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eohascats · 1 year

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Au Réveil

Au réveil — upon waking.

Was sixteen hours without sleep enough to hallucinate, Tobio wonders, because the tall blond waiting in the Arrivals Hall of Narita International couldn’t really be there.

Story rating: T (cross-posted to AO3)

tags: tsukikage, canonverse AU, post timeskip, manga spoilers

Was sixteen hours without sleep enough to hallucinate, Tobio wonders, because the tall blond waiting in the Arrivals Hall of Narita International couldn’t really be there.

Could he?

Tobio doesn’t remember telling anyone other than Miwa his flight number, and that’s because she’s pushy and paranoid and keeps the flight tracker open on her laptop until he’s safely back on terra firma every damn time.

“Good, you’re here,” the vision says and oh speaking hallucinations couldn’t be a good sign. “Do you remember which baggage claim your flight is going to?” But Tsukishima is already standing, long body unfolding into his consistently-impressive 195-centimeter frame and moving to stand in front of a status board. He checks his phone for something before looking back up, eyes darting quickly over the list of flights and their designated carousels.

“Umm,” Tobio manages to get out, still trying to reconcile himself with what must be a lucid dream because there’s no way that Tsukishima Kei is here for him.

“Seventeen,” Tsukishima says, nodding in confirmation to himself before moving towards the large “17” sign hanging from the ceiling. “C’mon, King. Let’s get your shit and go home.”

Which — what? Home? Did he — did he mean Tobio’s apartment in Tokyo or Tsukishima’s in Sendai or their family homes back in the Miyagi countryside? The latter’s the closest he’s ever had to a ‘home’ with Tsukishima — memories of study parties and movie nights and sleepovers at any of the Karasuno 5’s houses flooding in — but a ‘home’ with Tsukishima was a daydream come true.

Too bad this is all only happening in the recesses of his mind.

Except —

Except when Tobio reaches out to touch him, brushes the tips of his fingers against the the thick wool covering the blond’s obnoxiously attractive elbow, Tsukishima doesn’t disappear in a puff of smoke or collapse in a pile of dust.

He feels real.

He feels real and looks back at Tobio with golden eyes and a quirked eyebrow.

“Yes?” he asks.

Tobio says nothing, shaking his head and hurrying to catch up.

He’s beginning to question his sanity because Tsukishima insists on rolling Tobio’s suitcase to what he clearly remembers is Yamaguchi’s car, putting the luggage in the trunk before folding himself into the driver’s seat. Tobio sits next to him in the passenger seat and if this were a dream, wouldn’t they fit in the car a little better? As it stands, the blond seems like he barely fits behind the steering wheel, hair brushing the felted lining of the car and knees sticking up over the gear box.

Tobio adjusts the seat to be as far back as it can and it’s better than the plane — infinitely better, with the radio playing and the smell of Japan and fresh air (as fresh as it can be, in a car in the parking lot of Tokyo’s major international airport) and Tsukishima Kei to his right — but his knees still brush against the glove compartment every time he shifts his hips.

Tsukishima starts the car and puts it in reverse. Tobio reaches out to touch the hand resting on the gear shift, long fingers and a smattering of fine spun-gold hair, and it occurs to him to ask, “Where are we going?”

Pale features turn towards him once again, and the look on his face is soft. Not fully a smile but more than neutral and while Tobio had evidence that this was real, the fondness written around those golden eyes had to be a dream.

“Your apartment,” he answers. “Unless there’s somewhere else?”

“No,” Tobio responds, settling into the seat. The car is pleasantly warm without being stuffy and though the car is small, he is comfortable. Soft music plays through the speakers and he’s drifting off, awake for far too long and seven time-zones out of sorts. “I’ll go wherever you take me.”

He doesn’t realize he’s intertwined their fingers.

~*~

The man sitting next to him is beautiful, Kei thinks, even though he’s spent the better part of the past 24 hours traveling and is not his freshest. Kageyama Tobio is a vision, an absolute dream, and he’s sitting just to his left, no more than a foot or so away, and Kei isn’t sure he’s realized he laced their fingers together.

Kageyama’s hand is unsurprisingly warm, the callouses on his palm rubbing pleasantly against the back of Kei’s as he changes gears, navigating out of the parking lot to the highway.

The man asleep in the passenger seat next to him is beautiful, even as his head lolls to the side, lips slightly parted, snoring lightly from the awkward angle of his neck. He is beautiful and Kei is fairly certain he is in love. He had his suspicions when he asked Miwa for his flight information in the course of casual conversation as she cut his hair. He had his suspicions when he asked Yamaguchi if he could borrow his car, a plan already half-formed in the back of his mind. Those suspicions were confirmed when he looked up from his phone to check the arrivals status board for the umpteenth time, eager to get on with whatever this was, only to lock eyes with a hauntingly familiar blue gaze.

