Work Text:
The problem with working the RA desk is that Tsukishima is required to notice things, and lately, he has been noticing Kuroo Tetsurou far too often.
The object of his disgust is currently hanging over the edge of the desk, leering down at him, hair looking no better than it has on any of the other four times he’s visited the building this week. Tsukishima stares resolutely at his computer screen, ignoring Kuroo’s fingers as they tap insistently against the stone desktop.
“How can I help you?”
Tsukishima keeps his tone bored and even, but it does nothing to deter Kuroo, who seems to derive a sick sort of glee from making Tsukishima’s life as miserable as possible.
“Guest,” Kuroo says, easily. Too easily.
Tsukishima feels his blood pressure begin to rise. He grits his teeth before reaching down to pull out the logbook, hand outstretched to retrieve Kuroo’s ID. “For the fifth time?”
“Fourth,” Kuroo says mildly. “I skipped Tuesday.”
Tsukishima finally looks up, expression flat. “You don’t live here.”
“But I do visit,” Kuroo replies, smiling. “Frequently.”
The word sits there between them, smug and unapologetic. Tsukishima finishes logging the visit before snapping the book shut with more force than necessary.
“Here’s your ID.”
Kuroo’s fingers dance across the desk obnoxiously before plucking the plastic card out of Tsukishima’s hand. He flashes one last dazzling grin before sauntering away. “Always a pleasure, Tsukki!”
Tsukishima grips the mouse and seethes.
Yamaguchi hums under his breath as they walk the halls of the building, which usually means he’s trying not to say something. It’s low and tuneless, the kind of absent sound he’s made since they were kids. He keeps his eyes on the hallway ahead of them, clipboard tucked against his chest, sneakers scuffing softly against the floor as they move from door to door. Tsukishima checks the supply closet doors, rattling the handle a few times to check that they’re locked, and waits.
Yamaguchi makes it halfway down the corridor before he gives up.
“So,” he says, carefully casual. “Quiet night, huh?”
Tsukishima checks the next door. “We’ve been on duty for six minutes.”
“I mean, vibes-wise.”
Tsukishima raises an eyebrow and keeps walking.
Yamaguchi chuckles. “Yeah. Okay. Fair.”
They continue down the hall. Someone’s music thumps faintly behind a closed door. It's nothing loud enough to log, but approaching it. Tsukishima makes a mental note. Yamaguchi resumes humming, louder now.
Tsukishima sighs. “If you’re going to say something, just say it.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Yamaguchi protests immediately. “I was just… thinking.”
“That’s worse.”
Yamaguchi, to his credit, only wilts a little. He hums for another few steps, clearly wrestling with himself, before giving in to whatever small battle goes on in his mind every time he wants to ask Tsukishima what always proves to be a deeply personal or deeply stupid question.
“So,” he says at last, aiming for casual. “The party last weekend. You, uh… dipped.”
Tsukishima doesn’t look at him. “I left.”
“Right,” Yamaguchi says. “Dipped.” He pauses. “Just… earlier than I expected.”
“Time is subjective,” Tsukishima says flatly.
Yamaguchi blinks. “You can’t just say that.”
“I can,” Tsukishima says. “I just did.”
Yamaguchi snorts despite himself. “Okay, fine. You left early.”
Tsukishima checks the next door on his clipboard with deliberate care. “And?”
Yamaguchi hesitates. “You don’t usually leave before things get interesting.”
“Interesting is subjective, too,” Tsukishima says.
“See, now you’re just abusing the concept.”
Tsukishima allows himself a small, smug huff of breath. “I’m consistent.”
They walk another few steps. Yamaguchi’s humming resumes, quieter now, like he’s thinking.
“I did hear something, though,” he adds. “Something interesting.”
Tsukishima doesn’t look at him. “From whom?”
“Hinata,” Yamaguchi says immediately. “So take it with, like, several grains of salt.”
“Always.”
“Apparently,” Yamaguchi continues, warming up, “some guy got kicked out. Right around the same time you left.”
Tsukishima’s pen pauses against the clipboard for half a second. He flips the page. “That happens.”
“Sure,” Yamaguchi presses. “But like, kicked out, kicked out. Hinata said it was apparently a bedroom situation.”
Tsukishima exhales through his nose. “People go into bedrooms at house parties.”
“Yeah, but you’re not usually supposed to get caught,” Yamaguchi says, thoughtful. “I think the host was mad. Apparently, it was her room. And they didn’t stop.”
“Hosts are frequently mad,” Tsukishima says. “It’s a known house party risk.”
Yamaguchi snorts. “You sound like you’re writing an incident report.”
“I’m being objective.”
“Mm,” Yamaguchi hums. “Anyway, her boyfriend apparently stepped in and kicked them out. Something about scarring her beautiful eyes.”
They stop at the stairwell. Tsukishima knocks on the door twice before opening it and stepping inside to listen. Silence.
Following behind him, Yamaguchi tilts his head. “Wild, right?”
“Tragic.”
Yamaguchi grins. “I know. Imagine. You’re getting down with some stranger in a bedroom, and the next moment the lights are on, and some girl is screaming at you for staining her sheets.”
Tsukishima turns to look at him. “Is there a reason you’re telling me this?”
Yamaguchi blinks. “No?”
Tsukishima stares at him for a moment longer than necessary, then turns back toward the stairs. “You’re smiling.”
“That’s just my face,” Yamaguchi says, following him down. “Still, you have to admit it's kind of impressive. Getting kicked out for that level of commitment to the bit.”
Tsukishima tightens his grip on the clipboard. “I’m going to need you to stop speculating about strangers.”
