Archive of Our Own

Kuroo was a man.

If his sharp, yet rugged facial features weren't enough, the lack of care for his disheveled hair definitely was.

Distracting, if anything.

Daichi couldn't deny how captivating he was the first time he saw him. How he ran his fingers through his messy grade of hair like it was nothing. Easy, how his black hair shined in the sun. Pitch black.

He breathes out heavy with a hand blocking the sun. It was scorching, but Daichi didn’t mind. It felt good stepping into the heat after being on the bus for so long. Felt good to feel the sunshine sinking into his pores once again.

He smiles on the last step of the bus, looking straight ahead.

This was summer camp. Simple and easy.

Team Nekoma stood about twenty feet away waiting for them in an uncoordinated line. A range of foreign facial expressions: moody, tired, and anxious. 

However, he who stands at end catches his eye the most.

Daichi could tell he was the captain just by looking at him. Just by how he crossed his arms, composed and cordial, like he didn't have to center himself in the middle. 

And he's so cool he doesn't have to say anything.

"Uh-" There's a pause between them, and Daichi reaches out his hand out of pure habit.

"Sawamura."

He looks at him, hair pitch black. 

“Kuroo,” he says with a smirk.

He shakes it back.

And maybe it was the harsh transition from cold to hot, but the self-assured act is already old. Daichi internally eye-rolls the moment he licks his lips. The moment he smirks like he owns the pavement Karasuno walks on.

He claims this territory just with a lower to his gaze, meeting Daichi's, who was slightly shorter than him.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Same to you.”

He smiles back, earnestly.

He’s full of it.

When they situate themselves on the mats, they put down their bags. He’d taken the time out of his day yesterday to organize, so it'd be easier to go through now.

However, he frowns now pulling his clothes from his bag. They're wrinkled.

Once they enter the gymnasium, there's already numbered jerseys waiting for them on the bleachers where the other teams reside. Purple, red, green, and pink. Those are their colors. Blue is theirs—the best color.

He’s given jersey number one.

They form a line, and Daichi stands in place, arms crossed, as Coach counts them. Mr. Takeda scribbles every name he murmurs in his clipboard. His eyes scan the team every now and then.

Suga’s complaining about how humid it is behind him, somewhat expecting a response, but Daichi says nothing, distracted, looking around. A habit he’d caught some time ago. He'd like to say it was his way of feeling out the room.

But It doesn't work in his favor this time, unfortunately, because somewhere along the lines, through the multiple players, tall, buff, and short, his eyes find his, and suddenly all he can think of is fuzzy black bangs.

His eyes drift.

Golden hazel eyes. They’re striking, even from across the gym floor. It catches Daichi off guard because he stops whispering to the short blonde boy behind him, just to look his way.

He smiles; a cool wave to his hand, a cool demeanor. Magnetic gaze, with all his molars, showing. He tilts his head playfully to the side while his friend gives him a judgemental look.

Daichi acts like he doesn’t see him.

Basic etiquette is given before the match.

He shakes hands with Bokuto as their teams gather around under the net to meet in the middle.

They do the friendly banter. The casual smack talk. Bokuto spouts a few childish insults, and he does the same. After all, he wasn’t above friendly competition.

Until it isn't.

The moment the whistle blows, they jump. That’s when the fun is over. When the smile leaves Bokuto's face.

He smacks the ball overhead like it really means something. Daichi, who was prepared for everything, is caught off guard.

He receives the ball with a steady upper hand, but it’s not good enough to make up for the lack of preparation. His feet stagger backward.

"Shit" he hisses under his breath.

The whistles in the back remind him every time he misses. That it isn't just him witnessing his own loss. There were other people seeing this too.

He pants heavy, now, realizing this is a losing streak. That he's the one leading this.

It makes it hard to focus on the balls flying toward him. Nishinoya's reflexes are reliable enough to save a few murderous serves, but it’s not enough to save a whole disharmonious team.

The birds chirp outside.

"It's okay." He eases them, just a few feet from the steep incline of the grass hill. He's got a healthy stance, and understanding hands.

Their punishment for losing was to jog, and he can tell his words are going in his underclassmen's ear and out the other, the way their arms cross. The moody faces tell more truth than he can when Coach Ukai asks what went wrong.

His eyes slipped somewhere they shouldn't have. The forbidden fruit that waited on the other side.

This is nothing, he tells himself. However, that doesn't make the rising pulse in his heartbeat any slower.

"It’s only our first game." He ensures, and he uses his soft voice, now, like it matters. Not in the time they needed it, not when they were actually losing points.

But it's fine. He’d practiced this moment in his mirror.

"We'll win it next time."

He lied.

Shinzen beats them effortlessly. Each point is a blur after another, along with the sound of feet skidding together on the shiny gym floor. Daichi blinks profusely, trying to wipe the sweat off.

He isn’t mad. Maybe annoyed. But not mad. 

"Good game."

"Good game."

He didn't get mad. This was a fair game. They hadn't cheated, hadn't done any of the dirty tricks.

Karasuno lost. Simple as that, and he would shake hands like the good sport he was.

He almost wish they had, so it could make this moment more bearable.

“I had a great time.”

“Me too.”

And as much as he fights the urge to stop, his eyes search his, and he can't help but note the plaque on the edges of his teeth; the yellow steaks in his canines that spread when he smiles. The unwarranted wrinkles on his teenage face.

That's how he knows it's genuine. This is real encouragement he's giving him. A real handshake, unlike someone else.

And sure, He knows he shouldn’t nitpick these things, but he does, because it makes the loss feel a little more normal. The anger dies when there's something else to be taken apart. Something else to address other than the fact he couldn't properly lead his team.

Daichi nods before he heads out the double doors. He discreetly presses on the hand sanitizer next to the exit, not bothering to hold back the dirty frown over his shoulder.

They couldn't see it this far away anyways.

He walks the same path he once did, and it makes him bitter. That was normal, wasn’t it? It's normal to feel disheartened after losing.

Normal, to recognize the invisible cloud that looms over them and swirls above in a mind-numbing cycle, repeating the same message over and over, till it's beating him in the head.

"Great job, dumbass." Kageyama mutters, under his breath. The grass crunches, dead, under their feet. Daichi is barely conscious enough to spare a glance.

They get a few steps in before the air goes dead; no more wind to filter out the haste in his voice. The crows fly overhead in an unwavering circle.

There's a long pause before Hinata registers it—even double takes, because he's a little farther to the left, next to Suga, who minds his business.

"What?" He asks.

The crow caws.

"Nothing." He says, but the mean headshake says differently. It says that he's too dumb to catch an insult when it's thrown.

Hinata squints.

“...How is it my fault?”

There's a collective sigh from the team.

Daichi's mouth straightens to a line.

During losses, they are affected the worst. They symbolize compromise within the team, in the times when it matters— a black cat and golden retriever.

On the good days, they tolerate each other just enough to make an alliance, an unspoken pact, but when the situation is dire, they turn against each other like long lost enemies.

"Those were the worst spikes I've ever seen."

Hinata's freckled face crinkles hurt.

"I was trying my best—" he says. It's soft, but defensive; his sensitive trademark.

"Not enough, apparently."

His mouth twists. "You are such an ass, you know that?"

The heavy anvil drops. Their forces have collided.

" I wouldn't boast about those robotic serves either, you know!"

"My serves are fine. You're the screw-up!"

Hinata huffs, balled fists.

"At least this screw-up can properly communicate with the rest of the team!"

"Guys —" Suga interjects, tired, from the prior game.

" I can communicate perfectly fine." he laughs, condescending

"Yeah. "

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You think so, King?"

His blue eyes scream.

"Guys —!"

Kageyama starts breathless. "Why don't you just focus on getting an actual goal instead throwing up everywhere and embarrassing this whole team!"

"Guys!"

They pause, frozen in place, side by side, chest rising up and down, adrenaline spiked, shared disdain for each other—Daichi raises his single hand, assertive, like he's done something. He's looking more at Kageyama than Hinata as he does it.

"Stop." he says.

It's a single word. A single intention.

They tense at his dark tone. It's furious but calm. However, the message has been reached, finally. They zip their lips. Finally. They're listening.

He gets the final say. No one else.

“Just stop.”

It's afternoon.

They're set to play one last game, and he'd been scratching his forearms for redemption.

Pregame hives weren’t unusual to his nature, but neither was admitting helplessness.

As much as he could explain, he knew nobody would truly get it. That it was volleyball camp and not a championship. That there was room for mistakes to be made and not the other way around. That was the purpose of this, after all. To practice. But that didn't mean he felt any less inferior when he missed the ball. Bugged about the way he set it when he squatted wrong. Hit it wrong.

