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2025-08-08
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2025-10-07
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3/?
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god puts us all in the swimming pool

Summary:

Six months to graduation, Yaku confesses to Kuroo.
Worst of all, Kuroo hadn’t seen it coming.
It’s his first sign of slippage.

Notes:

personal favourite of mine

Chapter Text

 

October, 2012  

Just after Spring Tournament Qualifiers  

&

Six months until graduation 

 

“Kuroo?”

“Hm?”

“I like you.”

“No you don’t,” Kuroo replied automatically, not bothering to lift his head from his geography notes. His pen's ink was beginning to run faint across the page, and he was more focused on how he was going to swipe one of Yaku's pens without him noticing than what he was actually saying. “You hate me. Have the topgraphical formations of Mt. Daisen rotted away your brain that much?”

He wouldn’t be surprised. The late autumn sun leaning heavily on the window behind Kuroo, seeping through to thicken the air, dry out his throat, his mind hazy and hot.  The quietness of his empty apartment was pierced by Yaku sucking in a breath. 

“Kuroo.”

A fluctuation in Yaku’s voice made him raise his head. Yaku was staring at him from across the table, biting at the side of his thumb. His geography textbook was spread out in front of him, his notebook layered above it, covered in his messy, constrained handwriting. Two pens sat in the middle groove of his book, and he was clicking on and off the cap of a highlighter. The noise rang out quick and sharp in Kuroo’s empty house.

Kuroo set down his dying pen, surveying the crinkle between Yaku's brows with tentative curiosity. His captain instinct kicked in; told him to approach this carefully. Which disturbed him a little. He’d never had that response to Yaku before. 

“What is it?”

“Do you understand what I’m saying? I like you. Romantically.”

“Ah —“

Kuroo’s mind churned, slowed from five hours of cramming as much information as possible in before their end of term exams. He blinked. Looked at Yaku’s scrunched brow. Blinked again.

“Is this a tactic to throw me off before the test?” 

He examined the line of Yaku’s mouth. It wasn’t quirked up in that certain way it always was when Yaku teased him, like only he knew the joke. It was set dead and — Kuroo’s stomach coughed up a stone. His lips were quivering. The sheer strangeness of it knocked Kuroo off guard — Yaku cried, yes, he cried a lot more than the average teenage guy, but he was mindful with his vulnerability. He owned it and accepted it with the heavy expectation of everyone else to do the same.

This time — how Yaku met his eyes, it felt like he was holding in a flinch.

“Tch.” Yaku shook his head. “Of course you’d think that. Not everything is a strategy or an underhanded tactic, Kuroo.”

“Oh. So you’re…” Kuroo moistened his lips, trying to think of a joke and failing. “You’re serious.”

“Yeah.” Yaku’s teeth peeled a thin strand of skin from beside his thumbnail. Kuroo almost told him off for it. “I’m being serious. I couldn’t… I couldn’t not tell you.”

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been confessed to before. It had happened once or twice — but never from someone so close to him, always a classmate, someone whose life tangentially brushed his; not someone whose life intersected like a shard of glass. Kuroo had never been faced with this before. 

He drew in a painful breath.

“Yakkun, I’m sorry but… I’m not gay.”

There was a thick moment where Yaku’s hands, resting on his textbook, slid back into his lap. A flush rose around his ears. A ghost of a thought ‘ cute’ flickered through Kuroo’s mind before an onslaught of guilt banished it. Yaku blinked at him once, twice, looking utterly — confused? — for an instant before a familiar set of his mouth showed his annoyance. Kuroo exhaled, wondering how best to handle this.

“Well, I’m not either,” Yaku snapped back.

“Huh?”

That didn’t match up with what he just did; which Kuroo still had a little trouble digesting.

“Man, you’re hopeless,” Yaku rolled his eyes. “Have you ever heard of bisexuals before?” 

Kuroo frowned, then it clicked. “Oh, like both?”

“Yes.” Yaku still sounded on edge, his words sharpened with sarcasm. “Nice work, genius.”

“Hey, just because I rejected you doesn’t mean that you have to be so rude,” Kuroo remarked. “Where would I have come across that before?”

Yaku stared hard at him. “You really clicked with Fukurodani’s ace over summer.”

“He’s gay, he’s not…” Kuroo trailed off.

Now that he thought back, Bokuto had only said that he liked guys — not exclusively guys.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. You assumed,” Yaku scoffed. “Y’know what, I’m glad I was wrong. I didn’t want to date an asshole like you, anyways.”

“Hey.” Kuroo clenched his jaw. “How was I supposed to know that bisexuals existed? We don’t get taught that in school, and it’s not like people just go around announcing their sexuality.”

Yaku flicked a pencil over at him. “Whatever. Speaking of, don’t declare that I confessed to you. I’ve already got enough public shame associated with me thanks to Lev picking me up in the corridor. If this gets around, it’ll obliterate the last of my social status. I don’t intend to spend my third year in high school being mocked for... for going after an ass like you.”  

Despite his combative tone, Kuroo picked up on something else; a nervousness. He was covering, with the tendons standing out on his neck, the slight, discomforted squint of his eyes. He looked off balance, one fingernail cutting into the end of his notebook in quick, fast lines. Kuroo felt a tightness in his chest. He’d almost forgotten that Yaku wasn’t invulnerable.

“Dude,” he started. “I’m not gonna out you to feel good about myself. How low do you think I am?”

Yaku snorted, but his shoulders lowered. He picked up one of his pens. “You don’t want me to answer that.”

He returned his gaze to his textbook, gnawing furiously on his pen. The clear plastic splintered under his canine. “I… I appreciate it. I’ll — I won’t hide anything, but the thought of it being gossip…”

“Yeah. ‘Course, man. I wouldn’t say anything. I won't.”

“Thanks.”

A deep silence embedded itself in the room. Kuroo felt it pouring down the back of his throat like oil, greasy and suffocating. He tried to swallow it away; failed. The sunlight on the back of his neck wasn’t a pleasant warmth anymore. It was gripping his nape, squeezing his spine up to rest just under the surface of his skin like a pus-filled spot. 

“So,” Yaku started. His voice jumped out far too sharply. Under the desk, Kuroo’s leg jerked. “What did you get for question three?”



November, 2012

Five months until graduation 

Kuroo wished he could say that things returned to normal after Yaku’s confession. 

They almost did — Yaku’s retorts to his teasings were nearly sharp enough, or nearly too harsh. Kai’s brow would twitch. Over the past two years, the rhythm of their arguing had been manufactured to perfection, and Kai could infer the slightest deviation. Yaku and Kuroo had once walked in on Fukunaga recreating a fictional debate with them, Kai suggesting lines from the side for his improv impersonations. The worst thing was that Kai’s lines sounded exactly like what they’d say. Paired with Fukunaga’s impersonation skills, it had been a humbling experience. So Kuroo knew that Kai knew for sure that something was going on between them. 

He hadn’t confronted either of them on it — yet. Another missed meet up by Yaku and he might. Kuroo had a sense that both of them were struggling to pretend nothing happened. Under the light slanting into their classroom, he found his mind drifting back to what Yaku had said, gazing at Yaku’s left ear, the one with the freckle — or was it a mole? — on the lobe.

I’m glad I was wrong.

Wrong about what? It had to be either Kuroo being gay or liking him back — likely both, but he wasn’t sure, because he didn’t know how Yaku could’ve come to that conclusion. 

Kuroo paid attention — it was what he prided himself on. There was something gnawing on his centre. How did he miss it? Yaku liking him? Yaku wanting to date him? It was so far fetched that it sent Kuroo rocketing off his axis, detached from the familiar orbit of their bickering.

And the way Yaku was pulling back — it caused a horrible ache to open in Kuroo’s gut. It hadn’t affected the team’s synergy — Yaku was too much of a professional to let that happen, but their relationship had fractured. A missed beat by Yaku as they debated which jpop group was better, a beat where he backed off and he shouldn’t have.  

He shouldn’t have. He did, like fingernails scratching along Kuroo’s skin.

“— it’s simply objective,” Kuroo finished, a display of confidence sure to tick Yaku off. 

Yaku’s fingertips drilled into the surface of Kai's classroom table, his gaze dropping off for a stark moment before rising again, refreshed, as if steeling himself. Yaku was hesitating before he spoke now, the usual abandon of his banter stalling. His mouth flexed in that particular way it did when he was listening to Kuroo saying something he thought was wrong, his eyes flat and unimpressed, and yet he left it. 

An awkward silence descended on their table as Kai gazed at Yaku, expecting a response to Kuroo’s overblown, exaggerated declaration. Yaku slung an arm over the back of his stolen chair, looking towards the back of the classroom, where Kai's classmates were streaming in after lunch break. 

“Yeah, sure man. Whatever you want to delude yourself about.”

He pushed back from the table, his chair scraping along the worn floor. Kai raised an eyebrow, meeting Kuroo’s gaze. Kuroo shrugged. 

“You know I can see you guys, right?” Yaku asked, unamused. 

He stood up, grabbing the back of the chair to drag it away. Kuroo knew he should do the same; Kai's classmates were settling down, and the teacher would be nipping in soon, but there was a tug in his chest that screamed that nothing was resolved, that they shouldn't be done so soon. It wasn't normal. 

"Does this mean I win —" Kuroo began. 

"Good afternoon everyone!"

The teacher rounded the door and Yaku turned away, slotting the borrowed chair under a desk two columns away and a row in front of Kai's. His hair was growing longer. Kuroo watched as he swept a gathering of curls from his temple, his lips parting in a quiet sigh that Kuroo couldn't hear. He wanted to call him back, tell him that they weren't finished, to stick to the script that they'd developed and perfected together. Just because he'd confessed, it didn't mean things had to change. 

He felt someone prod his forearm. 

"Hey," Kai said. "You should probably get back to your own class. Shinozaki-sensei is staring at you." 

"Yeah." Kuroo swallowed, standing up. He gave the teacher an apologetic, shallow bow. "Sorry, I…"

What? He was doing what?  Staring at Yaku and thinking of how to make things alright between them again? He would rather strip naked in class than admit that. 

"I lost my train of thought there," Kuroo finished, smiling at Kai. 

Kai only blinked up at him, his soft brown eyes diffusing a patience that squeezed Kuroo's chest. He looked like he knew what Kuroo hadn't said. With a lump in his throat, Kuroo spun his borrowed chair back to the desk beside Kai. He didn't like the sensation of being read; even when it happened with Kenma, who he could rarely hide anything from, it still gave him a twinge of unease. 

 Slipping out into the corridor before the class officially started, Kuroo lightly bounded down to his and Yaku's class, luckily only a door down from Kai's. Under the warning stare of the teacher, Kuroo gave him a sheepish smile as he entered. They were on good terms — Kuroo was a diligent student, and Haruto-sensei let his minor infraction slide. 

Kuroo wound through his classmates up from the back of the class to his desk, a row behind Yaku, one column over. As he took his place as quietly as possible, Yaku turned slightly, just enough to link their gazes together and gave a disapproving shake of his head. Kuroo nearly dared to flip him off in response, but Yaku had already turned back to the front before he could decide to risk it. That wasn't right either. Even when Haruto-sensei was in a bad mood, Yaku would twist around and make sure Kuroo saw him stick his tongue out at him after Kuroo missed an answer, face creasing up in amusement at Kuroo's reaction. 

To his utmost frustration, Kuroo’s mind churned over and over during the lesson, the prefectures of Korea rolling over his back like water. He had to fix this somehow. It had only been a few days, but Yaku’s standoffish demeanour was leaving a horrible taste in Kuroo’s mouth, a stuffiness in the back of his throat.  

It wouldn’t leave him alone. 

So when Yaku began running to his extra physics class, Kuroo took advantage of the thin break between classes to tail him, jogging down the corridor. Yaku had already reached the stairs, pattering up it in quick, determined steps, sheets of paper peeking out between the notebooks, books and pencilcase clasped to his chest. 

“Yakkun,” Kuroo called out.

He drew the attention of a couple of girls passing by, but no more than a curious glance. One of them looked again, but Kuroo wasn’t in the mood to turn his head and avert his gaze from Yaku to check if she was cute. Kuroo was tall, suave and handsome; he never had any trouble having girls initially interested in him. For once, it wasn’t what he was focused on. 

Near the top of the stairs, Yaku hesitated, the briefest hint of irritation crossing his face as he stared back at Kuroo. 

“What? I’ve got to get to —“

“Can we talk? After practice. Hang back for a few minutes, okay?”

A flash of anticipation in the narrowing of Yaku’s gaze.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Before Kuroo could say anymore, he spun away and jogged up the rest of the stairs, his red and white sneakers vanishing from Kuroo’s sight. Everyone else in the corridor had melted away into their respective classes. Kuroo stood there, aware of his breathing and an absence.

Yaku hadn’t even attempted to argue. It was weird. It was so weird. Kuroo’s mouth tasted of metal. It could’ve been that he was just rushing to class — but it had never stopped him before from throwing at least a quick jab back. 

The sound of the door next to him rolling closed shocked Kuroo into action, turning to see his teacher arching his eyebrows at him. 

"Am I holding class in the corridor now, Tetsurou?"

"No," Kuroo blustered out, ducking back into the classroom. "Sorry, Sensei." 

 

Later the same day

 

Lev’s blood dripped onto the court, and Kuroo couldn’t stop laughing. 

“Nice one!” Yamamoto yelled from behind Kuroo, accompanied by a hefty slap of his knee as he cackled. “You knew your head was the biggest obstacle for the ball, didn’t ya? Smart move!” 

"Ah…" Fukunaga blinked, dropping his hand back to his side. "Sorry…"

“Ow….”

Stooped over, Lev nursed a tiny pool of blood in the centre of his creased palm. On his left, Inuoka turned away, looking a little pale. Shuffling up beside him, Kenma surveyed the slow dribble from his nose with mild interest. 

"I've told you before to block with your arms and hands."

Next to Kuroo, Fukunaga muffled a snicker with his palm. 

"I did," Lev protested, sniffling wetly as he rubbed his index finger under his nose, smearing the blood across his upper lip. "I really thought I did! I tried to…"

He looked so pitiful that Kuroo nearly regained control of himself, until he caught a glimpse of Kenma’s exasperated expression. The sight invoked a fresh swell of laughter from his stomach, almost painful. Inhaling, he swallowed the chuckles back down, clearing his throat. Enough laughing. He should probably be responsible now. 

“It happens,” he started, reaching through the net to clap Lev on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, okay, man?”

"That's the reddest blood I've ever seen," Teshiro mused, popping out behind Lev and nearly setting Kuroo off again. 

Because he was right — Lev's blood nearly looked cartoonish, a saturated, bright red splatter on the court. 

“Did I get the point?” Lev asked, his voice slightly stifled by his fingers pressing in on his nostrils. 

Kuroo threw his head back and cackled. "Good priorities for our future ace!"

“Pinch the bridge of your nose, not your nostrils!” Yaku’s voice sliced in as he ducked under the net, barely having to swing his torso down. “Don’t get any more on the court. Jeez, you’re managed to get it everywhere…”

He lifted a hand to Lev’s chin to tip his head back, a concerned crease in his brow. Kuroo arched an eyebrow. 

“Yakkun, aren’t you being a bit harsh? It can be cleaned away. We do have mops.” 

"Ah! Here!"

Coach Naoi ran over to them, followed closely by Nekomata, who presented Lev with a packet of tissues from his pocket. Kuroo reckoned it was a requirement to be an elderly man to have at least three packets on you at all times. 

Shortly after, Lev was steered away from the court, protesting, to wait for his spike-induced nosebleed to clear up. 

