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Tobio doesn't tell anyone about his plans after high school. Not his parents, not his sister, and not anyone at school.
He has a list of teams who have reached out to him, who want him, and at the top of it is the Schweiden Adlers. Tobio shakes, even just thinking about it. Playing for a team consistently in the top of the first division, being able to set for top players like Ushijima and Hoshiumi—he has dreamed of it often, has imagined himself in that position countless times.
Odd, how it felt more concrete in his imagination than it does now.
It still feels unreal even when Tobio gets two tickets to the finals from the Adlers’ management. Something that sets the Adlers apart from the others—they’re the only team who's tapped him and actually got that far in the playoffs this season.
Two tickets to possibly the last game of the season. Tobio should take his sister, or maybe even Hinata. He doesn't; he doesn’t tell them about the tickets at all. And Tobio wishes he didn't know why he doesn't tell them, wishes he could be blissfully unaware of himself. But he recognizes the sensation of it. An undercurrent of nervous energy staining his days, the same way it did when he was waiting for the results of his Shiratorizawa entrance exam, and then after, freshly rejected, his pride still hurting and his future up in the air.
Tobio has changed since then, has pulled himself up from the pits of his greed, his self-absorption, his boundless frustration; even so, old habits sometimes resurface, and Tobio ends up keeping it to himself.
He packs an overnight bag, leaves a note saying he'll be at a sleepover, and walks all the way to the station. He arrives just in time, panting, his shirt sticking to his back and his neck unpleasantly damp. The cool air inside the bus is a relief as he steps inside and slides onto the free seat behind the driver, catching his breath as the doors close and the engine rumbles awake.
“Kageyama?”
Tobio jerks in his seat, head whipping to his left, only to see Yamaguchi in the seat beside him.
“What are you doing here?” Tobio says, stomach turning. He feels like a child again, when Grandpa used to catch him playing with his volleyball even after he's been tucked in, the lights in his room already turned off for the night. The same feeling of freezing, scrambling for an excuse, only to come up empty.
But, as Tobio considers Yamaguchi—wide-eyed and white-knuckled where he's gripping his bag a touch too tightly—he seems just as rattled, just as surprised to see Tobio get into the seat beside him. Silence stretches out between them as Tobio waits for Yamaguchi to answer. And he relaxes just a little when he sees Yamaguchi start to calm down, his shoulders slouching and his grip loosening where he's holding his backpack.
Yamaguchi tilts his head. “I'm going to Tokyo.”
“Me too.“
“Yeah.” Yamaguchi purses his lips. Tobio braces himself, and then— “Do you want some tissue or something?”
Tobio reaches up to wipe his thumb across his cheek, but he isn't crying. He hears Yamaguchi huff out a laugh, the same way he does whenever Tobio hands out three extra cartons of milk to Yamaguchi, Hinata, and Tsukishima during lunch, claiming he accidentally bought them.
“You're sweaty, Kageyama,” Yamaguchi says. “You shouldn't let it dry like that, you'll get sick.”
Yamaguchi digs into his backpack until he pulls out a pack of tissues. Tobio watches as he takes one, two, three sheets out, and folds them all together into a square the size of his palm. Tobio watches too, when Yamaguchi reaches out to wipe away the sweat on his forehead, brushing his bangs away from his face as he does. Tobio feels warm, overly so, his cheeks especially. It isn't from having rushed here anymore, but Tobio takes comfort in the fact that it can be easily blamed on that.
“Thanks,” he says, voice small. Even then, Yamaguchi falters. He pulls away, and Tobio wishes he never spoke at all. Tobio takes another sheet of tissue out from the pack, wipes away the sweat that’s pooled at his collarbone himself. He looks up at Yamaguchi, “Could you put some on my back?”
Yamaguchi nods. He puts his bag down by his feet as Tobio forces himself to turn around. There’s no one in the seats across them, so Tobio watches green shrubbery and gray steel fences go by as Yamaguchi lifts up his shirt and starts to place tissues on his skin, his hands cool even through the thin material.
