-D modeling class due on Friday, which means Shirabu doesn’t get to see him until that evening. He’s grateful for the small break. It’s not that he wants to avoid Semi, honestly, but it is nice to have some time to process all of the things he’s thinking and feeling. Of course, as anyone could guess, he doesn’t end up attempting to process anything. But this time, rather than a decision based on aggressive emotional repression, he simply believes that it would be most prudent to see what happens next, rather than make speculations and assumptions that may end up biting him in the ass later.
Instead, he decides to take the week to focus on himself. He’s able to complete all of his homework and do next week’s readings. He performs well at volleyball practice, so much so that his hard work is acknowledged both by the third-year captain and the coach. Shirabu might prefer to keep his composure, but he’s not immune to praise. He swells with pride when his improvements are noticed because while he’s naturally gifted in academics when it comes to athletics, it feels like he has to work twice as hard as his peers just to keep up.
His most significant accomplishment is running with Yahaba and Kyoutani. He does his best to push himself a little more, and on his third day of road work, he finishes just a few paces behind Yahaba. He’d be more proud of himself, if he wasn’t dry heaving into a bush before Yahaba can even comment on how much faster he’s gotten. He decides to resume running on his own after that.
The most important thing he learns from their time apart is how interwoven Semi is in his life. He’s the first person he wants to text after he sees a first-year trip in the student union. He recites Semi’s order in his head along with his own at the campus coffee shop. He sits by his phone waiting for his evening call, even though he knows it won’t come. It’s just a force of habit. The worst part, though, is that he talks about him incessantly. Ok, maybe not incessantly, but at least three people have pointed out that Semi come up in conversation more than usual.
“I just saw an article about a building they’re putting downtown. The whole thing is going to have mirrored windows. Isn’t that cool,” Ari says. They’re supposed to be studying for their upcoming French exam, but Ari has the attention span of a flea. Shirabu accepts this, he’s been ready for the test for a week now.
“Oh, send me the article. I bet Semi would be interested in seeing that.”
“Say Semi again.” Ari pops up from behind her laptop, eyes narrowed. “And you might summon him.”
“He’s not Beetlejuice,” he scoffs. Still, his weak mind considers saying his name a third time, just for good measure.
“And you’re not pining for him,” she counters, with a wink. “But I guess we’re both saying things that are obvious, hm?”
At the risk of losing his friends, and his sanity, Shirabu hopes the week passes by quickly.
✧✧✧
Friday comes not a moment too soon; Shirabu is ready to jump out of his skin. He can’t tell whether he’s excited or nervous or some hideous combination of both, but he knows he hates whatever it is. Hours pass by at a snail’s pace, despite Yahaba’s best attempts to keep him distracted and focused on something that isn’t the clock. At noon, his phone vibrates, and Shirabu dives for it, even though he knows exactly who it is and the subject matter of the message.
Semi 12:00: Project is turned in. Gonna go crash, and I’ll see you tonight.
Shirabu types a quick, noncommittal response and returns to his clock-watching as if his gaze could speed up time. Afternoon practice is a small mercy, as he manages to expend some of his nervous energy into his sets and serves, which seems to grant him extra strength.
“Maybe we should get you riled before every game,” Yahaba comments as Shirabu manages a jump serve that, while short, is much more formidable than his previous attempts. “That one was better. It’s still going to get returned easily, though.”
“Wait, why is Shirabu so worked up,” the first-year setter, his successor, asks. Like most times he appears, Shirabu doesn’t even notice where he came from.
“Because you’re not minding your own business,” he snarls. He doesn’t feel bad until the setter looks at him, dejected, like a kicked puppy. Shirabu feels a small tug at his heart, just because he fought with his “mentor” a lot in high school, didn’t mean he needed to foster a similar relationship with his eager junior. Though, who knows, maybe if he did, the two of them would end up falling in love five years from now. The thought is so absurd Shirabu laughs out loud.
Yahaba stares at him like he’s insane, and the young setter backs away.
“Wait,” Shirabu calls, and the setter stops. “If you give me five minutes, I’ll convince Kyoutani to spike some of your tosses. But only a few.”
“And, he’d like it if you buy him a chicken snack in exchange for his generosity,” Yahaba adds.
“Really? Of course, of course!”
“Sure, just leave us alone until then,” Shirabu says, waving his hand dismissively, and the first year makes himself scarce. Satisfied by his altruism, he reaches down to grab the last ball out of the cart.
“Ah, I see someone’s heart grown weak from the power of love,” Yahaba says dreamily. He bats his eyelashes and clasps his hands in front of his face in a faux demure gesture.
Shirabu scowls as he considers using his last ball to pummel Yahaba right in his stupid face. At least he knows he won’t miss from this distance.
“Are you gonna serve or not?”
“I’m trying to decide if I should hit you,” Shirabu says, not even trying to sugarcoat his intentions. He’s bodily threatened Yahaba so many times and in so many ways that at this point, Shirabu would be a suspect of great interest if he were ever to go missing.