“Inuoka, your serve,” Kuroo called out, and the queasiness left his face, bounding down to the end line.

“Sure thing, Kuroo-san!” 

While Lev hunched over morosely on the bench, they played on under the watchful eye of Coach Naoi — minus one player, but that was a minor adjustment. They fell into a rhythm, Teshiro practising his signals with the more experienced team members, with Kuroo, Fukunaga and Yaku for support. On the other side, Shibayama was backed up by Yamamoto, and Kenma was as solid as ever. It made Kuroo prouder than he thought possible, having seen Kenma grow with Nekoma. His team. 

He hit a straight, compensating for Teshiro's slightly too low toss, which was neatly picked up by Shibayama. Landing, Kuroo examined Kenma's stance, his face, for a hint of where the ball was going. He found nothing. Damn him. Even after spending an entire childhood together, when Kenma put his mind to concealing it— 

There. 

Kuroo shifted to the left as the toss went up, not knowing consciously what in Kenma's manner had tipped him off, but knowing that Kenma was going to send it to the left, to Yamamoto. 

As soon as he launched himself into the air, he knew that something was awry. It may have been the eager tilt of Yamamoto's chin as he caught sight of the court beyond Kuroo's outstretched arms, or the shifting of feet behind him, or simply a gut instinct, but when Yamamoto rotated his shoulder in a beautiful, fluid roll, arching the ball towards the net, Kuroo knew he would get past him. He knew Yaku would move to his left, where Yamamoto was aiming, adjusting to close off the straight, ensure that he couldn’t change his mind.  Straight to their libero. 

Like Kuroo had guessed, Yamamoto slammed the ball past his left arm. Kuroo was moving to go back, to fake an approach when he heard it thud against the floor with a deafening finality. He hesitated, surprise rushing through him. Wasn’t Yaku covering that part of the court? 

Twisting around, he stared at Yaku splayed out on the floor in the wrong direction, blinking in disbelief. They'd mixed up their coordination. Yaku's throat bobbed as he pressed his palms flat against the court, pushing himself back up. Behind him, the ball rolled over the sideline. It seemed a little surreal, to see that space on the court where Yaku should be, but wasn't. He had been there for the past three years. 

"I'm sorry," Yaku called out, bringing himself to a crouch. "I didn't pay enough attention. That was my bad."

"No," Kuroo said, his feet unsticking from the floor to stride over to Yaku. "It's okay, I don't think I moved fast enough for you to pick up on it." 

Yaku was biting his thumb. Kuroo offered him his hand. Yaku took it, legs straightening out. He let go too quickly, as if a fissure was forming between their toes, as if by holding on any longer he'd topple in. 

"Thanks," he said. 

It was only when Kuroo resumed his position did he realise that the rest of the team was silent, shuffling in place. 

"Let that be a lesson!" Kuroo called out, clapping his hands together. "You can't practice enough, and things will go wrong no matter how often you do. The important thing is to shake it off and try again with a fresh mind, got it?"

Even amongst the nods and agreements, Kuroo felt uneasy. That move had been like breathing to them since second year. In fact, when had they last screwed up that block-recieve combination? It had to have been —

May, 2010

"What the hell was that?" Yaku snapped out. "What exactly were you blocking there? No wonder my team trounced yours in middle school."

Kuroo leered over him, knowing full well that it’d make the damn mouthy gremlin angry. "I was closing off the straight, thank you very much."

"No you weren't." Forced to lift his chin to glower properly at Kuroo, Yaku folded his arms over his chest. "You were, and then you changed your mind, and that opened the way for the straight — while I was waiting for a cross. You're not doing your job." 

Their furious voices were just low enough to hide their arguing from the second and third years, knowing that the upperclassmen would scold them if they overheard them fighting. Nekoma was all about connection, and they seemed to have tried to enforce that by authoritarian means, stamping out all and any disagreements. Kuroo thought that they understood the concept utterly wrong — it wasn't about surface getting along, it was about understanding each other. 

Then again, he didn't seem to be doing too well on that aspect, either. 

Yaku's face was shoved up near his, his nose scrunched up in contempt. Kuroo drove back the urge to put his hands around his neck. To his utmost frustration, Yaku was right. He had questioned his decision halfway through his jump and swapped, going for a kill block instead. 

That didn't mean he was about to let Yaku steamroll over him. 

"I did what I thought was best," Kuroo hissed out.

"You did what you thought best for you," Yaku accused, jabbing his finger into Kuroo's chest. "You wanted the satisfaction of a kill block, didn't you? Maybe you should try out the satisfaction of actually nailing an overhand receive for once."

"Hah?" Kuroo nearly growled. "Watch what you say. You talk a lot of bullshit for someone who only specialises in one area."

Yaku's grin flashed like lightning in a thunderstorm, sharp and electrifying. "Which is why I know when I'm right. You know it too."

"Hey!"

Yaku and Kuroo jerked apart, quickly wiping their expressions clean. They gave each other one last, quick sideways glance; an unspoken agreement to finish their bickering later. 

"Is everything okay over there?"

"Yes!" Yaku and Kuroo called back, only a beat out of synch, their voices overlapping. 

Their senior gave them a dubious look, but chose not to comment more. "We're gonna go. You guys can handle the cleaning, can't ye?"

“Of course,” Yaku said, bowing shallowly. 

Kuroo followed his lead. Usually, he wasn’t fond of cleaning duty — today, he welcomed it. With the seniors gone, it offered him and Yaku a chance to sink their teeth into one another and struggle to verbally tear each other apart. Kuroo’s heart was beating fast in anticipation. 

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Yaku and Kuroo responded in kind, gaze cutting across to each other as soon as their elders’ backs were turned. Kuroo held Yaku’s gaze steadily, watching out of the corner of his eye as their captain stooped down to slip on his outdoor shoes. It seemed to take an age. The crease in Yaku’s brow grew ever more prominent, his throat working, and Kuroo could tell it was killing him to keep all the things he wanted to yell at Kuroo for inside. Good. The tighter that Yaku clenched his fists, the happier Kuroo was. 

“And another thing,” Yaku burst out as soon as their seniors were probably out of earshot, “It’s like you put your claim on the ball, like you don’t want me to save it, it has to be you!”

“If you want the glory all the time, just say that,” Kuroo sneered back.  

Yaku’s face turned red. 

“That’s not what I’m saying! You’re intentionally twisting my words to —“

 He was interrupted by Kai holding out a sweeping brush to his chest. Kai smiled at Yaku and Yaku bit down on his lower lip, taking a moment to glare at Kuroo before accepting the brush. 

“Thank you,” Kai replied, turning to Kuroo. “Maybe you could collect the balls?” 

“Saves him busting mine,” Kuroo answered, making sure to just have the faintest hint of a smirk as he looked pointedly over Kai’s shoulder at Yaku. 

Yaku stalked forwards, but Kai set a mop across his chest. 

“If we get out of here quickly, we can go to that ramen store before it closes,” he said, and damn — how had he learned to handle them so fast? 

Kuroo and Yaku’s stomachs rumbled in sync. They locked eyes, then nodded, coming to a silent truce. 

“Fine,” Yaku relented, turning away. “Let’s be quick.” 

“Race you.”

“You’re on.” 

 

Back to November, 2012

They got through the rest of practice without any more mess-ups, to Kuroo’s relief.

It was a near miracle on his part — Yaku’s misstep was unusual in itself. When paired with his recent confession, the error weighed heavier in Kuroo’s mind, blanketing over his usual sharp stream of in-match observations.  It only confirmed his instinct that he needed to talk with Yaku, address the dead elephant in the room. It was beginning to smell. 

He wasn’t sure if it would help, but he had to try. He’d always been able to talk to Yaku openly. Surely Yaku wanted to clear the strangeness between them as much as Kuroo did. They couldn’t let this affect the team, their chance at winning Nationals. Kuroo owed it to them. 

“Hm.” 

Something about that distant hum cracked into his thoughts, firmly reasserting himself into the present. Kuroo frowned, spinning around to spot the source of Fukunaga’s musing. He was standing in front of the storeroom, staring in, still holding one door by the handle. 

A creature slipped out of the storeroom to wind around Fukunaga’s ankles, tail curving over his shin. As Kuroo strode over, Fukunaga bent down and stroked the cat’s head, its ear flicking back at the touch. 

“Hey, little guy,” Kuroo greeted, crouching down near it. He outstretched his fingers. “How’d you manage to get in here? You hungry?” 

It stared at him, unimpressed. The kitty was beginning to attract more attention; Yamamoto parked a full cart of balls next to the storeroom, eyes glinting. 

“Yo, I didn’t know we had a mascot!” Then he squinted at the cat. “Is that the same one that used to hang around last year?”

“Nope,” Fukunaga said. He ruffled the cat’s leg, to which it flicked its leg, as if disgusted. “Look, the white patches are different. The other little critter had the white stripes down the sides of his front left and back right, this dude has bigger patches on all of his legs. Very stylish.”

A couple of paces away, the cat plopped its butt down and started licking the area that Fukunaga had touched.  Resting his hands on his knees, Fukunaga only waited in a crouch, staring intently at it, as if studying. 

“I’m surprised the other one didn’t come back,” Kuroo mentioned. “You fed it enough.” 

“Lev must’ve scared it away,” Yaku announced from behind Kuroo. 

Nearby, Lev detached from his conversation with Inuoka, spinning around in response to his name. 

“What? What did I do?! I didn’t do anything!” 

At the abrupt movement, the cat scurried off, reflexively hiding behind the closest non-moving object — Kenma Kozume. Kenma gave it a slow, curious blink, returned by the cat, and Kuroo felt the urge to laugh at how similarly they reacted bubble up in him. He swallowed it down, the edges of his mouth twitching. Laughing would definitely drive it away. 

“See?” Yaku clicked his tongue in an accusation. “You’re driving away this one, too.” 

“Haah…” 

Lev deflated, bent neck warping his six foot five frame to just below Kuroo’s height. Kuroo straightened up, enjoying his brief moment of being the tallest on the team again. Pattering up to Lev, Shibayama nudged his elbow with a little smile. 

“If you feed it, I’m sure the cat will warm up to you. And if you move slowly! Let it sniff your fingers.” 

Kuroo folded his arms over his chest, watching as Shibayama coached Lev through interacting with a cat with proper etiquette. He was glad that they were getting along — it had taken some time for him and Yaku to click together. 

I like you. 

A lump arose in Kuroo’s throat. Maybe they’d gelled together too well. He’d always regarded it as something of a surprise that him and Yaku started hanging out outside of school and practice, so perhaps it made sense that Yaku’s confession had also taken him off guard. He just hadn’t expected any of this — their friendship, their partnership working so well on the court. Kuroo was used to working for what he sought, and to have something sneak by him, a relationship as strong as his and Yaku’s formed without his explicit effort, struck him as odd. Yaku lived in his blind spot, just over his shoulder, always picking up what Kuroo couldn’t. 

Speaking of the devil, Kuroo mused as Yaku stepped up beside him, also watching their two juniors try to coax the cat over for a pet. 

“Was there a cat that hung around in first year, or am I inventing things?” Yaku asked Kuroo. 

Kuroo clutched his shirt in mock horror. “You mean you don’t remember Snuffykins? How could you forget her! You’re truly heartless.”

“Right.” Yaku gave him a flat look. “You could’ve just said yes, y’know.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Kuroo huffed out. Lev managed to pet the cat, his long fingers trailing delicately down its back. Kuroo cheered internally. “And you should feel bad for forgetting about her existence.” 

“Well, I don’t.” 

There was a silence between them as they both observed their younger teammates, Inuoka eagerly joining the fray and inadvertently spooking the cat further. It scampered out from behind Kenma's legs and slunk under a bench, posted low to the floor. 

With a sigh, Kuroo scratched his head. “We’re not gonna have any cats hanging around if they continue on like this.”

“Leave them be.” Yaku’s voice was warm with amusement. “Shibayama’ll rein them in.” 

“I’m not so sure about that….” 

“He’ll learn to.”

“Hey!” Teshiro raced past them, tearing up a fish stick in his hands. “Guys, try this!” 

His voice was the loudest and most animated that Kuroo had ever heard, and he thought maybe that Yaku was right, that the first years would find their own tempo in time. Taking the shred of fish stick, Lev crouched down by the cat and set it in the centre of one plate-sized palm. Kuroo held his breath as the cat sniffed the tips of Lev's fingers, then dared venture a little further, placing a paw on his hand. Lev looked like he was going to explode from happiness, his cheeks puffed out in an effort to stifle his squeal of delight. 

"Guys! Look at this!" he whispered out, or attempted to. He was dreadful at it. His whisper emerged as roughly a normal speaking voice. The cat flinched back a fraction, but didn't run. 

Yaku and Kuroo stood side by side and watched their juniors figure it out. Opposing the abundance of energy in front of them, the air around them felt quite still, as if the wind had decided not to touch them. Kuroo had a sense of a path looping around to the start point, remembering the harsh words of their seniors when they were in first year. 

“Yakkun.”

“Yeah?”

“Are we good senpais?” 

“Where’s this coming from?” 

“Just a thought.”

Yaku hummed quietly. “I don’t think you should be asking me. Ask one of the first or second years.” 

“Okay,” Kuroo said lightly. “I didn’t think you wanted Lev to speak for you, but I guess I was mistaken.” 

“You want my opinion?” Yaku squinted up at him. “Why? I mean yeah, I’d like to think so, but in the end it doesn’t really matter if we think we’re good or not. It matters if we actually had a good impact on our juniors.” 

“I suppose you’re right.” Kuroo held Yaku’s gaze for a moment, then returned to a delighted Teshiro cuddling the stray cat. “I think I know the answer already, in any case.” 

He waited for a jab from Yaku, some retort about Kuroo thinking too highly of himself, but it never came. Yaku sighed. 

“It’s nearly done with now,” he said. “It’s pointless looking back and wishing we’d done things better. I’m gonna go clean up.” 

“Are we still on for —“

Yaku had gone before Kuroo finished the rest of his sentence. 



Clearly they were, because as their teammates filtered out of the gym, citing buses or trains, usually leaving in groups of two or more, Yaku hung back. He spoke briefly to Yamamoto and Fukunaga, who he usually caught his train with him. They left, waving their goodbyes. 

Kuroo wondered what Yaku had told them. Maybe that they had a study session together? But having one without Kai would be unusual. The gym was nearly empty now, and Kenma was floating over to him, an air of expectation around him. 

“You go on ahead,” Kuroo said to Kenma. “I’ll catch up.” 

Kenma’s eyes flicked behind him, to where Yaku was fiddling with the strap of his gym bag, lingering. This wasn’t unusual — often Yaku was one of the last to leave, locking up,  making sure that the lights were off and nobody left their keys behind, but Yaku wasn’t good at pretending. And Kenma was too good at seeing. 

Kuroo stepped into Kenma’s view of Yaku. 

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Kenma said. “Don’t be too long. It’s cold.”

He slouched out the entranceway. Kuroo turned around to Yaku looking at him, the adjustment of his bag strap abandoned. 

“This better not take long. You can’t leave him out in the cold,” was his only comment, with a slight tilt of his head. “At least give him your jacket.” 

Spreading his arms, Kuroo blinked at Yaku, feigning hurt. "What about me? I get cold too, y'know!"

Yaku rolled his eyes. "He's the one waiting outside. If you're that sensitive to cold, you can always ask for it back after we're done here." 

"I have an idea of how to speed up proceedings," Kuroo began.

Yaku snorted.

"You talk like an old man." 

A gust of wind swept into the gym, chilling Kuroo's back, and he turned around, spotting Kenma loitering by the gated exit. He lifted his head, as if sensing Kuroo's gaze — and damn Yaku, he did look cold. 