Yamaguchi hums, entirely pleased. “Okay.”
A beat.
“…You didn’t hear anything else, though?” Tsukishima adds.
Yamaguchi grins, immediate and unrepentant. “Oh, so now you’re interested.”
Tsukishima regrets everything.
They are supposed to be studying. This is, Tsukishima has learned, a very flexible concept.
Hinata is sprawled across the table in the study lounge like gravity is optional, orange highlighter uncapped and abandoned near his elbow. Yamaguchi sits across from him with his notes neatly arranged, posture attentive in a way that suggests he is at least trying to stay on task.
Tsukishima is the only one with a plan.
“Okay,” he says, tapping his pen against the page. “If we actually want to finish this before midnight, we need to—”
“Oh,” Hinata says suddenly. “I forgot to tell you.”
Tsukishima closes his eyes for half a second, willing whatever is left of his patience to hold. “Tell us what?”
Hinata leans forward, eyes bright. “That party last weekend? Insane. Did you end up going Tsukki? I don’t think I saw you there.”
Yamaguchi makes a small, warning noise. Tsukishima opens his eyes.
“We are not talking about the party,” Tsukishima says.
Hinata blinks. “Why not?”
“Because we are studying.”
“We’re on page three,” Hinata says. “Out of, like. Twenty.”
“That is not relevant.”
Usually, Tsukishima’s tone would be enough to make even the most idiotic of people reconsider continuing the conversation. Hinata, ever the pioneer, opens his mouth anyway.
“Well, it kind of is,” he says, undeterred. “Because the party was at Bokuto’s friend’s place. You know Bokuto, right?”
“Yes,” Tsukishima says. “Unfortunately.”
“Oh, he’s great,” Hinata says cheerfully. “I love Bo! Anyway, Bokuto was there with Akaashi, and then Kuroo showed up.”
Yamaguchi’s pen stills for just a second before continuing to scratch away at his paper with renewed vigor. He’s not slick. Tsukishima has known him too long not to recognize that his friend is a nosy shit.
Tsukishima does not look up. “Why would Kuroo show up?”
Hinata shrugs. “I don’t know. He just did.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“He said he was bored,” Hinata says. “Which, to be fair, I believe.”
Yamaguchi hums quietly in agreement. “That tracks.”
Hinata nods. “Apparently, his friend Kenma was busy.”
Yamaguchi’s head snaps up. “Kenma? Friend?”
“Yeah,” Hinata says. “Something about a tournament? Or a raid? Or maybe a dungeon? I don’t remember, but Kuroo couldn’t drag him out.”
“I can’t believe it,” Yamaguchi says faintly.
Tsukishima pauses. “You know him.”
“Unfortunately,” Yamaguchi says. “He’s my resident.”
Hinata blinks. “Oh my god. That’s Kenma?”
“Yes,” Yamaguchi says. “The one who never answers his door. Or his phone. Or his emails.”
“He’s alive, though,” Hinata says. “I think. Maybe you can put that down?”
Yamaguchi only sighs. Hinata nods more, already moving on. “Yeah. Anyway, Kuroo showed up.”
Tsukishima presses his pen harder than necessary into the paper. “Of course he did.”
“Yeah! And he was so cool,” Hinata continues, oblivious to Tsukishima’s mounting irritation. “He just walked in, and Bokuto was already yelling his name, and then Akaashi was there too, and then suddenly they were all talking at once, and I couldn’t tell who was winning.”
“This was a competition?” Tsukishima asks. Hinata ignores his sarcasm with impressive dedication.
“I think it was? But yeah, Kuroo’s cool. I like him! He likes volleyball.”
Tsukishima flips a page in his notes, feeling his eye start to twitch. “Why are we still talking about this?”
Hinata tilts his head. “You’re the one asking questions.”
“I asked one.”
“You asked, like, four,” Yamaguchi says mildly, without looking up. Tsukishima ignores him.
Hinata leans back in his chair, which creaks ominously. “Anyway, it turns out Kuroo’s kind of everywhere. Apparently, he and Bo play pickup at the gym sometimes. Oh! And he’s my lab TA too. And sometimes I see him at the coffee place on campus? Oh! Have you been there? They have really good—”
“Hinata,” Tsukishima says sharply.
Hinata pauses. “Yeah?”
“We are studying.”
“Oh,” Hinata says. “Right.”
He immediately flips his notes open, upside down. Yamaguchi reaches over and turns them the right way.
Hinata squints at the page. “Oh. That makes more sense.”
Tsukishima stares at his textbook and realizes, distantly, that he had stopped reading about a page ago.
Tsukishima said no immediately, which was usually enough. Unfortunately, Yamaguchi had developed a tolerance to this. He didn’t argue so much as persist, hovering in Tsukishima’s space with the quiet determination of someone who had already decided how the evening was going to go.
“It’s Bokuto’s friend’s party, and Hinata already told them I’d be there,” Yamaguchi said, like this was a minor logistical inconvenience rather than the entire problem.
“That sounds like a you issue.”
Yamaguchi smiled, small and unapologetic. “It is.”
Tsukishima had stared at him in silence, willing some sort of common sense to find its way into Yamaguchi’s thick skull.
“You don’t have to talk to anyone,” Yamaguchi added quickly. “You can just stand there. Judge people.”
Tsukishima sighed. He hated it when Yamaguchi started to sound reasonable.
“Just come with me,” Yamaguchi said, not quite looking at him. “I’ll feel better. An hour tops, Tsukki.”
“How long is tops?” Tsukishima asked.
“An hour,” Yamaguchi said immediately.
Tsukishima raised an eyebrow.
“…An hour and a half,” Yamaguchi amended. “But only if it’s not terrible.”