He gets hit in the face, overhead, after studying it too long. The way it spins in the air. How it shines a soft red when the blaring gym lights hit it just right.

With a lazy grimace in his eyes, he digs his fingers deep into his palms afterward, embarrassed.

"My bad." He tells them.

It's harder to stand in front of the rest and call himself a captain when the ball doesn't make it across. It bounces off the net, where he's left to reflect on his mistakes. He had an irrational fear sometimes, that someone would snatch his position the moment he left space for error.

And as ridiculous as the thought is, it's always lingered in the back of his head. Before grade school. Elementary. Conception.

"Pass me the ball!" He yells. It's hurried enough for people to pass it off as exhaustion, rather than panic.

He was a workaholic by default. Not a lot of people saw that. Only Suga, when he stayed too long over at his house and witnessed how he stressed over loads of homework. And no, he didn't cry about it, he fixed it.

"You need to let it out sometimes."

Contrary to popular belief, crying didn’t solve the bigger problems. He could cry all day about how he blended in. Cry when he missed the important serve. Cry when he got an F and his parents yelled at him. Cry when he didn’t believe his worth measured to the next guy. But instead, he finds control within himself and says it’s okay. Breathing in and out did more than crying.

After all, he was able to hold it in when Coach Ikkei left them. Just him, and no coach.

He was left with nothing but the captain title and a dysfunctional team.

Did it leave an unhealthy mark? No.

"Guys. " he snaps two times. “Focus.”

Nishinoya and Tanaka’s heads snap, closing their mouths. They stop yapping and go back to the game.

In cases like these, he chews. He chews hard. Uses it in place of a punching bag because patience is a virtue. And in cases like these he can say he had learned control, because, originally, Asahi was his punching bag.

Even under the excuse of relieving his pregame stress. His postgame stress. He knew —Asahi knew. It was a little excessive.

That was his stress that showed, when his shirt lifted, as he served. As he jumped high up in the air, for the crowd to cheer, bruised high enough for the others to think it was the volleyball and not a passive-aggressive fist.

Coincidently, he turns the other way when the shirt slips.

That isn't dramatic. Is it?

A strong whistle blows, and they dive. Hinata serves a little harder, alongside a determined Kageyama. They're playing styles have always differed from each other. Hinata jumps free; he sets calculated.

Although they aren’t in tune, things are good. They're great.

That is, until Yamaguchi is next to go, and as he walks up in the middle, with his shaky hands, and his big imploring eyes, everyone knows he's a little less proficient than the rest.

At least… That's what Daichi heard Ukai say.

But this time, it's so evident, he actually sets the whole goddam team off.

They rotate, and he is left to stand on the outlier, where he feels the most helpless. He claps from the sidelines, with a focused face. Yachi and Kiyoko are cheering.

All he can do is watch and cheer like this. Like a supportive captain should.

But, he prays for the rotation to go faster when he misses the first ball.

Another day has passed, and it’s morning.

Nishinoya wakes them up with a harsh rip to the curtains, and Suga and Tanaka are most vocal about their complaints. Tsukishima turns to the side, hiding under the covers and Daichi has to laugh a little.

When they enter the breakfast line, they get to know some of the other teams—Not by choice, but by the horrible chance of fate this morning, when he bumped into Yaku, the vice leader for Nekoma.

He's associated with him.

If it were left to Daichi's mental radar, he would have left it at the half-hearted apology.

"Oh…my bad."

But of course, Suga is trailing behind them, and something about the way Yaku's brows pinch when he cornered, catches his eye more than the lunch lady at the end of the line.

Daichi sighs internally as he watches the other boys pass by them, along with the flirtatious glint forming in Suga's eyes.

Therefore, he’s forced to entertain a meaningless morning conversation at the asscrack of dawn.

After Suga's satisfied, they eat as usual, and Daichi can go on with his breakfast. It runs a little smoothly from there, and he anticipates a better morning. A better round.

Failure.

They lose the first practice game against Aoba Johsai high faster than he can blink.

He huffs trudging up the hill and realizes he hasn't drank any water. Coincidently, Asahi, who grips his water bottle, trudges right next to him. He asks politely for a waterfall.

"Here."

"Thanks."

He doesn't miss the way he flinches when he holds his hand out for the bottle of water.

Fast forward two games later. They battle Shizen once more.

One of the athletes has sprained their ankle, so they're left a little more defenseless than the rest.

Ironically, they win that game, and he shakes hands with the carrot top. Inside, he doesn't know if he's happier, because he gets to see the smile ripped off his face or the fact that they probably have no chance against any other teams after this.

Losing one player is like losing the whole team if the foundation isn't good enough, and judging from the looks of it, that team definitely needed the extra guy.

"I hope for a speedy recovery for your teammate."

He smiles, genuine.

There's been a lingering presence for a while.

Daichi had chosen to ignore it up till now.

He stretched his arms diligently, careful enough to lift each up in the air, he was patient with how he bent.

"Having fun, Sawamura–"

He instinctively turns back, and Kuroo has his hands on his hips. His eyelashes look longer from this view.

"Where did you come from?"

"Doesn't matter."

Daichi glares over, shifting his eyes from him to the rest of Nekoma who walks through the doors.

Hinata flocked over to Kenma with a smile, leaving Kageyama by himself to bend forward to touch his toes, alone. The bitter glance he sends toward them isn’t subtle. Not in the slightest.

He turns back, suspicious."What do you want?"

"Nothing."

He raises an eyebrow. Kuroo smiles.

"Just came to check up on the crows–" he trails coyly. "You know….losing and all."

He exhales through his nose, trying to cover up the disdain with his humorless smile.

"Is that all you could come up with?" He says, going back to his stretching, an irked mouth.

"Well…" he says, lamely. "I didn't have much time to think, walking from my team to yours.”

And then there it is. That awkward chuckle. Daichi cringes at the sound of it.

"Shouldn't have come over then," he says with bored eyes.

Kuroo pretends to clench his heart as if it hurts. "Ouu! A little feisty, are we?"

The brass edge in his voice makes Daichi's eyelids lower, unimpressed.

"Correct me if I'm wrong here," he says, stretching forward. "but didn't you lose to your bud, Bokuto, just the other day?"

Kuroo huffs a little breathy.

"—That's gotta be a little upsetting." He finishes, tender. His eyes look forward.

And as playful as he is, Daichi could see it in his peripheral, the twitch in his left eye. He’d struck a nerve.

He smirks to himself.

Admittedly, he'd eavesdropped and heard the rumor circulating in the bathroom. But Kuroo's cracked face alone was worth the risk.

"We've got healthy competition."

"Yeah." He laughs, self-assured, bending to touch his toes. "I bet."

“I’ve beat him before.”

"Right" he nods.

" I have."

"Sure."

He can feel him watching. Scrutinizing his every move.

Daichi revels in it. He revels in the fact, he can multitask, preparing for his next game all while pushing his buttons at the same time.

"You're stretching wrong, by the way."

He stops, shoulders locked.

"What?"

"You're doing it wrong." He repeats, deeper."You could pull a muscle that way, you know?"

Daichi gives him a look. His eyebrows lower, distrusting, like an orphan before accepting the home. Kuroo tilts his head, inviting. There’s a sparkle in his eyes that glosses over Daichi's critical thinking. Everything's fuzzy.

He doesn't have enough time to figure out what it is before he walks toward him.

"Here–" he says, reaching out, and before Daichi can open his mouth, Kuroo's behind him, aligning his stomach behind his back. He grabs both forearms.

"Hey—"

"Shh."

He can suddenly feel his stomach rigid against him. He sucks in, unconsciously.

"Just push forward like this."

They bend as one. He straightens his arms, further than before. Daichi blinks. His core feels tight.

If he didn't know any better, he was a professional yoga instructor. Everything he says feels right. How smoothly Daichi's arms move to his shift. He breathes over his shoulder like it's a given. Naturally, the ice inside him thaws.

It's almost as if Kuroo knows what comes next. He knows the stages of acceptance before you strike.

"So flexible." He whispers, warm against his pink ears. It's so soft that it's frightening.

"Ladies must love that."

He jerks away, frantic. The shrink in his pupils is almost immediate.

He crawls away, skidding on the newly waxed gym floor with his tennis shoes, elbows holding him up.

Kuroo's hands seize up.

Daichi stares, horrified. "What are doing?" 

His joke of a strech partner stares back. Mouth open. Voice delayed. He's confused as if he hadn't done it. Like he hadn't just assaulted his trust.