"This old man will be right back," Kuroo mentioned, trotting out the gym doors. 

After a quick handover, where Kenma accepted the jacket, his own slipping under Kuroo's bigger one easily, Kuroo returned to the gym. Although he felt the cold, the jogging had heated his skin, furls of steam appearing to float from his bare forearms. Yaku was waiting for him in the same spot, his knuckles paled on the strap of his gym bag, slung over his shoulder. 

“Thanks for this,” Kuroo began, sliding the gym door mostly shut against the chilling air. He left it a shade open. He might suffocate otherwise. “I know you’ll probably have to get the next train now.”

“Mm.”

Yaku's sneakers squeaked as he toed at a painted-on white line, waiting for Kuroo to close the door, the familiar thud. When he didn’t hear it, he glanced up, his cheeks reddened from practice. It was the same sight Kuroo saw almost nearly every day, apart from the untethered look in his eyes. Kuroo didn’t like the expression on Yaku; it didn’t fit his face somehow, the uncertain shape of his brow floating on the prominent ridge of his forehead. 

“You called me here because things are weird now,” Yaku stated, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I didn’t mean for them to be.”

Kuroo nodded. “I know that. Don’t worry, it’s not like —“

Yaku clenched his jaw. “Stop that.”

Blinking, Kuroo felt a spark of irritation. “Stop what? Enlighten me.”

“You’re being a captain.” There was something despondent in Yaku’s voice. “You’re talking to me like you talk to Shibayama after he’s overthought something. Don’t — don’t.” His voice cracked. “It makes me… talk to me as a friend, Kuroo. Please.”

He glanced away, his throat working, and Kuroo abruptly realised that this was affecting Yaku a lot more than he let on, and he felt awful for not realising sooner. But Yaku — Yaku was so steadfast and reliable that he’d loomed in Kuroo’s blind spot, usually outside of the circle of players that Kuroo consciously kept tabs on. 

Because Yaku would be there. He would always be there and say exactly what he was thinking, no deduction or prompting involved on Kuroo’s part. He’d taken it for a given, hadn’t he? But of course Yaku couldn’t talk about this to him. Had Kai heard about it in detail? Kuroo didn't think so — he didn't think that Yaku would place Kai in the position of knowing about this. Was Yaku holing it all up himself? Guilt protruded through Kuroo's lungs, sharpening his breaths.

Yaku was looking at him for an answer.

“Well?”

“Yeah.” Kuroo rubbed at his arms, the brief heat from exertion leaking away. He missed his jacket. “Yeah, I see what you mean. I didn’t realise I was doing it.”

“I know.” Yaku’s voice softened. “I made everything fucking weird. I’m sorry for that, but I still would’ve done it.”

“Why?”

The question had left Kuroo’s tongue before he was aware of it. They stared at each other, Yaku’s mouth slowly twisting into a grimace.

“Really? Our all-seeing captain is going to make me spell it out for him? I didn’t think you were one for an ego trip, but…” Yaku trailed off, the grimace melting away. “Oh. You… you really had no idea.”

His alert eyes tracked over Kuroo’s face, and Kuroo felt like the one under an all-seeing eye. Yaku had spent years watching his back on the court, hadn’t he? He would know Kuroo’s movements better than anyone.

“Of course not,” Kuroo burst out, gesturing. “Would I drag you here without a good reason?” 

Yaku stared at him. “Yes. But I’m still waiting to hear your ‘good reason.’”

“After you — y’know, after, you said that you were wrong about something,” Kuroo began, a strange tightness in his throat. “It keeps repeating in my head, and I can’t… wrong about what?”

He was getting emotional. Kuroo inhaled; tried to take a step back without sliding into the calmness of being a captain. Yaku was right; this wasn’t a team issue. This was between them. And… Yaku wouldn’t hold his emotions against him, even if they did emerge ragged and messy and unpolished. Yet Kuroo couldn’t give him that. He wanted his feelings to be a cool, smooth affair, like water flowing over the rocks of events in his life. He’d succeeded so far. 

“Ah.” Yaku chewed on the side of his thumb. From a few days ago, it was more tender, the skin peeling, the meat of it reddened. Kuroo caught a glimpse of fresh crimson on Yaku’s lower lip. “That’s it, huh? I thought you liked me back. I was wrong. That’s all.”

Kuroo’s mind gave two frantic, shocked kicks; what? why? and stalled. 

“Oh,” left his mouth. “I see.”

He absolutely did not see. Of course he’d considered that that was what Yaku had meant, but hearing him say it aloud, state it as if it should be obvious…

“Yeah, so…” Yaku dragged a hand back through his hair, his curls springing up between his fingers. Kuroo could easily wrap one around his finger. “Is that all? I don’t have anything more I want to say. I’ll get over this, and I’ve tried my best to not let it affect the team. We’ll get to Nationals.”

Any wavering had vanished. He sounded like himself; certain, on the edge of arrogance but never quite tipping over.

Kuroo nodded. He hesitated, looking at Yaku, who was biting the side of his thumb again, looking back at him. In the pit of his stomach, Kuroo felt like there was something else to say, some perfect sentence that could dance along his tongue and gently weave everything back into place, dissolve the wariness in Yaku's eyes. 

"Yeah," he said. "We will." 

Chapter 2

Summary:

Kuroo's Captainship, and the limits of his empathy.

Notes:

i was like "i'll post this one i've got plenty done" and then i thought of more scenes and turns out they created an entirely new second chapter. my apologies, the wait won't be as long next time. i just love writing nekoma as a team too much...

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

November, 2012

“But why?” Kuroo lamented to Kenma the following day. During lunch, he’d left his own classroom, full of Yaku’s presence, to pull a chair up to Kenma’s desk instead, who was hunched over his PSP. “Why would he think I like him back? I don’t get it.” 

“Ask him yourself.”

“I can’t do that to him.” Kuroo groaned, putting his head in his hands. “I’ve already dragged him back to clarify once. It’d be torture for him, especially when he’s trying to move past it."

He opened his eyes, staring at the mottled surface of Kenma's desk, the pockmarks highlighted by the slanted sunlight. He didn't know how many had been made by Kenma. There was a pit in his stomach.

"How did I miss it?"

“Figure it out yourself, if it bothers you that much.” Kenma’s taps were fast. “You’ve known Morisuke long enough to understand how he thinks. If he thought you were into guys, trace that back.”

He spared a moment to glance up at Kuroo. “Or you could let it go. You can't control what other people think. Not really. You know this. You're good at guessing, but you're not right all of the time."

"Ow…" Kuroo let out a deep breath, absorbing the blow to his ego. "I just want things back to normal. He's acting strange." 

"You rejected him when he expected you to accept. He's hurt. Of course he's not acting normal." 

"But…" Kuroo circled a carving engraved into Kenma's desk with what looked like a math compass, a crude, squawking crow with an arrow through its eye. It had to be Kenma's doing. He tried to gather his thoughts. "If it was anyone else, I could understand. But this is Yaku we're talking about. He's…" Kuroo searched for the right way to describe him. 

Infuriatingly stubborn. Steady and reliable to the point of it being impossible to process that he could withdraw from Kuroo's life. 

"So Morisuke doesn't have feelings now?" Kenma inclined his PSP to the side, folding over it more. His brows merged together in annoyance; a sure sign he was hitting a difficult part of his game. Dim sounds sparked out from the device; metal clashing, tinny yells of pain. "Agh… this stupid… why would you do that? I thought… you change your pattern now? Fuck you. And your stupid mana-growing cow. I hope you never find happiness."

He continued his angry mutterings, and Kuroo felt a soft smile bleed onto his lips, but it was accompanied by the disappointment that nothing he said from now on would get through to Kenma — for the next few minutes, anyways. 

He checked his phone — lunch was nearly over. Kenma had given him enough to think about; he had the horrid feeling that nothing the teachers said in the next class would be absorbed. Gears in his mind were still trying to click together, grating and juddering, not quite slotting the way they should. What could he do to try and get the three of them back to normal again? 

With a few swipes, he opened their group chat.

 

Kuroo: hey do you guys want to check out the festival after exams? 

Kai: Yes, I’ve heard the buns from that food truck better this year

Yaku: sure

 

Kuroo stared at Yaku’s short text for a moment, then his phone vibrated again. 

 

Misaki: hey. I’m calling you tonight. Be awake this time !!  

Tetsurou: when

Misaki: it’s a surprise :) 

Tetsurou: dad could be asleep

Misaki: and that’s why I’m calling you instead, genius

 

8th November, 2012

 

Kuroo had told Kai and Yaku not to do anything fancy. 

He'd (foolishly) thought that they'd actually listened to him until he tried to step into the club room after practice. Then, nearly at the same time, Lev and Inuoka sprang in front of him, both babbling over each other.

"Kuroo-senpai can you show me the finger-extension thingy again?"

"Kuroo-san, do you know where the bathroom is?"

Pausing, Kuroo cocked his head to the side, listening as frantic scrambling echoed from behind the club room door. He'd noted that Shibayama, Fukunaga and Kai had slunk out of the gym earlier than usual, but occasionally Shibayama and Kai caught an earlier train together, and Fukunaga… Well, Kuroo had given up trying to determine Fukunaga's route home. Sometimes he cycled, and that was as far as Kuroo got.

Behind him, Yamamoto and Kenma pulled level with him.

"Well, well," Kuroo said, setting his hands on his hips. "It's almost like you don't want me to go into the club room for some mysterious reason."

"No!" Lev denied. "I mean yeah! Don't go in! There's a bomb!"

Behind Kuroo, Yamamoto snorted.

"It's not that it at all," Inuoka agreed, then hesitated. "Hold on, it's not that at all!"

"It'll only blow up if you step inside," Lev insisted, his green eyes widened in the worst display of earnestness that Kuroo had seen for a while. "So you really shouldn't open the door, Kuroo-san!"

Kuroo cackled, turning back to Yamamoto. "How long do they need me out of the way for?"

"Yaku-san said about ten minutes," Lev answered and Yamamoto prodded him in the shoulder.

"Shaddup!"

To Kuroo's amusement, Inuoka looked betrayed. He hasn’t been sure if that expression was possible for his face to create. "You're ruining the surprise!"

"But he already knew," Lev whined out, rubbing his upper arm.

"He was guessing, and you just confirmed it!"

Reckoning that Lev's life was in danger if he let him say any more, Kuroo raised his hands. "Alright, alright. I can go and get a drink from the vending machine or something. How about that?"

"Yes!" Lev nodded. "Then we can go and help Fukunaga-san set up the —"

"Sshh!" Yamamoto leaped forwards, having to balance on his toes to clumsily shove his palm against Lev's mouth. "What controls your mouth? It can't be your brain."

"That's the problem," Kenma muttered out.

Swiftly, he dodged behind Lev, cracked open the door and slipped inside without giving Kuroo even a glimpse of what was within.

Kuroo cackled, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. "I'm gonna go to the vending machine for a bit. Anyone want anything?"

 

When Kuroo returned, the club room still wasn't silent.

The braying of Yamamoto's voice and Yaku's admonishing — presumably of Lev — cut through the tangled chattering of Nekoma. His knuckle hovering above the door, Kuroo wondered if he should knock or just walk straight in. They'd have someone outside if he couldn't, right?

The coldness of the chilled can soaked through the side of his thigh as he rapped his knuckles against the thin door.

"Quiet!" was hissed out from the other side of the door, the muddled noises tapering off.

Kuroo smiled at the half-torn flyers on the door, taped haphazardly in crosses.

"I'll take that as an invitation," he called out, pushing the door open.

Even though he'd guessed what they were up to in the club room, the amount of effort put in hit Kuroo's chest like one of Yamamoto's trademark chest punches.

Balloons dotted the floor, a handmade banner crossing the back wall displaying "HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAPTAIN," in carefully printed characters, which Kuroo suspected was Teshiro's cautious work.

His team ringed around the room, all facing him, grinning sheepishly. They were all well used to this by now; every birthday was marked with a little event, nothing too ausentatious but always thoughtful enough to either make their teammate beam or — in some cases — cry.

Kuroo believed he was usually the former, but as he scanned the familiar club room, it struck him that this would be the last birthday celebrated with this team. He pushed the thought down. The last birthday of his. There would be more.

"Happy Birthday, Captain," Kai said, stepping forwards.

In his hands was a cake, two simple candles placed at the top.

White cream surrounded the cake, strawberries circling the outside of it in a neat pattern, thicker tops pointed towards the outside. In the centre, HAPPY BIRTHDAY KUROO ! was written in neatly printed kanji, slightly sloping towards the left.

The sheer amount of effort placed into it shone out, Kuroo's quick eyes noting the overflow drips on the sides, the slight uneven surfacing left by hands not quite there yet. Behind Kai, Shibayama folded his hands behind his back and shifted, glancing down at the floor and then up at Kuroo.

Ah. He'd brought in Higashi before, delicately shaped (although Lev had pointed out that one looked like a shoe, to Shibayama's dismay). Kuroo should've guessed that he had been behind the cake; but he hadn't baked before for anyone. Usually, they bought a sponge cake and crammed it with candles.

One of the kanji was crooked, slanted awkwardly, with a smear along the edge of the pink syrup that betrayed someone's desperate attempt to clean it up. Kuroo's throat tightened, his breath whistling through his lungs in one long, cool rush. It was perfect.

"Guys…" Kuroo passed a hand over his face, feigning embarrassment to hide his imminent tears. He didn't have to pretend much.

"I had nothing to do with this," Yaku announced, standing beside Kai and tilting his head back to look at the banner. "Don't get too emotional."

"Don't say it like you're proud of that fact!" Kuroo protested.

Handing Kuroo the flaming cake, Kai nudged Yaku with his elbow.

"He's stretching the truth a little."

"Am not. I don't lie." 

"Heh." 

Kuroo couldn't find it in himself to press the issue any further. Not when the team's eyes were on him and his throat felt like it had changed to a useless pile of clay. He took the cake in his hands, the weight of it feeling it might drop him through the floor.

"Blow it out!" Yamamoto urged. "All at once!"

"It's two candles," Kenma replied, not looking up from his phone.

"How weak do you think my lungs are?" Kuroo replied in mock offence.

"Still!" Yamamoto insisted. "It's bad luck if you don't get them all at once!"

Inuoka frowned. "It is? What about the elderly? Isn't that unfair on them? I don't think my grandma could blow out eighty-nine candles at once."

"Ah!" Lev pointed a finger straight up. "Is that why old people die so often?"

Hmm…" Inuoka sunk his chin into his hand, looking thoughtful.

"Don't phrase it so lightly!" Shibayama exclaimed. "I don't want to think about my grandparents dying!"

"The candles are gonna drip wax on the cake," Yaku cut in. "Spare us from any more of this."

Breathing deeply, Kuroo got a hold of himself, forcing the ebbing gratitude away from his eyes and into the depths of his stomach. He wanted to thank everyone, so as he pursed his lips and blew out his candles, he made that his wish. The best for everyone in this room.

As the cheering began, Kuroo roamed his gaze around the club room, meeting everyone's eyes, to acknowledge their contribution, how deeply he appreciated the gesture.

Kai smiled back warmly; Fukunaga gave him an eager, bobbing nod and a thumbs up; Yamamoto puffed out his chest and yelled, "Happy Birthday, Captain!" again. Shibayama's and Teshiro's reactions were more muted, offering him a little, shy smile or wave. Kenma nodded. Inuoka grinned and mimed throwing confetti up into the air. Kuroo had to stare at Lev, who was chatting away to Yaku, for a little longer before he sensed Kuroo's eyes on him, beaming a bright smile with perfect teeth over to him.