Tobio hadn’t talked much — he never did, really, always more expressive through actions — but Kei’s heart leapt when Tobio reached out to touch him.

The man who slotted their fingers together before dozing off is beautiful and Kei is pretty certain he loves him, and has an inkling that maybe Tobio loves him too.

It should feel sudden, it should feel abrupt and like an earthquake or a tsunami or volcanic eruption. The realization should irrevocably change him, like there is a Kei-Before-Tobio and a Kei-After-Tobio but Kei realizes that the realization hardly changes anything at all, that the Before and After versions of himself happened a long time ago.

The man sitting next to him is beautiful and Kei thinks that he’s probably been in love with him for a while now. Kei thinks that maybe, just maybe, Tobio has been waiting for Kei to realize it too, given the sweetly sleepy way he told him he’d follow Kei anywhere in not so many words.

He doesn’t fully know what he’s doing — the plan was still only half-formed when he left for Tokyo earlier that morning, wanting to see Kageyama first and play it by ear — and he’s glad that Kageyama’s not awake to see him internally panic over his next steps. Those blue eyes always saw more of Kei than he intended to share.

The hand on top of his twitches and he takes a deep breath, inhaling until his rib cage protests and letting it all out in a whoosh. The stretch of his diaphragm provides a nice counter to the strangle-hold his emotions have around his heart.

For now, there’s only one course of action: drive to Kageyama’s apartment. Only time would dictate his next move. Well, time and Kageyama.

Kei isn’t good with rolling with the punches, too accustomed to analyzing details and playing the long game. But Kageyama has always made him act rashly and all of his meticulous planning hasn’t gotten him anywhere so far.

It’s both too far and not long enough before he’s pulling in to the parking lot and shaking Kageyama awake.

~*~

Tobio is confused about the dream-ness of this all because he thinks he fell asleep in a car with Tsukishima outside the airport but now he’s waking up with Tsukishima in a car outside his apartment. Waking up from a dream within a dream is not something he’s ever done before. He wonders if Yachi would know if it’s possible, since the only other person he would think to ask is sitting next to him, and he doesn’t want to clue Tsukishima in to the fact he has no idea what’s happening.

Cause whatever is going on? He likes it. He likes the Tsukishima that shows up unannounced at the airport for him, he likes that Tsukishima got a car to drive him, he likes waking up to a gentle nudge coupled with a, “we’re home.”

He likes it a lot and would prefer it not to end. Tsukishima was like a wild animal in that regard, though — easily startled and highly likely to revert back to better-established behaviors.

And then he’s being herded into an elevator and down a hallway and through his front door and he’s home, as much as this can be home considering he’s only here for roughly five months of the year.

He’s hungry, tired and smelly, equally tempted by the shower, bed and prospect of dinner. Tsukishima pushes him towards the bathroom.

“Clean up. I’ll cook us something.”

And Tobio rolls with it. Pointing out how out of character this all was would be akin to asking ‘why’ and he didn’t want to venture into that territory.

He pulls a clean set of lounge clothes from his bag and heads to bathe.

As an athlete, Tobio has learned to relish the burn in his lungs and ache in his muscles associated with a good workout or productive practice — they’re signs of progress, of steps forward towards his goals. But nothing ever quite compares to a hot shower, whether after a game, a run or a flight.

Near-scalding water beats down on his head, neck and back and while he feels more relaxed than he has since he last went to sleep in Rome nearly 30 hours prior, the exhaustion and aches associated with sitting in the same small seat for prolonged periods of time are making themselves known.

He presses his forehead against the cool tile of the shower stall, trying to get his bearings in between washing his hair and body. Facts, as they currently stood, were as follows:

Tsukishima Kei met him at the airport, which required him to have found out from Miwa when exactly his flight was.

Tsukishima Kei met him at the airport with Yamaguchi’s car, which meant he had driven the more-than-five hours from Sendai instead of just taking the train.

Tsukishima Kei met him at the airport and drove him ‘home’, to Tobio’s Tokyo apartment, where he is now making them dinner while Tobio presses his head against the wall, trying to determine if this whole thing is a dream.

Tact and deductive reasoning — key for navigating this situation — have unfortunately never been his strongest suits. His setter hands, normally so dexterous, are more likely to fumble this blown-glass-delicate thing they’ve built over the past two hours.

He finishes up and heads back to the kitchen.

