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Kei looked at the volleyball under his desk. It had lain there untouched for about two weeks now. It had also been two weeks since he stopped going to practice. Not many things influenced him; taunts, praises, insults, and well-meaning concerns all hit with the same dull impact.
Actions, though—
That was a whole different topic.
And Karasuno's actions caused him to spiral.
At the start of the school year, Kei hadn’t had a problem. He liked an empty stomach. Enough to feel a sting of hunger, but not enough to starve. Perfect balance. It made him feel lighter, more in control of his body. Safe.
He had always eaten the same amount since he was a kid. The first time his mother said he wasn’t eating enough was during the growth spurt that shot him past all his classmates. It's not his fault his appetite didn’t grow with him. Easy fix: same portion, more calories.
So what if he ate less than his peers? He was still healthy. No concerns from the school nurse, none from his pediatrician—
But apparently his senpais knew better than the professionals.
Eat up.
I’m already done.
Don’t forget the protein.
Don’t forget to stay in your lane.
Have more rice.
I already ate a bowl; what more do you want?
Do you want another egg roll?
Fuck you, the first one was bad enough.
He wasn’t stupid. He understood the social consequences if he kept insisting on eating the bare minimum. On a team full of vacuum cleaners with bottomless stomachs, he’d stand out.
So he compromised.
He finished the meal he was given. When Daichi glanced over his shoulder, when Yamaguchi asked why he was poking his food, when Nishinoya literally tried to force-feed him once—he took it, ate it, and compromised. Afterward he felt heavy. Annoying, but fine. It just meant dinner would be small. It was manageable.
But those muscle-brained idiots never stopped. Instead of being satisfied that he ate, they just shoved more at him. Didn't they understand the meaning of a compromise?!
Morons!
Give them an inch, and they take a mile.
Summer camp was the worst of all. The meatheads checked his plate every meal and how much he served himself and then decided for him that he needed more. Pressured him.
I am not a turkey. Stop stuffing me.
He never ate breakfast usually. Suddenly he was expected to do it every morning.
He usually packed a simple bento for lunch; now it became some massive meal that weighed in his stomach like an anchor.
Dinner should’ve been safe. During the school year it always was
The one time they didn’t get to comment and criticize. When he was in the security of his home. He only had to deal with convincing his mother he had bought extra food at the convenience store and snacks on his way home.
Nope. Gone too.
Sugawara personally assembled his dinner and placed the plate in front of him like some offering, not even letting him choose his own portion.
The first night was hell.
He felt like a pregnant woman—bloated and sleepless. 3 whole full meals inside of himself. Could his body even digest that much?
And then Nishinoya had the audacity to give him dessert. Kei threw it on the floor and told him to play fetch.
The next day he planned to skip dinner. He needed to be healthy for practice, right? If he waddled around like an obese penguin, he obviously couldn't do that. It was awful. Tired and sluggish, he basically rolled into the cafeteria, unable to escape his teammates begging him to eat breakfast.
Last night’s dinner is basically today’s breakfast and lunch. What the hell?
His escape came beautifully. That day he was so tired from getting weighed down by the food and by his head, which kept repeating to him
I am a fat pig.
No wonder I couldn't get that block; gravity pulled me down faster than usual.
Do I have a fucking stone in my stomach? It's supposed to feel airy.
That he fell asleep early with music in his ears, before others even finished their personal practice, before his teammates came in. He woke up early too, skipped breakfast and shut down anyone who tried to drag him there by claiming he’d already gone. His word against theirs. Easy.
By lunchtime he was hungry enough to eat his portion. Annoyed at Hinata's insistence to serve him more vegetables. But manageable.
Yeah. This could work.
Until Coach Ukai appeared and decreed no skipping dinner.
"You need 3 meals a day to keep going."
Old fart!
He didn't know shit.
So he was back in bed with a stuffed stomach on the third night. This roller coaster of overeating and worrying about it couldn’t be healthy. Four more days of this? Yes. Apparently.
It became a problem.
This shitty summer camp made it one.
And now Tsukishima needed a solution.
Get rid of it.
Yes.
If you can’t keep it from going in, at least get it out again.
Exactly.