"The cake is so pretty, isn't it?"

Shibayama rubbed his hands together, looking embarrassed. "Thanks, Lev. I tried my best."

"It looks amazing," Kuroo assured him again, glancing down at the cake in his hands again. "I can't wait to taste it."

"Me neither!" Lev chimed in. "Can I have two slices?"

"Of course," Kuroo agreed. "You're still growing— I think with this cake, you'll add on even more height."

"He's grown enough," Yaku interrupted, elbowing Lev in the hip. Hard, from how Lev collapsed in on one side with a short cry.

"Yakkun, if I didn't know you better, I'd say that you didn't want the team to do well."

Yaku rolled his eyes. "Please. We've always done well without the giant. Learning how to receive properly would be more useful to the team than him growing a few more centimetres."

"I'm trying!" Lev protested beside him, Yaku shooting him a dull glance.

"Right." Picking up a balloon, Yaku bopped it off of the side of Lev's head with a thud in a mock spike. "See? Should've received that."

As Lev protested the unfairness of it all to an unmoving Yaku, Kuroo's gaze traced over Yaku's form, a thread of anxiety rippled through Kuroo. He shook it off. They had no choice but to act normal between them, and that meant banishing the strange sense of worry when he interacted with Yaku. Maybe it was the tilt of his shoulders, the tension gathered in the bunch of muscles at the back of his neck, maybe it was how his hands always seemed to move slightly too fast. Maybe, maybe. Kuroo never knew.

Catching his eye, Yaku’s face softened, his brown eyes melting with warmth and fondness. It felt like a rib had slipped past his breastbone in Kuroo’s chest, a sharp thud. 

"You're crying," he said, in what Kuroo suspected was supposed to be a retort. It lacked any edge.

"Ah." Kuroo touched the edge of his eye. Wet. He wiped it away. "Must have gotten some ash in my eye."

"Sap," Yaku replied, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Maybe," Kuroo answered, his voice soft, carrying barely over to Yaku.

The rest of the team didn't overhear — only Kai, still floating near Kuroo, huffed.

Yaku glanced away fast, the corners of his mouth settling in a line that wavered only once before steadying. He scooped up the abandoned balloon by Lev's foot, who was animatedly scribbling a face on a balloon of his own, tongue poking out the side of his mouth.

"Whatever."

It was weird. It was so weird to see Yaku hold himself back around Kuroo. Even knowing and understanding why, the way Yaku left an extra few centimetres of space between them than normal didn't sit right with Kuroo. He wanted them to hold eye contact again, in a challenge, in exasperation at their juniors, in understanding. But Yaku needed time to recover.

Kuroo tried to shake it off, refocusing on the fact that his team had baked him a cake. It smelled incredible, vanilla wafting up from the light layer of cream.

"Who's got the knife?" Yamamoto called out, spinning around on his heel.

Teshiro frowned. "I don't think knives are allowed —"

"Here." Fukunaga tossed a switchblade over to Yamamoto.

"Whoa, man, where'd you get this?" Yamamoto asked, flipping it open with awe. "This is like, good steel. And —" He ran his finger over the side of the blade, a thin trail of blood following the motion. "Damn, it's sharp."

He immediately started miming a knife fight, twisting this way and that. Stepping in-advisably close to him, Fukunaga held up a balloon with a detailed cat face drawn on it as a target, making whooshing sound effects as Yamamoto swung the blade around. Kenma moved to the other side of the room quicker than Kuroo had witnessed him more in the past six months.

"Oh, oh, can I try?"

In one single bound, Lev was beside Yamamoto, who nearly rammed his elbow into Lev's chest.

"Uh. Guys?" Shibayama ventured, skittering up beside Lev. "I think that maybe the club room is too small for this…"

Kuroo exchanged an uneasy glance with Yaku and Kai. Yaku only shrugged, but to Kuroo's relief, Kai looked slightly more concerned.

"I'll cut the cake," Kai mentioned, plucking the knife from Yamamoto's grasp. "Thank you. Could you get the spoons please?"

Chucking himself into a bow, Yamamoto bolted upright right after. "On it!"

"Um…" Teshiro stepped forwards, holding a gift wrapped in shiny gold foil. "Do we give gifts now, or…?"

"Later, after cake!" Yaku called out, scampering around and handing out paper plates to everyone. "If you're not busy, give Lev a hand with the spoons!"

Obediently, Teshiro stowed the gift away behind a stack of folded jerseys on the shelf, trotting over to Lev, who was searching the shelves on the opposite side with obvious bemusement.

"On the right," Yaku prompted. "See? Beside the cones."

Kuroo's attention was drawn away from the makeshift tableware scramble by Kai, now brandishing the knife, approaching him again. He halted in front of Kuroo, examined the handle to presumably ensure that the blade was locked in place properly, and laid it lightly into the cream top.

"Is this not a bit much?" Kuroo dropped his voice, leaning into Kai. "We never made a cake for anyone else's birthday."

"It's not." The blade sliced cleanly. "We all agreed to do this. You're our captain, after all."

Oh, damn. Kuroo was going to start crying again.

"Okay." His voice only warbled a little. Clearing his throat, Kuroo looked down at the cake, holding it steady for Kai. "Thank you."

He should've put it on the floor, but at the same time, he didn't want to set it down. It might be too heavy to pick back up. So he pushed it up as Fukunaga's knife slipped through the sponge a little too neatly, unsettlingly so, Kuroo counting everyone out of the corner of his eye.

"Does everyone want cake?" Kuroo called out.

He received a few shy "Yeah!"s, two jubilant whoops (Inuoka and Lev), one very much less shy "Yeah!" (Yamamoto), a nod (Fukunaga) and one "Of course!" (Yaku)

"Kenma?" Kuroo prompted.

"I'm fine."

"Bring some home, then. We don't want to send Shibayama back with any."

"Here, Kuroo-senpai!"

Inuoka scurried up to him with a cone in hand, plopping it on Kuroo's hair. It immediately tilted and fell off, bouncing hollowly beside Kuroo's left foot.

"Good luck trying to get that to stay on," Yaku commented dryly as he sped past, still with paper plates in hand. "Does everyone have a plate? Line up if you do!"

Inuoka was making another attempt at affixing the party cone, sans elastic, to Kuroo's hair. Gently, Kuroo balanced the cut cake in one hand and plucked it from his hair.

"Thank you Inuoka, but I think there's more of a chance of it falling and decimating the poor cake than staying on my head."

In front of him, the team started filtering into line. Lev loomed out of it, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he surveyed the cake, presumably for the biggest slice.

"But I see this in movies…"

"What slice would you like?" Kai asked, poised to slide the flat of the knife under the bottom of the cake.

Bundling the hat up in his fist, Inuoka pointed to his desired slice and presented his plate. With that, Kai began the process of giving everyone a slice, Kuroo holding the cake as steady as he could. He reckoned that this had to be some kind of muscle training, right? Holding a light weight at a short distance from your body. He should ask Yaku about that.

"Wait, we've already celebrated Kai-san and Yaku-san's birthdays," Lev said, his voice rising over the general chatter of the team. "Does that mean Kuroo's nineteen? That's so old! Was he held back?"

"I don't look that old, do I?" Kuroo asked Kai, who shook his head with a smile.

He slipped a neat slice onto Teshiro's plate, who thanked him.

"You're gonna be held back if you refuse to use your brain any longer," Yaku deadpanned, kneeing Lev's ass, just enough to surge him forwards. He nearly knocked into Shibayama ahead of him, who was recieving his own thinner slice of his own cake.

"I'm sure it'll be delicious," Kuroo said, winking at him.

"I hope so!" Shibayama answered, bowing with one hand out, holding his plate upright. "It's only a small gift, Kuroo-san."

Kuroo gently assured him that it wasn't, then let him go. If he continued any longer, he feared that Shibayama may overthink his way into fainting.

Lev was up next, his face beaming with new realisation.

"You're the youngest third year!"

"That I am," Kuroo said modestly. "I know I don't seem that way, thanks to my infinite supply of wisdom and worldliness—"

A snort from Yaku, peering out from behind Lev.

"Just give him some fucking cake."

"I always assumed that Yaku-san was the youngest," Lev rambled on, Kai giving him a generous slice. "Because he's the —"

"Next!" Kai called out, effectively saving Lev's ass from another beating.

Yaku still gave him a foul side-eye as he stepped forwards, one which Lev completely missed, too busy hunching over to shove as much cake into his mouth as possible, praising Shibayama through the flurry of crumbs and cream. Kuroo grimaced as a spatter landed on a pile of jerseys.

"You're getting wrinkles," was Yaku's only comment.

"Already have a plan for that. Eight is a lucky number, after all," Kuroo drawled out, crossing his fingers in the money sign. "I see plenty of luck, youthful features and wealth in my future."

"I bet that's what you wished for," Yaku retorted as Kai eased a slice onto his plate. "You money-hungry bastard."

Kuroo arched up an eyebrow. "And so what if it was? Have you ever heard of being nice to a guy on his birthday?"

"I'm as nice to you as you deserve," Yaku shot back, stabbing a fork into his cake.

He was last in line, the prickling of a greater conversation itching the back of Kuroo's throat. They could stand here forever, with Kai carefully carving out a piece for himself and Kuroo, with their team surrounding them. All of their team were breathing without weight. The cake might as well have been air in Kuroo's hands.

"Plate?" Kai asked Yaku.

Yaku passed him over one. Kai slotted a slice onto it.

"Another plate, please," Kai asked.

His hand was as steady as ever, nearly all of the cake vanished. Yaku stared at the cake on his own plate and pretended not to see Kuroo watching him, watching both of them. Kai balanced one plate on his wrist before Yaku grabbed it for him, allowing Kai to cut Kuroo the last piece. The mundane comfort of their presences hummed along Kuroo's skin for a moment before diffusing in.

Every time Kuroo recalled that Yaku actually liked him in that way, a sense of disbelief swaddled Kuroo. It didn't seem real, even as the words emerged from Yaku's mouth, even as he insisted upon them, even as he pulled away.

He should say something.

His intention, as vague as it was, was interrupted by Shibayama flagging down Yaku, a volleyball magazine in hand, to ask him something Kuroo couldn't overhear. Yaku took a quick moment to thank Kai again before bending over the magazine, his spoon stuck upright in the untouched slice.

"Here," Kai said, passing him over his own paper plate, laden with cake.

"What, I don't get the rest?" Kuroo joked, Kai's eyes crinkling up.

"You can, if you want." He inclined his head over towards the first years. "But be quick about it. I have a feeling Lev's gonna come back for a second round."

With a little snort, Kuroo turned away, scanning the room with a his plate and the remains of Shibayama's cake in hand. Suddenly, he was grateful for Shibayama's interruption. He could do nothing about Yaku's feelings, even if he wished he could understand them fully. It was endlessly frustrating to attempt to see things from Yaku's point of view and instead of slipping easily into another's skin, to be met with resistance.

"Hey, Kenma!" Kuroo called, spotting him curled in the corner, texting. "You need to eat some cake! You're always complaining about being tired, some sugar will fix it!"

 

 

With the lingering taste of vanilla in his mouth, Kuroo sat on the club steps, waiting for Kenma and watching his team filter pass, offering a goodbye to each one. Everyone had missed their usual train or bus back home. The night had bled away the remnants of winter's sunlight long ago; replaced with a crispness that Kuroo liked. A gentle breeze flattened against his cheek, the cooling of his dried tears doing nothing to stifle the warmth infusing his body.

His gym bag was stuffed with giri-choco and he was wondering how best to get rid of it. He didn't have much of a sweet tooth, but he knew people who did — and if he wanted to maintain his sleek body, eating chocolate was not the ideal path forwards.

This was the final stretch, he could feel it. They were going to Nationals, they were going to battle Karasuno, and then they were going to win. All of it.

He was watching Fukunaga and Yamamoto try to dribble a rock between them, wondering what he'd spend Kenma's token on, when a voice broke into his drifting thoughts.

“Hey.”

Kuroo glanced up just in time to see Yaku stop on the step above him, outstretching a foot to nudge Kuroo’s side. “Get up, your ass is gonna freeze.”

"Thank you for your concern about my ass," Kuroo replied, with a smile that came easily. He was glad about that. "But I've built it up in the past few years, don't you think? My ass is robust and hardy now."

Yaku snorted, twisting to rifle around in his gym bag. "Shut up about your ass. It's not that great."

"Ah, so you admit that —"

“Here.” Pulling his hand back out, Yaku stuck an envelope into Kuroo's face. “I got it before… y’know, but I still think you’ll like it.” 

“Thanks.” Kuroo took it, noting the rigidity of it. A card?

“Well? Open it.” 

Kuroo tilted his head. “It's polite to wait until after the celebration.”

"It is after," Yaku argued back. His teeth gnawed along the line of his thumb. “And I wanna see your reaction.”

“This isn’t poisoned or anything, is it?” Kuroo squinted. "You're not insisting that I open it to witness me scream and writhe in pain or anything?"

“Don’t be stupid.”

"You're right," Kuroo said, slipping a finger underneath the flap. "I'm too handsome to be killed off so young, it'd be a crime against society. You'd be arrested on the spot."

Yaku rolled his eyes. Kuroo split the envelope open, tugging out the cardboard with two fingers.

It was signed photocard of Yuka Kashino. Her chin was perched against the backs of her elegant fingers, a soft smile on her face as she gazed just beyond the camera, pristine bangs covering her forehead. As always, she looked gorgeous. Perfect, even.

Over her shoulders, a message was scribbled.

 

To Kuroo-chan, 

Good luck in Nationals! Thank you for your support :)

Yuka

 


A star hovered over the U in her signature, the A signed off with a cute little bow, surprisingly in English.

Kuroo’s mouth dropped open. “You got this for me? Personally?"

“Do you remember when Jiro got me tickets to see them in May?” Yaku asked, crouching down on the step above to hover just behind Kuroo's shoulder. “I waited outside after their show and managed to get it then.”  

“Oh.” 

May. May. He’d have had to have bought the photo card in advance, too. Even if it was with an album CD, he'd saved it to bring to the concert for Kuroo.

Kuroo felt a wicked grin spread across his face. 

“I didn’t know that—“

He cut his teasing retort off. Yaku had thought that he’d liked him back then, maybe that they’d even be dating by now. Kuroo wasn’t cruel enough to make a jab, even lightheartedly, about how Yaku clearly obsessed over his birthday.

Yaku fidgeted with the side of his pants. “Your favourite hasn’t changed, right?” 

“Mm, I don’t know,” Kuroo hummed out. “Nocchi is looking pretty good lately.” 

Yaku drove his knee into Kuroo’s shoulder, hard enough to nearly send Kuroo sprawling onto his side. “As long as it’s not A-Chan. I’m not giving up her signature for anyone or anything.” 

“What would I do with a note for Yaku Morisuke except find a Perfume fan with the exact same name and sell it to them?” 

Yaku gave him a flat look. “I might do the same with yours if you keep talking.” 

Leaning in, he lunged a little, making out as if to swipe the photocard from Kuroo's grasp.

“Nope.” Kuroo outstretched his arm, holding the photo card away as much as physically possible from Yaku’s devious fingers. “I don’t think it’s fair to take back a gift, do you?”

“It is when they’re being obnoxious about it.” Yaku flashed him a grin, then straightened up. “I’ll take that as proof that you liked it then. You’re welcome, by the way.” 

Kuroo considered his options; he had vowed to lay off on teasing Yaku, effectively cutting off any comments about how Yaku would've had to plan for his birthday months in advance. What was left? Only the genuine blaze of gratitude in his stomach, stoked and tended to by the team the moment he stepped into the clubroom, blown bigger by Yaku's gift.