“Are you by yourself?” Tobio asks.
“Yeah.”
“Me too.”
Tobio feels Yamaguchi pull down his shirt and pat him twice, brief and light, unlike the passion-ridden taps in games. He wonders if he only imagines the way Yamaguchi’s touch lingers just a second too long.
“You’re good.”
Tobio turns back around, settling in his seat. “Thanks,” he says. He locks his fingers together as he hugs his backpack to his chest, and bites his tongue.
He wants to ask Yamaguchi why he’s here, on the way to Tokyo. But questions only lead to more questions—questions Tobio might not want to answer. So he keeps his mouth shut, and lets the silence linger until it fills up the space between them.
Yamaguchi doesn't ask either, only gets Tobio's attention to offer him an earbud that he accepts. He recognizes the music; he doesn't know the title or the artist, but he's heard it before. Maybe it's one of the songs that someone in the team used to play in the background during practice, or maybe Tobio heard it blasting from Tsukishima's headphones while studying. Tobio isn't sure, but it's familiar enough, and he lets it drown everything else out as he stares at the road through the windshield.
The endless gray of the highway lulls him to sleep, and when he wakes, he opens his eyes to an orange-tinted world, the greenery around the highway replaced by high-rises painted over by the setting sun. Tobio has been to Tokyo many times—for training camps and practice matches and competitions. Always rushing, always too focused on volleyball. This time is no different; he rushed here, hesitating until the last minute, his tickets to the game burning in the pocket of his bag.
He turns to Yamaguchi and finds him slouched against the window, head tilted against a shirt bunched in between his shoulder and his neck. His temple hits the window every so often as he sways in his sleep. It can't be a comfortable position. Tobio would know; he's done the same thing in the past.
Tobio reaches out to curl a hand around the back of Yamahuchi's head, and he slowly, gently pulls Yamaguchi to himself until he rests on his shoulder. Yamaguchi doesn't wake up from it, so Tobio lets him sleep. Later, when Tobio shakes him by his knee as the bus approaches its last stop, Yamaguchi comes to, blinking sluggishly with red marks on his forehead from the folds of Tobio’s shirt.
“We're here,” Tobio says.
Yamaguchi blinks up at him, hand immediately going to his neck. “Did I sleep on you?”
“It's fine.” Tobio leans down to grab Yamaguchi's backpack off the floor, pulls it up by the straps and puts it over his shoulder with his own backpack as he stands. He reaches out with his free hand, and before thinking better of it, he grabs Yamaguchi's hand, pulling him up just as the bus lurches to a stop. “Come on.”
Tobio guides Yamaguchi to the door, pausing to look behind him when Yamaguchi has to step down onto the concrete. He stumbles a bit, and Tobio finds himself tightening his grip on Yamaguchi's hand in an attempt to steady him.
“You okay?”
Yamaguchi rubs at his face with his free hand until his nose turns pink, and he blinks up at Tobio one, two, three times until he finally nods. “Sorry. I didn't realize I'd fallen asleep.”
Tobio shrugs. “It's fine.”
Yamaguchi squeezes Tobio's hand, and Tobio lets him pull away, looks away as Yamaguchi brings his hands above his head to stretch his back.
“Where are you staying?”
Tobio shifts his weight from one foot to another. “I don't know.”
“You don't know where it is, or…?”
Tobio looks back at Yamaguchi, now with a hand on his waist, tilting his head the same way that he does whenever he’s watching tape of their previous games.
“Uh. I don't know where I'm staying.”
“Kageyama,” Yamaguchi says, voice low, the syllables enunciated slowly, perfectly. Tobio wants to look away but he doesn't, and he holds Yamaguchi’s gaze until Yamaguchi finally breaks away to look up at the darkening sky, sighing. “Okay. The room I booked is for two anyway, so you can stay with me.”