“It will be terrible.”
“Then an hour,” Yamaguchi said, nodding like this solved something.
And that was how Tsukishima ended up in a stranger’s kitchen, drink in hand, the music too loud and the lights too dim, while Yamaguchi was nowhere to be seen. He takes a cautious sip and immediately regrets it. Whatever this is, it tastes like someone gave up halfway through making a decision.
“Yeah,” a voice says from beside him, sympathetic and entirely uninvited. “That’s a bad choice.”
Tsukishima stiffens.
The man who has appeared at his elbow looks like he has no concept of personal space. His hair is doing something aggressive, dark, and unruly, sticking up in defiance of gravity and common sense. Unfortunately, it also looks deliberate in the way bad decisions often do. Tsukishima clocks this instantly, cataloging it under reasons to disengage.
Despite the hair, Tsukishima finds himself thinking that the stranger is unfairly attractive. He’s tall, broad in an effortless way, clearly some sort of athlete at at least one point in his life. There’s an ease to him that’s deeply irritating, like he’s never had to calculate where to stand in a room or how long to stay before it becomes awkward.
“Don’t worry,” the guy continues, reaching for the bottle Tsukishima had been using without asking. “Everyone makes that mistake once.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
The man grins, entirely undeterred. “Yeah, but you needed it.” He pours himself a drink, takes a sip, and winces. “Wow. Still bad.”
“You didn’t have to make one,” Tsukishima says flatly.
“I know,” the guy says easily. “But then I wouldn’t have had an excuse to talk to you.”
Tsukishima turns to look at him fully, unimpressed. “Is this working for you?”
“Depends,” the man says, unbothered. “Are you still standing here?”
Tsukishima hates that this is a fair point.
“I’m Kuroo,” the man adds, like this settles something.
Tsukishima does not return the favor.
Kuroo, apparently, does not mind. He leans back against the counter again, close enough to be annoying, eyes flicking briefly to Tsukishima’s cup.
“You look like someone who was promised they could leave early.”
Tsukishima exhales through his nose. “Astute observation, Sherlock.”
Kuroo grins. “I try.”
Tsukishima should walk away. He is very good at walking away. He has made an entire personality out of it. Instead, he stays where he is, drink still in hand, irritation buzzing just under his skin.
The desk is quiet in the way that only happens after midnight, when most people have either gone to bed or decided they aren’t going to. Tsukishima is halfway through an incident report he doesn’t care about when the familiar weight appears at the edge of his peripheral vision.
He does not look up.
“Wow,” Kuroo says, voice low and amused. “You didn’t even pretend not to recognize me this time. Does this mean I’ve wormed my way into your heart?”
Tsukishima keeps typing. “I’m busy.”
“That’s never stopped you from being unpleasant before.”
Tsukishima sighs and finally looks up. Kuroo is leaning against the desk again. He looks… less obnoxious tonight, if possible. Tsukishima is disgusted with himself for how his gaze lingers on how Kuroo’s biceps fill out his shirt.
“What do you want?” he asks flatly.
Kuroo smiles, but it’s smaller than usual. “Kenma.”
“That tracks.”
“He forgot his charger. Again.”
Tsukishima gestures toward the sign-in sheet without comment. Kuroo digs his wallet out, hands over his ID without being asked this time. It’s irritatingly considerate.
Tsukishima busies himself with taking down Kuroo’s ID, as Kuroo leans against the desk, picking up one of the pens in the desk organizer and twirling it around his fingers. Tsukishima finishes and slides the card back across the desk.
Kuroo doesn’t take it right away.
“You’re very official tonight,” he says.
“It’s my job.”
Kuroo hums. “You’re always very official here.”
Tsukishima’s fingers still for half a second. “That’s because I’m at work.”
“Right,” Kuroo says, amused. “You’ve got a whole vibe. Narc-y RA.”
Tsukishima nudges the ID closer, hoping that maybe his luck will change and Kuroo can go be Kenma’s problem for an hour. “Are you done?”
Kuroo takes it, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he leans back against the desk again, gaze drifting briefly toward the empty lounge behind Tsukishima before returning.
“You working late again?” he asks.
Tsukishima narrows his eyes. “Do you make a habit of loitering to ask people about their schedules?”
“No,” Kuroo says easily. “Just you.”
Tsukishima opens his mouth to shut that down, and then hesitates, irritated to find he doesn’t have a clean response ready.
Kuroo watches the hesitation with something like curiosity, then, surprisingly, lets it go.
“I, uh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. The grin doesn’t come back right away. “I didn’t mean to make things awkward the other night.”
Tsukishima’s shoulders stiffen. “You didn’t.”
Kuroo’s mouth twitches, like he doesn’t quite believe him. “Okay. Just… figured I’d say it anyway.”
The pen twirling slows. Stops. Kuroo sets it back in the organizer with more care than necessary.
“You didn’t have to,” Tsukishima says finally, eyes fixed on the screen in front of him. “There was nothing that… occurred.”
Kuroo studies him for a moment longer than is comfortable, expression unreadable. Then he exhales, something light and resigned.
“Right,” he says. “Totally.”
He straightens, pushing off the desk at last. For a second, Tsukishima thinks he’s actually going to leave without one last comment. Instead, Kuroo pauses.
“For what it’s worth,” he adds, looking back at him, grinning like he knows he’s pushing Tsukishima’s buttons. “I still had a good time. Even with all the—”
“Good night, Kuroo,” Tsukishima interrupts, pointedly.
Kuroo’s smile transitions into smaller, calmer, just as annoying. He raps his knuckles on the desk. “Night, Tsukki. Hope it stays quiet.”