Maybe he shouldn't overthink it.

“It's nice,” Kuroo said, sweeping his thumb over her smiling face. “Really nice. Thanks, Yakkun.” 

Yaku nodded. "Yeah. No problem."

He lingered a second longer, then continued down the steps. "I'll see you tomorrow. Happy Birthday, Kuroo."

"See you."

Yaku's gym bag bounced against his side as he rocketed down the rest of the steps, faster than usual. It left a bitterness in Kuroo's mouth; despite everything, things still weren't normal between them. But it had only been a month. How long did Yaku usually need to recover after rejection?

Kuroo shifted on the concrete step, a chill bleeding through his butt, recalling Yaku's White Day rejections. He'd always taken them in stride, and Kuroo had expected this to be no different — but it was different, wasn't it? They saw each other every day, in class, at training, sometimes even studying in the evenings, or hanging out at weekends. Maybe that's why Kuroo was feeling Yaku's imposed distance so keenly.

He glanced down at the photocard again, searching for recognition in Yuka's alight eyes.

Eighteen.

Kuroo blew out a long breath, hearing Kenma patter up behind him. It wasn't anything significant, but it felt like it. Every birthday always did, every step closer to being an adult.

Two years left, and he still couldn't manage to settle things between him and Yaku. A weight slipped around his shoulders.

Twisting around to glance at Kenma, he clung onto the expansive warmth in his core after the celebration. His team was so kind; he wanted to always do the best he could by them, yet he felt like he was failing in his personal life. Shouldn't a near-adult have it worked out by now?

Kenma outstretched a hand and dropped it on the top of Kuroo's head. Hard. Then again. Kuroo made a squeaky noise in the back of his throat that surprised himself— he hadn't reached that pitch since before puberty.

"Are you petting me? Seriously?"

"Looked like you needed it," was Kenma's response, then he trudged past Kuroo, down the steps. "Turning older isn't that depressing. Come on. I want to get home."

With a little smile, Kuroo rose to his feet, slipping the photocard into his pocket cautiously.

"Wait until you're my ripe old age…" he said, miming a hobble. "Then you'll see that ageing truly is depressing…"

 

June 2011

 

"Mine!"

The ball twapped against Yaku's arms solidly, as they nearly always did. Kuroo had long since admitted — to his chagrin— that Yaku had not only improved since they'd played against each other in middle school, but had improved at an immense speed that sent Kuroo's head reeling. Yaku had outshone their senior libero, Nakamura, at a devestating pace. Kuroo suspected that even in first year, Yaku should've been a starter on the court.

As a second year, he could hold his own easily against the third years in any kind of receive; a fact that Kuroo suspected the third years didn't appreciate. He supposed he could understand the threat of stupendous skill rising up behind you, engulfing you — hadn't he held it against Yaku too, at the start?

But they were on the same team now. Kuroo couldn't understand why the third years let their bitterness bleed through, but to Kuroo's surprise, none of it seemed to affect Yaku. He still attended training every day with a diligence and dedication that bordered on obsession.

Likely why he was better than Kuroo at receiving.

It wasn't as if he was bad at recieving — and as much as he disliked admitting it, Yaku's tips had vastly helped — but his starting place was due mainly to his height.

As he swapped out of the court, Yaku squinted at him, and Kuroo realised he'd been staring for too long.

"Waiting for me to mess up?" Yaku asked, with a cocky tilt of his head. "It'll never happen. Stop wasting your time."

His attitude, a well of confidence with everyone else, overflowed into arrogance when he pried at Kuroo, knowing full well that Kuroo hated it and could never refute it.

"All I'm hearing is that you don't want me seeing it when you do mess up," Kuroo shot back. "Because it is coming."

"Ha!"

They slapped hands as Kuroo jogged onto the court in a few swift paces. He flicked his wrist in the air back and forth a few times, trying to rid himself of the stinging. Ow.

Across the net, Hasegawa, the captain, bounced the ball against the court, the path wavering on the way up. He didn't have the spin right. Kuroo followed his distracted gaze to Yaku, who was currently chatting away to Yamamoto, keeping half an eye on the game. If he noticed his senior's stare, he didn't give any indication of it, a half-smile slung on his lips as he poked Yamamoto's side.

A thwack sounded as Hasegawa slammed the ball down again, this time too hard. Kuroo turned his focus back to the game, wondering if Yaku simply didn't care about what the seniors thought of him or if he truly was dense enough that he didn't notice.

The ball spun over the net, momentarily blotting out the light over Kuroo's face.

 

 

Later, as his broom bristles ran over the wooden lines of the court, Kuroo drifting through the day, gently sorting through his memories, and stumbled upon Yaku's relationship with the third years again. After a moment of consideration, he reckoned that it was because Yaku didn't care. He didn't seem like the type of guy to place any weight on the opinions of people he didn't respect. And as upfront as he was—he wasn't oblivious. When he was, it was staunchly because he chose to be, because he knew it would scratch under Kuroo's skin.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed one of the first years, Fukunaga, pattering over to him. He passed by the cluster of four third years chatting by the net support for the second court, one lazily unwinding the strings.

"Kuroo-san?"

Lifting his head up, Kuroo regarded him, pausing his sweeping.

"Hm?"

Fukunaga's eyes looked nearly slitted in the full summer light.

"Should we stack the nets over the —"

Before he could finish his sentence, his gentle voice was overlaid by Kenma, for once.

"It's too hard to get it down from the top shelf!"

Kenma sounded fierce, the kind of stubbornness rising in him that Kuroo didn't see very often.Kuroo had a good idea of who had made him raise his voice.

"Then maybe you should dedicate yourself more to weight training!" Yamamoto declared, the sound bouncing around and out of the storeroom.

With a huff, Kuroo set his broom across the back of his neck and strode over to the storeroom.

He rested his wrists over the shaft of the wooden broom, leaning cautiously around the door, halfway ajar. To his relief, Kenma and Yamamoto hadn't reached the stage of becoming physical again, only glaring at each other over the folded net clutched in both of their hands.

"Middle shelf," Kenma snapped. "It's getting heavy. Or even better, put it in the corner."

It was sagging in between them, Yamamoto's lower lip rigid and jutting up stubbornly. Kenma was bowed over, but his head was straight ahead, ensuring he could glare at Yamamoto.

"It fits better on the top shelf —"

"I'm going to drop it."

"Hey guys," Kuroo interrupted, leaning over a little further. "You could've just asked me for help, y'know. Your tall, strong, handsome senpai."

He grinned, tilting the broom to slide it off of his neck, spinning it around his wrist on the way down. Thankfully, it didn't clatter against any other equipment; Kuroo set it against the wall. He didn't miss the way Yamamoto's expression changed as Kuroo pulled off the slick move. His lips moved, and Kuroo nearly was sure that the words were, "I gotta learn how to do that."

With an assured grin, Kuroo flexed one arm, holding his opposite hand over it as if warming up for a serve.

"I won't take all the glory for putting it on the top shelf, though," Kuroo continued. "I'll let you guys have some of the satisfaction. I wouldn't want to show off too much, just in case I wound an ego."

He winked at Yamamoto. It worked—both Kenma and Yamamoto stared at him, temporarily forgetting about the other.

"Alright!" Kuroo announced, walking in and cracking his knuckles out in front of him. "If you would, please, guys."

Outstretching his arms, he wriggled his fingers before crouching slightly to slide his forearms under the folded net.

"On three!" Kuroo called out. "One two three — teamwork!"

Always game, Yamamoto echoed, "Teamwork!" with a glance over at Kenma. As if there was even a minuscule chance of Kenma saying it.

Kenma groaned, either from the declaration or after-practice exertion, as they hefted the net onto the top shelf, but didn't actively duck out of the room, which Kuroo was pleasantly surprised by.

"I'm too short," Kenma grumbled, tossing a glance over at Kuroo.

"That's what I'm here for," Kuroo declared, tipping up onto the balls of his feet to shove the net in the last few centimetres.

"Shortness can be overcome," Yamamoto responded, defiant as he helped Kuroo by half-clambering up the shelf itself to get enough reach. "In many ways, if you just have the guts to try!"

"Kuroo, if he mentions guts one more time shove him off the shelf," Kenma muttered out. "I'll cover for you. Say it was an accident."

Kuroo suppressed a snort, dropping back down to his heels.

"You guys are teammates, you know that, right?"

"Right! Sorry about that!" Yamamoto yelled, and Kuroo winced, raising a hand to touch his ear, which had to be bleeding from being exposed to Yamamoto's strong lungs in a confined space.

"As if you didn't complain about Yaku to me for months," Kenma pointed out.

"Yeah, but look at us now! We're getting along."

In a rare show of unity, Yamamoto and Kenma exchanged a glance with identical expressions of doubt on their faces.

"On the court," Kuroo amended.

Well. That wasn't a fight he could win, or was willing to open up. Moving on.

"Come to me before ye start arguing, you hear? And Kenma, stop starting fights with Yamamoto."

"I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"I don't."

"What about the other day, when he was doing a few extra reps of deadlifts?"

"All I did was look at him!"

Yamamoto pointed at Kenma. "You looked repulsed! Like I was being some kind of degenerate!"

Kenma glanced away, at the open door. "Mm."

"Hey, at least deny it!" Yamamoto sputtered out.

"We don't want to be here all night, do we?" Kuroo set his hands on their shoulders, gently pushing them out of the storeroom. "Kenma, don't you have a new strategy for that difficult boss you wanna try out?"

An incline of Kenma's head and subtle squint told Kuroo that Kenma knew exactly what he was doing. Kuroo grinned widely back, as innocently as he could—he wasn't very good at it, he'd tried in the mirror before many times—but he tried his best.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," Kenma said, sloping off towards the end of the court. "I'm gonna clean up."

As Yamamoto excused himself also, Fukunaga, across the court but watching everything, shot Kuroo a quick thumbs up. Kuroo gave him a jaunty salute back.

Kuroo picked back up his brush, casting his eye over the court. Had he been on the back line of brushing or —

"Nicely handled," came a voice. Kuroo turned to see his captain, Hasegawa, leaning against the wall. "You know how to get Kenma moving."

The shunt of his stern mouth sounded warning bells in Kuroo's gut.

"Thank you," Kuroo replied evenly, smiling. "We've been friends a long time."

"And Yamamoto?" Hasegawa added as Kuroo swung the brush back down, gliding it across the clean floor. "I'm impressed. No wonder Fukunaga went to you."

Although he'd kept his tone genial, Kuroo wasn't dull enough to ignore his instincts prickling at him, whispering to delve a little lower. Moments stacked up in Kuroo's mind; Fukunaga asking him about blocker placement, Yamamoto asking him about muscle development, Kenma never asking their seniors anything.

Exhaling, he straightened up.

"I'd say Fukunaga thought you had enough on your hands, Hasegawa-senpai," Kuroo said, offering a demure smile. "You did look pretty busy over there!"

Undercutting their seniors' authority right before the qualifiers would only harm the team. Kuroo wasn't so humble that he believed he wouldn't be chosen as captain next year; there was time enough for him to lead. He could lead in his own way until then, until he received the official stamp of authority.

For now, he would prioritise harmony over his own pride.

"I wasn't." Hasegawa pushed off the wall. His gaze was burrowing. "It's weird that they go to you over their senior, isn't it?"

Hm. Kuroo swirled his tongue against the back of his teeth, noting Hasegawa's squared stance. This wasn't going to be left go, not after the other instances.

"Ah, maybe he didn't see you guys there," Kuroo offered, pushing his smile even more plaintive. "I apologise if I overstepped my bounds. That was never my intention."

If Fukunaga had asked their captain to intervene, he would've yelled at Kenma and Yamamoto to get over it, get along, and yet another strike to quit would've been etched in Kenma's mental tally. Kuroo knew that Fukunaga and Kenma had been getting along lately; he'd made the right choice.

"No, no, not at all." Hasegawa smiled; shifting forwards enough to lay a hand on Kuroo's shoulder. His fingers set too closely together. "In fact, thanks for helping out. You're a very helpful guy, Kuroo."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two more of the third years, Nakamura and Yoshida, approach. What had stood out most about Nakamura was how he had looked at Yaku when the coach had announced the starting lineup for the training camp. It had been a wounded look, one of who had been waiting cross-legged at a shrine for their prayers to be answered, only for someone else to run up the stairs and snatch it from the god's hands. One who had been scorned from what they were owed.

As Nakamura halted beside Hasegawa, Yoshia followed like a cloud swept into place by the wind.

"Could you help us out with something else?" Nakamura asked. "I don't remember seeing the floor being mopped recently. Stay back and make sure this place is shining, right?"

Kuroo bit his tongue, silencing his protest. It had been the second year's turn to mop the court last week. Yoshia had raised a hand to him as he trotted out the gym doors. Turning his gaze to Yoshia, he watched as his senior, looking midlly uncomfortable, dodged his eye contact. He wasn't getting any help there. Disappointment, but not surprise, settled in Kuroo's stomach. Upperclassmen shouldn't be like this.

Still, it looked like he was going to have to pay the price.

"Sure —"

"He stayed back last week."

Kuroo turned his head just in time to see Yaku step into the conversation, lifting his chin. He rested a hand on the top of his broom, exuding a presence taller than his slight frame.

"I was here with him. Me and Kai."

Coming up behind Yaku, Kai raised a hand. "I can vouch for that."

A tug of appreciation on Kuroo's ribcage.

"Then all three of you can stay back the next week," Hasegawa snapped. "Since clearly the court wasn't mopped properly."

"But—" Yaku started.

Hasegawa rotated to face Yaku, staring him down. Or rather, down at him. Hasegawa was a fraction taller than Kuroo, and he never shied away from using it. Holding his tongue, Yaku rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. His chin bobbed down, then up, gaze driving across to Kuroo. Kuroo subtly shook his head. This wasn't a fight worth picking. Or a winnable one.

"Okay," Yaku said, looking like he'd rather tackle their captain than submit. He looked down, lightly kicking the bristles of the broom. "Will do, Hasegawa-senpai."

Yet Kuroo knew, for all of his proud brashness, Yaku wouldn't cross that line. Even he fell into line when confronted with seniority. Arguing with them, however, seemed to be far less taboo to Yaku than Kuroo.

With a sigh, Hasegawa turned away, shaking his head. It was all out of the corner of Kuroo's eye, his focus on how Yaku's lips were sliding out and in under his teeth, his cheek sucking in like the slow draw of curtains against an open window.

 

 

With every splat of his mop against the court, Kuroo drew closer to victory.

On the other side of the gym, Yaku swiped his own mop frantically aross the floorboards, glancing up every so often to check on Kuroo's progress.

"If you keep looking at me so often, you're gonna lose," Kuroo warned, speeding up his pace. "Remember, Kai's judging this, and he's a strict judge. Aren't you, Kai?"

"I'm sure both you and Yaku will do a good job of cleaning," Kai said, busy with his own court. "Since you've both had enough practice."

Ouch.

"You really hold nothing back, do you?" Kuroo called out.

"It's only a fact," Kai maintained.

The competition helped the task drain by faster; Kai judged the competition in favour of himself, citing his slower pace as reason for his half of the court being cleaner.

"Gotta go," Kai said calmly in the face of Kuroo and Yaku's protests, overlapping and layering over each other and creating what Kuroo didn't doubt was an entirely new kind of headache for Kai. "I need to help out for visitors, but I'll cover for one of you guys tomorrow."

"Kai, don't leave me here with him!" Yaku protested.

Feeling an evil, opportunistic grin spread on his face, Kuroo whirled around to Yaku, lashing out with the mop handle. Before it smacked into Yaku's side, Yaku blocked with his own mop, sticking his tongue out defiantly. The clatter reverberated through the empty gym, Yaku pushing Kuroo's mop back with a fierce grin of his own.