Tobio purses his lips, wonders how he'll get away with disappearing for hours at the exact time of the game that he knows Yamaguchi is, at the very least, aware of. But then, he thinks as he looks at Yamaguchi, pale underneath the harsh fluorescent lights of the bus stop—well, if he had to tell anyone the truth, he should probably be glad that it's Yamaguchi.
“If you're sure?” Tobio says, and Yamaguchi nods. “Okay. Thank you.”
Yamaguchi's lips curl into a small smile. It doesn't quite reach his eyes, not really, not in the way that it does when Yamaguchi smiles after a good serve, or after some lame joke Tsukishima says. Still, his eyes are as warm as his smile, as warm as his voice. “I'm still your captain, you know, even if we've already graduated. I still have to take care of you.”
Tobio ducks his head.
“I know. And you'll always be my captain.”
He hears Yamaguchi laugh, feels a hand in his hair—the touch fleeting, gone as quickly as it comes. Tobio has to look up, and he sees the smile he was thinking of, the smile that makes him pause, happy to have been part of what caused it.
“Let's see if you can say that to me again after you've played for captains much better than me,” Yamaguchi says, and Tobio's eyebrows knit together, his lips twisting into a frown as he catches Yamaguchi's wrist.
“I will,” he says. A promise sent out into the universe, a promise he'll see through.
Yamaguchi pulls his arm away from Tobio only to take his hand, thumb brushing against Tobio's skin.
“Like I said, we'll see,” he says. “Now, come on. We should get to the hotel before it gets too dark.”
He takes out his phone with his free hand and starts to lead the way, unaware of how he's affected Tobio. We'll see, he said, as if he doesn't trust Tobio to remember him. As if he doesn't trust himself as a captain.
We will see, Tobio thinks.
The room Yamaguchi booked is modest, just a bed, a table for one, a closet the width of Tobio’s shoulders, and a bathroom that can barely fit the both of them. But the bed is soft and the sheets smell like the citrus-scented fabric softener used at home. Tobio sits on the queen-sized bed, his back cushioned by a pillow wedged between him and the headboard, and he takes note of the commute from the hotel to the arena as he listens to the sounds of Yamaguchi washing up in the bathroom.
The water turns off, and Tobio looks up as Yamaguchi comes out of the bathroom, dressed in fresh clothes, rubbing a towel against his hair. Tobio should go and wash up too, get the smell of the sun off his back and rest after the long ride from Miyagi, but he sits there for a moment, watching. Yamaguchi goes to the other side of the bed where his backpack is, and he’s close enough that Tobio can smell his lavender shampoo, the same one he uses for training camps and sleepovers.
“Yamaguchi.”
“Hm?”
Tobio looks down at his phone, “I have an extra ticket to the game tomorrow. Do you… do you wanna come with me?”
Yamaguchi pauses where he's bent over his backpack. He looks up at Tobio, takes a seat on the bed across him. Tobio wishes he could feel the bed dip under his weight.
“You mean the V.League finals? Is that why you’re here?”
“Yeah,” Tobio answers, and hopes that Yamaguchi doesn’t ask any further.
“Sure, I'll go with you. Send me the details, okay?” Yamaguchi reaches across the space between them, curls a hand around Tobio's knee, squeezing. “And go wash up so we can eat.”
Yamaguchi moves to pull away, and Tobio thinks of stopping him, thinks of wrapping one hand around his wrist to keep him where he is. But he doesn't, and the distance between them expands once again.
“Okay,” he says. When he smiles, it’s tentative and shaky, but Yamaguchi meets him halfway and smiles back.
They turn in early that night. Tobio covers himself in navy blue sheets that look black in the low light. They're cold against his body at first, but Yamaguchi is lying next to him, warm as a summer morning. His body is heavy, aching from the long trip, but Yamaguchi's warmth is a comfort lulling him to sleep.
The next morning, Tobio wakes up alone. The space behind him is empty, and the room is quiet save for the whirring of the air conditioner. It's still dark with the curtains drawn over the window, but when Tobio checks his phone, it's already past ten in the morning. Around five hours until the game starts.