The longer he looks at him, it fades, his breath hitches and the truth of it has sunk deeper.

Kuroo laughs, stiffly. Right in his rose-tinted face.

"Is this funny to you?"

He stops, backtracking in his actions. His nervousness.

"No I–" he stampers. " Well actually....I was joking."

"I don't– " Daichi shakes his head with a bitter huff, like he doesn't understand."Just don't do that again, alright?"

There's a pause between them. He hasn't moved an inch. His face is beyond serious. He can't help but be serious right now, there’s no use intruding to hide it. Kuroo's already seen it

"I'm sorry." He says. "I didn't know you were gonna react like that—"

"—If you whisper something in my ear, I'm obviously going to react."

Feet scatter all on the gym floor. When the silence settles between them, he stands like a deer caught in headlights. His cheekbones indent every now and then, trying to find something to say.

But even though he's angry, Daichi refuses to lose. Once he gets over the initial shock he stabilizes his breath and goes back to stretching as if nothing happened.

”I was just fucking around." Kuroo says. It's impulsive and slightly off-pace from his usual nature.

"...You know that right?"

"I know."

"I didn't mean to offend you or—"

“You didn't."

"Okay…." He says, unsure. "but maybe I could just—"

Someone calls his name across the court.

“Kuroo!”

"Uh—" His neck snaps, alert yet distracted. “I’ll be there in a minute!”

And when he turns the other way, Daichi trains his eyes on him with a frown, analyzing his worth with the five seconds he has, until he's looking back at him.

He glances away.

"But like I was saying…"

His mouth parts, at a loss for words.

"—I'm good." Daichi finishes with a hand up. He makes sure to pronounce it an octave lower too because he's fed up now.

Kuroo looks at him with a downturn to his lips, caught off guard by the abruptness.

"...you sure?"

Daichi breathes out, looking straight ahead.

He had a lot of other concerns, but Kuroo wasn't gonna be another one.

"Fine ."

He looks more conflicted than anything, but regardless, he knows to nod his head and turn around.

Daichi can finally breathe when he walks away. He spares him a judgemental glance to the side when he feels he's gotten far enough. He hates how he stalks away. It's smooth even when he doesn't try. Even after a confrontation like that, he can walk like he's perfectly fine.

But then Kuroo lifts up the net, and the hate turns into something else. Something indistinguishable.

It's ten seconds at most, the peak to the lower back.

They lower impassively to the forbidden fruit, dead eyes, and before he knows it, his dry mouth parts a little too because that's just how good of an ass it is.

His shorts are tight enough to leave little to the imagination. Enough to where every time he switches, his eyes follow. It's actions like these where he finds himself imagining what it'd be like if he wasn't a piece of shit. If there was a possibility Daichi actually thought about men in that way; didn't think about the dicks first before their faces.

If he wasn't so sure of himself, he would be scared of this.

But he had no reason to be because it's him.

A ball bounces near him, and he blinks harshly, brought out of his trance.

Daichi overheard a rumor that barbecue would be served today.

He sits between Suga and Asahi, sawing tender strips of steak. They sliced into little neat pieces, just how he likes it. Soft light, unforgiving sweat.

It’s sunny outside and everyone talks all at once. The picnic table is vibrantly checkered with red and white squares, and there are a few pesky bugs flying around, but it's okay, because the fizzing soda drinks make up for it.

He should be drinking water, but even he admits, he can't resist the temptation.

Nishinoya and Tanaka were feigning off all the boys from Kiyoko, as she nonchalantly gathered a plate for herself. Her hair blows softly into the wind.

Yachi trailed not too far behind her, with ghostly eyes. She looks back nervously at the 6'1 guy behind her, who gave her an equally weirded-out look.

He bites his last piece of steak before he notices.

Kageyama broods silently to himself on the steps with Tsukishima and Yamaguchi not far away, they're next to the cloudy windows, talking to each other. He talks to no one.

He scans the place curiously, to see no sign of the Hinata. They usually stuck close to one another, regardless of the circumstances.

Even when Kageyama insulted him like this, he usually came back. This fight might have struck harder than he thought.

He contemplated internally as he watched the boy sitting alone on the cement steps, without a plate in his hand.

"I'll be back,” he tells them, lifting his leg over the wooden bench. Suga and Asahi nod without any real thought behind it.

He walks toward the table, and gathers a little barbecue here and there from each table area.

Kageyama looks up, confused when he holds it out for him.

"I'm not hungry."

"Need to eat."

His mouth wrinkles, before he looks to the side.

"I'm good."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

There's a pause between them. Daichi searches for him. How arrogant he holds himself despite sitting, lonely, all by himself. His knees pull in together, sad and he can’t help but zero in because of how bony they are.

He bites the skin inside his bottom lip.

"You'll stay skinny that way."

Kagayama blinks. Confusion first, then hurt. Something about the calm tone he says it in, makes him look up with a weird twist to his face. A cord has been struck. He hugs his body.

With a little hesitance, he reaches out to take it.

He smiles, warmly.

Kageyama breathes out, blinking a little at his own skinny legs.

Before he can say anything, Daichi turns back, with a triumphant smile. He was a good captain. A great one.

He walks back toward his table, feeling a little more full than he did before.

Kuroo steps in.

"—Hey, captain.”

He grips his plastic knife immediately.

“Kuroo–” Daichi says, unnaturally calm, surprised in his eyes. He smiles as an afterthought.

He grins, looking him up and down. "Weird how fate keeps joining us like this."

Daichi squints, menacingly, with an unsure smile. "It didn't," he says." You just walked in front of me."

Kuroo's mouth wrinkles.

"Even weirder how I scared you then."

The corners of his mouth downturn, slow before he shakes his head, confused. But once the punchline of his joke finally settles in, he stops himself. He smirks just a little to humor him. Just once.

"You didn't scare me."

“I did.”

"Did not."

"Did."

His eyes widened, incredulous.

“Did you really?”

He laughs. "I saw you grip your knife."

"That's because I'm overjoyed to see you."

Kuroo chuckles, holding an awkward hunched stance. His eyes shift, at a loss for words. Daichi says nothing.

He looks over. "That blonde one's your middle blocker, right?"

Daichi follows the direction of his pointer finger back to Tsukishima, who's still talking to Yamaguchi.

He blinks, caught off guard.

"Yeah?"

“Saw him practicing earlier,” he murmurs. “I could show him a few tips and tricks.”

"Oh." He says, and the realization sets in his eyes faster than death after a bee punctures the skin. The resentment on Daichi’s face doesn’t follow too long after, because it’s expected. He should have seen this coming. There's ulterior motive written all over his face.

He wants to show-off to his kouhai too.

Just when Daichi thought he couldn't get anymore more insufferable.

“I doubt he’d willingly take advice from anyone.” he snorts, with a bit of arrogance. "He's kinda stubborn like that."

“Well...You never know.” he wags his eyebrows, with an abrasive shoulder bump. “I’ve been known to get through to the stubborn.”

Daichi backs away, idly.

He huffs. "Do whatever you want." He says with a hand, turning around.

Tsukishima was as stubborn as they came. There was no way he would take up an offering hand—even with someone as persistent as him.

Kuroo's smirk dies a little the way he dismisses him, and Daichi would be lying if he said it didn't make him a little satisfied, he chuckles a little to himself when he walks back.

He sits, content, at his table.

So he did have the ability to get upset.

He slams the ball over the net.

"Nice job!” Suga calls out positively, from a distance. Daichi smiles, at the sound of encouragement. It gets him a little more exhilarated than most. Fulfills him.

He pants, wiping the roll of sweat dripping down the side of his temple.

The sun has merged with the moon, and births afternoon.

If they were to get better, they needed to put in more practice. That meant missing the board games. He was fine with that, he didn't care much for them anyway.

There are a few other members of Karasuno who aren’t there. Slackers he wanted to say. But he couldn’t. Coach had given them the okay to slack off just a bit. Daichi was silent when he said this.

Over to the side, he sees Kuroo, walking through the double doors.

The turn to his head is almost immediate. After he does, he notices the way Hinata lights up at the sight of Kenma walking right behind him. Like a moth to the unforgiving flame. Kageyama looks down instinctively, with an eye roll.

"Kenma!" He says, excitedly walking towards the short blonde, who does a weak half-smile in response.

The raven walks over to Yamaguchi, who was playing against Asahi from the other side of the net. Daichi notes the stiffness in his walk but decides to let it go. They needed to separate sometimes.

He goes back to playing and asks Suga to serve him another ball. But even when he says this, his eyes drift over to him. Even when he wills himself not to, his eyes follow his stride. A magnet to his metal.