Yahaba crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, that’s not productive. Serve the ball and pretend it’s me.”
Sounds fair enough. Shirabu gives himself a nice high toss, jumps, and smacks the ball as hard as he can. It barely skims over the top of the net, but lands in mid-court, farther than he’s ever managed to hit it before. He’ll have to start thinking of Yahaba more often.
“How was that,” Shirabu asks, smirking with pride.
Yahaba’s mouth hangs open in awe...or disgust, it’s unclear which. “I can’t tell whether to be impressed or offended,” he whines.
“It’s ok, you can be both.”
✧✧✧
The odd thing about time is that it’s only there when Shirabu doesn’t need it. Earlier today, Shirabu seemed to have nothing but time to kill. When he gets home, it’s already five o’clock. Semi indicated he would be over sometime between five-thirty and six, depending on how long he slept after he turned in his project. At most, Shirabu has only an hour to get his shit together and presentable for Semi. This means showering, cleaning his disaster of a room, and getting into a headspace that isn’t as tightly wound as the one he’s in now.
“Fuck,” he says to no one in particular. Admittedly, he’s not sure why he’s so agitated about Semi coming over tonight. For all Shirabu knows, it’s just going to be like any other night they hang out. It’s not like there’s been any indication that they’re going to address their changing relationship. Yet somehow knows that whatever happens tonight, or doesn’t happen, their relationship will be immutably different. If he had to put things in more alarmist terms, tonight has the undertones of an ultimatum. If things don’t go further, they never will.
“Fuck.” He has every right to be worried. There’s a lot of pressure.
The next hour flies by in a blur. He showers, hangs up most of the clothes on his floor, and consolidates the rest in one small pile in a corner. After his room resembles something close to tidy, he heads to the kitchen and joins Yahaba and Kyoutani for a post-practice snack. It would be unwise to greet Semi in a hangry state. He doesn’t press on the fact that the duo, likely at Yahaba’s insistence, has parked themselves in the living room, rather than resting in bed. Fortunately, it doesn’t look like they intend to stay long. Friday nights are date nights for Yahaba and Kyoutani, and he hasn’t seen them miss one yet. Even when they’re away for tournaments or training camps, they always find time to do something for themselves. He does admire their relationship. From what it sounds like, it took a lot of hard work to get to the point they’re at, but they’ve managed to make it into something extraordinary, enviable even.
At 6:00 sharp, there’s a knock at the door, shattering a tense aura that Shirabu hadn’t even noticed was there. He sees Yahaba’s eyes light up, and he gives him a look that says “behave” before opening the door. Semi walks in with a bag of takeout and a look of relief on his face. Shirabu hasn’t “officially” seen Semi in a week, he did catch a glimpse of him in a library study room, huddled over his laptop and a stack of drafting papers. Though he looked composed, there were dark circles under his eyes and lines on his forehead, signaling great stress. It’s nice to see Semi looking healthy and rested again.
“Do you mind if I eat really fast? I overslept and didn’t get a chance,” Semi says sheepishly.
“Sure, grab a seat, I’ll get you a plate.”
Semi joins Yahaba and Kyoutani at the table, and the three fall into easy conversation. Shirabu is impressed by how well Semi and Kyoutani get along, and within minutes Yahaba gets booted in favor of them discussing professional soccer. Besides Kyoutani, Semi is the only other person he knows that enjoys the sport, and he’s never understood why. It just seems so—not Semi-like. They always get so enthusiastic talking about it when they’re together, so he can’t judge. Plus, Semi’s distraction gives him the opportunity to pick at random pieces of his food. Of course, Semi would share food with him if he asked but, as everyone knows, food tastes better when it’s stolen, not offered.
When Semi finishes his meal, Shirabu takes his plate to the kitchen, then attempts to relocate him to his bedroom as casually as possible. It’s not that they need to be in the bedroom for any reason, he’s just too antsy to be in a common area, especially if Yahaba and Kyoutani intend to stay. To indicate his readiness, he doesn’t sit back down and hovers in the halfway space between the living room and his door. Yahaba catches on and nudges Kyoutani.
“Hey, we should get going if we want to make the movie.”
“We don’t have to go now, the movie doesn’t start for an hour and a half,” Kyoutani replies, wrinkling his nose.
“Yeah? Well, I want to get a snack before.” Yahaba pouts, whipping out the big guns in his arsenal.
Kyoutani is unmoved. “Have a snack here. We have lots of food.”
“Ok, you know what, we’re leaving. Let’s go.” Yahaba latches onto Kyoutani’s arm and pulls until he grudgingly stands and follows him to the entryway. Shirabu watches as they put their shoes and coats on and, with a final wave, head out the door. He’ll thank Yahaba later for suppressing the inappropriate comment he knows was on the tip of his tongue.