"It's a hazard being left with Yakkun without anyone to supervise him," Kuroo pleaded with Kai, even as he fought with Yaku, his tired body rising with the energy of a challenge.

Kai smiled evenly at them, zipping up his jacket and stepping towards the exit.

"There's not too much left to do, if you guys can work together for ten minutes, I'm sure it'll be fine."

"That's not possible with him," Yaku retorted, spinning his mop around to shake the wet end at Kuroo, punctuating his point.

Water sprayed against his face, one popping off his nose, another hitting his cheek and sticking. Flinching back, Kuroo retaliated in kind, jerking the mop in the air to send a thick line of water flying towards Yaku.

"Hey, that's far more —" was as much as Yaku got out before impact, closing his mouth quickly to avoid ingesting any grey mop-water.

"So?" Kuroo retorted, slopping the mop back onto the court. "You started this!"

"And I'll be the one to finish it," Yaku declared, raising his mop with an evil grin.

"Oh, yeah?"

It was familiar by now, after over a year of being around Yaku; the low shot of adrenaline, his nerves humming like the air before a thunderstorm. Like his grudge had never simmered down, instead hardening his limbs with a want to best Yaku, to never let him bypass him in anything. Kuroo surged forwards, mop upright, and Yaku yelped, striking out with his mop to defend himself.

"You're making more mess to clean up," Kai called out above Yaku's yells of protest and Kuroo's cackling.

In the back of his mind, Kuroo knew Kai was right. That this was childish, silly, a contest that didn't need to happen. But his feet felt so free and the way Yaku danced around him in the puddles of sunlight was like fizzing in Kuroo's body, a delight of lifting responsibility.

He heard Kai's huff of amusement over the squeaking of their wet runners on the court, but only just.

 

It took ten minutes for them to finish their impromptu sparring match.

Kuroo's palms were reddened and raw by the time they finally came to a silent truce, both of them panting and damp from the dirty water. A droplet rolled down the curve of Yaku's cheek and hung from his chin a moment before he rolled his shouder up to wipe it off in a single fluid motion, his eyes never leaving Kuroo. As if mirroring his teammate, Kuroo's body warmed, awakening him to the water snaking down his own arms. Kuroo couldn't wait to have a shower.

Lowering his mop, Kuroo stepped back warily, casting a glance over to the last few metres of his assigned section. When he looked back at Yaku, Yaku nodded seriously at him, mock-sheathing his mop into an invisible scabbard by his side. Kuroo bit down on the side of his mouth to hide the extent of his grin; Yaku's motion was awkward, given the length of the mop when compared to a sword and the length of his arms, but it only added more amusement to the mediocre joke.

As Yaku spun around, set on finishing his last dry streak by the entrance doors, Kuroo felt an alarming stream of fondness flow into his chest. He blinked. Did he… like hanging out with Yaku?

His eyes tracked Yaku's scampering behind the mop. They'd reached an understanding in first year; but that hadn't been friendship. That had been a compromise, a recognition of the same drive in the other to win, win, and keep winning. Kai had been the buffer between them, the mutual connection that allowed them to stop from storming off in the middle of an argument about where to go for dinner, what colour the festival streamers should be for the volleyball club, which idol was the best at dancing. Stripped of Kai's presence, Kuroo had never anticipated not being so infuriated by Yaku's stubbornness that he had to walk away for his own sanity. When had that changed to enjoying Yaku's company?

A squeak sounded as Yaku's shoes rotated on the court, bringing Kuroo back to the ground and the reality that he wasn't going home until the court was clean.

And yet—

"Hey," Kuroo called out. "Yakkun?"

It echoed unnaturally in the vacant gym. A split second after, Kuroo realised he hadn't needed to use his name—who else could he have been calling for?

"What?"

It must've gone by unnoticed by Yaku; Kuroo allowed himself a moment of relief. That ended as soon as Yaku frowned, impatient at Kuroo's delay.

"If you're not gonna say anything, why'd you call me? If you're trying to annoy me, you don't have to try. It's natural for you."

"Hey!" Kuroo protested, crossing the court to be a few paces closer to Yaku. "I have something to say, if you'd be patient enough to wait for a single second."

"Then say it."

Yaku tilted a hand on his hip, giving him a warning look that implied if Kuroo stalled any longer, the next attack with the mop wouldn't be a playful spar.

"Thanks for…" Kuroo rubbed the back of his neck. The words were sticking in his throat, but he owed Yaku—his friend— gratitude. "Thanks for stepping in to defend me last week."

Yaku blinked his big eyes at him, then they narrowed, suspicious.

"What do you want."

"I don't want anything!" Kuroo insisted. His hand tightened around his mop. "I'm genuinely thanking you!"

Yaku snorted, spinning away from him. "Yeah, sure."

"Can't you just say 'no problem' like a normal person?"

"It is a problem! I got a week of extra cleaning duty!"

Kuroo had to take a breath. Did Yaku have a single millilitre of grace in his body? Even a picolitre would be a surprise. Maybe an atom. No, smaller still. An electron. Kuroo shook his head at Yaku's back. Still too big.

Every time Kuroo thought him and Yaku were coming to some sort of understanding, he'd throw Kuroo off again. Asshole.

Sometimes he'd even make offhand observations that had ran parallel to Kuroo's own thoughts; it had been unsettling at first, to hear his own rationale echoed by someone so bullheaded. Near the end of first year, Kuroo had just about gotten used to it. Either what Yaku said was similar to Kuroo's own thoughts or so far out from them that Kuroo couldn't have predicted it. Yaku Morisuke was a guy of extremes.

"But you still did it," Kuroo said to Yaku's back, levelling his voice. He wasn't going to let Yaku get to him, not this time. He clasped the mop handle to his shoulder, leaning on it. "So take my thanks, would you? I'm starting to feel awkward over here."

"Ha!" Yaku's shoulders shook with his laughter. "Don't tempt me to never accept it!"

"You're a cruel person, Yakkun."

Kuroo was beginning to question if his earlier conclusion of them being friends was correct.

"Weren't you just thanking me? Make up your mind, man." Yaku broke into a jog, running the mop the whole way down the court. "And stop talking so much! We're nearly done, let's get out of here!"

 

 

Rolling the gym door closed, Kuroo was so steeped in his own thoughts that he nearly missed Yaku's words.

If Yaku wasn't so damn loud, he would have.

"You're welcome," Yaku declared, as if it was a very important statement and not a regular response to being thanked.

Locking the gym doors, Kuroo turned around to him, wondering what was wrong with the guy. Just beyond the bottom of the gym steps, Yaku looked up at him with a hand on his hip, almost poised for an argument.

"I decided to accept your thanks," Yaku said, into the space of Kuroo's silence, obviously taking it as hesitation. "So, you're welcome."

Kuroo pocketed his keys. "You're a very strange guy, you know that? Most people would just say 'of course' and move on with their life. Who has ever heard of someone accepting thanks?"

"Well, now you have," Yaku answered, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're welcome for that as well, by the way."

Kuroo couldn't help himself—he laughed in bemusement, shaking his head as he dropped down the two steps to join Yaku.

"What?"

Stepping into Kuroo's side, Yaku jostled him, his tone edging on being defensive. His shoulder could never quite reach Kuroo's shoulder, but that didn't stop him trying, wedging an elbow in behind Kuroo's arm to attempt to pierce his ribcage.

"Nothing," Kuroo insisted, solely for the reason that he knew it'd annoy Yaku. "What if I don't accept your acceptance of my thanks?"

"That's up to you," Yaku responded, breaking away with one last jab to Kuroo's aching ribs. "Nothing'll happen."

"Not even threatening to leave me to the mercy of the third-years next time? Maybe you are sweet after all," Kuroo teased.

Yaku nodded confidently. "The sweetest, and the most handsome on this team. Also the best receiver. Don't skimp on the titles."

They headed towards the school gates, Yaku easily keeping pace with Kuroo's longer stride without Kuroo having to match him. The concrete unwound under Kuroo's feet. He couldn't recall the last time he'd been alone with Yaku without Kai; but they were talking normally, talking lightly, letting words spin out into the chilling air.

Maybe he could ask what he'd been wondering about. Maybe Yaku's tongue wouldn't cut this time.

"Does it bother you?" Kuroo asked.

"Does what bother me?"

Kuroo hesitated, wondering how best to broach the subject, since Yaku was either too dense to pick up on what Kuroo was leading into or deliberately making him say it.

He caught a little bounce in Yaku's step and decided it was the latter. Hunching down slightly, Kuroo dropped his voice, just in case.

"The way our seniors act because you and I are on the starting lineup instead of Nakamura-senpai and Gotou-senpai ," he murmured out. "I can understand why they're unhappy, but it's not like we have a choice. Coach calls those decisions."

A pang; Kuroo wished that Coach Nekomata would return soon. Even though he was young when he trained with him, he still recalled the feeling of being levelled up with a gentle warmth vividly. Their current coach was fine, but he wanted Nekomata, who had a gentle gravity of his own. A softness that lifted you up, made you desire to be better.

"Nope," Yaku replied evenly. "As you said, it's understandable—everyone has their pride, and theirs has been injured. They weren't starters in their second years either, and they haven't gotten good enough to be starters now. That's all there is to it. Why would it bother me?"

Wind feathered across Kuroo's face as they turned out of the school, the pavements deserted this deep into evening.

"What about the team?" Kuroo asked. "Aren't you worried that they'll make things harder for you if you fight back?"

"So what?" Yaku sounded bored now, absently sliding the zip of his gym bag back and forth. "Am I supposed to be scared of a few guys who're gonna be gone in a few months?"

He wasn't getting it. Kuroo dropped his head, running a hand back through his hair.

"I'm not saying we shouldn't stand up for ourselves—"

"But you didn't," Yaku pointed out. "Yeah, they're our upperclassmen, but you can't be stepping carefully around everyone's egos all the time."

"It's not that, it's being considerate," Kuroo answered. "The better chance of success comes from the team being in synch. Talking and understanding each other is key—I'm not saying you have to be friends with them, only put aside your differences on the court."

Kuroo paused, watching a crow peck at a bin's opening.

"Like we did."

"That was different," Yaku interjected. "There's a reason we're starters and our seniors aren't, and it's not only skill. We want to win, Kuroo. They're already defeated." He tapped the side of his skull. "Defeated by other teams and now, us. They don't think of us as a team, so why should I? I'm not going to pander to guys who deal with their own insecurities with cleaning duties. If they're not willing to put aside their pettiness, I'm not gonna try and get along with them."

Yaku's words sounded final.

"To win, we need this team flowing," Kuroo replied, trying anyway. "I understand that they're not the easiest to work with, you know they're giving Kenma a rough time of it too, but it would improve our chances of success. And if we start winning more, I think they'd be in a better mood."

"I don't respect them enough to do that," Yaku admitted.

Scandalised, Kuroo whipped around to face him, his hands outstretching to cover Yaku's mouth.

"You can't say that," he hissed out as Yaku dodged his attempt to shut him up with irritating ease. "They're our seniors!"

Yaku stared flatly at him. His shoulder skimmed against the wall as he straightened up. "Yeah, but you see how they treat Kenma. I don't care for them. Don't tell me that you do either."

Kuroo sighed, his hands finding his hair again, elbows sticking up into the sky.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's unfair. I'm afraid if I say anything, I'll make it worse. So I'm trying to do my best to not piss them off."

It wasn't quite true—Kuroo would intervene in the subtlest ways he could, prying with little distracting questions to draw their attention away from Kenma as he passed by, vouching for Kenma's extra laps, anything he could without bringing their ire down on Kenma harder.

Yaku snorted. "You're too fucking nice. Sometimes people need sense kicked into their asses."

"I don't know if you know this, but it's generally frowned upon to start beating up your upperclassmen," Kuroo commented. "Isn't it better to steer things with a little more finesse rather than head on?"

Yaku made a face. "Yeah, but don't tell me you don't want to punch them sometimes."

Kuroo thought of them forcing Kenma to do another, extra lap around the school for being too slow. A thread of anger pierced his gut. He got it. He did, but his options were limited.

"We just have to persevere," Kuroo decided. "Make the best of what we've got, make it run as smoothly as we can. Annoying them won't make it easier for anyone."

"Ha!" Yaku tilted his head back, his abrupt laugh shooting up into the clouded sky. "Of course you'd think that."

Before Kuroo could reply to his infuriating remark, Yaku lowered his head and fixed blazing eyes upon him, a clear, single-minded gaze that jolted right down Kuroo's spine. He felt like he'd been jabbed between the shoulder blades with a pen, his nerves shocking him, his fingers snapping into fists.

One side of Yaku's mouth was curled in a slight smile, one eyebrow arched a little upwards, as if he was about to throw himself into serve receive practice, over and over and over, relentless. Kuroo forgot what he was irritated about, awed by the resolution in Yaku's eyes. He'd seen it before, whirling between him, Kai and Yaku in their initial joining of the team, in his reflection in the mornings, but never fixed upon him. His pace slowed. He never knew that determination could punch breath out of his lungs.

"Next year we'll show them what Nekoma can do," Yaku said. "When you're the captain, when Nekomata is back, and nobody is stuck up about stupid power plays. We're coming for Nationals and Karasuno and we're beating them all."

Kuroo's chest swelled. He felt like he had when they'd both stepped forwards and declared the same intentions; despite all of their superficial bickering, their goals were aligned exactly. The core of their desires were one.

He nodded, extending a hand in a fist bump.

"That goes without saying."

Yaku bumped it.

Notes:

i love kuroo. hope he won't have to go through anything ever.
thank you to everyone who subbed and commented on the last chapter, you guys are too kind <33333

Chapter 3

Summary:

Kuroo attempts to regain some normalcy.
Yaku has some objections.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

December, 2012

Three months until graduation

End of term exams had been a headache for Kuroo, figuratively and literally, but they were over now. 

He’d managed to push the unconcluded issue of Yaku out of his head enough to focus on study, and Kuroo was fairly sure his name would feature in the top ten of their class ranking. Beating Yaku would be a bonus, but not as delicious as usual. It felt too much like kicking him when he was down, steamrolling over him with a cackle. 

Still, if Kuroo eased off on their competitiveness, he feared that relations between them would become even weirder. If Yaku sensed Kuroo going easy on him because of his crush, he’d kick Kuroo’s ass. Yaku was a guy who rejected any sort of pity with a force akin to a jet taking off. 

Blowing out a breath into the frigid air, Kuroo tried to relax, putting Yaku’s confession out of his mind as much as he could. It clung on like a parasite, gradually eroding away his sense of the present, even when surrounded by bright lights, vendors calling out, the sweet scent of fried goods drifting through the air around them. Children tugged at their parents' sleeves and

Kuroo flexed his fingers within his pockets. Beside him, Kai tucked his chin deeper into the folds of his scarf, layered above a sleek cashmere sweater. 

“Let’s try that one!” 

Under the multi-coloured, flittery lights, Yaku pointed at the festival game that’d caught his eye. Halting, the crowd swirled around him. Lips splitting into dry flakes from the cold, his cheeks reddened and his eager eyes darting between the game, Kai and Kuroo, nobody would guess at his immense, crushing presence on the court.  

His puffy jacket neatly doubled his width, yet nobody even brushed against him. Kuroo rethought his assessment of Yaku; drawing his gaze back to his glowing cheeks. Pinching one of them would annoy Yaku to no end. Kuroo was reaching out to act upon it, despite how ineffective it might be with his gloves on, when Kai batted his arm down, nodding at Yaku. 