Kuroo is a disturbance. Plain and simple.

He radiated something rancid, and even after two days of seeing his persistent face, Daichi can't put his finger on it. When he smirks, it makes him angry. When he laughs, there’s a low guttural reaction to his stomach. He starts to wonder if it's just him. He can't be the only one who thinks it.

He and Bokuto play against each other, on the other side of the court. He passively watches as they spout friendly fire here and there.

He goes on to serve and Suga sets the balls with a steady push.

It's perfect.

Kuroo laughs.

He hits too hard and grits his teeth. The ball bounces out of the line and his eyes can't help but follow how it rolls before it stops.

His fist tenses.

"My bad." he says, and Suga runs over to pick up the ball. "It's fine," he says, with an easy wave to his hand. He was used to it, easing the frustration. Daichi huffs getting back in position to squat once more.

"Ready?"

"Got it!"

He throws the balls up and Daichi zeros on the silhouette in the air, the way he flies. It spins four times before it comes back down, like an atomic bomb before it lands.

He looks over at him like a second thought, and he blinks suddenly and it's at the wrong angle.

"Don't touch me."

"Fine, I'm just saying."

Tsukishima. He knows the sound of his kouhai when he hears it. He hears the big bad wolf trying to hurt him.

Daichi scrunches his eyebrows, confused, trying to make sense of the sight in front of him. Kuroo stood not too far away from him.

He pats his back.

Tsukishima scoots away.

He couldn't hide the way his lips stretch to a smile, despite his words. The glare to his glasses, when there isn’t pure hatred.

That isn’t my Tsukishima. He thinks.

In all the months Daichi had known him, he'd never ever seen him acknowledge someone who tried to go the extra mile. He didn’t appreciate try-hards in the slightest. That’s why he and Yamaguchi went together so well. Why he disliked Hinata and Kageyama so much. Yet, here he was giving Kuroo and Bokuto his full attention.

Kuroo looks like a proud teacher.

Tsukishima jumps once more, flawlessly blocking Hinata's spike

“Aww," he whines. The ball bounces back over the net, and he stumbles over himself trying to get the rebound. The sound of the ball hitting the surface echoes through the gym. "No fair!"

Daichi frowns.

"Nice job, specs." Kuroo says, with a thumbs up.

He scrunches his face. "Don't call me that."

"—Sure thing specs."

Tsukishima growls, rolling his eyes.

He would never call him that.

It wasn't that this was something to be mad about—He knew how it looked to the normal person.

Jealousy isn't his problem, Kuroo is.

He is self-aware. Self-awareness is being able to notice an enemy in hiding. Notice when your position is in danger.

He squeezes Tsukishima's shoulders like it’s his property.

Daichi breathes out heavily, letting the ball drop and bounce to the floor. A bewildered Suga cranes his head in response, as he walks past him.

"Where are you going?"

He keeps walking.

"Daichi."

"—Drink." he says, robotic.

He walks past them, self-assured. His head held high as he walked towards the bleachers. He rummaged through his bag, searching with urgency.

You're not even thirsty.

He feels himself slightly malfunctioning when he realizes he's looking under the same garments now, the cold water is nowhere to be found, and whatever this was brewing inside of him, felt terribly quenched for revenge of some sort.

Envy wasn't a good look on anyone.

"Good job, specs!" Kuroo chimes again in the back. His voice rings low enough in Daichi's ear to feel personal. This had to be condescending to some degree. Right?

He sucks through his teeth. "Dammit!'' he hisses.

Forget it.

He forgets the water bottle altogether and walks to the fountain not too far outside the gym. Kuroo, looks over, with some ounce of confusion on his face.

That’s a lot of nerve. He had a lot of nerve to massage his underclassmen and show concern at the same time. Daichi mouth curls, passing by them, by the other players.

He averts his gaze and keeps on in a straight line. He's got one thing on his mind, and it's water. Water would solve this. Water solved world peace.

It would quench whatever Kuroo planted inside him the moment they shook hands.

He strides toward the double doors until he notices Bokuto come into view. He's got one of those insufferable bright-eyed looks everyone loves so much.

He waves, joyfully. "Hey man!–"

He shoulders past him, grumbling to himself. In response, he sends back a confused look over his shoulder.

Suddenly everything feels a little more targeted by him. To the way, he echoes when he says something to another team member, to the degrading pats on his back.

There was one time he did it to his lower back, and he flinched—fucking flinched.

Kuroo laughed like it was the funniest thing ever.

He even went for his friends too. Suga talks to him one time, and suddenly they're best buddies. Socialite freak. And out of all people, suddenly Asahi isn't afraid of the general public. He would’ve never thought he’d betray him like this.

He can't be that charismatic, Daichi thinks to himself. He refuses to believe it.

And of course, Hinata and Kageyama's feud continues.

“Quit nitpicking me.”

“Quit sucking–”

“Well if you weren’t so obsessed with my every move, you wouldn’t see that would you?”

“That’s not something to boast about."

"Guys–"

"Sawamura–" He interrupts, laying his hands on his shoulders, casually.

He gets in between his line of view and blocks them out with his abhorrent smirk.

Daichi's back straightens when he feels the cold fingers on his cold shoulders. When they look at each other, time stops.

"Ready for the next game?" He asks, sweat running down his temples. "Gonna beat your asses."

"As if." He says, with a smirk.

You conniving piece of shit.

It’s like he has cameras following his every move—Even with the light advice, somehow Kuroo and his lackeys are always there to counter him.

"Aww no need to be so harsh, captain." Bokuto would say.

"Yeah, Sawamura. Don't get your panties in a waddd." Kuroo would add.

He leans over, putting an arm around him before he has the chance to pull him away. He's suffocating. The sentence rolls off his tongue so easily that Daichi feels the hair on his neck rise.

He bites his tongue to cushion what he knows could be an explosion—

Explosion, when they lose, and they're doing the walk of shame out the double doors for the umpteenth time.

Explosion, when he randomly gets stung by a bee on his back and he hisses the whole time whilst jogging, and, all the while, he listens to Noya and Tanaka snickering at his inconvenience in the background.

Explosion, when Tsukishima ignores eye contact with him as he delivers an award-winning speech to the team.

Explosion, when they're assigned to do push-ups by one of the instructors in front of Nekoma after they've lost yet another game against them. A cruel punishment nobody had assigned till this very day.

Fucking Explosion, when Kuroo walks by and pats his head like a dog. And not only that, he has the audacity to walk out after with that proud stride of his, tight shorts and all.

"Have a good time, Sawamura." he sings.

He flusters, heaving himself up with a raw tremble in his arms. His eyes squeeze shut to conceal the rage that builds from such a degrading act.

Kuroo is a heathen.

Fairness wasn't an option anymore.

Watching every team but his improve in some way was starting to taunt him in more ways than one. He doesn't care how dramatic it is, it's borderline public humiliation.

Daichi’s too vigilant on the things that don't matter and too safe on the things that do. He didn't know what it was. He just knew he was losing.

"Hinata." He says. "Give me the ball."

“What?” asks, confused.

“Give me—” he deadpans. “The ball.”

It's considered bad manners when the captain lacks support and enthusiasm for his team. When it’s replaced with aggression, they're suddenly the bad guy. Daichi knew that, he knew it wasn’t received well. Originally, he avoided that route like a bad plague. That was the key to a successful team, he thought. What Karasuno had that they didn’t. Communication.

Kuroo claps his hands with the rest of his team. A genuine smile, no hesitation to touch, no fleeting thoughts to run to the hand sanitizer. And the team receives it well. They even smile.

Daichi stares.

Maybe he should just let go of the manners altogether.

The pressure of winning brings cynical thoughts to him in the dead of midnight when everyone is asleep. He's supposed to sleep. Instead, he plans in advance for the battle he would face. Casualties needed to be made.

When the morning cowbells start ringing, Daichi knows exactly what to do:

Hinata crumbles under pressure easily. Could throw up anywhere if he was overwhelmed enough. Cried anywhere if you were mean enough–

However, you couldn’t be mean to the main appeal. He's their spectacle, after all. The redhead, with the extremely bubbly personality, and the jumpy antics. Their tiny giant.

Daichi would admit he had potential, however, he’s insecure. Excessive clumsiness will do that to you, along with a possessive emo for a friend. He weighs him down like a dumbbell. He could see why he was fed up with the insults.

Doesn’t take much observation to see he’s a fuck up. He smiles like that to hide the bigger mistakes. He’s sure of it. Because no one is just that happy. Daichi wasn’t even that happy when he got his first girlfriend, Michimiya.

