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“oh my god, nishinoya, sit down!” you grab his forearm, tugging him harshly. he yelps, butt hitting the wood of the chair, hard.
“ow!”
“sorry,” you mutter immediately, releasing your hold on him. “just focus, okay? this is the last set, then we can finish up, i promise.”
“fine.” grumbling, he returns to the worksheet you laid out, pencil scratching against the paper as he makes sense of each item before him.
the peace is short lived, however, and sure enough, he really can’t take it anymore. he groans, throwing his hands up for the—actually, you don’t know, you’ve lost track of how many times he’s whined in the past hour.
“what’s in it for me? who cares anyway, i’m not gonna need this stuff in the future!”
“what’s in it for you is you can’t play volleyball if you don’t pass your exams.” you drawl, not bothering to look up. your fingers turn your textbook over to the next page. the fact makes him slump down, cheeks squishing as he smushes his face on the table.
“i have, like, zero motivation to study,” he groans, and the way he says it, pout audible in his voice, muffled by the way his mouth moves against the table, actually makes you feel a little bad. your eyes soften as you look up at him.
“hey, hey, you got this, okay?” it’s true, he’s been working hard, and his marks have been improving. even though you know he wouldn’t get a perfect score tomorrow, he’d get a decent one, much higher than he would have gotten had he not studied.
“just this once, i’ll treat you to ice cream and meat buns. but,” you raise your hand, amusement curling at your lip when he perks up at the mention of free food, “you have to promise me you’ll pass the quiz tomorrow.”
“yes! alright, it’s a date!”
“don’t get the wrong idea,” is your reply, but you end up smiling, nonetheless.
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originally, nishinoya was the kind of guy you’d try to avoid as much as possible, not just because of personality but also his penchant for trouble. being classmates, you already built a less-than favorable impression since the year started, and you vividly remember how he broke the vice principal’s vase and got suspended.
the first few weeks of tutoring were a nightmare. his poor habits shown in him barely reading each number before scribbling the “coolest” possible answer, or, if multiple choice, answering the items in some sort of pattern that he was in the mood for. imagine your horror—you, who had always put care (as much as you possibly could) in your studies. as such, you were either constantly disgruntled or extremely exasperated.
simply put, you and nishinoya did not mesh. he’s loud where you are quiet, reckless where you are measured, and fiery where you are calm. you didn’t know he could share any similarities with you, whose life revolved around focused discipline, books, and learning.
until you saw him on the court.
watching him in his element gave a newfound respect for how driven he can be. you know he’s full of energy, but to see him direct it in such a singular focus towards something he’s passionate for, something he knows he’s good at, gave you an entirely different perspective.
really, you’re not so different after all.
more things emerge: his positivity and energy never fail to amaze you, given how overwhelmed you’d probably be if you were in his position. it just adds a layer of respect and admiration for him, and if before you’d dismiss him as a boy with a heart of fool’s gold, now, you can confidently say his heart is as real as it can get.
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months pass, and technically you’ve been “relieved” of your tutor duties, but for old times’ sake (really, you’d just find yourself missing his company), you’d pop in every now and then, sometimes just routinely helping him out during test season.
it’s understandable that he struggles; if you were an athlete juggling rigorous training with studies, you’d probably have a hard time too, not just because of the time but the physical and mental strain of it all. perhaps now you understand and are more lenient, and it brings so much more ease into how you are with him.
sometimes calls reach into the night, when he slumps to bed the minute he gets home only to pop awake at midnight to begin his homework, he’d call you if he sees the green online indicator on your icon. sometimes it’s schoolwork, but mostly its just to talk, to ask you about your day while he was out in volleyball. on some days it reaches to 2 am, when you admit to the seeds of insecurity that come with scholarships and reputations and fake friends.
maybe it’s this truth, the awakening to how wonderful he is and how big of a fixture in your life he has become, how much strength he actually has, that makes things infinitely better and worse at the same time.
(he is a storm of wind and rain. he commands your attention, wields it with effortless and breathtaking grace. electricity sparks like lightning, and you’re helpless in the forces of nature.
how could you not have fallen?)
“i don’t see why i have to do this.” you try to protest, but he’s adamant, face pinched into a stubborn pout.
“come on, it’s fun and easy! see?” he tosses it up to the air and does a simple volley, the ball coming up in a smooth arc, falling perfectly on your hands.
you hold it with a frown. “i am terrible at passing.” you’re hardly in the mood today, your friends having ditched you for the nth time to hang out without even telling you they had plans. maybe it’s just that detachment, or the feeling of being unwanted or unwelcome that waters that seed of insecurity that you’re simply too high strung and too uptight to be a good enough friend.