~*~

Kageyama steps out of the hallway with sweatpants slung low around his hips, a towel slung around his neck and if not for the exhaustion written into every plane of his overly-pretty face, he’d be the manifestation of Kei’s wet dreams.

He ambles over to the island, leaning against the counter near to where Kei is stirring miso soup.

“You’re still here,” he says. He sounds like he doesn’t believe it.

Kei checks on the rice cooker before meeting Kageyama’s gaze. “I said I’d make dinner, didn’t I?”

“I thought…” he trails off, looking off to the side.

“Thought what, King?” Kei prods.

“Thought I’d imagined it. This. You, here.”

“You thought you imagined me driving you home?” he teases but, truth be told, Kei’s heart has been racing since he heard the water shut off. The only task left on their to-do list for the day was ‘talk’.

Kageyama shoots him a deadpan sapphire stare, then lets his head drop forward. He grunts at the stretch. Kei wants to reach over, dig his fingers into the muscles presented to him.

“I’m — leave me alone, I’m tired.”

“You can go to sleep,” Kei says, “I’ll stick this in the fridge.”

“No!” Kageyama reaches out a hand, wrapping long fingers around Kei’s wrist. “No. I…is it almost ready? I’m hungry.”

The rice cooker chimes that it’s done and Kei shoots him a soft smile. He pulls away, plates the food and brings it over to the table with a pitcher of water. Kageyama isn’t sitting down yet so Kei turns to look for him.

He’s closer than Kei anticipates, within arms reach and Kei sees his hand outstretched but low, aiming for the hem of his own sweater.

“You’re really here?”

Kei’s breath catches in his throat. There’s a naked vulnerability in Kageyama’s eyes that makes him swallow, pause and relent even though most of his instincts are yelling for either flight or defensive tactics. For all that he’s supposedly good with words, these don’t come easily to him. He wants many things: to eat, because he is hungry; to run, because he has never traversed difficult conversations with grace; to kiss the man in front of him and welcome him ‘okaeri’, because his heart finally, finally understands what it wants after years of denial.

If only they could step into the relationship without the requisite preamble. If only they could regain the time they’d lost to foolishness.

“Yeah,” he says, voice more of a whisper than any substantial thing. “Yeah, I’m really here.”

“How long are you staying?” As long as I can, Kei thinks. As long as you’ll let me. “The night? It’s late for you to drive back.”

Kei can’t suppress the small smile that overtakes his face. He huffs a laugh.

“I’m not sure I’ll fit on your couch, King.”

They both look at the sofa, broken-in but more decorative than anything and definitely far too small for Kei’s lanky frame.

“Then you’ll have to sleep in the bed,” Kageyama says, taking a tentative step closer.

Kei bites the inside of his cheek, wrapping an arm around Kageyama’s waist and pulling him in closer.

“I guess I’ll have to,” he says, like it’s not a dream come true.

You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. Richard Siken

#kagetsuki #tsukikage #haikyuu!!#kageyama tobio #tsukishima kei #tsukikage week 2022 #hq fanfic #月影 #tsukkikage

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eohascats · 1 year

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Koi No Yokan

(n.) the premonition of falling in love

"Tsukishima-kun, who's your favorite setter?"

Story rating: E / Chapter rating: T (cross-posted to AO3)

tags: canonverse AU, Fukurodani Tsukishima, Fukurodani Yamaguchi

Chapter 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

“You’ve worked with a few setters, right, Tsukishima-senpai? Who’s your favorite?” The fresh-faced first-year spiker was standing next to him during warm-ups, nearly vibrating at the prospect of the training camp ahead. Kei, a veteran of the team at this point, was thinking more about he overate at breakfast.

“Anahori,” he answered. It wasn’t necessarily the truth — though not exactly a lie, either — but with his teammate within ear-shot, even Kei had the social graces to know it was the only acceptable answer. The setter perked up, a small smile on his face, confirming Kei’s intuition.

“Even though you’ve worked with Kageyama-san? Yamaguchi-senpai told me you practiced with him all of last-year’s training camp!”

Kei shot a glare at the aforementioned ‘Yamaguchi-senpai’, now captain of their team and apparently more of a gossip than Kei had realized.

“Kageyama’s good, sure, but we didn’t do anything more than spiking practice.”

And kiss — once, disastrously — but that was neither here nor there. Kageyama had run out of the gym that night and Kei didn’t see him again until Spring Nationals. And ‘see’ was all he did — in their singular near-encounter in the hall, Kageyama’s ears had turned red and the other boy spun so quickly to walk in the opposite direction that he stumbled.