Tobio gets up to look around the room for any sign of Yamaguchi—his backpack is gone, his hotel slippers placed neatly beside Tobio's sneakers by the door. But Tobio finds his handwriting on the back of the brochure the hotel left on the table.
Gone out, it reads. Let's meet outside the arena at 4 PM.
Tobio stands there for a moment, staring at black ink on white glossy paper, feeling small. He wonders where Yamaguchi is, wonders if Yamaguchi would tell him, if he asked.
But he doesn't ask, and he won't. He understands the value of being able to keep things to himself and not having to deflect or lie when asked about it.
See you later. Stay safe, he texts instead.
And later, after getting ready to go out, he takes the note, folds it up until it can fit in his pocket. A little piece of Yamaguchi to keep him company.
Tobio waits in a cafe across the arena. He camps out next to a socket and watches clips of old Adlers games to pass the time. He takes his time drinking his coffee until it turns lukewarm and bitter. 4 PM comes and goes, and Tobio starts to worry just as Yamaguchi shows up, hair messy and cheeks flushed as he takes the seat across Tobio.
“Kageyama!” he says, reaching out to hold Tobio's hand in both of his. He leans down, presses his forehead against their joined hands. “I'm so sorry about being late, I didn't realize the time.”
Tobio wonders if he should pull his hand away. But he doesn't want to, and so he lets it sit in Yamaguchi's hold, lets it stay in Yamaguchi's warmth.
“It's only a few minutes.” He presses down the tufts of hair sticking up on Yamaguchi's head, to no avail. Yamaguchi looks up at him, and Tobio lets his hand fall to the table. “Do you want a drink before we go?”
Yamaguchi shakes his head. “I'm good. I'll just buy something at the arena.”
“Okay.” Tobio feels something warm spark in his stomach as he sits there, looking at Yamaguchi—back from his morning excursion, solid in Tobio's hold. His phone lies face-down on the table, video unfinished and forgotten, so Tobio puts it in his pocket. He stands, hand still held in Yamaguchi's, and tugs with just enough force to pull Yamaguchi up, closer to him. “Let's go?”
Yamaguchi smiles, starts to lead the way.
“Let's go.”
The game runs long, and Tobio spends most of it on the edge of his seat, watching the two teams match each other point for point, set for set. They're closely matched, almost even, but Tobio finds his attention lingering on the Adlers side of the court more often than not. Ushijima's spikes are still brutal, Hoshiumi's attacks still unbelievably endless—just watching them makes Tobio restless, his entire body buzzing with the thought of what he could help them do as their setter.
If Tobio says yes to the Adlers, he would be agreeing to play on this same court, with all these players that dominate the space—and Tobio wants it. It's in his grasp, just a hair's breadth away, and all he needs to do is accept the Adlers' offer and sign the contract.
It didn't feel real before, but it does now.
Tobio is filled to the brim with excitement, almost bursting with it, the words he's been pressing down now on the tip of his tongue. He doesn't say them—not yet—but he cheers for every point the Adlers get, and he shouts along with the crowd when the buzzer goes off and the ball drops and the Adlers win. The Adlers win and Tobio turns to Yamaguchi, grinning, wishing he could let him know exactly what he feels in this moment.
Instead, Tobio settles for wrapping an arm around Yamaguchi and holding on tight. He presses his too-wide smile against Yamaguchi's shoulder, lets out the excitement and the buzz of the win in the way he holds onto Yamaguchi's shirt. And Yamaguchi…
Yamaguchi holds him just as tightly, shouts as loud as the crowd around them. Cheering for Tobio's future team without knowing it.
Tobio opens his eyes, pulls away. Yamaguchi smiles back at him, and Tobio thinks, maybe.
That night, buried under a blanket with the lights off, Tobio finds himself with an excess of the afternoon's energy still lingering in him. It makes itself known as an itch in his throat, waiting to be scratched.
Tobio swallows against the sensation, reaches across the space until he finds Yamaguchi's arm in the darkness.
“Yamaguchi.”