He turns and heads down the hall, footsteps fading toward the elevators. Tsukishima waits until he’s gone before exhaling through his nose, fingers tightening briefly around the edge of the desk. He stares at the incident report, rereads the same line twice, and then deletes the sentence entirely.
It takes him longer than it should to start typing again.
They are there because Hinata asked. Repeatedly.
Tsukishima would like it noted that he did not agree, but rather stopped refusing. Hinata’s texts had started enthusiastically and deteriorated quickly into caps lock and guilt.
Now Tsukishima sits on a set of bleachers colder than necessary, watching a warm-up he does not technically understand but has absorbed through sheer proximity. Yamaguchi sits to his right, alert and earnest, like this is a field trip he’s been looking forward to all week.
Akaashi sits to Yamaguchi’s left. Tsukishima doesn’t mind Akaashi. Akaashi is quiet in a way that doesn’t ask to be filled, attentive without being invasive. Over time, they’ve exchanged exactly enough words to establish mutual tolerance, which Tsukishima considers the ideal baseline for any friendship. The only thing he can’t place is why Akaashi spends nearly all of his time with the loud-mouthed tornado of volleyballs and poorly thought-out decisions that is Bokuto.
On the court, Bokuto is already shouting. It’s not clear who he’s shouting at. Possibly everyone. Hinata responds immediately, volume rising to match, bouncing on his toes like he’s been personally challenged by the concept of warm-ups.
“They really feed off each other,” Yamaguchi says fondly.
“Yes,” Tsukishima says. “That appears to be the problem.”
The whistle blows, sharp and final, cutting through Bokuto’s shouting with limited success. The teams begin to rotate into position, the chaos condensing into something closer to structure. Tsukishima exhales, relieved despite himself. At least now there are rules.
Someone drops into the space to Akaashi’s left. Tsukishima stiffens immediately.
“Oh,” Akaashi says, glancing sideways with mild surprise that reads more like acknowledgment. “You made it.”
Kuroo grins, easy and familiar. “Barely. Kenma refused to move.”
“That’s not surprising,” Akaashi says. “He hates crowds.”
“And stairs,” Kuroo adds. “And effort.”
Akaashi hums in agreement, attention already drifting back to the court, like this is a perfectly normal development. Which, apparently, it is.
Tsukishima stares at Kuroo from the corner of his eye, jaw tightening. He hadn’t heard him coming. He hates that more than the fact that he’s here at all. Yamaguchi leans forward slightly, peering past Akaashi like he’s only just clocked who’s joined them.
“Wait,” he says. “You’re Kenma’s friend.”
Kuroo glances over, eyebrows lifting with interest. “Depends on why you’re asking. I have absolutely nothing to do with whatever Kenma does online.”
“He’s my resident,” Yamaguchi says, already sounding tired. “Or, technically, he’s supposed to be.”
“Ah,” Kuroo says, immediately understanding. “He’s ghosting you.”
Yamaguchi sighs, dejected. “He never answers his door. Or his phone. Or his emails. I’m starting to think he exists purely on a conceptual level. I sent him three follow-ups. One of them even had bullet points.”
“That’s brutal,” Kuroo says. “You tried your best.”
“I really did,” Yamaguchi says. “Could you—” He hesitates, glancing briefly at Tsukishima before looking back at Kuroo. “I don’t know. Tell him to respond? Even a thumbs-up emoji would count at this point.”
Kuroo considers this, eyes flicking to Tsukishima briefly before looking back at Yamaguchi and smiling. “I’ll see what I can do, but no promises. He fears responsibility.”
On the court, Bokuto lands a point and immediately turns to point up into the stands again, shouting something incomprehensible but enthusiastic. Hinata waves back with both arms, nearly colliding with another player.
Yamaguchi laughs despite himself. “They’re having fun.”
“Yes,” Tsukishima says. “Someone should stop them.”
Kuroo watches the exchange on the court for a moment, then glances back at Tsukishima. “You came all this way for him?”
Tsukishima hesitates, just barely. “He was… insistent.”
Kuroo’s smile softens, just a fraction. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m sure.”
Tsukishima looks away. Yamaguchi looks between them, brows knitting just slightly, like a puzzle piece is beginning to shift into place in his mind. Tsukishima wonders if it's too late to remove it.
“Do you two… know each other?”
“No,” Tsukishima says immediately.
“Yes,” Kuroo says at the same time.
There’s a drop of silence. Yamaguchi stares at Tsukishima in disbelief.
“We’ve met,” Tsukishima amends, stiffly. “Briefly.”
“Memorably,” Kuroo adds.
Tsukishima shoots him a warning look. Kuroo holds up his hands in surrender, smile still firmly in place.
“Relax,” he says. “I’m behaving.”
“That’s debatable,” Akaashi says, eyes still on the court.
Kuroo grins, pleased. “I’ll take it.”
“That wasn’t approval.”
“Still counts.”
The bleachers erupt in cheers as Bokuto lands another point. Hinata celebrates like he’s just solved a global crisis, and Bokuto mirrors him instantly, enthusiasm multiplying on contact.
“They’re going to combust,” Yamaguchi says, slightly concerned.
The game pushes on. Noise, motion, Bokuto shouting encouragement that seems only loosely related to volleyball. Hinata flails after a successful block, nearly running into someone in the stands. Tsukishima watches with his arms crossed, posture rigid, acutely aware of Kuroo beside him. It ends in a win, and Hinata makes a beeline towards their group, waving wildly at the stands. Bokuto follows suit, pointing emphatically like he’s discovered them all over again. His voice carries across the court and up into the stands.