Semi is a much more intuitive person and, after throwing away his trash, walks with him to his room. The first thing Shirabu notices once they’re alone is that Semi is nervous. It’s nothing too blatant, but his leg bounces, and he’s picking at the pads of his fingers. It’s a leftover habit from high school when Semi had calluses from setting and serving. In a weird way, he’s thankful for Semi’s nerves. They make him feel more justified about the manic state he’s been in all day. To help ease the mood, he turns on some nice, light background music. Unfortunately, it’s not as effective as Shirabu hopes, because a full song passes in silence. It’s just about as awkward as the first time they hung out outside of practice, back when they weren’t too fond of each other. Perhaps things have come full circle.
“So,” Shirabu starts. He feels like he needs to instigate the conversation before the room bursts into flames. “We don’t have to talk about it if you’re burnt out but, how’d your project go?”
Semi looks up from his hands. “Oh, ah, my Professor issued a grade already on the multiple choice portion of the project. I got a ninety-eight.”
“A ninety-eight out of what?” Shirabu asks, cocking his head.
There’s a hint of a smile. “No, goose. A ninety-eight percent.”
“Oh, that’s good,” he says with as much enthusiasm as he can muster. He’s happy for Semi but not good at summoning excitement on the spot.
Semi flops onto his back with a sigh, he covers his face with one of his hands. “Isn’t it crazy, I only have to get a thirty-percent on my 3-D model to pass the class. I can’t believe I lost so much sleep.”
“It sure is,” Shirabu says. He flips onto his stomach and props himself up on his elbows. He can’t seem to hold a conversation or stay in one position for more than five seconds.
There’s another excruciatingly awkward silence, before saving grace comes. The song changes and Semi perks his head up at the opening chords. He can’t tell if Semi recognizes it or just likes it, either way, it’s a welcome distraction. Shirabu doesn’t know the song, and he suspects it’s one of the “featured artist recommendations” that the music app slips in at random. It’s much too upbeat for him, something he’d never listen to on his own, but appears to be just the right pace for Semi, who nods to the beat.
Suddenly, Semi is up on his feet, dancing like Tendou used to after scoring a point against a tough opponent. Shirabu is so stunned, he doesn’t even laugh or try to take a video. He sits, hypnotized by Semi’s brazen movements. He doesn’t get to observe for long, because before he can process what’s happening, a hand yanks him off the bed.
“What the fuck are you doing,” Shirabu yelps. If Semi thinks he’s going to dance along with him, he’s sorely mistaken. He’s almost positive, Semi’s strange behavior is a result of his nerves, which is fine, but he doesn’t want to be dragged into it.
“I’m shaking out the last of the stress,” Semi explains. “And this song is fun. C’mon, lighten up for me.”
Shirabu shakes his head. It’s a hard no, and Semi should know better than even to ask. The tempo picks up even more, and Semi is hopping around without a care in the world. There’s something about the fluid way he moves that is somewhat enticing, but only because it’s nice to see Semi so content and relaxed. He won’t join in, final answer.
Nothing can change his mind.
"Shirabu, please humor me. Just for the rest of this song?”
One thing can change his mind.
“Ok, just for this song.”
Semi’s voice is so earnest that Shirabu can’t find it within himself to deny him. It couldn’t hurt to do something with his body other than being anxious. He quickly finds out dancing is more natural for him when he’s shitfaced but does his best to relax (or dissociate) and allow the music to guide him. He looks at Semi, who’s grinning ear to ear, and feels more empowered in his choice. He likes to see him happy.
The two dance in their own little spaces, occasionally making eye contact, mostly just doing their own thing. But when Shirabu hits the lights, the situation starts to get more interesting, as situations tend to do in the cover of relative darkness. It starts when Semi, who closes his eyes when he dances, loses his balance and bumps backward into Shirabu. He catches him before they both fall, but not without hissing a “careful,” before setting him loose again. Instead of pulling away, Semi offers out his hand and bows cordially.
Typically, this would be the time that Shirabu’s instincts to run would kick in. Tonight, he finds himself accepting Semi’s hand with almost no hesitation, allowing himself to be pulled flush against him. He feels no embarrassment at their proximity, just the familiar tingle of anticipation creeping up his spine. There’s enough light left to see that Semi isn’t looking at him but past him, over his shoulder. His hands are ever so lightly sliding over his hips and lower back like he can’t decide where to place them. Shirabu snakes his arms around Semi’s neck, and they sway a few times before it’s clear that dancing is no longer the activity of interest.
After a long coda, the song ends, and the only sound in the room is the electric hum of the speakers and the sounds of their breathing. Shirabu keeps his grip on Semi, looking at him intently. Something big is about to happen and, before it does, he wants to commit every aspect of his face to memory, from the crooked line of his mouth, to the slope of his nose, to the mesmerizing flecks of amber in his dark eyes. All the while, Semi continues to slide his hands along the small of his back, slipping under his shirt to trace patterns like scriptures over his skin.