On night four he hung over the disgusting toilet. He’d seen it in movies; it looked easy enough. As kids, he and Yamaguchi once tried sticking their hands as far into their mouths as possible. Kei gagged instantly. Never wanted to push it. No benefit back then.
But now?
There was.
He pushed two fingers down his throat. They scraped the back, his brain shrieking, "Pull them out," but he pushed through. His stomach emptied. Everything came back out the way it went in. Vomiting was disgusting. Always his least favorite part of being sick—the stench, the burn, the awful way he could feel a wave of his own inside flowing back up. It made him gag again and throw up again.
But feeling full felt worse.
No one could ever find out.
This was the last resort: Voluntarily making himself throw up.
That’s how far it had gone.
If only Karasuno hadn’t made it a problem.
On the last day he felt fine. Even three full meals were bearable knowing he had an emergency exit.
Later everything will be okay again.
He kept repeateing it every meal. His teammates were aliens. Stuffing themselves, then wanting more. How was that healthy? Kei felt dragged down by two meals—how could they jump so high with all that extra weight?
He did it again on the final night. Like a hidden skill unlocked. Disgusting, but useful.
It allowed him to focus on what he came here to do: play volleyball. He trained with Fukurodani's ace and setter and got a personal teaching from Nekoma's captain and senior middle blocker. He also didn't look half bad. After the camp he returned to his old habits.
A one-time thing.
No need to dwell.
Then the second trimester hit. Everyone focused on their improvement—including him. Kei knew he wasn’t special. No innate talent like Hinata, no prodigy status like Kageyama. His strength was mental. Studying, understanding, connecting. Somehow his team made it to the Miyagi Prefecture selection games.
Who would’ve guessed?
Not him. And now that they were winning, he didn’t want it to stop. Maybe that was his own personal growth—craving that win too. He started working for it, secretly practicing with his brother’s adult team. Made an effort— Not that he’d ever tell Karasuno.
Facing Seijoh and Shiratorizawa? Fine.
They’d probably lose.
But for the first time, Kei had delusions they might not.
Training increased.
So did his appetite.
An unwelcome side effect. His stomach starved faster. He couldn't keep up with what he demanded from himself.
So, for the first time, he ate a whole meal before practice volunteeringly. Then before extra practice. Every bite is awful but worthwhile. And at the end of the day—
I can just use the skill.
He threw it up again.
It works.
Routine now.
A solution, not a problem.
The taste of vomit became tolerable. The burn in his throat turned constant. Standard process. Easy to ignore. Feeling light became a reward for effort.
It worked.
They defeated Seijoh.
They defeated Shiratorizawa.
Nationals.
More training.
More wins.
More nights in front of the toilet.
He’d already been borderline underweight, but losing a few more pounds felt like victory. Every month, a little more.
More wins.
He started feeling full after just a few spoonfuls of rice. Could feel it expand, churn. Disgusting. Why wasn’t food optional? Eating was an inhumane expectation—eat, digest, shit, repeat. Pointless.
By the time the Nekoma match arrived, he had hit his peak. Yamaguchi gave him a protein bar that morning. Was he trying to sabotage him? Kei ate it, not wanting to look suspicious. He was facing his senior—and maybe crush—Kuroo Tetsurō. He looked good. Ready to beat him. Just to be safe, he stuck his fingers down his throat right before the game to look extra pretty. He has never weighed this little since reaching 190 cm. Waist snached, he felt confident as ever. Could his biggest reward yet finally come?
---
In the end he didn’t get rewarded.
On the contrary—he was punished.
Kuroo asked him why he looked tired...
Tired, my ass!
I am beautiful. I am petite.
Another comment followed from Lev Haiba:
“Hey, my arms got a lot thicker than yours—wait, no, yours got thinner.”
Don’t compare us, you snake.
It made him angry and made the blood in his visible veins boil. During the fight against Nekoma, he gave his best, pushed himself, and broke a sweat. Eye to eye with Kuroo, he would show them—show them all—the fruits of his labor.
When the last siren rang, when it was clear Karasuno won, he smiled. He beamed as he looked at the score, eager to see Kuroo’s face.
The third year locked eyes with him and looked…
Horrified?
Then Kei blacked out. Sank down into a sea of darkness. Felt his head hit the floor, legs giving in.