“You came!”
“Yes,” Akaashi calls back. “You did well, Bo.”
Bokuto laughs like this is the best response he could have hoped for.
“Food after!” he shouts. “Everyone’s invited!”
Hinata pumps a fist. “Food!”
Kuroo stands, stretching easily. “Sounds like a plan.” Akaashi rises as well, gathering his things with quiet efficiency.
“I’m going to go before Bokuto decides waiting is optional.”
“Good call,” Kuroo says. “He gets destructive when hungry.” He turns to face Yamaguchi and Tsukishima. “Meet you guys there? I’m thinking the place across from North Campus.”
“Yeah, of course!” Yamaguchi replies. “See you guys there!”
Kuroo follows after Akaashi, who had already made contact with Bokuto and seems to be nodding along as Bokuto gave him an exaggerated play-by-play of the game he had just watched. Tsukishima does not stand. Yamaguchi looks at him, then at Kuroo’s retreating form. Then back at Tsukishima.
“Okay,” Yamaguchi says slowly. “I might be wrong.”
Tsukishima’s stomach tightens.
“But,” Yamaguchi continues, carefully, “you’re acting… weird.”
“I’m acting normal,” Tsukishima says.
Yamaguchi squints, skepticism sharpening. “You said you’d met.”
“We have,” Tsukishima says. “Briefly.”
Yamaguchi hums, unconvinced. “Right.” They sit in silence, Yamaguchi obviously hoping Tsukishima will break. He doesn’t.
“Well, let's go grab Hinata, yeah?” Yamaguchi stands, still watching Tsukishima like he’s filing something away for later. Tsukishima pushes to his feet at last, jaw tight.
This is not ideal.
The place Kuroo chooses is loud, dim, and smells faintly like grease and spilled beer, which Tsukishima assumes is part of the charm. There’s a handwritten chalkboard menu behind the bar that appears to have been updated sometime last semester. The tables are mismatched. The floor is sticky in a way Tsukishima tries not to think about too closely.
“This place is amazing,” Bokuto announces, like this is not the fourth time he’s said it since they walked in.
Hinata is already halfway into a booth, sliding across the vinyl seat like friction is optional. Yamaguchi laughs and follows Hinata in, setting his jacket beside him. Tsukishima hesitates for half a second before sitting, choosing the edge of the booth out of habit. Kuroo drops into the seat across from him without asking, and Tsukishima avoids eye contact.
The table wobbles slightly when Bokuto leans forward, elbows planted, already flagging down a server. “We’re gonna need a lot of food,” he says confidently. “Like… a lot.”
The server nods, unfazed. “Got it.”
Menus hit the table with a dull thump. Bokuto doesn’t even look at his.
“Fries,” he says immediately. “Two baskets. Maybe three. And burgers. And whatever that thing is.” He points vaguely at the chalkboard behind the bar.
“That’s not a menu item,” Akaashi says, already reading. “That’s an apology for running out of wings.”
“Still,” Bokuto says. “I respect it.”
Hinata leans across the table, eyes shining. “Do they have milkshakes?”
Tsukishima scans the menu, relieved to have something to do with his hands. It’s exactly what he expected: fried, greasy, and aggressively unconcerned with health. He orders something safe, then immediately regrets it when Bokuto orders enough food to feed a small village.
When the server leaves, Bokuto slaps his hands together. “Great game, by the way. Seriously. Hinata, that block in the third—”
Hinata lights up. “Right? I didn’t even feel tired until after.”
“That’s adrenaline,” Kuroo says. “It lies to you.”
“It makes you stronger,” Hinata argues.
“It makes you stupid,” Akaashi corrects.
Yamaguchi grins. “It was really fun to watch. You guys always look like you’re having the best time.”
“Because we are,” Hinata says, immediately. “Way better than practice. Or class. Or—”
“Or studying,” Tsukishima supplies flatly.
Hinata winces. “Okay, yeah. That too.”
Bokuto wildly points between Hinata and Tsukishima. “You should come out more, man. Games, parties—”
Tsukishima stiffens. Here we go.
“—It’s all part of the experience,” Bokuto finishes, oblivious.
Akaashi reaches for his drink. “You say that like he doesn’t.”
“I mean,” Bokuto says, thinking hard. “He doesn’t usually. That I know of anyway.”
Tsukishima exhales slowly. “I am sitting here.”
“Oh! Right. Sorry.” Bokuto brightens. “You came to the last party, too! That was cool.”
Tsukishima’s grip tightens on his menu.
Bokuto snaps his fingers. “Oh! Speaking of. It was too bad you left early, Kuroo! Some crazy shit went down with the libero’s girlfriend and some dudes in her room. And also, you missed my keg stand, which was top tier.”
Yamaguchi pauses mid-reach for his drink. Tsukishima stares very hard at the condensation on his glass.
“Left early?” Yamaguchi echoes.
“Yeah!” Bokuto says brightly. “Like, right before things got—”
“Bo,” Akaashi cuts in.
“What? I’m just saying,” Bokuto shrugs. “He missed the yelling.”
Kuroo nods along. “I’ve heard enough yelling in my life.”
Tsukishima nearly chokes on his drink at that. Kuroo’s mouth twitches upwards, and Yamaguchi starts to stare at Tsukishima like he’s grown a second head.
“Oh well,” Bokuto says, clapping his hands together as the server approaches with food. “There’s always next time for more yelling. Food’s here!”
Conversation swells back up around them, loud and overlapping, fries arriving like a distraction tactic deployed by the universe. Yamaguchi laughs along, but his eyes flick once to Tsukishima. Tsukishima resolutely does not meet his gaze.