She had abs like a goddess, a smile like an angel and tended to his every need like a therapist. She was everything. The whole package. But...

When it came to romance, Daichi was uncomfortable. So...so...so...uncomfortable.

"It's okay if you're not ready to hold hands right now."

"I just want to hug sometimes, alright."

"So you're too busy to watch a movie with me?"

"Why dont you ever invite me to your place. You scared of a girl? Haha"

"I'm not arguing with you! I'm just saying– "

"This doesn’t even feel like a relationship sometimes.”

"You don't even care about this. Do you?..."

“When are you gonna kiss me first?”

So they broke up. Simple as that. 

Daichi inhales deeply in the morning when Hinata misses his first serve in the morning. They’re against Nekoma once again. The worst team to fuck up against. He could’ve chosen any time to miss the ball and it just had to be now.

“Sorry!”

“Dumbass!” Kageyama yells in front of him.

This is it. This is the part.

“Shut up!” he says, and his eyes are immediate. Unmistakable.

He turns the other way, to the help. Suga usually says it’s okay after he does things like this. They’re a supportive duo. But without the other, Daichi, the reassurance isn’t complete.

“It’s fine, Hinata.” one half says.

Daichi says nothing. He turns a blind eye, in fact.

He knows Hinata feels it when he turns away and focuses back on the game.

Good, he thinks. Words aren’t needed. A real captain networked through his actions. Didn’t need to communicate the big corny message to treat each other nicely. Hell, half the time, he saw bullying PSAs posted up all around the school, and the bullies roamed free. No one ever stopped their rain of terror.

So who’s to say he shouldn’t encourage it here, where it’s needed the most?

That's what a good captain does. He thinks about what's best for the team.

It’s nighttime

After training ends, there's in between periods from shower, dinner, and bed. Usually, boys take time to rest and lay the mattresses, or talk in their shared team rooms. It's a simple resting period that nobody talks about. The only free time throughout the day when Daichi can clear his mind.

Unfortunately, he happened to be friends with one of the rowdiest volleyball players to walk this earth.

Suga.

He was bored, which meant Daichi was forced to aid him as an accomplice. He always fell for the "come with me to the bathroom" trick. However, in this case, they were in a completely different building from high school, which gave him even more room to explore.

Unfortunately for Daichi, he would have never anticipated Suga would take him this far.

"We need to go back." He says, painfully square. They're walking down a dimly lit hall, and he trailed behind him in his night shorts. This had been going on for the past forty minutes or so, and if he didn't say something now, who knows how far they'd get.

"It's late."

"Nonsense." He says looking straight ahead, with his phone flashlight. There are noises coming from one of the dark doors. Sounds like people talking. Daichi can just barely make out the words because he's partly in disbelief that someone would venture this far in the first place.

Suga stops, and they look down at the door, light emanating from the crack.

He smiles at him.

"No..."

"We're gonna get in trouble ." Daichi hisses, just barely a whisper.

"You think they actually give a shit." Suga snorts, looking back at him.

He squints. A familiar look.

Suga should know it by now.

"It's their job to advise us." He reasons, soft. "They don't really care about what we do."

"You don't know that–"

" I do!" he hisses. "Come on, let's just go a little bit further."

"Suga–"

"Come on–"

His hand twist on the door handle. And before he can say anything, Suga’s curiously peeking in. There's bright light spilling from the crack, and Daichi inhales impatiently, scared they'll get caught.

He hears a distinctive voice calling from inside. It stops when there's another creak to the door.

"Oh." Oikawa says politely, looking up with a surprised face. He sits criss-cross with three spades in his hand, perched in front of a round wooden table. Iwaizumi sat across from him, holding a pair of regular diamonds in his hands.

"Look what we got here…" he says, with a smirk.

This catches the others' attention. Ushijima and Tendou look over, sitting secluded by themselves playing a card game, on purple bean bags, Akaashi and Yaku were nonchalantly scrolling through their phones.

Then he sees him.

Bokuto's eyes brighten on him, with a suffocating smile.

"Oi, Sawamura!" He pipes and Kuroo's looking up from the table with a surprised smirk on his face. A bunch of cards in his hands. It turns coy when he looks straight at him.

"Hey, captain." He says. It's low and tantalizing.

Daichi stares.

He waves weakly, still lingering next to the door. Suga grabs him by the hand, like a parent to a child. His mouth tightens.

He sends him a puppy look. "Please, Daichi–"

"Yeah, don't be rude Daichi." Kuroo echoes with a teasing smirk.

Daichi glowered back at him. He's so focused on his disdain towards him that he doesn't realize he's losing the tugging war.

Suga pulls him in and grabs two green bean bags for them to sit on.

Suga sits.

He sits.

His gaze shifts, and the realization hits.

Fuck.

He notices the two unaddressed packs of beer in the corner. Fixated on the logo, he leans close enough to whisper in Suga's ear.

"Ten minutes, then I'm leaving."

His friend nods, respectfully.

The clock strikes ten.

Tendou and Bokuto are a little more sloppy than the rest.

"Jesus, Bokuto," Kuroo says. "Are you even trying to win?"

"Shut up!" He whines, slamming his fist on the table in a delayed manner, his eyes blink unnaturally when he does so.

It's been more than ten minutes, and he has yet to leave.

"Ugh" Oikawa rolls his eyes, seemingly fed up with the fact he keeps losing to a surprisingly good Iwaizumi.

"Let's play a different game. "

"I think we've already gone through all of them." Yaku says, nonchalantly.

The room is moderately sound, but all he can hear is the sound of his breathing. It's loud and obnoxious. His eyes, squint at the carpet, he plays on.

He's got one of those mischievous smiles, and cuts the air with his voice.
"Let's play a game of shots."

Jesus.

"Hell yeah!"

"Yeah!"

"That's a great idea."

Absolutely not.

He gets up. They all stare at Daichi with betrayed expressions as he walks.

“Where you going?”

“Back to my room.”

"Aww, Sa’mura–" Bokuto whines. "Don’t be such a buzzkill man.”

"Yeah, don't you ever get tired of being a wet sock?"

Daichi looks over, concentrated, at the man-child.

"I'm not stopping you guys." He says. " Just wear yourselves out."

Oikawa stops setting the shots, to look up at him. "You sure?"

"Yep." He says, traipsing around the tables.

"Aww, what…" Bokuto whines, slumping on the carpet, his face merges with the floor, and his legs are rubbing against Akaashi now. He didn’t seem phased by it at all.

"You're no fun Daichi.”

"Yeah, come on, Sawamura, this is an all-senior exclusive event. Don't be square." Oikawa says.

"Plus Akaashi–" Bokuto slurs.

"–exception of Akaashi." He nods his head.

Daichi rolls his eyes, stepping over their legs.

"Suga, do something. "

And like the yes-man, socialite, he does exactly that.

"Come on, Dai–"

"Out of my way." He pushes him, and Suga looks slightly offended.

"For me." He whines, pulling on his arms. "the more the merrier."

"Yeah, Sa 'mura." Kuroo chimes after, like the attention-seeking opportunist, he is."Why don't cha' live a little?"

There's a drawl at the end of his sentence that makes the hairs on his neck go up again.

"I'm good," he says, walking past him in a relaxed manner. He acts like he doesn't notice his tipsy gaze following him. Those impure eyes.

He grabs him by the leg, when he speaks.

"Come on."

“No.”

“Sawa–”

“No.” He blurts, jerking away. And he's so perpetually frustrated, his captain voice accidentally comes out.

Everyone silences.

"I'm sorry." He says immediately, lowering his head. "I'm just gonna go to bed."

He goes on to walk through the door, but Kuroo has to get a last word in before he can.

Always.

"Oh, shit….hold on guys." Kuroo laughs out, and Daichi doesn’t bother to hide his annoyance when he closes his eyes. The patience drains from his body. He comes to a complete stop with a flare in his nostrails. He was so close, he could smell it. Freedom.

He could ignore him right now and leave.

“I don't think Sawamura's ever gotten drunk before."

His face cracks.

"I've drank before." He says, turning back around, and he doesn't mean for it to come out in a matter-of-factly tone, with his pointer finger, but it does. And he realizes he’s fallen in a trap by the way Kuroo props his arm under his chin.

"You sure?" He challenges, playfully. "You're practically trembling right now at the sight of
it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Everyone's silently gathered around him.

Daichi narrows his eyes at him, then down at the alcohol. It’s an off-putting green, and it stares at him, daring him to do something. He’s frozen, trying to prove he will. It would be lying to say it didn't bring back vivid images of home, where his dad crawled at his mother’s knees, begging for forgiveness.