Open. Closed. Open. Closed.
His eyes kept flicking, no the light kept flicking and flashing infront of his iris.
Awake. Sleep. Awake. Sleep.
Time slipped, stretched, twisted—he couldn’t tell what was what. When he woke up a final time, this time able to stay awake, an IV was jammed into his arm. He lay in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. The air smelled of disinfectant.
He was in a hospital.
Shit.
The fallout was more dramatic than anything he found necessary. Takeda-sensei had called his parents. His mother cried in the room as the doctor told her the diagnosis: malnutrition, suspected bulimia, and anorexia.
Way to ruin my life.
His brother started calling nonstop. Stupid phone. He turned it off. Worse was when some teammates came—not all, but a select few. Yamaguchi stared with shame and pity.
Look away, idiot.
Daichi apologized for not noticing sooner.
I would’ve done a shitty job if you did.
Sugawara gave him a worried look and said basically the same thing as Daichi—but with softer words.
And as if things weren’t bad enough, Hinata came too.
“Don’t blame yourself for missing the last game! I caught a fever too.”
As if I care about volleyball right now.
He spent three days getting stable enough to be transported from Tokyo back home to Sendai. His mother immediately arranged a therapist, a psychiatrist, and a nutrition specialist. He even kept the number of a mental hospital on speed dial for “emergencies of this kind.”
It wasn’t an emergency. It was my life, hello?!
He was out of school for a week. Then spring break hit, and now two weeks had passed. He hadn’t touched that volleyball. He hadn’t touched his phone. He had cleared out his brother’s MP3 player and loaded it with his own songs so he could just stay in his own misery.
It wasn’t a problem.
They made it a problem.
But suddenly they were worried? Now his teammates ha dto look out for him? His parents watched for warning signs, vistors tried to see the smalles shift in his movement and answers.
Don’t pressure him, but be firm so he can eat again.
---
The first week of school—he’d skipped that too. How long had it been now? A month?
A whole month he could spend at home: sleeping, listening to music, rereading the books he bought but never opened, then sleeping even more. Motivation was hard to come by. He hid away more than usual. Going downstairs felt like a death threat. His mother waited there; food waited there. But he didn’t want to see it and didn’t want to smell it. He wanted to throw up—but there was nothing in his stomach to get rid of.
He allowed one compromise. Only one. And he warned his mother that if she overstepped, she could congratulate Akiteru on becoming an only child early. The compromise was simple: he would tell her if he had any food requests so she could get them for him, and he would drink a liquid meal once a day. She wanted to make it two, and eventually they settled on two every second day…
The liquid meals were apparently made by a nutritionist, and they didn’t taste bad—vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate. Sweet flavors that were bearable.
Still, the urge to vomit was strong. Yes, he had relapsed again, and yes, he was receiving treatment. He knew that, health-wise, his throat wouldn’t support him much longer if he continued. He did kind of want to stop, but logic and emotion mixed like water and oil. Life never made things easy for him.
It was April now. The streets were quiet. Kei had finally picked up that volleyball again. He stood in the yard, freshly showered and all. His mother was out shopping. He had an urge again—to eat something. Strawberry shortcake… and she was getting exactly that.
The wind brushing through the trees, the distant cars, the birds—everything blended into white noise.
Then something he hadn’t used in 32 days suddenly became interesting again: his phone.
Where was it?
He went inside to search. It took him a minute before he found it in his travel bag from that away game in Tokyo… Right. That day.
Images of him fainting flashed before his eyes. It wasn’t just Karasuno who saw—it was Nekoma too. Kuroo. An audience. God, so embarrassing.
The phone didn’t turn on, of course not. The battery was dead. He plugged it in to charge.
His mother came home not long after. She told him to come to the kitchen, and he did. He sat down at the dining table, and she placed a piece of cake in front of him.
It looked intimidating.
The first bite felt unfamiliar, like his tongue had forgotten what texture was and had to relearn it.
The second bite was the same, but a little less intense…
He was careful. Shortcakes weren’t just tasty—they were pretty. He didn’t dare poke around in it, so with fork after fork, it simply vanished. Into his mouth, into his stomach.
Later hee stared blankly at the plate. It was empty. He could practically hear his mother sobbing somewhere behind him.