The resident event is, by all measurable standards, a success. There are snacks. There are people. No one has set anything on fire, and no one has cried in the bathroom yet, which Tsukishima considers an unqualified win.
Someone, probably Yamaguchi, has taped up a crooked banner that reads “MIDTERM DE-STRESS NIGHT!” in aggressively cheerful bubble letters. The table beneath it holds a sad assortment of store-brand cookies, a bowl of clementines no one has touched, and a stack of paper flyers advertising resources Tsukishima knows most residents will politely ignore. Yamaguchi stands behind the table with the air of someone fulfilling a civic duty. He’s wearing his RA polo and smiling, looking way too happy to be at a dorm hall social event. Tsukishima hovers nearby, clipboard in hand, monitoring and checking in residents.
“Okay,” Yamaguchi says, peering over Tsukishima’s shoulder to check the sign-in sheet. “We’ve had, like, twelve people show up so far. Much better than the last one!”
“Not exactly hard,” Tsukishima says. “We couldn’t even convince Hinata to come to that one.”
They fall into a comfortable rhythm, Yamaguchi greeting residents, Tsukishima making mental notes about noise levels and unattended drinks. It’s almost relaxing. More importantly, Yamaguchi has, thankfully, let go of the trail. He’s been normal all evening. No pointed looks. No suspicious pauses. No carefully casual questions about parties or timelines, or mutual acquaintances. Tsukishima allows himself to breathe.
Yamaguchi nudges him lightly with his elbow. “See? This isn’t so bad. I knew we had it in us.”
“We’re forty minutes in,” Tsukishima says. “Give it time.”
Yamaguchi laughs, unconcerned, and reaches for another cookie. Suddenly, Tsukishima senses a disturbance in his carefully curated peace.
“Yamaguchi,” Kuroo says cheerfully, cutting through the room as if he belongs there. “My dude. Look what I brought for you.”
Yamaguchi looks up, startled. “Oh—hey!”
Kuroo steps aside, gesturing behind him with a flourish.
Kenma stands there. He’s wearing a hoodie pulled up over his head, hands tucked into the sleeves, expression neutral in the way Tsukishima recognizes immediately as actively disengaged. He looks at the banner. Then the table. Then the bowl of untouched clementines. His gaze lingers there a beat too long.
“…Hi,” Kenma says.
Yamaguchi blinks.
Kuroo claps a hand on Kenma’s shoulder. “I figured you could get all of your resident interactions for the year done right now.”
Kenma sighs. “I didn’t agree to that.”
“You left your room,” Kuroo says. “That’s consent.”
“That’s not how consent works.”
Yamaguchi laughs, a little too hard. “Wow. Okay. Hi. You’re, uh, Kenma, right? I’m Yamaguchi. I’m your RA.”
“I know,” Kenma says. “You email a lot.”
Yamaguchi winces. “I try not to spam.”
“You use bullet points,” Kenma adds. “It’s intimidating.”
Tsukishima grips his clipboard a little tighter.
Kuroo grins, pleased. “See? Productive already.”
Yamaguchi rubs the back of his neck, clearly torn between relief and professional responsibility. “Well. This is actually great timing. I’ve been meaning to—”
Kenma’s gaze drifts, unfocused, until it lands on Tsukishima. He pauses, and there's a flicker of recognition in his eyes.
“Oh,” Kenma says.
Tsukishima feels his soul attempt to exit his body.
Kenma tilts his head, squinting slightly like he’s buffering. “You’re the guy.”
Kuroo freezes.
Yamaguchi looks between them. “The—”
“The guy who got kicked out of the party with Kuroo,” Kenma finishes, matter-of-factly. “From the bedroom.”
He gestures vaguely between Tsukishima and Kuroo, like he’s connecting dots on a worksheet.
“Oh,” Yamaguchi says.
There’s a beat.
“Oh.”
Another beat.
“Oh my god.”
Tsukishima closes his eyes, feeling a headache of disgust and regret coming on.
The kitchen smells like cheap vodka and pizza. Tsukishima is vaguely aware that he could leave, and maybe find Yamaguchi. The hour time limit has got to be up by now. Annoyingly, he doesn’t really feel like moving.
Kuroo notices. Of course he does. His gaze flicks down to Tsukishima’s cup again, then back up, mouth quirking like he’s won something small but satisfying.
“See?” Kuroo says. “Not leaving.”
Tsukishima narrows his eyes. “I’m deciding how much longer I can tolerate you.”
“Flattering,” Kuroo replies. “I usually get five minutes, max.”
“That feels generous.”
“I have good conversational stamina.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It absolutely is,” Kuroo says. “You just haven’t been exposed to it long enough.”
The kitchen feels smaller now. Or maybe he’s just more aware of how close Kuroo is standing, shoulder brushing his arm every time someone squeezes past behind them. Tsukishima shifts, intending to put space between them, maybe even put his money where his mouth is and leave this weirdo alone in the kitchen. Kuroo shifts too, blocking Tsukishima’s path to the kitchen door.
Tsukishima glares. “You’re in my way.”
“Am I?” Kuroo asks mildly. “I thought I moved first.”
“You did not.”
“I absolutely did.”
They stare at each other for a beat, tension snapping tight and ridiculous and unmistakable. Kuroo’s mouth curves. “You want to get out of here?”
Tsukishima laughs once, sharp and humorless. “Not with you.”
“Fair,” Kuroo says immediately. “That was direct even for me.”
He doesn’t step back, though. If anything, he relaxes into the space between them, like he’s decided proximity is a negotiation tactic. Tsukishima notices. He hates that he notices.