They both know where this is going. Shirabu would never admit to believing in fate, but as sure as all rivers run to the sea, so too would they find themselves here, in this exact moment. Trapped in the liminal space between what is and what will be. The laptop screen fades to black, leaving the only light from the streetlamp outside. There’s a choice to be made.
Shirabu leans in. Or, maybe it was Semi. Maybe it was both of them. In retrospect, he'll realize it doesn’t matter who started what. What matters is the burst of color he sees when Semi’s lips brush his own. The warmth that radiates in his chest and ignites him from head to toes. How his mind blanks, surrendering entirely to the sensation of being touched so tenderly by another person. No analysis, no dissection, no worry, just unadulterated feeling. Through all this, the thought doesn’t even cross his mind that when you break down a dam, you’re going to get a flood. So, he’s unprepared when it happens.
They kiss once, twice, three times, each one becoming more demanding than the last. Call it cliche, but he's has never been kissed like this. Sure, he’s been attracted to people he’s hooked up with before, but this is different, this is Eita, and Eita is incomparable. On the fourth kiss, Shirabu pulls back to take a breath and finds his throat is tight and his eyes are prickling. Without his permission, tears begin to fall, faster than he can wipe away and too obvious to hide. His mind roars, thoughts rush through at a fever pitch, too fast to even begin to acknowledge. His heart races, and his hands drop to his side. He can only watch numbly as Semi starts to run his own hands through his hair. He’s pacing, face strained with worry.
“Fuck, oh shit. Now I’ve ruined everything,” Semi’s voice is high with panic. No! Shirabu wants to scream, but he can’t find his voice. He’s short-circuited, hovering between terror, euphoria, and a thousand other emotions he doesn’t know how to express.
“Ok, ok, we can talk this out,” he continues, desperately trying to de-escalate the situation. “Please, don’t cry.” It occurs to Shirabu that Semi has never seen him cry before. Even after their toughest losses in high school, he never showed more than a pained, bitter expression on his face. He’s sure that this is a confusing experience for Semi, watching him go from zero to sixty in the span of a kiss.
“I’m going to go outside. I’ll give you a few minutes,” he concludes. Shirabu doesn’t want space. The idea of Semi walking out the door feels like a jab to the heart. It’s irrational, but Shirabu feels that if he allows Semi to leave now, he probably won’t come back and, even if he did, he knows he won’t be able to face him again.
Semi starts to retreat, making good on his offer to leave. Shirabu is stuck in place, fists clenched, big, wet tears falling. He needs to say something. Anything. But his mind is a staticky mess, incapable of any kind of rational thought. He’s frustrated by how ineffectual he’s become—he’s going to watch Semi walk out that door, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Time passes in slow motion. Semi looks back once more, and he sighs when he notices that he hasn't moved an inch. He says something like “I’m sorry,” but it’s garbled like he’s speaking underwater; his arm slowly raises to reach for the door handle—and something in Shirabu snaps back into place.
“EITA,” he screams. It’s the only thing he can think of, but he hopes Semi understands that he wasn’t just yelling his name to get his attention. There are so many things he needs to tell him, all trying to rush out at once.
Please don’t leave me. Please don’t give up on me.
Semi turns, his hand remains on the door. He gives Shirabu one long, appraising look, assessing what his next move should be. He’s right to be wary; Shirabu knows he has a history of being unpredictable and flighty in emotionally charged situations. The most rational move would be to put distance between them, but Shirabu is sure his tears are what’s holding Semi back, triggering his inclination to protect and care. He’s always been so soft, especially with those dear to him; to Shirabu, it’s one of his most beautiful traits.
“Eita,” he murmurs.
Please be patient with me. I’m trying, but I’m scared.
His entire body is quivering, throughout this exchange, Shirabu has been fighting to keep his cries trapped in his chest. The situation is already dramatic enough, he doesn’t need to add his noisy, choked to sobs to the mix. Still, it’s draining to hold them back and, without warning, his legs buckle underneath him. He’s so taken aback that he does nothing to brace himself as he sinks to the ground.
Fortunately, Semi must have anticipated his fall because one minute he’s at the door, the next he’s with him, holding him in a hug so tight that the pressure almost hurts. Shirabu doesn’t complain and leans into him. He rubs his face along Semi’s shoulder, then raises his head to make eye contact. He’s not ready to talk yet, but he needs to reassure Semi that things are ok. He doesn’t want him getting any more ideas about leaving. When they face each other he does his best to give him a small smile, and Semi responds by cautiously placing a hand on his face; it’s large enough to both cup his cheek and wipe off a stray tear. The touch is so delicate that it’s overwhelming. It’s similar to the way he felt being held by Tendou, but a million times more powerful. Shirabu freezes under his ministrations, then rushes to burrow his face into Semi’s chest before the second onslaught comes.
He wails, unable to fight it anymore. He’s grateful no one else is home because he sounds like he’s in grave distress. Semi’s shirt can only muffle so much. He cries and cries, and at some point, loses track what he’s crying about in the first place. He’s forced himself to maintain composure, denying himself the catharsis he needs so many times that, at this point, he’s making up for lost time. Memories of previous repressions swim to the surface, flipping through his head like a film reel.