His breath stutters.

There’s something ominous about the way it glimmers under the bright lights as if there were a spotlight on it. There’s a spotlight on him too, with a loud piano playing in the background, taunting him for the pussy he was.

He looks back up at Kuroo, once more, who's got a shit-eating grin on his face waiting for his answer. He knows what he's gonna answer. Because he's smack dab in the middle of the rest, with this languid pose, pure confidence pouring off his shoulders.

He planned this. No one can tell him he didn't plan this.

Always one step ahead.

Daichi smiles back at him with a lazy grin. There's no kindness to it. Not this time.

Without thinking, he walks back and picks up the drink, asking himself what he was doing. This was what he hated the most, what ruined his family in just under five years after his mother caught his dad cheating. He promised not to repeat that mistake. His mom made him promise.

And yet—

Yet, Oikawa and Bokuto are making this ooh sound, like they're impressed, and Suga’s giddy in the knees. He’s the only one who knew he was lying about drinking previously, yet he said nothing. Daichi hates when Suga is proud of him for doing the wrong things. The balance between them is gone when he makes decisions like this.

He braces himself with a sharp inhale, tipping the bottle back. Gross liquid travels down his throat. He squeezes his eyes, gross, at the unforgiving burning sensation.

It spreads like a wildfire.

Deep down, he knows he can stop. He’s already proved his point. That was the point of this. To say the bitter liquid has touched his taste buds before. But, somehow, with risk, there’s addiction. The crowd doesn’t stop wooing, and neither does he. This was his chance. He could be unpredictable too, reckless even.

Kuroo’s hazel eyes are piercing.

He leans back on the wall, because he needs a better hold on the liquor. Because, with the mix of applause, and lava creeping down his throat, it’s pretty overwhelming to handle. Far too much for a simple guy like him.

Kuroo watches him intently, and he wishes he would stop, because he can feel it. There’s still doubt. He can feel his eyes zeroing in on his Adam's apple like he’s some spectacle. Like this purely for entertainment.

He thinks back to when he'd mindlessly watch from behind—what if Kuroo did the same when he wasn't looking?

Maybe he was an object, and he didn't even know it. Maybe he did reap what he sowed. No, he thinks to himself. That would be disgusting then.

He gulps, furious, until there’s no more left in the bottle until the liquor is sizzling in his throat, and settling in his stomach. The burn isn't enough to take away from the satisfying pat to his back, however. He looks up grudgingly, and it's Suga. He's got an amused look on his face.

“Damn, Daichi. How thirsty were you?”

He frowns, looking down at his shorts and surprise, surprise.

There's a spill dead-centered on his crotch.

"Shit–" he tries to rub it out immediately.

There’s a few snickers.

"Oh la la la–" Suga teases, with a flirty elbow.

"Shut up." He groans.

He puts the bottle down on the table and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, letting the fingertips linger on his lips so Kuroo can suck it.

Instead, he's turned starstruck.

 Daichi glances away, half wishing he wasn’t tipsy because it intensifies the moment more than he's comfortable with.

The pride doesn’t last long, because he's breathing out acid, and an image of his father comes to his mind to make him regret any prior joy he had.

"There." He says roughly, going back to his previous stature. "I did it."

"Atta boy!" Bokuto slaps his shoulder harshly. He’s got a positive smile on his face. "Knew you had it in you."

Daichi is questioning how much liquor he took in before he and Suga got in here because of how unbelievably jovial he was. Or was he just stuck like that?

" Well…" Oikawa says, with an impressed smirk. “Got more balls than I thought."

“Nice Job.”

Daichi chuckles, high off the admiration. However, he stops midway, to close his eyes and readjust to the new feeling, and then again, because there's a new layer of dizziness added to this sensation.

Just his luck that Kuroo wants to play investigator.

"Sure you alright there?"

"Fine." He says stubbornly, slumping sheepishly down the wall. His biceps flexed trying to support himself up.

Daichi wants to change the topic.

"It's your turn now." He says reaching over to pick up the glass, and he's embarrassed at how much concentration he puts into it, with his shaky hand; His tolerance was low. He's got a lazy smirk, and Kuroo is charmed by his sudden forwardness.

"Alright."

He swipes the bottle, with a quick mischievous smirk, taking a theatrical pause to showcase the bottle to the group ( Daichi loathes his need to set a scene). He then looks back at him with a sultry side glance.

He hates him.

Kuroo downs it within seconds, liquid dripping down the side of his cheeks. He's fast, and he's proud of it. Daichi is gripping the carpet, enviously.

Kuroo slams it on the table, causing the table to shake a little, and others have to move back a little from the impact. Daichi stays still.

"Was that enough for ya?"

Bokuto and Oikawa, are wooing in the background like he's found the cure to cancer, which makes him smile like the attention whore he is.

He stares, threatened, and without thought, he finds himself grabbing another bottle. He cranes his neck back to drink faster than he did before. The alcohol slides down his throat easier this time, less harsh than the last.

"Hey!" Bokuto exclaims, reaching weakly toward him." Don't hog all the booze!"

Daichi ignores him, inching away, washing it all down in the span of a minute, which was filled with complaining, Bokuto and Oikawa are becoming impatient. The rest are brooding silently. He can't find the morale to care like he usually does.

He slams it down, proud of himself.

He's breathing a little hard like he just survived the aftermath of a marathon. There’s a slight smile on his lips now that the exhilaration caught up to him. Is this what it felt like to be buzzed? If so, it's amazing.

As soon as he’s done, Suga snatches the liquor from him, and oddly enough his immediate reflex is to look at Kuroo. He’s giving him mixed signals through his eyes, and laughs low, just how Daichi hates it.

"Oh…it's on."

Ten shots in, they're all wasted. Shitfaced. The room has turned thick with haze and the ceiling fan was too loud. There's too many conversations going on all at once, that Daichi can’t focus on.

Oikawa is rambling a hell of a word salad about Iwaizumi regarding his hair and the way it spikes up when he gets mad.

"Let's spin the bottle.” Oikawa says.

"That doesn't sound like a good idea," Yaku says, immediately.

"Yeah, that's dumb" Iwaizumi agrees. It's harsh, and he's tensed up, looking over at Oikawa. He's tipsy, but from it’s endearing to some extent. Iwaizumi wouldn't be looking the way he did if it wasn’t. 

Oikawa smirks persuasively, nudging his shoulder.

"Aww come on, Iwa." He purrs, playfully. "Let's have fun"

Still, his hardened shell never faltered.

"I'm not kissing anyone."

Daichi stares at the brown carpet, biting the inside of his cheek.

The word 'kiss' echoes through his ears like a curse. It's loud enough to make him readjust himself uncomfortably, and it's almost like a part of him knows why, it knows why these things are scary, but then the next second it gets blurred with the pure instinct, and suddenly he can't decipher one from the other.

His mother's words cut like a knife through thick meat—Daichi should have left when he could, when it looked less incriminating. She'd always warned him to stay away from places he didn’t belong.

"Bad things always happen with that game" Iwaizumi says bitterly. He silently thanks the gods that someone has sense.

"You're breaking my heart man." Oikawa says, dramatically touching his chest.

Daichi stares.

Kuroo stares.

Iwaizumi slumps, broken by his choice of words. They had an unspoken thing between them that nobody could decipher. Contemplating, he stared, guilty at his lips.

"One round." He says, and he's got a finger in his face like a mother does when they've given their child a cookie.

"After that, we're done with this shit."

"Aww hell yea." Bokuto cheers.

"Yeah!" Tendou cheers, Ushijima is indifferent.

“Yeahhh—”

"Suga." Daichi puts a hand on his shoulder to shush him from potentially waking up any coaches.

He gnaws on the inside of his cheek.

Oikawa's offers to be the spinner. He leaned over sloppy with a reckless smile to his face.

That seemed to be the trend with this whole thing.

Daichi’s in between Suga, who's been sending googoo eyes to Yaku on the other side of him. He scoots a little farther away, put off by his implications.

It's stupid to choose fate with a bottle.

Oikawa's got a steady hand. He spins the bottle like a wind turbine, and somewhere along the line, Tendou starts drumming his fingers on the carpet, for a drumroll effect. Ushijima stares at him. Suga gets excited, and joins him. Daichi looks over, surprised.

Suddenly, they're all doing it.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Daichi’s heart is beating fast.

His eyes zero on the tip as it slows, closing on his knee.

His heart slows.

It stops on Suga.

He silently exhales.