He sees the vague outline of Yamaguchi's hair, standing out just slightly against the backdrop of the curtains.
“Yeah?”
Tobio thinks he feels Yamaguchi's heartbeat under his fingers, but he wonders if it's just his own, projected onto Yamaguchi.
“The tickets—they were from the Adlers management. They invited me as a courtesy because they, uh, they want me to sign with them.”
Yamaguchi shifts under Tobio's hold until their hands are clasped together instead. “Kageyama!” he says, and Tobio feels his excitement in the way he squeezes Tobio's hand in his. “They scouted you?”
Tobio buries his face in his pillow, buries his smile and the scream that he wants to let out.
“They did.”
“That's great! The league champions—” Yamaguchi stops himself short, breathing in like he's run out air. He sits up, and Tobio struggles, trying to look at him in the dark. But then Yamaguchi leans into his space, wrapping his arms around Tobio's waist, pressing his forehead against Tobio's shoulder. “Kageyama, that's amazing. Really.”
For a moment, Tobio can't breathe. Can't think. There's just Yamaguchi pressed against him and nothing else. But the moment doesn’t last long. Yamaguchi pulls away, goes back to where he was lying down, his hand in Tobio's. Tobio takes in a deep breath.
“I know. I—” Tobio cuts himself off, the words dying out on his tongue.
“You what?”
“Nothing.” Tobio purses his lips, curls up into himself, hangs onto Yamaguchi's hand as he presses his thighs against his stomach. “You're the only one who knows.”
“About the Adlers scouting you?”
“Yeah,” Tobio says, and the silence that follows it feels too long, too much. He wonders what Yamaguchi is thinking, wishes he could see Yamaguchi's expression, wishes he could have something else to focus on other than Yamaguchi's thumb rubbing against the back of his hand.
And then, finally, “Thank you for telling me,” Yamaguchi says, and Tobio lets himself unfurl, just a little.
He closes his eyes, feels like it's easier to breathe, just a little bit. He listens to the whirring of the air conditioner, the sound of his heart beating in his ears, and he lets himself start to drift, feeling lighter.
But Yamaguchi pulls him out of it, his grip on Tobio's hand tightening just slightly, just enough.
“Hey Kageyama. Do you wanna go somewhere with me tomorrow?”
“Hm?” Tobio should probably ask where they're going, if it's the same place Yamaguchi went to this morning. But he's sleepy, and he's comfortable, and with Yamaguchi's hand in his, he feels like he could do anything, feels like he can take anything in stride. “Okay.”
“Alright. Thank you,” Yamaguchi says. “Good night, Kageyama.”
Tobio doesn't know what he's being thanked for, but he accepts it anyway, hums as Yamaguchi's hand squeezes around his. And he falls asleep like that: warm from the few square inches of Yamaguchi's skin against his.
Yamaguchi takes Tobio to Todai.
He doesn’t really know what he thought Yamaguchi was doing in Tokyo, didn’t really think about it much. Tobio knew that Yamaguchi got into Todai. Everyone in the team knows; Ukai and Takeda made a big deal out of it in their last team dinner, citing Tsukishima and Yamaguchi passing the Todai exam as a reason to get everyone together again. Still, except for paying attention to the collegiate volleyball league, Tobio has never been interested in the thought of university, and he has no idea what Yamaguchi would be doing here, a while away from the semester starting.
So Tobio follows Yamaguchi around the campus, walking half a step behind him. It’s busy this time of year, the students here as frantic as the first and second years in the team, studying for the last of their exams for the term. It feels odd, being in the middle of it, unaffected. March used to be the bane of Tobio’s life. He spent everyday with Yamaguchi, Hinata, Tsukishima, and Yachi—studying, trying to cram into his head everything that he neglected all those times he spent thinking about volleyball instead. They still hang out these days, playing volleyball for fun, walking home together, but it isn’t like before.