He’s twelve, and he’s sitting alone in the schoolyard. He’s heartbroken, or at least he thinks he is. It will be a couple more years before he realizes that a girl can’t break his heart. He doesn’t know that yet, though, and the sting of rejection leaves his lower lip trembling.
He’s fifteen, and he’s opening his Shiratorizawa acceptance letter. After months of busting his ass, he’s gotten in on an academic scholarship. His parents are beaming with pride, both shedding tears themselves. He can’t find it within himself to join, knowing that if they found out the reason he wanted to attend Shiratorizawa was volleyball, they wouldn’t be so elated.
He’s seventeen, and he’s getting hit in the face by one of Kawainishi’s spikes. It hurts like a bitch, and he’s so frustrated and in pain, that he just wants to have a good, dramatic cry. But his teammates insist on trying to follow him to the infirmary. The pain turns to anger, then dissolves into nothing.
He’s eighteen, and he’s had his first one-night stand. He’s on the train home, a routine that will become familiar to him in due time. There’s a hollow, empty feeling in his chest. What he doesn’t know is that he’ll chase that feeling for three more years. If he was aware of that then, he would have surely allowed himself to mourn.
And now, he’s twenty-one, and he’s just kissed his best friend. He’s terrified, unsure of what will happen next. What he does know is the fabric of Semi’s shirt, the solid sound of his heartbeat, the wire of his muscles holding him in place, and the soft rumbles of the affirmations he’s been whispering. He also knows the companionship, support, and loyalty he’s shown throughout their five years of friendship. If he puts his faith in that, maybe he doesn’t need to understand anything more.
He can’t seem to stop crying, but the tears have turned from bitter to sweet, and the bawls have simmered back down to snivels. A few more minutes pass when he feels the unmistakable motion of rocking. His eyes snap open, and he scrambles to sit up.
“Eita, are you rocking me,” he asks. His mouth is quivering, this time, with the hint of a laugh.
“Maybe,” Semi replies, his voice nonchalant.
“I’m not a baby.” In a previous version of their relationship, Semi might have said something like, “oh? well, you’re crying like one.” Now, Semi just shrugs with no snarky comment. How far they’ve come.
“I thought it might snap you out of it, and it did.” Semi grins, relieved at Shirabu’s improved mood.
Shirabu feels...good. Genuinely good. Not like the forced sense of stability from the train station, or the countless other times he’s found himself on the verge of a breakdown. His entire body feels light, unburdened and his mind somehow feels sharper. He can’t help but wonder how much his emotional baggage has been weighing on him.
At the first sign of negativity, Shirabu shuts it down by returning to rest against Semi’s chest. That is, until he feels the cool stickiness of his shirt. He shouldn’t be surprised, yet he recoils anyway with a “Yuck!” Semi’s shirt is soaked with tears, snot, and drool and there are marks from where Shirabu was gripping the fabric so hard, it warped. He really owes Semi a new one, for now, the least he can do is grab him something to change into.
He moves to get up and feels Semi’s arms tighten around him. He allows himself to be recaptured for a moment. “I’m going to get you something dry,” he says. Semi can’t argue with that and releases him.
While Shirabu searches for the largest sweater he has, Semi disappears from the room. He can hear cabinets opening and closing in the kitchen and the sound of the faucet. Soon after, he returns with a glass of water and a warmed towel. He sets the water on the bedside table and offers the cloth.
“Here, this will feel good on your face,” he says.
Shirabu lifts his hand to take the towel, then, has another idea. He stares at Semi expectantly and hopes that he’ll understand what he’s asking for. He’s too embarrassed to articulate what he wants directly. Somehow, Semi seems to know, and his mouth twists into a half-pout. “Really, Kenji?” Shirabu’s mouth wobbles at the use of the nickname—goddamn, he’s so sensitive right now—then nods, trying to look as serious as possible. It’s hard to do with his swollen, red eyes and runny nose. The only look he thinks he’s capable of pulling off right now is disgusting. He just about purrs when Semi brings the towel to his face, carefully dabbing at his eyes and cheeks before, bless his soul, wiping off his nose as well.
“It’s been less than an hour, and you’re already so spoiled,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to the spot where Shirabu’s bangs meet his forehead.
“Yeah, but you like it,” Shirabu replies easily. The light banter is a sign they’re finding their footing again.
“Of course I do, I’ve wanted to do this for years.” Semi looks into his eyes, with a look of adoration that makes Shirabu feel far too hot and his heart feel far too large for his chest.
“Here, ah, let me take that to the laundry,” he says, now flustered. He wonders how long it will take for him not to get wound up every time Semi is affectionate with him. It’s quite possible he’ll never get over it. “You can change, and I’ll wash your shirt, too.”