“and i’m terrible at studying so just let me be the better one just this once,” his feet are already spread and knees bent in a receiving position, making it clear what he expects you to do. you sigh, tossing the ball into the air with a flick, watching it spin before landing in your palms again. it feels foreign in your hands, and you imagine that this is probably what he feels when a book is laid out before him.
wordlessly, you throw the ball in his direction, and he smoothly gets it back up in the air. as it approaches you, you clasp your fingers, press your elbows together, and bop the ball back into the air.
“not bad!” he calls, grinning. he adjusts himself, giving you pointers about your posture and footwork, recalling the long-forgotten concepts of your PE classes from before. and in all of this, he receives every ball so that it flies in a perfect arc towards you.
you find yourself enjoying it, passing the ball back and forth, and the negativity from earlier fades away as your focus sharpens to him, the ball, and your body as you receive it.
you don’t know if he knows, but when he catches the ball in his hands and calls it a day, you suspect that he sensed it. “feeling better?” he asks, grinning in relief when you nod, a sheen of sweat over your brow but with a smile on your face. he crosses the distance in sure strides, stopping when he reaches you.
his hand comes up to clasp your shoulder. “people like them shouldn’t be worth your time. ‘sides,” he adds, face softening into a genuine smile, “I wouldn’t be friends with you if you weren’t cool. so that’s that.”
maybe it’s the way he says it, utterly sincere and candid, no ulterior intent whatsoever, that just makes your heart flutter and leap to your throat. to add to that, you hadn’t even told him what was wrong. he simply knows.
“y-yeah,” you manage to crack a grin. “thank you.”
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he wonders if you know how he feels when he’s with you; like you’re a place he’s more than happy to get lost in, or an ocean of secrets that he wants to know more about but simply doesn’t know where to start.
when nishinoya looks at you, he thinks about the sea. serene, calm, undeniably deep, sometimes playful, yet never to be underestimated.
he can’t get enough of the satisfaction of making you laugh, or the sudden jolt in his stomach when your eyes sparkle or when the light hits your hair just right. you’re also brilliant; he doesn’t know if he’s ever told you this, but you are. you’re sharp, quick, and fiercely dependable.
he loves the moments and tutoring sessions, and though he knows his scores not quite there, and you’ve not always been the most patient (especially at the start), the fact that you’ve reached an understanding and helped each other grow is not lost on him.
you’ve invested yourself, your time and efforts, for him, and seeing how his successes become your happiness too makes his heart so unbelievably full.
if he were a storm, you are the waters from which he draws his strength.
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you had foregone the library today, hoping that a change in scenery would be helpful. for you, it certainly did on your end: the faint music, the lull of the people, and the deliciously warm smell of coffee made you relaxed and ready to work. you brought him here in the hopes that it would maybe help him too.
“is this a date?” his eyes sparkle, and though now it’s a running joke more than anything else, there’s something ever-so slightly flirty and even hopeful in the way he says it. would you notice? he wonders
“don’t flatter yourself,” you answer, not missing a beat, laughing. apparently not. still, he joins in not long after, and still, the sound makes your heart buzz with the kind of electricity that only he can conduct.
the afternoon is spent studying, eating the food (which were expensive but you both saved up some money for it), browsing around the shops when your butts grew sore from sitting, and consequently returning to finish your work (despite nishinoya’s best efforts to get you to do something else).
before you know it, the sun is beginning to set, though today, it was hidden by the clouds. he notices the time on the clock of the café, and turns to you. “it’s getting kinda late. should we stop for now?”
you hum, eyes still trained on your book. once you mark the last bit of text, you place your highlighter down and look up at him. “sure, but it’s okay really, i told my parents i’d be out with you.”
“they’re fine with that?”
you scratch your cheek. “well, yeah, it’s not the first time we hang out after your training. they know i’m safe with you.” his mind short-circuits, your words making him so soft that he can’t really help the words that tumble out of his mouth.
“can i walk you home?” you look at him weirdly. “what?” he asks, suddenly nervous at your expression.
“this is the first time you offered,” you point out, smiling teasingly when his mouth forms into an o. “but sure.”
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“is this okay? i’m totally fine with walking home on my own, it’s not that far anyway—“
“it’s fine, it’s fine,” he interrupts, waving a hand. “hey, look! the old ice cream shop is being renovated!”