He misses them, he thinks. He’ll miss them even more, when they go their separate ways after high school. Even now, looking at Yamaguchi’s back, the way his hair sticks out so charmingly, long enough that it must tickle his nape. Even now, Tobio misses him.
Yamaguchi stops, abrupt enough that Tobio almost bumps into him.
“Let’s sit,” he says, and Tobio follows suit, taking the seat beside Yamaguchi on a set of steps going up into one of the buildings. Tobio turns to look at Yamaguchi whose knuckles are white where his hands are gripping his knees, his lip bitten red, his eyebrows knit together.
“Yamaguchi?” he says, slow and quiet, the syllables shaped to gently prod. Yamaguchi doesn’t respond right away, and he takes long enough that Tobio wonders if he should try to call his name again.
But then Yamaguchi turns to him, with a smile that looks like it hurts. “This is where I'm going to be studying for the next few years.” Yamaguchi pauses, lips pursing. He looks down at his hands, sighing. “Supposedly. I don't know. It still doesn't feel real.”
Tobio bites at his lower lip, unsure what to say. A year as vice-captain and he’s still unused to comforting people; it’s always been Yamaguchi taking care of the first years. Him and Yachi, usually. Hinata sometimes. Tobio and Tsukishima are the last resorts, as much as he hates to admit that they’re in the same category.
Still, Tobio wills himself to reach out, to curl a hand around Yamaguchi’s elbow, to touch him tentatively until Yamaguchi moves to hold Tobio’s hand in place. He’s warm still, even when he looks so cold.
“Is this where you went yesterday?” Tobio asks.
“Yeah. I just—I just wanted to see what it's like.”
That, at least, Tobio understands. He understands the need for something concrete. The need to see something with his own two eyes. He’s always been a visual learner after all. He learns from what he sees, and then he takes it, molds into something to call his own.
Tobio finds himself tightening his grip around Yamaguchi, just a little. “Did you?”
Yamaguchi looks back at him. “Did I what?”
“See what it was like?”
The crease between Yamaguchi's eyebrows deepens. “I don't know.”
Tobio shifts closer, just enough that he can link arms with Yamaguchi instead. Can take his hand and wonder how many times Yamaguchi has practiced his float serve, or how many times he’s put this same hand on a junior’s shoulder and told them they’re doing a good job. Yamaguchi is endlessly hardworking, kind, caring; Tobio thinks it shows in his hands—in the little spots of discoloration from cuts and bruises over the years, in the softness of his palm, in the fit of his fingers between Tobio’s—perfect, as easy as the first time Tobio held a volleyball in his hands. Yamaguchi doesn’t have a setter’s hands, but Tobio finds them beautiful anyway.
“When we went to the game, when I saw them playing—it helped, I think. Helped it feel real,” Tobio says. He looks up at Yamaguchi, lets his lips curve into a smile. “I hope it’s the same for you. That you can see yourself living and studying here in Tokyo.”
Yamaguchi smiles back, but he ducks his head, throat working. “If you take the Adlers’ offer, you’ll be here, right?”
“Yeah.” Tobio hesitates, and then, “Yeah, I’ll be here. For a while at least.”
“For a while?”
“I wanna play in every court in every country. Eventually anyway, if it's possible.”
Yamaguchi squeezes Tobio's hand, and then he pulls away, crosses his legs and rests his elbow on his knee, his chin on the back of his hand. Tobio wants to reach out for him, but settles for keeping his hands in his lap.
“It’s good that you know what you want,” Yamaguchi says. “Tsukki’s like that too. He used to be so laid-back, but now he’s so decided to get a degree and play volleyball. While I don’t even know if I really like my course or not.”
Tobio swallows against the immediate worry that crawls up his throat. He remembers Yamaguchi throughout Spring Interhigh, tired from practice and preparing for the entrance exams, stretched so thin Tobio was afraid he’d break.
But Yamaguchi didn’t break. He got through it, got into the university he wanted. They didn’t win in Nationals, but they took it as far as they could, and Tobio never saw Yamaguchi waver, not even once.