A few minutes later, Semi dons one of Shirabu’s comfiest sweaters and flops down onto his bed. Shirabu is somewhat hesitant to join him. Now that they’ve broken physical contact, he’s not quite sure how to go about re-initiating it, and he’s nervous all over again. Semi meets him halfway by extending his arms out in a hugging motion and beckoning him over. “Kenjirou, c’mere,” he says gently. It’s déjà vu except for this time, Shirabu does come.
He starts by resting on Semi’s chest, which is nice because Semi pets his head and runs his fingers through his hair. It’s okay for a while, but eventually, he finds the courage to explore and begins to edge higher towards the inviting crook of Semi’s neck. It’s warm and comfortable to hide in, and Shirabu presses a couple of chaste kisses to the soft skin, relishing the sighs he elicits, before nuzzling it with his nose. Semi tilts his neck to make more room for Shirabu, and he takes full advantage of the access by continue to alternate kisses and nuzzles until he finds a special spot, where he can feel the thrum of Semi’s pulse. Here, Shirabu thinks, this is where he wants to make his home. He nudges his nose right above the pulse point and, because he’s feeling bold, grabs one of Semi’s hands and interlaces their fingers. He watches as Semi takes his hand and brushes his lips over knuckles before setting both their clasped hands down on his stomach.
For now, Shirabu will have to accept that Semi will always one-up him in the affection department. Fortunately for them, as long as they’re both willing to play, it’s a game they can both win.
✧✧✧
Shirabu didn’t even realize he drifted off. Actually, he didn’t even realize he was tired until he wakes up against the wall. The first thing he notices is that he’s no longer near Semi. He’s at the farthest possible point he can be while still remaining in bed. It’s disappointing, but expected, even in sleep, his natural defenses against intimacy are still up and running. Which means that he’s going to have to come crawling back to Semi if he wants more attention, and he does. He tries to flip over to no avail. There’s something pinning his ankle to the bed. When he props up on his elbow, he discovers that Semi has his ankle caged between his calves, preventing him from turning over.
“Sorry, I didn’t know you were awake,” Semi says, unhooking his legs. Once freed, Shirabu can flip and scoot back towards him. “Right after you passed out you started to move away. I didn’t want to stop you, but...” Semi flushes and stumbles. “I was trying to keep you tethered to me, at least a little.”
Shirabu isn’t sure what to say. The admission falls under the category of “too romantic to process at this time.” He never pictured Semi to be such a sap when it came to relationships. His dry, brusque manner of speaking always seemed to suggest that he wouldn’t be the type to get too mushy. Apparently not.
Shirabu flips onto his side to look up at him. “I didn’t know you were such a romantic, Eita.”
“How would you know? We weren’t…” He trails off, but Shirabu’s mind supplies the rest of his sentence. We weren’t dating. It’s a fair point, but that raises other questions. What would the nature of their relationship be now? What are Semi’s expectations? What are his own expectations? He can feel himself getting jittery, did they need all the answers right now? No, Shirabu thinks, but the part of him that wants to do right by Semi knows that they should talk about what happened.
Or, alternatively, they could cuddle, fuck, or literally anything else in the world besides that.
“Is something on your mind,” Semi says, sensing his apprehension. He’s naturally intuitive, but Shirabu wonders if their kiss opened up some sort of telepathic link between them. No, that would be crazy. Also, his brain is clearly just trying to stall.
“Well, ah.” He’s off to a good start. “I just thought.” Almost there. “Do you think we need to talk about what happened?”
Semi cocks an eyebrow, and the right side of his mouth ticks up in a half-smile. He’s not sure if he said something amusing, or if Semi is enjoying watching him struggle to talk about his emotions, rather than aggressively suppress them. The way he’s watching him, he looks like a cat playing with a mouse—it’s moments like these when Shirabu understands why he and Tendou get along.
“Do you think we need to talk about it,” Semi parrots. Shirabu just about combusts. He hates rhetorical questions, or questions that sound rhetorical. He never knows how to answer.
“Uh, maybe? I don’t know. Isn’t that what people do?” At this point, Shirabu knows he sounds obtuse, but this conversation is new to him. The last time someone tried to have a “what are we?” talk with him, he quietly put his clothes on and blocked the poor guy’s number. To be fair, that was at least a year ago. It’s safe to say he’s grown since then.
Semi pats the spot next to him, and Shirabu obliges, closing the rest of the distance between them. He leans against Semi’s shoulder and feels his arm wrap around him. It’s nice being back in his space.
“So, Kenjirou. Tell me the ways you think our relationship will change.”
He’s tempted to groan out a “duh” in reference to their closeness. He scraps that in favor of a semblance of maturity. “Well we kissed, and we’re cuddling now so…”
Semi shakes his head. “Those are new things, not changes.”
Shirabu isn’t sure he buys into what Semi is saying, but he’s willing to hear him out. As the more emotionally attune of the two of them, he gets great deference. He looks at Semi, urging him to continue.