Kuroo tilts his head, studying him openly now, gaze warm and curious and far too perceptive. “You look like you’re calculating an exit strategy.”
“I am,” Tsukishima says.
“Cool,” Kuroo replies. “I’ll give you a better one.”
Tsukishima scoffs. “You’re not helping your case.”
“I’m not making a case,” Kuroo says. “I’m offering an alternative.” He gestures vaguely toward the ceiling. “Upstairs is quieter.”
“I don’t know you,” Tsukishima says flatly.
Kuroo hums. “True.”
“And you expect me to follow you somewhere private because…?”
“Because you hate loud rooms,” Kuroo says easily. “You’ve checked the time twice. You keep shifting whenever someone brushes past you. And you’re still here, contemplating if it's worth it to leave and brave whatever madness is out there in the living room.”
Tsukishima stiffens. “You’re making assumptions.”
“Observations,” Kuroo corrects. “Big difference.”
Tsukishima opens his mouth to shut this down, and then stops. Because Kuroo is right. The kitchen is loud and sticky and crowded, and Kuroo smells like something clean under the alcohol, and his hair is still a disaster, but Tsukishima keeps looking at it anyway.
“Five minutes,” Tsukishima says. “Somewhere I can hear myself think.”
Kuroo’s smile is slower this time. Less smug. More sincere. “Deal.”
He turns toward the hallway without touching Tsukishima, without grabbing his wrist or crowding him, and that, annoyingly, is what seals it.
Tsukishima follows.
The stairs creak under their feet, muffling the noise from below with every step. The air upstairs is cooler, quieter; the party reduced to a distant thrum instead of an assault. Kuroo opens a door at the end of the hall, glancing back like he’s still giving Tsukishima the option to bail. Tsukishima doesn’t. The room is small and dim, someone else’s space. The bed is unmade, a jacket tossed over a chair, someone’s phone charging on the floor. Kuroo flips the light on low, then steps aside.
“No funny business,” Tsukishima says automatically.
Kuroo snorts. “I’d argue all of my business is funny.”
Tsukishima shoots him a look. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Kuroo says, hands raised in mock surrender. “You said quieter. This is quieter.”
Tsukishima exhales, tension bleeding out of his shoulders despite himself. He leans back against the dresser, arms folding out of habit. Kuroo stays a respectful distance away, which is somehow worse.
“You always this intense?” Kuroo asks.
“You always this annoying?”
“Only when it’s working.”
Tsukishima hates that he smiles at that. Just barely, but enough for Kuroo to notice. And Kuroo does. His gaze flicks to Tsukishima’s mouth, then back up, expression sharpening with interest.
“There it is.”
“There’s what?”
“That,” Kuroo says. “You're pretending you don’t like me. But I think you do.”
Tsukishima scoffs. “I don’t.”
“Sure,” Kuroo says, stepping closer now. “You just followed me upstairs for the acoustics.”
Tsukishima’s pulse kicks. He tilts his chin up, defiant. “You’re very confident for someone with such shitty hair.”
Kuroo grins. “So I’ve been told.”
This is a mistake. Tsukishima realizes it at the exact moment he closes the remaining distance between them. Kuroo stills when Tsukishima steps in, surprise flashing across his face just long enough to feel earned before his hands come up, hovering, waiting. He doesn’t touch until Tsukishima does, fingers curling briefly into the fabric of Kuroo’s shirt like he needs something solid to anchor himself.
The kiss is unplanned and badly timed and entirely too much and too little at the same time.
Kuroo tastes like cheap alcohol and something bitter, his mouth warm and insistent in a way that makes Tsukishima’s thoughts scatter immediately. There’s a brief, humiliating moment where he forgets every reason this is a terrible idea. The kiss is clumsy at first, too fast and too much, but it settles into something dangerous just as quickly, pressure and heat, and the unmistakable awareness of another body crowding his space. Tsukishima makes a sound he does not mean to make.
Kuroo’s hand slides up his side, warm through the thin fabric of his shirt, thumb brushing just under his ribs like he’s testing a boundary. Tsukishima should stop this. He knows he should. The room is someone else’s. The party is still going downstairs. This man is still a stranger.
Instead, he leans in.
The bed bumps the back of his knee, grounding him just long enough for the thought ‘this is insane’ to flicker through his head before disappearing entirely. Kuroo presses closer, breath hot at Tsukishima’s jaw, murmuring something indistinct that sends another humiliating jolt straight through him.
He forgets the kitchen. Forgets the music. Forgets Yamaguchi. Forgets the clock. Forgets that this is a stranger with stupid hair and an even stupider grin, and remembers only the way Kuroo’s hands are careful even when everything else isn’t.
And then, the door slams open. The lights snap on, bright and unforgiving.
“What the fuck are you doing in my room?”
Tsukishima freezes, irritation flaring instantly at the sheer stupidity of the situation. At himself. At this room. At the fact that he is standing here with Kuroo’s big, spidery hands feeling him up under his shirt.
A girl stands in the doorway, eyes wide with fury, staring at them like they’ve personally committed a crime against her. Behind her, a guy looms.
“Oh my god,” she says, voice sharp with disbelief. “Get out. Get out of my bedroom. Right now.”
Kuroo swears softly, already stepping back, hands lifting. “Yep. That’s fair. Sorry.”
Tsukishima’s face burns. He snatches his jacket off the chair, movements sharp and efficient. Someone laughs in the hallway. Someone else says worth it. He resists the urge to scream. The girl is still glaring like she wants blood. They’re shepherded out with impressive speed, and the front door slams behind them. Cold night air hits Tsukishima like a reprimand. For a moment, neither of them says anything. The party noise is muffled now, distant and unreal.