It’s odd now though, to see him struggle so openly; Tobio has found himself in the right place at the right time to witness it, and he hates that he has to wonder if it’s right for him to reach out and comfort him. In the end, he doesn’t, even if he wants to.
“You don’t have to know,” he says instead. Tobio has always known that he wants to play volleyball for as long as he can, but he didn’t know how, or where, or until when. He still doesn’t know many things, but now at least he knows where he’s playing, who he’s playing with. Yamaguchi knows he wants to go to university, and Tobio thinks that’s good enough.
Yamaguchi turns to him, smiling. Tobio feels a little lighter, just looking at him smile.
“Yeah. I’ll figure it out.”
“You’ve always been good at that.”
Yamaguchi stands up, offers a hand that Tobio takes without question.
“Come on. Let’s get some rest back at the hotel. We have to wake up early tomorrow,” Yamaguchi says. Tobio doesn't hesitate to follow him.
They buy two bags worth of food from a convenience store on the way back to the hotel, enough to last them the night and the trip back to Miyagi.
The two of them sit on the floor of their room, going through the food while highlights of the Adlers match yesterday play in the background. The curtain is drawn open to let the afternoon light in, and with the lights turned off, the sunlight paints Yamaguchi’s face in warm colors.
He looks like he belongs in the sunlight, Tobio thinks. This is how Yamaguchi should look—beautiful and bright, his warm heart on display. This is how he sees Yamaguchi, in this soft, tender light that makes him want to reach out and wrap himself around Yamaguchi’s warmth.
Tobio forces himself to look away, tries to focus on anything but Yamaguchi beside him, only to fail for the most part. He’s familiar enough with the feeling of being hyper-aware to recognize it in the way he holds his breath every time Yamaguchi’s arm brushes against his, the way he has to bite his tongue every time Yamaguchi reacts to the video they’re watching, the way he has to clench his fist at his side every time he thinks Yamaguchi will turn to him, but doesn’t.
And then Yamaguchi does turn to him. And then Tobio’s attention is on him, every bit of it.
“I’m glad I ran into you on the bus,” Yamaguchi tells him, and Tobio feels like he’s about to burst.
He breathes in, holds it until he thinks he can speak without his voice wavering. “Me too. I thought… I thought I’d be alright alone, but now I don’t know how I could have done anything without you.”
Yamaguchi huffs out a laugh, and Tobio lets himself relax, just a bit. Unclenches his fists and parts his lips, even as his heart continues on hammering in his chest.
“You would have had to go around looking for a room by yourself.”
Tobio feels himself flushing, cheeks warming. He doesn’t know what he was thinking; he might have been to Tokyo many times, but he doesn’t know it, not really. Not enough to know where to find a room at the last minute. Maybe he would have done fine looking things up on his phone, but—well, he likes the way things went. He likes that he got to spend time with Yamaguchi.
Tobio curls a hand around Yamaguchi’s wrist. “Thanks for taking care of me.”
“I—” Yamaguchi blinks once, twice, thrice, lips parted as he looks back at Tobio. “Of course, Kageyama. You don’t even have to thank me for that.”
And that’s ridiculous. Absurd. And Tobio makes sure to let Yamaguchi know that he thinks so.
“Yes, I do,” he says. “You’ve been taking care of me and the team this whole year, even when you had so many things to worry about other than us. And you did the same thing for me this time.”
“That’s just…” Yamaguchi sighs. “I was just doing my job as captain, Kageyama.”
But Tobio knows how thrilled, how nervous, how apprehensive Yamaguchi was when he found out he was going to be captain. Tobio knows because he was there too. He saw the way Yamaguchi smiled, felt the way he trembled even as his grip tightened around Tobio’s arm. And Tobio was there too, the whole year Yamaguchi spent as captain. He was there for the pep talks, the meetings with Ukai, the long nights spent making up for the time they chose to use for practice.
So of course Tobio doesn’t believe Yamaguchi when he says he was just doing his job. So of course he reaches out to grab Yamaguchi’s shoulders. So of course he says, “Just let me thank you, Yamaguchi.”