Kei took the hint and left him alone.

Kageyama hadn’t been at the first two training camps of the season, busy instead with the U19 team, and Kei had taken the reprieve with both gratitude and trepidation because now that the tournament was over, Kageyama had rejoined his team.

At least Karasuno was their last match-up of the day, so they could ease into the idea of the awkward meeting, having seen each other around the small gym. Even so, standing across from Kageyama as Hinata and Yamaguchi shook hands, captain to captain, Kei made it a point to look at a spot over his shoulder.

It took most of the first set to overcome the lingering unease he was feeling. Karasuno had recruited taller players over the years, now mostly 180-centimeter-plus on both offense and defense, and their blocking — previously a weak point — was significantly better.

Kei could tell Anahori was struggling to navigate around their defense as things currently stood, and knew that the setter was playing conservatively for Kei’s sake.

Damn knee.

“Anahori,” he called over. “Don’t hold back on my account.”

Anahori nodded in answer and, on the next play, set the ball high.

In a repetition of the motions he practiced here so many times just a year ago, Kei stepped back for his approach, built up speed and jumped.

Karasuno may have added height to their line-up, but Kei was still taller.

It wasn’t a forceful spike, barely more than a feint, but, unused to Kei’s quicks as the other team was, it fell behind the two-man block in a spot a foot shy of the diving libero. Kei came out of the crouch he’d landed in and shook out his knee, testing it for twinges and soreness as his team cheered at the point. When he looked up, midnight blue eyes were staring straight at him, Kageyama’s whole face fiercely annoyed.

The rest of the sets followed the same pattern: Karasuno attacked as they always had, Fukurodani attacked as they always had, both sometimes scoring, sometimes getting blocked. Every block-out or successful quick Kei managed, Kageyama’s eyes narrowed and jaw twitched. Every time Kageyama was faster than Kei’s read block resulted in a vicious smile.

It was fun. He almost forgot that he was supposed to feel uncomfortable.

Almost, because when he reached under the net at the end of the match to shake his hand, Kageyama stared first at his hand, then his face before scurrying away with pink cheeks, barely having touched Kei’s palm at all.

Kei declined offers for more practice as people began to mill about, instead heading to the ice machine in the hallway behind the supply closet. The day had been long and more strenuous than anything he’d done recently, so while his knee didn’t exactly hurt, he was definitely aware of it.

He was filling a second bag when the voice called out from behind him.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Excuse me?” he asked indignantly, turning around.

Kageyama stood just a few steps away, passing a water bottle back and forth between his hands. His eyes were pointedly not looking at Kei’s face and his ears were red.

What was wrong with Kei? What was wrong with him? Absolutely nothing. What was wrong with Kageyama, coming after him a year later and asking —

“Your knee.” Kageyama gestured at Kei’s left leg, where black kinesiology tape wrapped around the joint. “What happened?”

Oh.

“Sports Fest accident,” Kei said, deciding that he had enough ice and tying off the baggie. “Got fouled playing basketball.”

The other player had run up in Kei’s blind spot, appearing out of nowhere as Kei had pivoted to pass or take a shot — he couldn’t remember — and colliding with him. The crack of his knee against the court floor rang in his ears for days. His first thoughts weren’t of the pain or if his knee were broken but that, if he were seriously injured, he might not be able to play volleyball.

Volleyball, the ‘club’ he’d once written off as a marginally better alternative to the grocery mart cashier position his mother had threatened him with.

Luckily the injury was mild — a slight sprain, some bruising of the bone and more swelling than Kei was comfortable with — and between taking it easy for the past six weeks and copious ice, he was nearly fully recovered. He considered continuing to use the tape though — he liked the way it felt, even under the kneepads.

“You should be more careful,” Kageyama admonished, brows furrowed.

“Thank you,” he said, condescension dripping from his every word. “For your concern, Your Highness, this humble peasant will try his hardest —”

“Stop! Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like — like — like this!”

“You haven’t clarified what you mean at all —”

“Why can’t you be like you were last year!”

And there it was — the first actual acknowledgement that something had transpired. Maybe Kei should be glad that Kageyama wanted to pretend it never happened but, as he often found the when the other boy was concerned, his mouth acted without his approval.

“When? Before or after you ran away?”

Kageyama flushed fully at that, sputtering and averting his eyes. Kei immediately regretted it.

“Look,” he said. “I’m sor — I should have asked before I kissed you last year. I realized that not everyone is…okay with that.”

And Kei wished he could be basically anywhere other than where he currently stood, given the way Kageyama was giving him a wide-eyed stare. Sometime during their conversation he’d moved closer, now blocking Kei’s easy escape down the hall and out the door.