“The way I see it.” Shirabu feels Semi lean his head against his own so that he’s speaking into his hair. “The core of our relationship won’t change at all. We’re still the same Eita and Kenjirou, romance doesn’t change that. Now, we have all sorts of new things to explore together.”
“Mmm, like what.”
Semi doesn’t answer, just cups his face in his hands and leans in. Shirabu places a hand over his and meets him halfway. They brush noses before kissing again. Their previous kisses were brief and chaste. Now, they’re getting into the good stuff. Shirabu kisses with fervor, licking over the seam of Semi’s lips and gasping when he’s granted entrance. Semi’s hand wraps around the back of his neck, allowing them to deepen the kiss further. Their touches are slow, experimental, as they learn each other’s preferences and desires.
Shirabu learns that Semi like a dash of roughness, a fist in his hair, nails on his back, or a nip on his lip. It’s something Shirabu, who is aggressive in bed, is more than happy to provide. In turn, Semi discovers quickly that while Shirabu likes to project aggression, he’s most turned on by gentleness and intimacy. A feather-light kiss to the spot behind his ear has him keening, and when Semi licks and bites up his neck to murmur “you’re so beautiful” in his ear, Shirabu flips their positions and paws at the waistband of his jeans with urgency.
“Wait. Stop, stop,” Semi says between pants. He gently grabs Shirabu’s wrists and slides his hands from his jeans up to his chest. “Not tonight.”
Shirabu blanks out. No one has ever said “no” to him before, at least when it comes to this kind of thing. His mouth twists into a grimace as he tries to process the rejection. Rationally, he knows Semi thinks he’s being gallant, but it stings. It’s hard not to assume that his hesitation has something to do with the person he is—no, the person he used to be.
He kneads his hands over Semi’s chest in an effort to collect his thoughts. He wants to phrase his next words and not blurt out “do you not want to fool around with me because I was slutty?” He needs to be tactful than that.
“Eita, does my um, experience, turn you off?”
Semi doesn’t miss a beat. “Of course not, what you did before tonight is irrelevant.” His tone is sincere, but Shirabu isn’t ready to relax yet. He wants to lay it all out on the table.
“Even Ushijima and Tendou?”
There’s a pause this time. Semi speaks slowly, making each word deliberate. “Well, I can’t say I was thrilled to hear about that. But only because...” He takes a deep breath. “Only because I was jealous, and because it hurt to see how upset you were. You weren’t yourself.”
Shirabu snuggles into his shoulder and receives a peck on the top of his head. He’ll have to remember that for the future.
“But I think that if things hadn’t happened the way they did.” Semi continues. “We probably wouldn’t be at the place we’re at so...I don’t know. I’m definitely not trying to say I’m grateful.”
A bubble of laughter slips out of Shirabu before he can stop it. He’s not sure if he’s relieved or content to be in Semi’s presence. Before he knows it, Semi’s joined in, too. He’s happy that this conversation is going so well, and that Semi didn’t try to corral him into a “serious” talk. It’s refreshing that he’s so willing to meet Shirabu where he is now, rather than forcing him to the point he wants him to be.
“I guess I know what you mean,” he says. “I respect if you prefer to take things slow. As long as it’s not because of me.”
“It’s not. I just think there’s no rush to do everything right now.” Semi yawns. “And I’m kind of sleepy, it’s past midnight.”
“It’s been a long day for you. Let’s go to bed.” Shirabu strips off his shirt and joggers and pulls back his duvet.
“So, you want me to stay?”
“Please, don’t make me answer that,” Shirabu whines, burying his face into the pillow. He’s reached his upper limit of emotional expression for the night.
“Ok, ok. We’ll get there.” Semi rubs his back reassuringly. “Let’s go get ready for bed.”
Shirabu grumbles and shuffles under the duvet, so that only his eyes are visible. Semi needs to learn early: once he’s in bed, it is unwise to separate him from it.
“Don’t make me drag you out,” Semi coaxes. “I am bigger, stronger, and I care about your oral hygiene, especially now that you’re kissing me.”
Shirabu bears down and doesn’t budge. He’d like to see Semi try.
Five minutes later, they’ve returned to bed with clean teeth. Shirabu will probably never forget Semi yanking him out of bed by his ankles but, to be fair, he did warn him. Semi kisses him once, then settles into blankets. He’s grateful that he doesn’t try to cuddle. While he enjoyed their closeness earlier, the fact of the matter is that he’s used to sleeping alone, so it’s going to be an adjustment period. Still, he craves some sort of contact, so he taps Semi’s leg with his foot, encouraging him to wrap it in the same way as before.
“Just so I don’t drift too far away,” he says softly.
He feels his strong calves wrap around his ankle. “We wouldn’t want that,” Semi replies, his voice heavy with impending sleep.
The room goes quiet, save for the patter of rain against the window. He’s glad Semi is in here with him and not walking home through the downpour. It’s a foreign feeling, to value someone else’s safety and comfort at the same level as your own. Sure, Shirabu cares about people like his friends, his family, and his team. But none of that can hold a candle to how he feels about Semi right now.