“Looks good. Hey, I’ll bet you a curry bun that I can get at least ten prizes. A spicy one.” 

“You’re on!” Yaku declared, spinning around to forge towards the stand. The stand that Kuroo hadn’t even bothered to look at yet. 

He blinked, feeling Kai throw a glance back at him. Had he been that long surveying Yaku? Shaking his head to himself, he followed Kai’s winding path through the mass of bodies. 

Ah, shateki. It was one of Yaku’s favourites — no wonder his eyes were so sparkly. 

Seven stations were separated by a foot of space, an air rifle laying on the red countertop for each station, attached by a thin chain to the wood frame beneath. The snack prizes were scattered amongst shelves of various height, packed closely together, the shiny packaging shimmering under the lanterns, glowing red.

Good luck charms, vibrant and loud, hung along the walls. A completely uninterested teenage girl manned the stand, scrolling her phone to the side of it. A sign hanging from the front stated “NINE BULLETS — 700 YEN. TRADE FOR BIG PRIZES AT FIVE, SEVEN AND NINE HITS.” 

“Hello!” Yaku leaned on the counter, lifting a hand to attempt to get the vendor’s attention. "Can we play, please?" 

As the girl pocketed her phone to move towards the desk, Kuroo's gaze flickered over her, recalling when the vendor hadn't been a young girl but an ageing man, with those spectacles that had iron rims delicately rounding watery, wrinkled eyes. Had that really been so long ago?

 

December, 2010

Winding away from Daishou, Kuroo realised that he had barely had to do anything to win that exchange.

Daishou and his little forming friend group — to Kuroo's surprise, he seemed to be on good terms with people — had tried to rip into them, but were met with Kai's indestructible patience, his rock-solid inner peace and Yaku's sour glare. Kuroo hadn't even needed to aim that many backhanded insults at Daishou before Daishou made an excuse and steered his new high-school friends away.

With a sideways glance at Yaku and Kai, currently debating whether to grab hot chocolate or try another spiced drink, Kuroo got a sense that he had chosen right, that it was Nekoma where he should be for the coming two years. He huffed, his breath white in front of his lips before it vanished within the heat of the crowd.

None of Daishou’s teasing had actually got under Kuroo’s skin. For one, he was crappy at insults. For two, Kuroo had known the guy since he was six, and later, after becoming on good terms with Mika through his sister’s knitting group, he had far more leverage on him than Daishou did on Kuroo. It made it uneven, and Kuroo didn’t like to brandish his superior knowledge often, but it made him secure. Nothing Daishou could throw at him could genuinely irritate him. Half the time they were simply slinging retorts at each other to get a reaction, a ritual that had been honed to perfection, a light spar of verbal insults of fondness, familiarity. 

Not like how Yaku cut. 

The little bastard seemed to revel in being mean to Kuroo, for no other reason but to keep him from getting too comfortable. That suited Kuroo just fine; he didn't like the guy either. The sheer nerve of him to dismiss Kuroo like that, when they'd played one set to deuces in middle school, was beyond frustrating. Was it not sensible to note those interesting players, those who might be a problem in future? Yaku acted like he was above that — simply practicing with the team, and worst of all, getting along with everyone else, bar their upperclassmen. Which was what Kuroo was good at. 

But placed in a room together, without the eyes of their senpais forcing them to be civil, Kuroo couldn't resist the urge to needle at him, ask which Godzilla movie he preferred, to which Yaku would respond that Godzilla was too powerful and boring to watch, he rathered King-Kong. Both would sink their teeth in until Yaku's ears were red and Kuroo felt like strangling him. 

It was nearly like they were created to be opposites; Kuroo was tall, even at fifteen, charismatic and purposeful in his movements, his words, whereas Yaku was stunted and blunt and yet frustratingly polite when he had to be, with a demon-like grin that flashed like a fire alarm right before he plunged a retort right into the base of Kuroo's throat. 

He hated him. He looked forwards to their battles. It was a good thing that they were both utterly focused on dominating Nationals, trying and trying until their plays were worked out, sometimes yelling if their elders weren't around, but in the end, they nailed it. Kuroo narrowed the options; Yaku read which options were left, and moved to the best position to cover as much ground as possible. They were starting to slot together, understanding each other’s drive. 

"Hell yeah!” Yaku exclaimed suddenly, and Kuroo arched an eyebrow down at him. Damn, he could be loud when he wanted to be. 

"What?"

"My favourite game's here!"

Yaku plunged into the crowd, and, after a quick glance exchanged with Kai, they both followed in his direction. Snow fell steadily, enough for Kuroo to brush a thin layer off of his coat sleeve, ensuring not to sprinkle any on one of the kids leading their parents around.

By the time they caught up, Yaku was already chatting to the elderly man working the colourful stall. 

“Wanna play?” Yaku asked them, sporting a large grin. 

As always, he didn't look like he was offering a simple game. He looked as eager as if he was inviting Kuroo into a SAW trap. Beside Kuroo, Kai surveyed the shateki stall, his finger curving around his chin. 

“Hmm…”

Yaku’s gaze turned to Kuroo, a prickle of danger running through Kuroo at the look in his eyes. He held up a hand. 

“I won’t waste my money on these rigged games,” he proclaimed, setting his hands on his waist and feeling morally and economically superior. 

“Coward,” Yaku declared, giving Kuroo a look over his shoulder as he picked up the rifle, and it was more of that look than his words that caused Kuroo to change his mind, that damned challenging glint in his eyes, the slight smug curl of his lips. His sense of superiority over Yaku drained away, flipping to indignation fast.

“If you believe you’re so good at this, beat me,” Kuroo retorted, surging forwards to put his hand on the other rifle. 

“Watch me,” Yaku shot back, cocking back the deadbolt. 

The vendor glanced up, amused. “Two?”

He was holding several corks in his hand, so Kuroo didn’t know what Yaku was cocking the gun for. Likely an intimidation tactic. 

“Three,” Kai said, taking up the last rifle beside Kuroo. He angled it, then raised it to his shoulder, looking down the stock. “I might as well try too.” 

“Twenty one hundred yen,” the vendor said, and Yaku and Kuroo pulled out their wallet at the same time. 

They scowled at each other. Yaku's nose wrinkled in utter distate, causing his eyes to screw up as if to squint Kuroo to death. 

"I'll make my money back anyway," Yaku stated. 

"No you won't," Kuroo responded, unzipping his wallet with force. "I'm covering this to save your dignity." 

He pressed in the sides to open the slit further, peering in. His stomach sank. Oh. 

"Ha!" Yaku brayed out, clearly reading his expression correctly. "You're that broke, huh?"

He handed over the notes to the vendor, while Kuroo bashfully zipped his wallet closed, tucking it away in his back pocket. He'd paid for Kenma's snacks on the way home from school, and had forgotten to ask his Dad for more to go to the festival with before heading out again. 

As the vendor doled out the "bullets," Kai nudged his side. "I can loan you some, if you want. This probably won't be the last game." 

"I'm good."

Kuroo's cheeks were horribly warm, picking up on the mean grin Yaku shot his way out of the corner of his eye. 

He exhaled, trying to shake off the humiliation and focus on the game in front of him. One last time, Yaku stuck out his tongue at him, then turned back to the stall, lifting the rifle to his shoulder. Where had he learned how to shoot? Kai was still loading, as was Kuroo, Yaku hopping from foot to foot as they filled the chamber, impatient. 

Kuroo deliberately took his time, revelling in how Yaku grew increasingly frustrated. When he became angry, his upper cheeks and ears flushed a deep red. Kuroo had always thought that if he touched them, the heat from his skin would be searing, would scorch a mark into his flesh. Although he knew that idea wasn't logical, it didn't stop him thinking of it every time he noticed Yaku's skin darken. Didn’t stop him wanting to find out the truth. 

Eventually, after Kai was kept waiting a while, Kuroo stepped up to the stand, lifting the gun. 

"Good luck," the man wished them, and stepped clear of the range. 

As he aimed, Kuroo felt a kick against his shin. A dull ache settling in,  he glanced at Yaku, who was focused on his target. Then, he looked down to where Yaku's shoe had landed over his own, his heavy winter boot eating into the top of Kuroo's sneakers. Beside him, he heard a pop as Kai shot. 

"Whatever happened to good sportsmanship?" Kuroo lamented, jerking his foot free of Yaku's. 

Yaku's nose was scrunched up, pretending not to hear Kuroo in his concentration, and Kuroo waited until he was about to shoot before squeezing his own trigger, pretending to stumble from the titchy recoil, and jammed the butt of his rifle against the side of Yaku's shoulder. His shot went off-kilter, nearly hitting the wooden sides of the tent. 

"Hey!" Yaku snapped out, and once again, Kuroo heard the sound of Kai shooting beside him, but at that moment, he was focused on the satisfaction he felt at seeing Yaku go so red that Kuroo felt sure the air around him would start steaming. 

"Oh, my apologies." Kuroo laid a hand over his chest. "My mistake. It was the recoil — I didn't mean to, same as you didn't mean to step on my foot."

"Oh really?" Yaku's canines flashed at him. "I think a bullet might just rebound and hit your thick skull. Then again, I doubt it'd do any damage."

He turned back to the game, and, upon the following attempt to shoot, Kuroo's elbow snuck in under his ribs. Another abrupt noise as Kai shot again. The man was watched them tussle for the remainder of the game, perhaps worrying about a possible lawsuit if they began turning their guns on each other, but he had nothing to worry about. Kuroo had much more fun feigning a roll of his ankle to stagger against Yaku as he tried to shoot, hearing his yell of disgust. 

In the end, Kai won a major prize, and both Kuroo and Yaku emerged sweaty and empty-handed. To Kuroo's surprise, he hadn't minded that much.

 

December, 2012

As Kuroo watched Yaku shoot down the fifth small prize in a row, he realised he’d gotten better at that game over the past two years. By the seventh, he whistled his approval, leaning over Yaku's shoulder to see better.

He hovered his chin just above his shoulder, the cool puffiness of his jacket brushing his growing stubble. Sensing he’d be more comfortable if he wrapped his arms around Yaku’s waist, he almost did it, his fingertips brushing along the smooth material of Yaku’s jacket before he caught himself. What was he doing?

He whistled once more, sharp.

"Damn, have you got one of these at home?"

Yaku jolted away from him, his lips folding out and his nose up into a scowl. He half-twisted around, glowering up at Kuroo, who straightened up with a blink. Stepping back, he let Yaku's vicious elbow whistle past the front of his jacket.

"You’re distracting me on purpose, aren’t you?” 

"There are people waiting behind you," the girl said flatly. 

Holding up his hands, Kuroo retreated. "All yours." 

As Yaku held up the rifle again, the end of it quivered. His next shot nicked the edge of a biscuit box, which wobbled, but refused to fall. Yaku let out an irritated 'tch,' as he aimed for the another one, at the top right. His flushed cheek squished up against the side of the rifle, his shoulders hunched up in focus. Even though Kuroo couldn't see his face, he knew that his tongue was poking out the left corner of his mouth. 

"I'm on the edge of my seat," Kai commented, and Kuroo grinned. 

“Really? I find it quite boring.” 

"Quiet," Yaku told him, not turning around. 

He pulled the trigger. The bullet bounced off the wood of the shelf below the line of prizes. Yaku clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he put down the rifle. The moment before it hit the wooden surface, it shook. Kuroo felt… vindicated. Had he done that? Did he really have that sort of power over Yaku? Yaku? 

He'd never even factored that into his interactions before, that he could make Yaku Morisuke nervous.

"Cool. That's seven, so you can get any of the prizes on the middle shelf," the girl told him, gesturing to the stacked shelves to the side. 

"That one, please." Yaku pointed. 

“Sure.” 

"Thank you!" Yaku said as the girl handed him a medium plushie, a grey curled up cat, maybe usable as a doorstop, or a decorative pillow. 

“Nice one,” Kuroo grinned out, leaning his forearm on Yaku’s shoulder. "Maybe you should turn pro in shooting instead."

It was a surefire way to make him mad, which in turn always made Kuroo snicker to himself, watching Yaku’s ears grow red with his predictable annoyance. It amused him to no end, despite running the risk of having Yaku jump onto him, even in the middle of all of these people. 

And it would be a usual, safe, normal exchange between them.

Yaku violently wrenched his upper body away. With his armrest gone from under him, Kuroo nearly pitched over, shock punching his chest.

“Wha —“

All he saw was the back of Yaku’s head as he stalked off. Somehow, despite clinging onto the cat plushie at his side, Yaku managed to exude an air of indignation. Whatever sense of normality Kuroo had sensed between them was ripped apart, and he didn’t understand. Wasn’t this what Yaku wanted? To get things back to their usual rhythm, regain their regular friendship and banter? 

“Might you have pushed him a bit too far?” Kai asked.

“I… Well, no more than usual…” Kuroo trailed off. "Or, what I thought was our usual."

Kai gave him a certain Look that Yaku liked to call the “I could make other friends,” stare. It wasn’t too different from his usual zen expression, only a quirk of the eyebrows up, which somehow changed his dark eyes from approachable to seeing right through you. Meaning that Kuroo should know better. 

Yaku was often the target of The Look, more times than Kuroo even, and the shame that engulfed Kuroo upon knowing that it was for him alone this time made his cheeks warm.

“I wasn’t trying to annoy him,” Kuroo protested.

Kai continued giving The Look.

“… that much.”

So Morisuke doesn’t have feelings now? 

Kuroo’s heart sank. He just wanted things back to normal, but maybe… 

What was normal?

“Kai,” Kuroo said, running a hand back through his hair. "I think Yakkun may have become grumpier with age. I didn't think that was possible."

“I won’t say this often, but go easy on him,” Kai replied, being nudged slightly farther away from Kuroo by the flow of people pushing past them.

Kuroo swallowed, wondering if he should've been more considerate of Yaku's current circumstances. But somewhere — somehow deep down, he hadn't believed it.

Yaku couldn’t be romantically attracted to him. It wasn’t a self esteem issue — Kuroo didn’t have a low opinion of himself. He owned a mirror, had watched himself grow into the lankiness of his body over the years, muscles rounding out his skinny form into lithe. He liked to believe he was personable enough to be appealing. He hadn’t had any evidence to the contrary.  Girls had confessed to him before, mostly ones he’d talked to a few times, and he’d made a few attempts at dating, but…

This was Yaku. 

Kuroo was having difficulty matching the concept of someone being attracted to him and that someone being Yaku Morisuke. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why. Yaku would snip at his nerves and Kuroo on his. Yes, they had drawn closer together, but Yaku had always treated him with a sort of vague hostility, nothing like the nervous excitement Kuroo had sensed from girls who’d asked him on a date. Wait, more than just vague animosity. Wasn’t there that time where —

 

July, 2010

 

“Stop doing that.”

Yaku's whisper was so full of fury it barely counted as a whisper. His anger caught Kuroo off guard, cascading down his front, his own rising to meet it, shove back.

“What?” 

“You're leering.” 

“I can’t help it. It’s how tall I am.”

“Kai is nearly as tall as you and he doesn’t do it. You do it on purpose.”

“Well, if that’s what you think, nothing I say will change your stubborn mind.” Kuroo pointedly leered a little more over Yaku. “Why bother?” 

“I’m giving you one warning,” Yaku stated, glaring up at Kuroo. “One.” 

“Or what.” 

Pain exploded in Kuroo’s shin, and he gasped, hunching over to grab at his leg. 

“You little demon!” He spluttered out, trying to soothe the throbbing along his leg. At the same time, he reached out and grabbed Yaku’s shirt just above his collarbones, yanking him in a fraction to shove him away. 