“wait really?”
the walk home follows like this: him pointing out the little things that he notices, anything from ‘hey it kind of smells like it rained a while ago’ to ‘oh my god, the ice cream in that little shop was the best’ and even ‘i think i got bitten by a dog there somewhere’. you just laugh and return it with a story of the run-in with the surprisingly young fortune teller beside the izakaya and how your first okozukai was buying flowers at the shop beyond the corner.
you can’t help but wonder if this is actually a date now, because come to think of it, the structure of the day resembles one. from spending time in the café to checking out the shops during breaks to now him walking you home, the similarities are too stark to ignore.
it’s been instance after instance of ‘is this a date?’ and ‘don’t flatter yourself’, exchanges that are all fun and games until you actually find yourself wishing it were true.
there’s something inherently intimate about seeing another person’s house. it takes a level of trust, and you can count on one hand the number of people who have seen yours.
you surprised yourself when you agreed so easily.
something begins to rumble, and nishinoya’s offhand remark about the rain begins to make sense, as buckets between to pour down around you. you panic, grabbing his hand and running to the nearest possible roof. your clothes aren’t fully sopping wet, though it’s enough to make some strands of his normally spiky hair fall, framing his face.
“you okay?”
“y-yeah, i’m fine,” you reply breathlessly, pausing to check if the books and notes you had brought with you are okay. thankfully they are, and so is your phone. you set your bag down on a dry spot under the roof, him mirroring you. for a few awkward moments, you stay there in silence, watching the rain fall in torrents around you.
maybe it’s something about the stupid rain and his stupid hair sticking to his forehead, or how his hand comes up to card through the strands that fall into his eyes. maybe it’s the fact that this looks like a scene straight out of a movie, and there’s really only one thing left to do.
he’s always been the risk-taker between the two of you. this time though, you’re taking the lead.
“hey,” you say suddenly, catching his attention. “when was the last time you danced in the rain?”
his face lights up, the sun in the midst of the rain, and he pulls you out of the roof and onto the sidewalk. it’s deserted, no one there but the two of you, not even a car passing by. the rain soaks through your clothes and your hair, but the moment is too perfect for you to care for any of that.
he takes your hand, spinning you in dizzying circles and you laugh freely, from deep in your chest; it’s been so long since you’ve had this much fun. his hair is now sticking to his forehead, and his hand comes up again, pushing the rain-slicked strands back.
he makes you want to be reckless. maybe it’s his stupid smile or his stupid laugh and how it makes your heart flutter, or the utterly magnetic effect of his eyes when they meet yours, or the way he forgets physics formulas after weeks of drills yet somehow remembers your stupidly complicated personalized order in the café down the street—
maybe it’s that he’s been there, steadfast and true and everything you could possibly ask for and more. he is the downpour that washes away your sadness and the sunlight that shines on new hopes and beginnings.
(you learned, once, that thunder is a result of lightning: the sound of the air expanding rapidly due to the heat. now, perhaps you understand: his eyes are copper from a live wire, and when they meet yours, your heart thunders in your ears.
suddenly, you can’t breathe.
if he were a storm, no flimsy umbrella or denial would ever hide the truth for long, and you know you can’t outrun nature forever.)
maybe, too, it’s the way he looks at you now, with unadulterated joy and adoration, that sets your heart with enough strength to simply leap. you fist your hands in his shirt and tug him towards you, crashing your lips onto his. you’re not sure, but a strangled noise may have left his throat; the rain muffles all the noise save for the thunder of your heartbeat in your ears. your eyes are screwed shut, still high on the adrenaline of your sudden recklessness. the kiss is more teeth than anything else, bruising in its impact and you wince, pulling away.
you meet his wide-eyed expression. rationality crashes down like a rainstorm, and your heartbeat thunders in your chest, but for an entirely different reason—fear. stupid, stupid, god you’re so stupid—
he cups your cheeks and closes the distance once more, mouth bruising and breath hot against yours. his lips are fire in the rain, and all he can think of is the feeling of finallykissing you, after months of pining and second-guessing of if you feel the same. he kisses you again and again, burning the feel of your lips to his memory. his mind is buzzing, sparks flying in his brain and along his scalp as you tangle your fingers in his hair.
when he finally pulls away, you’re close enough to hear the joyful laugh that bubbles out of his throat.
“y/n!” he yells over the rain, forehead pressed to yours. “is this a date?!”
“yes!” you shout back, hoping that he hears it. his face lights up again, and he tugs you closer, arms wrapping tightly around you in a fierce embrace.
with him, you wouldn’t mind the rain or the fever that would come after. no—there is nothing but the coldness of the droplets on your skin juxtaposed with the heat of his body.
nishinoya yuu is a storm, yet he has taught you how to dance in the rain. truly, loving him demands to be second nature.