“Do it again,” Kageyama said.

Kei rolled his eyes. “I’m only apologizing once, King —”

“No. Ki — kiff — kiss me again,” he stammered out.

He froze, staring intently at Kageyama. The hallway was suddenly unbearably quiet.

“What?”

Kageyama looked to the side and muttered from behind clenched teeth, “Kiss me again, asshole.”

“Well when you ask so nicely — oh, wait, you’re not asking —”

Kageyama growled and closed the space between them, pressing his mouth against Kei’s with a characteristic lack of preamble.

Kei stumbled backwards into the ice machine from the force of the kiss; Kageyama followed. Dropping the bags he was holding in favor of grabbing Kageyama’s waist, he fully intended to push him away but paused as Kageyama let out a quiet gasp at the flex of his fingers. Hard muscles tensed under his touch and Kageyama leaned further into Kei’s space.

The kiss, initially more of an assault on Kei’s own lips, gentled until the pressure eased up fully.

Unlike the last time, all he could see was Kageyama’s closed eyelids. Then those eyes snapped open and Kageyama, impossibly red, tried to take a step back.

But Kei didn’t let him go.

“Quit running away,” he said. “Especially since you kissed me this time.”

“HEH?” Kageyama was immediately indignant. “Running away?”

Kei couldn’t help but smirk. “Yeah, running away. Though it is expectedly tyrannical of you to kiss me a whole year lat—”

“Shut up!” Kageyama growled.

“Make me.”

Then Kageyama’s mouth was on his again. It was a better kiss this time — less force, more finesse. Kageyama had caught Kei’s lower lip between his own, tugging on it lightly as he pulled back to breathe before surging forward again and something sharp and sweet sang in Kei’s veins. The sting of teeth pulled him back to the present, though, and he nudged Kageyama back by the hips.

“But seriously, what’re you doing?”

Kageyama, still red, gave him a confused stare. “Kissing you.”

Kei blinked. “Yeah I know, but why?”

Blue eyes darted away and his tongue darted out over his lip. Kei tracked the movement of it intensely.

“I…because I want to.”

“And last year, you…didn’t want to?”

“Last year I didn’t know what I wanted.” He swallowed. “You caught me off guard.”

“So what changed?”

Kageyama swallowed, looking back at Kei.

“I figured it out.” Kageyama’s stomach growled loudly in the silent hallway. “Can we get dinner now if we’re not gonna kiss more? Unless” — and he looked bashful again as some realization dawned on him — “unless you don’t want to?”

“Don’t want to get dinner?”

“No — don’t want to kiss m—”

Kei didn’t let him finish, pulling him in closer with one hand and running his other thumb over his lip. The brush of their mouths was gentle, tender, almost too sweet for whatever ill-defined something this was, but Kageyama tasted sweet —

“Are you wearing chapstick?”

Kageyama blinked, eyes wide, cheeks probably permanently stained pink at this point.

He mumbled something from the corner of his mouth, ‘Hinata’ being all Kei could pick out from the hushed speech before reeling him in again, huffing a laugh.

He swallowed Kageyama’s gasp as Kei returned the favor from earlier, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and nipping at the flesh. In return, Kageyama pressed his tongue against the seam of Kei’s lips, licking into his mouth, running the tip over his hard palate just behind his teeth.

Pure sensation ran through Kei, starting at the point where Kageyama’s tongue pressed against him and jumping to his throat, stomach and groin. He moaned, couldn’t help it, a note that started low in his lungs and crawled out of his mouth as a full chord of desire.

Then Kageyama’s stomach growled a second time and although he’d rather immerse himself in the taste, feel and smell of Kageyama, laughter erupted from Kei, happy and bright. He threw his head back and laughed like he hadn’t in a long time. Looking back down, though, Kageyama was a few centimeters shorter than he had been a moment ago.

“Were you…were you on tiptoes this whole time?” Kei laughed again, giddy, lightheaded, feeling things he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before.

“You grew, asshole!”

He had — a full two centimeters. He was also unreasonably pleased that Kageyama had noticed.

“Is His Royal Highness jealous?” Kei teased. “How kind of him, in that case, to bestow a kiss upon a mere peasa—”

Kageyama leaned up once again, kissed Kei quiet and turned, walking away.

Kei bent over to pick up his bags of ice and Kageyama’s water bottle before following, smiling.

#kagetsuki #tsukikage #haikyuu!!#kageyama tobio #tsukishima kei #haikyuu fanfiction #koi no yokan #月影 #츠키카게

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