Yaku staggered back a step, but from his vicious, satisfied grin, it felt like no victory to Kuroo. Setting his foot down again and straightening up, he lunged for Yaku, unsure of what he was going to do but knowing that he couldn’t let that slide. Yaku would smell his weakness and overwhelm him like a typhoon, snatching him up in his never-ending current of sharp remarks and elbows. 

“Ha! Not so tall now, are you?” 

Twisting away from his groping hand, Yaku’s grin only grew, and Kuroo’s temper — something he barely knew he had until Yaku entered his life — blazed, shooting hot adrenaline through him. 

“Running away from a fight? I never thought you were such a coward,” Kuroo goaded, hoping to reel Yaku into a fight with his pride. 

“It wouldn’t be much of a fight, trust me.” Yaku braced his tongue against the backs of his teeth. “I bet my team beat yours by a lot. It wasn’t even memorable. This fight would be no different.”

“Oh, yeah?” Kuroo snarled out, his composure breaking. “Come here and we’ll find out.” 

“Nah.” Yaku’s eyes sparkled, full of vivacious life. It was unfair how big and pretty they were. “We’ve got practice, and Nationals to win. It’s pretty lame of you to waste time fighting when we could be working on that.” 

Kuroo had to fight himself, his jaw aching from how hard he was gritting his teeth, from kicking out at Yaku. The nimble bastard would probably just dodge it anyways. 

Blowing out a long, measured breath, he glowered at the grinning demon, who stuck out his tongue and set his hands on his hips, looking proud of himself. As if there was anything to be proud of. 

“Then,” Kuroo managed to control his voice through a haze of anger. He didn't have to do that often. “I think you’d better get back to practising before I break your leg.” 

“Ha!” Yaku snorted. “Like you could do that.” 

“I'm more than willing to try.”

Cocking a hip, Yaku pursed his lips and blew him a mocking kiss. 

“Save the foreplay for later.” 

Another surge of rage in Kuroo; that was his strategy. He was learning how to get under opponents’ skins, and yet Yaku seemed to reserve all of his jabs for Kuroo alone. They were like sandpaper, but instead of filing each other’s edges away, they sharpened them. Kuroo prided himself on getting along with people, but Yaku Morisuke evaded his instincts for that.

Maybe it was because of how thoroughly his team had rampaged over his in middle school, how he'd seen his teammates cry with frustration when their best efforts didn't work out, but he simply wanted to see Yaku shaken. At least a little, but he hadn't yet figured out a way to do it. 

He glowered at him, unaware that over the next three years, his desire to would dwindle to nothing. 

 

December, 2012

Kuroo nearly preferred it when Yaku had been elbowing him in the ribs or slamming his foot into his shin. It had been something tangible, proof that Yaku wasn’t hiding his annoyance from him. Running away left a bad taste in Kuroo’s mouth. Yaku didn't do that; he'd never even considered that he could.

Fuck, he'd misjudged. Badly, this time. Kuroo's stomach plunged.

Kai stroked his chin. “I heard that the curry buns are better this year. Maybe we could swing by?” 

Kuroo clicked his fingers at him. “Have I ever told you what a great idea man you are before?” 

“You could mention it more.” 

 

They found Yaku sitting on a bench, just outside the festival grounds, one knee pulled up to his chest. His chin rested on it. Kuroo couldn’t see his face, but he knew it was him, even without the toy under the crook of his arm. He had always hunched his shoulders like that when he was thinking. 

The unfamiliarity of the situation weighed on the back of Kuroo’s neck, like the cold air was crushing his spine. Yaku rarely stormed off like this, even when Lev was getting on his nerves, even when Kuroo was snipping at him. He got angry, but it was never serious. It never felt like a stone in Kuroo’s gut. 

“Hey.” Coming alongside the bench, Kuroo nudged Yaku’s shoulder with his elbow. “Got some curry buns.” 

Kai rounded to the other side of the bench, seating himself beside Yaku with a satisfied exhale, munching on his own set of buns. The heat from them made a cloud above the bag, sticking to Kai’s fingers. 

Yaku tilted his head, regarding him out of the corner of his eye. “Good for you.” 

Silently, Kuroo held out the open bag in front of Yaku’s chin. He had to be smelling that delicious, mouth-watering scent. Kai had been right; they were better this year. 

Yaku turned his head more, squinting up at him. His cheeks were dusted with redness. Kuroo offered him a soft smile of apology, rustling the paper bag back and forth, as enticingly as he could. 

With a sigh, Yaku scooped the entire bag from Kuroo’s grasp and dipped a hand in. 

“That wasn’t all for—“ Kuroo started.

Yaku shot him a murderous glower out of the side of his eye. Kuroo shut his mouth.

As Yaku devoured Kuroo’s hard-bought buns, they sat there, watching the passer-bys. During Yaku’s running commentary on people going past — punctuated by his noisy eating — Kuroo tried to decide if he was forgiven for distracting Yaku or not. He settled on maybe. He’d have to watch himself around Yaku, for the first time ever. 

Kuroo had never been so aware of the space between their shoulders before. 

 

July, 2011

It was a sticky day, the sort of heat that wraps around you and clings, suffocating your pores as if it was trying to push your sweat back into your body. 

As he blew out a breath, Kuroo detached the front of his jersey from his chest with an unpleasant sucking noise. He didn’t know why he bothered. Soon as he dove for a receive, it would be pasted onto his front again. 

Sending a glance to his right, he saw Bokuto slam down a hefty straight, sailing over Masaki’s reaching hands. He landed on one foot and spun around to celebrate, pumping his fists in the air. The first year setter — Akaashi, if Kuroo recalled correctly, and he usually did — clapped politely, nodding along. He didn’t even have dark bags of sweat under his armpits, never mind what Kuroo was currently enduring. The double doors of the gym being splayed open did nothing. The air was dead, rejecting even the concept of a breeze. 

A thump of the ball off of the court drew Kuroo’s attention back to the current game in front of him. They closed it out with a struggle. Shinzen High was never an easy team to play against, but that was why they were here — to improve. Kuroo wanted victory so badly it tasted like blood on his teeth. Then again, he may just be bleeding. 

Crouching down, Kuroo dribbled some of his water onto his towel, dampening it just enough so it didn’t drip onto the court. Then he wrung the towel around the back of his neck with a sigh of relief. Konoha had taught him that trick last year, and Kuroo had been everlastingly grateful for it. 

He reflexively looked around for Kenma; it had been odd being split up for the first time since they’d become best friends. Kuroo was happy that Kenma had decided to attend Nekoma as well, even more glad that he kept up volleyball. Every atom in his body hoped that Kenma was enjoying it, that the good times he had outweighed the bad; but Kuroo had very little proof but instinct, his finely crafted sense of Kenma’s inner workings, to prove that. 

He found Kenma slumped on a bench across the court, in his usual dismal posture, with Yaku, of all people, bending over him. His back was blocking most of Kuroo’s view of Kenma, so he broke into a jog between the two pairs of courts, coming to a stop beside Yaku. 

“Everything okay?” 

“Kenma’s not feeling well,” Yaku answered, the back of his palm flat to Kenma’s forehead. His eyebrows were deeply furrowed. “I think he’s running a fever.” 

Kuroo knelt in front of Kenma, wrapping his hand around his wrist, noting the heat of the inside of it. 

"How do you feel?" he asked Kenma, whose cheeks were flushed dark. 

Sweat beaded on his nose, and Kuroo knew his answer before he even said anything. 

"Bad," Kenma replied. He drew a leg up to his chest, hugging it. "Too warm. I hate the summer." 

“I’ll go get some water,” Yaku said, trotting off. 

Kuroo observed Yaku out of the corner of his eye, intrigued at his honest concern for Kenma; he’d been nervous when Kenma had joined, about growing pains when integrating into the team, and had privately been worried about Yaku’s blunt nature. But Kenma seemed to respond to Yaku’s straightforwardness, stripped of the harshness that he reserved for Kuroo. Kai had been welcoming too, polite as ever, including Kenma whenever he stood off to the sides. Yamamoto and Kenma however… well, Kuroo didn’t know if they’d ever get along. He was thankful for Fukunaga’s balanced presence; in a way, he was similar to Kai, keeping them on an even keel. 

Against his shin, Kenma wound his hands together. Kuroo noted the thick layer of sweat on them with growing worry. Kenma didn't particularly sweat, even when he was being forced to run faster by their upperclassmen, and in training camp, Kuroo suspected he wasn't going all out. 

“Take it easy tomorrow,” Kuroo told him. “If anyone says anything, just tell them that you’re observing —“ 

“What’s wrong? You’re holding up practice.” 

Gotou. Kuroo had made his judgement on him from his look of contempt when Yaku and Kuroo had declared their ambition to win Nationals when joining up first. Nothing he had done since a year ago had swayed Kuroo's opinion of him. 

“He’s come down with a fever,” Kuroo explained, craning his head up. “Is there somewhere he can rest?” 

“Just take it easy, you’ll be fine.”

"I don't think —" Kuroo began.

He was interrupted by footsteps slamming up to them. Yaku wound in between their senpai and Kuroo, holding out a bottle of water to Kenma. 

“He can’t go on,” Yaku cut in as Kenma unscrewed the top of the bottle and started gulping. “Sorry, Gotou-senpai, but I know the signs. My brother got sunstroke once — any more heat and he might faint.” 

A dismissive roll of his eyes. “Kenma, what do you think?”

Kenma ducked his head and said nothing. 

“Just take it easy,” Gotou repeated. He was barely sweating. “You don’t move around much anyways, so it shouldn’t be an issue.”

As he left, Yaku and Kuroo exchanged a glance. Kenma shifted. Yaku clamped a hand down on his shoulder. 

“Stay here. Don’t move, we’ll find a place for you to rest,” he said, stealing the sentiment directly out of Kuroo’s head. 

"Yeah." Kuroo felt Kenma's cheek with the back of his hand, his fingertips ghosting against his newly bleached hair. His hair felt too thin, too light. "Go somewhere where you can't be seen, and I'll text you when we've found somewhere, okay?"

Kenma nodded, fiddling with his interlaced fingers, flexing them back and forth in his lap. "Okay."

 

“He’s on the verge of quitting already, y’know,” Kuroo mentioned as they roamed through the complex, Yaku by his side, occasionally peeking into rooms to see if they were suitable. 

“Really?” Yaku withdrew his head from a doorway, shaking it to indicate to keep going. “That’d be a shame. He’s sharp — everything I’ve told him about defence, I’ve only had to tell him once, and he’s noted some things about spikers that even I’ve missed.” 

Kuroo felt a deep pulse of pride. He knew that Kenma was smart, of course, but it was nice that Yaku saw it too, that all of their teammates didn’t only see Kenma’s unwillingness to move any more than the bare minimum. He’d have to tell Kenma later what Yaku said. It bode well for the future — once the third years retired, it would be him, Kai and Yaku guiding the team, and Kuroo swore he'd never be like their upperclassmen. To see Yaku's consideration for Kenma swept him with utter relief. 

“He’s the most intelligent guy I know,” Kuroo said, trying another door. “I know if he was on the team, we’d get further with his brains than ever before. I can feel it.” 

Yaku snorted. “Alright, psychic.” 

“It’s a soothsayer, actually.”

“Whatever, nerd.”

“Wasn’t the plan to dominate Nationals?” Kuroo mentioned mildly. “Nothing’s changed, has it? Having Kenma with us will help a lot, and I think he’s getting something from this, too. Even if he doesn’t say it.”

“Yeah,” Yaku said. “Sunstroke, if we don’t find somewhere he can lie down.”

“You know what I mean,” Kuroo leered, and Yaku flashed one of his teasing grins up at him. 

It wasn’t as sharp as usual, tempered with an easy fondness that took Kuroo off guard. It was as if he’d glimpsed a crack in Yaku’s sternness towards him. Beyond that hostility was a care that Kuroo hadn’t thought Yaku was capable of. Not at him, in any case. It made Kuroo’s hackles settle a little, his instinctive bristling dampening down.

“Yeah, yeah,” Yaku was saying. “Let’s focus on the job on hand before we get yelled at for ditching too.”  

“You and I both know we will.” 

Yaku shrugged. “So be it. Another lap of flying receives won’t do us any harm.” 

“You’re a masochist.” 

“And you’re not? You’re here too.”

“Yeah, but Kenma’s my best friend…” Kuroo trailed off. Damn, why was Yaku here with him? He could’ve gotten back to practice, washed his hands of the situation without any punishment. “It’s… nice of you to do this.” 

“The hell?” Yaku wrinkled up his nose. “Don’t say stuff like that. It sounds weird.” He paused. There was a patter of balls against the court, but it all seemed very distant to Kuroo. He was watching how Yaku chewed on the side of his thumb as he thought. “When Jiro went down with sunstroke, it took him days to recover. It’d be better for everyone if Kenma didn’t have to sit out the rest of camp.” 

“And are you sure it’s sunstroke?” Kuroo asked.

He estimated that this was the longest he’d ever been with Yaku without them being sidetracked by a silly squabble. To his surprise, Kuroo had no desire to start one, either. It was nice to talk to Yaku like this. Like they were teammates.

“Yeah.” Yaku nodded. “Definitely the starting signs, anyways. My mom’s a nurse, so she taught me all of the common things to look out for.” He pulled a face. “I should’ve picked up on it sooner with Jiro too, but I was careless.”

He stated as fact, without bitterness or regret. Kuroo had always known that he was upfront, but somehow now, as Yaku stated his failures, he intrigued Kuroo. If he was being honest, he was a little impressed. Arching his eyebrows, he pried further. 

“You care for your brothers a lot?”

It felt a little strange to be inquiring about Yaku’s home life without Kai present — anything Kuroo knew usually was the result of them chatting. But Kuroo didn’t stop himself from asking — he was curious to see what circumstances drove Yaku to be… Yaku. Why he was here helping him and not on the court, when he'd spent hours honing his receives, when he was missing out on valuable experience.

“My mom works as many shifts as she can. And I’m the eldest, so…” Yaku shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.” 

As he peered into another room, his eyes lit up. “Oh, I think I see a mat in here! Kenma’d be fine with that, yeah?” 

“Kenma could sleep on a wooden board when he’s tired,” Kuroo affirmed, following Yaku into the room. 

It was dark and cool, chairs stacked in one corner, with a few gymnastic mats stowed away in another. 

“Perfect,” Kuroo declared, striding over to the mats. “Will you —“

“Fetch Kenma, yeah, yeah, I got it,” Yaku interrupted him, already heading back out the door. 

Kuroo rolled his eyes to nobody. Impatient as always. If someone met Yaku outside the court, his stillness on the court would shock them. 

As he yanked the mats down, Kuroo thought about Yaku’s concern for Kenma, how he took on responsibility for his well-being without any prompting. He hadn’t ever seen that side of Yaku before, but he supposed it made sense, with Yaku being the eldest. Maybe it was something that came naturally to him after growing up with two younger brothers. Casting his mind back, Kuroo tried to recall if Yaku had ever mentioned his father, or any Dad, and came up empty. 

Kuroo slid one mat on top of the other, feeling a tug of empathy. He couldn’t imagine life without his Dad. Then again, maybe Yaku couldn’t imagine life without his Mom. Considering that made something in Kuroo's chest tug towards Yaku. 

With a sigh, he shook his head. Empathising with a demon? He was growing soft.

Notes:

having the capacity to actually do regular updates is crazy to me... i keep adding extra scenes though :')
thank you so much to everyone reading, it means a lot to have people follow along with a multi-chapter fic !! and a special shoutout to those who comment, hope u guys find a tenner on the street today <3

also, would you guys like if I added like, second / third year clarifiers to the headings or is it clear enough what year they're in?