Shirabu has an impulse. It’s not one that’s new to him; the idea has crossed his mind before. Finally, it feels like it might be an alright time to act on it.
He licks his lips. If his heart sped up, he does his best not to notice it. “Eita, are you awake?”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t sound too convincing, but Shirabu can’t stop the next words from tumbling out.
“Would you want to go somewhere with me? Like on a trip?”
“Huh?” Semi flips to face him. He blinks a few times to get the sleep out of his eyes.
Shirabu internally chastises himself, this was a bad idea. He should know better than to just spring a question like this on someone. Plus, bedtime isn’t the most appropriate time to ask Semi to make a major life decision. Or, at least he thinks it’s a major life decision. It’s certainly an expensive one.
“I’m sorry. Let’s talk about this another time. Goodnight.” He reaches over and turns off the bedside lamp.
Semi gives him a puzzled look but doesn’t relent. “Goodnight.”
✧✧✧
The last thing Shirabu expects is to wake up alone. Confused, he runs his hand along the sheets to find that they’re cold like no one’s been there for a while. Or at all.
His stomach drops. Though Shirabu is used to waking up in empty beds, he never expected it to happen with Semi. Never. He racks his brain, trying to remember any clue as to what could have possibly put him off. Maybe his giant breakdown made Semi come to his senses. It would be shitty, but he wouldn’t blame him for deeming him too much to handle. He just hopes that whatever rift opened up can be repaired. It’ll take time, but he doesn’t want to write-off Semi from his life.
But before he thinks about how to mend their relationship, he needs to figure out if it’s even broken. His rational mind (which has been conveniently absent until now) insists that he shouldn’t foreclose on the idea that there is a reasonable explanation for Semi’s absence. They hadn’t planned for there to be a sleepover. Perhaps he had to slip out early. He reaches for his phone on the nightstand and is dismayed to find no texts. If Semi had left for good reason, he surely would have sent an explanation. Wouldn’t he?
Deflated, he flops onto the empty spot, finding that the space still smells like him. It’s familiar but not in any comforting way. His mouth wobbles, and he draws his knees to his chest. He knows he’s being dramatic, but a good number of his emotional walls crumbled yesterday. He’s feeling delicate and vulnerable and ready to cry at the drop of a hat. As a prelude, he lets out a pitiful whine.
And his door swings open.
“Hey, you’re up!” Comes Semi’s voice.
Shirabu pokes his head out from the blanket. “Semi?!”
There’s a sound of rustling, like clothes being removed, then, a dip in the bed.
“I’m demoted to my family name now, eh,” Semi asks, sliding up to his side. He pulls back the blanket and offers Shirabu a paper cup. “Maybe this coffee will sweeten you up. Or bitter you up, since you drink it black.”
Shirabu accepts the offering, but he isn’t off the hook. “I thought you left me,” Shirabu says flatly. He’s glad he didn’t spill tears, but he also wants to make sure Semi knows how upset he felt. “You could have sent a text.”
“It was supposed to be a surprise, ever heard of one?” Then, his voice softens. “I’m sorry, Kenjirou. I realize how that might have looked.”
“Fuck off, Eita,” he says, but there’s no heat in his voice. After a few sips of his drink, he’s “over it” enough to settle against his shoulder. They sit in silence, drinking their coffee and enjoying the peace of a slow morning at home. Shirabu thinks he could get used to this. It’s surprising how the things he used to like doing alone are more gratifying with someone else.
He’s drifting off as Semi massages his scalp, when he’s brought back to reality by his voice. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“Where did you want to go?”
“Mmm, what do you mean,” he slurs, still enraptured by his fingers. Also, he’s genuinely not sure what the hell Semi is referring to.
“Last night, you said you wanted to go on a trip. But for me to get tickets, you have to tell me where we’re going.”
Shirabu’s eyes fly open. He thought Semi had slept through that little tidbit, not considered it.
“Are you serious?” He’s sitting up now, watching Semi carefully, assessing his commitment. It’s unbelievable how willing he is to go along with this, even if Semi has always had an adventurous streak. “There’s—you shouldn’t feel any pressure.”
Arms wrap around him, and he’s on his side, lying face-to-face with Semi. He smiles encouragingly, tucking one of the longer hairs of Shirabu’s bangs out of his face.
“Tell me where we’re going.”
Shirabu wants to ask a million more questions. It’s in his nature to understand, to dice things up into digestible pieces, to pick ideas apart. It’s how he engages with the world around him, seeking safety in analysis. But somehow, that doesn’t feel right here. Maybe he doesn’t need to understand Semi’s rationale. Maybe he doesn’t need to know how or why he’s willing to accept an offer sprung on him less than twenty-four hours ago. Some things are best left unanswered. Some things just are.
And, it’s not like they’re leaving tomorrow. Summer is a whole semester away.
He rests his hand on top of Semi’s and squeezes. There’s no going back now.
“San Francisco, California.”