" Suga and Iwaizumi!" Bokuto cheers.

Oikawa has an odd look, glancing between Iwaizumi and Suga.

He takes a quick shot.

"Let's get this shit over with," Iwaizumi grumbles.

Suga laughs, clearly tipsy now.

He takes his words literally and doesn’t hesitate to crawl over to him. Iwaizumi's caught off guard and doesn't look like he knows where to go. He's stiff. Oikawa's stiff.

"Well whatta ya waiting for Iwa–" he jokes.

He looks over at him and glances back at Suga.

"Come on" he goads. "We're dying to see this."

It's supposed to be a peck, Iwaizumi goes in for the peck. He's slow in contrast to Suga, who pulls him by his collar. Even Daichi isn't ready for that. Iwaizumi squirms when Suga bites his bottom lip.

Oikawa's tense in the neck, with a sharp line to his mouth. The regret's evident in his eyes, but he refuses to admit it.

“Alright—”

Suga is so drunk, it’s hard to look at. He pulls away from Iwaizumi, with drool stretching between them.

"Kiz, don't tell…" he draws unnaturally long, his arm hooks around his neck. He leaves his finger on Iwaizumi's mouth. He swats him off immediately and crawls away.

"Jesus, how drunk are you, man?"

"—What a great start." Oikawa mumbles under his breath, drinking some more.

They spin the bottle once more, and Tendou drums his finger again.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Daichi bites the insides of his cheek.

It lands. Oikawa's eye squints a little paranoid when the other end slows in front of Kuroo's sock. He looks up at him across.

His eyelids lower, disappointed.

"Well…" Kuroo huffs. "I'd be so honored."

Daichi feels something odd stir in his stomach.

They inch closer. Oikawa grabs him by the cheeks, fast, and pulls him in like he couldn't care less. If Daichi didn't know better, he had given a direct glance over to Iwaizumi.

They keep it short and abrupt. Oikawa pulls away from him with a bored look.

"You got some soft lips man." Kuroo admits.

"Yeah, Yeah." He swats him away, and his comment is enough to make him blush. Iwaizumi glanced back down at his shot.

They gather again.

Oikawa spins the bottle. Their finger drums. Daichi's aiding Suga in his drunken daze, trying to readjust him better on the floor, so he doesn't have to support his weight anymore.

His focus is too directed on him to even notice the bottle has already stopped. The foreign stares that look up at him.

"Which one is that?"

He looks back, and the bottle is directed between him and Yaku. The other side is Kuroo, and he's looking directly at him, eyes widened. Daichi stares back, dead, frozen on the carpet. His eyes drone down to the carpet before he says it.

"I think it was Yaku."

They all make odd faces. Kuroo says nothing, taking the alcohol in his hand, once more. His eyes look to the side.

"Wha–" Bokuto says, confused. He's got a hand up, analyzing the direction between the two of them. Daichi looked nervously between the bottles and Yaku. He glances back and forth, three times.

Yaku looks disgusted at Kuroo.

"I think it’s you, Sawamura."

The rest agree.

He huffs, clenching to his jaw. Arguing would probably make it worse, but why? Why does it have to be him? The enemy. The asshole, who stole his kouhai right under him. Why couldn’t have been Ushijima, who was calm and collected? He had cadence. Carried himself way better than him.

There's a delay in his movement before he crawls forward.

"Wow," Oikawa says in the back, a playful smirk, behind him. He is lounging on a beanie. "Two in a row? Didn't know you were such a player, Kuroo."

Kuroo laughs drily, but he can't stop the aggression that leaks through his voice.

"Shut the hell up, man."

The edge in his voice surprises the whole room. Almost like he was embarrassed to kiss him.

Daichi has never loathed his own existence so much till now.

"Oooh." Suga teases loudly. Like this is a big thing— his first male kiss.

"This is stupid." He wills himself to say to cover the blood flooding his face—it’s useless because no one can even hear him over the childish wooing that floods the room.

Kuroo's looking directly into his eyes. They're softer than usual. Neck is tenser than usual.

Daichi has never felt grosser.

He leans forward without thought. It's so aimless, Kuroo has to grab him by the chin to stabilize his posture. It’s embarrassing, because deep down, he knows Oikawa was probably a million times better at this than he was right now, and suddenly, he hates Kuroo for the mere fact that he’s been reduced to leftovers.

He’s probably thinking about how unattractive he looks when he tries.

They hesitantly inch, and Daichi's nerves get the best of him. He has the forward instinct to pull Kuroo's face closer to his, and he can tell just from the looks of it, that Kuroo’s caught off guard, blinking like he hadn't counted down to three yet in his mind.

Daichi's hands clench like it’s nerve-racking.

He kisses him first. It’s meant to be a one-and-done deal— in and out. But then Kuroo does this thing with his neck— like he’d been waiting to do this all his life, and then Daichi lingers like he’s slightly confused. His mouth works against him, and he goes deeper.

The alcohol makes him feel wanted, and he turns it a little sloppy. He'd admit it, it feels good. He feels so welcomed he even lets slips somewhere over the boundary lines. Kuroo willingly accepts the tongue; even reciprocates. They’re drunk. He’s buzzed.

His secret desires have been put on display, and the way Kuroo’s dark bangs hang tickling his nose, Daichi almost wants to run his hair through it. The urge is terrifying, he's terrified.

His eyes open, awake.

He pushes him away.

Kuroo looks caught off guard by the way his eyes widen, confused.

Daichi breathes out, staring back.

They quickly settle back, and he scoots back next to Suga.

The world is still spinning, and the others have gone back to playing like it's nothing. Daichi feels his head hit the wall before he closes his eyes as if Niagra Falls had washed over him.

He shouldn’t have drunk so much.

Kuroo lounges next to Bokuto, eyes still trained on him.

Daichi spares him a minimal glance—breathing in and out.

The clock ticks.

Kuroo’s eyes bore.

Suga’s giggling is way too hard.

His breath shakes.

Without thinking, he walks to the nearest bathroom.

Nobody says anything. Thank God they're too drunk to comprehend it.

Dread fills his lungs, and he can’t breathe anymore. Once he gets inside, he closes it carefully behind him, with a small click behind the door. He breathes out relief, sliding down the door.

He looks up at one of the metal stalls, and sees his father in front of him, he shudders, rubbing his eyes closed, and when he opens them, he’s gone.

It's a new morning, different from the other ones.

Probably because he wakes up with a sharp headache towards the front of his head, and he still has to perform the normal captain duties. No matter how much water he drinks during the day, it never goes away.

Maybe it isn’t the headache at all.

There were other days that felt like absolute hell. This isn't hell.

They beat Fukurodani by a few points.

Hinata and Kageyama are a unit once again. Daichi thinks Kageyama appreciates that fact more than leads on when Hinata hugs him tight from the back as they’re celebrating.

Bokuto is a sore loser. But that's fine. He once was too.

They shake hands and from Daichi’s end, he's a little cockier than he should be. But at the same time, he deserves a moment like this. All the loses should at gave Kuroo the same shit when he smiled like this. Tilted his like this.

He could even hold

He'd ignored his presence altogether, now. It was better this way. Even when he called him head on. Tried to bump him and he walked away from it. Even when he looks his way, he can't hold his gaze.

This has nothing to do with last night, no, not in the slightest.

He never liked the way he slammed the ball over the net, harsh, like a jock. Doesn’t like it when he flexes his arms. Doesn’t like it, when he gives him soft smiles, in the halls, and sometimes when his bump shoulders. Whispers things that makes his body shiver.

He frowns.

He smiles.

Yes, Daichi ignores him, fine, until their match.

You can't ignore your fate when you're fighting against it. Can’t ignore the enemy, when he is staring right at you. It’s a stupid move to try to ignore your opponent in a active battle.

He slams the ball in his face, by accident.

It travels so fast, it looks like a flash. When he bounces off his face, his immediate response is to clutch his nose, because that's where it hit the hardest. That’s where it feels the warmest.

"Fuck!" He stops, frozen in place.

"Dai…?" Suga in the back. It's slow and cautious.

Blood drips from his nose, to the shiny, waxed floor.

Everyone backs up.

He breathes out, dazed off, looking into the air.

"Hey," Coach Ukai calls out. "You okay, kid?"

"Yeah…"

He throws a hand out, giving the okay. But even as he says this, he's cupping the blood that poured from his nose.

It slips through his fingers, and his weakness is on display for everyone. Everything he's worked so hard for, just to be reduced to this. And of course. He knows he can't play the game like this.

And of course, he can't take a hint, either.

"My bad" he lifts the net over his head, before he ducks. "I'm so fucking sorry!"