And Yamaguchi, eyes wide, says, “Okay?”
Tobio leans into Yamaguchi’s space, wraps his arms around Yamaguchi’s shoulders, buries his face in Yamaguchi’s neck. “Thank you,” he says, and the words are whispered into Yamaguchi’s skin. They gather in the dip of his collarbone, a lake of affection on Yamaguchi’s body that Tobio himself filled.
Tobio feels it when Yamaguchi hugs him back. Arms settling around his waist, hands on the small of his back, a cheek pressing against his temple.
“Thank you too.”
Tobio frowns. He looks up at Yamaguchi, “You’re supposed to say you’re welcome.”
Yamaguchi smiles, reaches up to curl a hand around Tobio’s neck, pushing him back to where he was, nose pressed to the junction between Yamaguchi’s shoulder and his neck.
“You’re welcome then,” Yamaguchi says. “But I also want to thank you. I might be good at rounding up the kids, but you’re better at making them listen to you.”
“That’s not true.”
Yamaguchi huffs. “Yes, it is. Even Tsukki and Hinata listen to you now, you know.”
“Only because they have to.”
“Because they respect you.”
And sure. Hinata listened that one time Tobio suggested a different stretch to add to his routine, and Tsukishima actually willingly worked with Tobio on attacks for weeks at a time. But still. It’s a bit much to say they respect him.
“Tsukishima called me dumb three days ago,” Tobio says, and he knows he sounds skeptical because he is. “And Hinata took a photo of me drooling in my sleep a week ago.”
Yamaguchi laughs, squeezes where he’s holding Tobio’s nape. “Stop it. They respect you on the court.”
Tobio is their setter. He worked hard to earn their respect, and he knows that he has. Feels it with every jump and every spike, every call for the ball that rings in his ears. Tsukishima and Hinata are his teammates, just as much his hitters and point-makers despite their positions as middle blockers; that’s just how it’s supposed to be. How they’ve worked for it to be.
Yamaguchi has worked hard for them to respect him as captain too, and he’s undoubtedly earned it.
“Okay, sure,” Tobio relents. “And they respect you even outside of the court, so there.”
“I—”
Tobio pushes Yamaguchi onto his back, pins him to the floor with his entire body.
“I won’t get off you if you keep on arguing,” he says, and then he sees the way Yamaguchi looks—hair fanned out behind him, eyes wide, lips parted. Tobio burns where Yamaguchi's arm is anchored around his waist, burns from his neck to his cheeks to his ears. He moves to get off Yamaguchi, but then he feels Yamaguchi's arm tightening around him.
“And if I keep on arguing?” Yamaguchi says.
Tobio hesitates. But, still skeptical, “This can't be comfortable for you.”
“You aren't that heavy. And the floor's carpeted.”
“I'm heavier than you,” Tobio says, rolling his eyes, but he lets himself relax anyway, lets himself melt in Yamaguchi's hold.
The video they were watching on Yamaguchi's phone continues on where they left it playing, and it keeps on going until it finally stops. Until all Tobio can hear is the sound of his own heartbeat and Yamaguchi's soft breaths next to his ear.
“Kageyama. You'll be here in Tokyo, right?”
This close to Yamaguchi, Tobio feels him trembling.
“I’ll be here in Tokyo,” Tobio promises. “I’ll sign with the Adlers so I’ll be here in Tokyo. Most of the time at least.”
Yamaguchi squeezes around Tobio, as if he can't help it.
“Most of the time is good with me,” he says. A promise to match Tobio's.
Tobio smiles. He'll take most of the time too, if it's with Yamaguchi.
It feels odd, leaving Tokyo. It's only been three days—barely three days even. But it didn't feel like three days.
On the bus back to Miyagi, Yamaguchi falls asleep again. He falls asleep with his head on Tobio's shoulder, his hand clasped in Tobio's own.
It didn't feel like three days, Tobio thinks. It felt like a beginning.