He did it.
Apparently it took him almost an hour. He hadn’t noticed time passing. Afterward, he just went back to his room. By then his phone had turned on, and he decided to check his messages. A sudden burst of strength carried him.
Of course he was overwhelmed. A month’s worth of unread messages flooded in as soon as his phone connected to Wi-Fi.
What to open first?
Yamaguchi? No—he’d seen him last week when he tried dragging him to school.
Akiteru? No, he’d cry or something.
So he scrolled…
Kuroo — Last month
Hey Tsukki, you alright?
You fainted pretty hard there.
I wish you a good recovery.
3 weeks, 6 days ago
Ne, Tsukki, how are you?
Heard you’re in the hospital—is it that bad?
3 weeks, 3 days ago
I always eat fish for some extra iron. Also helps with blood pressure.
3 weeks, 1 day ago
I get the feeling you’re ignoring me.
2 weeks, 6 days ago
Tsukki, how are you?
2 weeks, 4 days ago
I got the news from Kenma (I’m not a stalker, promise) but I heard you’re struggling with an ED.
I’m a pretty good listener if you ever need me. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it to myself.
1 week, 6 days ago
Hey Tsukki, how are things?
1 week, 1 day ago
You’re a second year soon—are you ready for the new school year?
I’m a college student now; no more practice matches with me, heh.
I’ll miss those times.
6 days ago
Please check your phone, you’re way too cruel.
Are you okay?
2 days ago
I had salmon onigiri today. There’s a good place near my uni—I picked it up on the way.
You’d probably like them too.
He really was eager…
No shit—his crush had been texting him nonstop. Why didn’t he check his phone earlier?
Just then, it dinged again.
Now
OMG you saw my message—hey, how are you?!
Tsuukkii!!
Kei stared at the screen.
The chat was still open.
Kuroo definitely saw he read it.
Shit.
T: Hi.
K: Tsukki!! I’m so happy to
hear from you. How are you???
T: Fine.
K: Don’t be so cruel. What’s
with those short answers?
T: I said I’m fine. What else
am I supposed to say?
K: How are you feeling? Are
you recovering? There are so
many details!!
T: Maybe I don’t want to share
details with you.
K: I mean… fair. I can respect that.
But I’m here for you. You can
reach out if you want.
T: Reach out for what?!
K: Advice, help… or if you
just want to talk.
T: Because I’m good at that
Right-
K: Wowie, Tsukki. Even your
texts are sarcastic without
emoticons.
Who even says “emoticons”? What a grandpa.
K: I can practically imagine your
faceright now. Like you’re
sitting right in front of me.
T: Keep dreaming.
K: Doesn’t have to be a dream.
T: ?!?!
K: Ne, Tsukki… can you eat again?
T: What’s it to you?
K: It’s important. So?
T: A little. I ate cake today.
K: For the first time?
T: Mhm.
K: Don’t “mhm” in text, I can’t
tell what kind of mhm that is!!
T: Sounds like a skill issue.
K: Yeah yeah, whatever. Do
you want to eat with me?
T: Huh? Where is that coming
from?
K: I want to see you getting better.
When you fainted, it scared me.
So if you can eat again… let’s do
it together sometime?
T: Kuroo, I live in fucking
Miyagi.
K: I have a railway pass for the
whole year. Student discount.
I can come down.
T: Wtf, that’s way too much.
K: So you don’t want to eat
with me?
T: This sounds way too much
like a date proposal, idiot.
K: You’re the idiot because it doesn’t
just sound like one—it is one.
T: Are you asking me out over
text?!
K: Yeah? Kinda
K: Let me rephrase that.
K: Yeah!! I wanted to ask you at the game,
make it all special and pretend the world
was ending because it was my last highschool
game, but you kinda got hospitalised first.
I wanted to get out for while ;)
Kei shut his phone.
What the hell.
He pressed the stupid device to his forehead, breathing in slowly, letting it sink in.
Kuroo was asking him out.
Now.
Now of all times—when he felt this weak and pathetic?
A tear slid down his cheek. He covered his face with his hands, not sure who he was hidng from. Underneath his lips curled up into a smile.
Idiot.
---
Tsukki: You’ll pay.
Kuroo: Obviously :D