Daichi walks off the court, instinctively. Away from him. Maybe he can play it off as a temporary deaf situation. Kuroo made him deaf, and he doesn't have to spout the fake bullshit.

"Sawamura!"

He walks past the others.

"Here, just let me—" he grabs his arm.

Daichi pushes him back, forcefully, and he falls to the ground.

He looks up at him, confused, slightly shocked.

Daichi looks down at him, then everybody else, who was equally astounded. He breathes in and out, with possessed eyes, like he just saw the devil.

All the squeaking stops on the gym floor.

He walks away, quickly, and exits the scene. Even through the looks, through the other players, who aren't playing the game. He keeps walking until he finds the nurse's room.

Nothing’s broken.

It takes the blood in his nose to dry, at most , an hour. His shame doesn't though.

The day’s over, and he’s cleaning out the closet. He doesn’t know why or how it came to be, but he doesn't want to go back to his room.

He should be laying his head down, honestly, but he doesn't have the guts to face his teammates now after his outburst. He's embarrassed himself, and once again, it's his fault.

Everything was.

The door opens as if on cue, and light spills through the crack before he sees him.

"Saw you come in here."

Daichi's eyes grace his before he goes back to organizing. He can’t deny how intimidating he looks with his tall dim silhouette in the entrance.

"Can we talk about earlier?"

Nothing.

"Hey—"

He huffs, turning the other way.

"God," he throws his hands up. “What is your fucking problem with me?"

He breathes out, resistant.

"You just ignore me, like I'm a disease or something."

Breathing the same air as him feels illegal sometimes. So toxic he could just pass out, from the way the fumes flood his better judgment.

"My problem is you slammed me smack dab in the face, and made my nose bleed."

"—And I offered to help, and you pushed me."

Daichi jaw clenches.

"Come on, Sawamura, I'm not dumb."

"It goes deeper than this." He says. "You hate me, right?"

What the fuck.

"Tell me the real reason why."

"What are you talking about—"

"The real reason." He double downs.

"You gave me dirty looks even before this, so that tiny nose bleed can't possibly be it."

He turns around, furious.

“Can you stop?” he points.“ I know your whole thing is convincing everyone what great guy you are, but I just don't see it. So just give it up."

For once, Kuroo’s silent. His eyes look intimidating in the dim closet light, as it flickers here and there. He’d tell one of the coaches, later on, that it needed to be replaced.

“Yeah?” he challenges loosely.

“Yeah.” Daichi says harshly, turning to leave.

Kuroo grabs him by the arm, which catches him off guard a bit.

“What type of guy am I then?”

He stares up at him in disbelief.

“Tell me–” he prods, and there's a harsh grip to his wrist. Daichi hates him more and more with each day, each second.

“Ask yourself that.”

“No.” he says back. “I want you to.”

"I don’t have to answer to you."

Kuroo stares.

"And why can't you?"

"Shut up."

"You just hate me for the hell of it, don't you?"

Daichi bites the inside of his cheek.

"Must've hated that kiss too, I guess."

He rips away from his grasp.

"Shut. up." He says, stretching out his words like he's obnoxious now. His eyes stare bloodshot at the supplies, averting his gaze.

Kuroo had stuck a cord, a sensitive cord. Something he'd laid in bed, endlessly repeating in his head for hours on hours, that it didn't mean anything. Couldn't get it off his mind, no matter how many times he reasoned, how much he prayed, how much he convinced himself that Michimiya was better.

But he couldn't because he gave tongue. He gave everything. And yet, Kuroo brings up the image that plagues him like it's nothing. 

He walks past him, putting his guard up high. He puts the supplies up high, a strong poker face. It's a coping mechanism. Being slapped in the face meant nothing when he had something to do right after. He cleaned hard enough to distract himself from what came right before. There was no anger left to mull over when he did it well. No confusion as to why it happened, and how it came to be.

"Frenched me so good, you wanna just wanna ignore me, huh?" And he says it in just one breath, taunting him.

Daichi breathes hard. He can't fix this, deep down he knows he can't fix it. Maybe deep down, his body knows that too because his movements have turned sluggish. It's going in overdrive from how fast his heart beats.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you liked me—"

Daichi stops midway and pushes him against the blue mats. It's muscle memory how he squeezes him. He sees red, pinning him against that cold plastic. 

Kuroo huffs like the breath has been knocked out of him. He’s caught off guard by his unpredictable nature, but his reflexes are cat-like. Daichi goes in for a hit, but he catches it and turns it around on him. His head collides harshly with the mat.

"Get off of me–!"

He claws through his forearms.

"Calm down!"

"No! get off!"

He disarms his shield of arms.

"You embarrassed me!"

He finally grabs ahold of the wrists. His pride.

"All you wanna do is humiliate me—"

He doesn't even let him finish before he lurches in with a kiss. Daichi can barely register what's happening as he's being smothered. He closes his eyes from the harsh impact.

"Mmm!"

Kuroo breathes into him, fingers intertwined with his. His bangs touch his skin. They breathe the same air. Daichi is forced to breathe his air.

In the back, he can hear brooms falling down. A few volleyballs too.

He hyperventilates so badly that it turns to tears. His brows scrunch, pained, when he kisses back. When he willingly lays his head back. He can't do it. No matter how much he tries, he can't stop nature's course.

Can’t stop the attraction that flows through his body with a simple caress. A passionate cage.

He grabs his neck by pure instinct and pulls forward. Pulls him close enough, so he won't see that he's bare and ugly on the outside. And it's impossible to fathom how he kisses him the way he does, with such concentration, when he's this ugly, inside and out. He doesn't know how anyone can like him this much.

He lifts him against the mat, and his hands support his thighs. They have friction between them, static between their lips. His teeth brush against his, a compromise between hate and passion. Their noses rub, and for once, Daichi isn't thinking about his future, he's thinking in the present. Thinking about how much he wants to do with the limited time he has. How much he wants to snake his hands down the curve of his back and squeeze.

Dachi uses his tongue to spite his earlier message because he's forward in his mistakes now. He tilts his head into it, to show how bold he is with or without the alcohol.

Kuroo is stronger than he looks, as he holds him up. Daichi's hair rubs against the plastic when he lifts him higher. They move by the rock of his hips, and it's so obscene. So right.

Daichi forgets what it's like to depend on the anchor that is hate. The desperation to judge before he understands. He almost doesn't want to close his eyes, so he can remember the moment he felt truly at peace when he relied on someone so much he clung to their shoulders, hoping it would last forever.

It’s five minutes at most before the spark fizzles out. He backs away, out of breath. Daichi falls, panting in and out, looking the other way, anywhere but his face. Kissing was cathartic in a way, the way his anger drained like this. He holds back the urge to touch his lips. Doesn’t even know what to say. Didn't want to say he felt empty, without the teeth biting his lower lip.

He finds himself looking off at the volleyballs, ashamed to think, outside of this room.

Kuroo stares down at him, in a trance.

“Daichi!” Suga calls from outside.

They are tense. Daichi panics. He reaches for the volleyballs but ends up knocking a bag of balls over in the process. It's loud, as they bounce.

“Are you in there?” He calls out.

“Y-yeah!” He sputters, picking them up vehemently. “Just organizing the closet!”

“Okay" he says. " I’ll help you–”

His eyes scream.

“No!” he yells, impulsively.

There's an awkward pause.

"...No?"

"No..." He draws out more positively.

The air is eerily silent. “Huh?”

“I–” he chokes. “I’m almost done!”

There’s another pause.

“...Okay?”

Daichi breathes out, relieved looking at Kuroo, who doesn't know what to do with himself. His hands clench in and out. Cute, he thinks.

He is more endearing when he’s directionless.

They stare at each other, and Daichi squeezes his arm. It’s gentle.

Kuroo's eyes are half-lidded with an unusual grin. By the tightness in his neck and the hitch in his breath with such a goofy grin like he is still high off the adrenaline.

Daichi stares up at him.  Admiration. Contemplation.

He forgets about his future looking up at him.

He pulls him back down for a second peck.

He walks out of the closet with a slight crack between the door, his legs are jelly, and Suga’s farther down the way, he leans next to the double door with a dubious look on, earning a more earnest smile out of him.

“What were you doing?"

“I told you—cleaning.” he says, innocently, and this much would be true. He had planned to clean up what was left because leftover balls had been bugging him just sitting out on the court. It just so happened that this time Kuroo infiltrated his space.

He wished he’d do it again.

Suga, eyes him dubiously, looking back towards the closet, but he decides to change the topic.

Thank god.