“Well,” Kuroo says. “That could’ve been—”
“This,” Tsukishima cuts in, turning on him, “is exactly why I don’t go upstairs at house parties.”
Kuroo blinks. Then laughs once, surprised. “Noted.”
Tsukishima exhales sharply. “I gave you five minutes.”
“I’m pretty sure we stayed under that,” Kuroo says.
“That is not the point.”
Kuroo rubs the back of his neck, breath fogging in the air. “Hey. If you want me to—”
Tsukishima glares at him sharply, and Kuroo stops himself, raising his hands in the air in faux surrender.
“If you want me to go,” he finishes instead, carefully, “just say the word.”
Tsukishima doesn’t look at him.
He can still feel Kuroo’s hands. Still feel the way his own body had leaned in without hesitation. That’s the part he can’t deal with.
“This was a statistical anomaly,” Tsukishima mutters under his breath. “You are nothing more than a statistical anomaly, and this is ending now.”
Kuroo grins despite himself. “For what it’s worth, I did have a good time.”
Tsukishima rolls his eyes. “Of course you did. You weren’t the one about to get murdered by a stranger’s boyfriend.”
“True.”
“And your hair is still terrible,” Tsukishima adds, because apparently he cannot stop himself.
Kuroo laughs outright. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Don’t,” Tsukishima says. “Good night.”
He turns and walks away before Kuroo can say anything else, irritation buzzing under his skin, equal parts mortification and adrenaline. He rewrites the night with every step and files it under bad idea, never again, did not enjoy.
This, of course, is immediately turned on its head when Kuroo walks through the dorm doors two days later.
Yamaguchi turns slowly toward him, face contouring into some emotion between horror and awe. “You—you were the guy who got kicked out.”
Tsukishima opens one eye. “Technically—”
“You,” Yamaguchi continues, voice rising, “You got kicked out.”
“It was a mutual agreement,” Tsukishima says weakly.
“You were the guy doing the nasty,” Yamaguchi says, pointing now. “With him!”
The residents nearby are very clearly pretending very hard not to listen. Tsukishima wants to sink into the floor.
Kuroo clears his throat. “In my defense—”
“No,” Yamaguchi says immediately. “No, you do not get a defense yet.”
Kenma shifts his weight. “I told you this would happen.”
“You told me nothing!” Kuroo hisses.
“I told you he worked there,” Kenma says. “That should have been enough information.”
Yamaguchi presses his hands to his face, dragging them down slowly. “I asked you. I asked you if you knew him.”
Tsukishima looks at the banner. The cookies. Anywhere but Yamaguchi.
“I said we’d met,” he offers.
“You said briefly,” Yamaguchi says. “This is not briefly! This is—this is anything but briefly. Intimately, maybe!”
Kenma tilts his head. “It was brief. He didn’t stay. That’s why Kuroo spent two days moping before making me look up the RA desk schedules after.”
Tsukishima makes a pained noise. Kuroo, at least, has the decency to look somewhat ashamed.
Yamaguchi looks between them again, gears visibly turning. “You’ve been—”
He stops. Starts again.
“He’s been showing up at the desk.”
“Yes,” Tsukishima says.
“And you’ve been avoiding him.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t think to mention this to me? At any point?”
Tsukishima opens his mouth. Closes it.
“…I didn’t think it would come up,” he says finally.
Yamaguchi stares at him. Then he laughs. It’s not hysterical. It’s worse. It’s the sound of someone recalculating reality.
“I cannot believe,” he says, breathless, “that I spent two weeks thinking I was being paranoid.”
Kenma checks his phone. “Can I go now?”
“No!” Yamaguchi and Kuroo say at the same time.
Kenma sighs. “This is why I don’t leave my room.”
There’s a beat of silence that follows, heavy and awkward and humming with too many things that should probably be addressed. Yamaguchi is the first to break it.
“So,” he says faintly, lowering his hands from his face. “Okay. Cool. Great. You,” he points at Tsukishima again, because apparently that’s just happening now, “hooked up with him, got kicked out of a party, and then spent the next several weeks pretending none of this ever occurred.”
“Yes,” Tsukishima says.
“And you,” Yamaguchi continues, pivoting sharply, “have been coming to the desk under the guise of ‘friendly visits’ to oggle my best friend.”
Kuroo opens his mouth.
“Carefully,” Yamaguchi warns.
Kuroo closes it. Tries again. “I was… checking in.”
Tsukishima scoffs. “That’s generous.”
Kuroo looks at him, like he’s calculating the risks and benefits of something. He finally seems to come to a conclusion, steeling himself and looking down and Tsukishima.
“Well, I liked you,” he says simply.
Tsukishima stiffens. “Past tense?”
Kuroo blinks, then exhales a small laugh. “No. Present. Definitely present.”
Yamaguchi makes a strangled noise somewhere between them. “Oh my god.”
Kenma shifts his weight. “I told you to just ask him out.”
Kuroo grimaces. “I didn’t want to make it weird.”
Tsukishima lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “You followed me to my workplace.”
“I followed Kenma,” Kuroo says quickly. “You were a bonus.”
Kenma nods. “Accidental stalking.”
“That’s not better,” Tsukishima says.
“But,” Kuroo continues, turning back to him, voice steady, “I wasn’t trying to mess with you. I wasn’t trying to corner you. I just—” He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. “I figured if you wanted me gone, you’d tell me. And if you didn’t… maybe we could try doing this like normal people.”
Tsukishima stares at him. Normal people. Dating. Words that feel wildly inappropriate for something that started with cheap vodka and getting yelled at in a stranger’s hallway. Yamaguchi watches him closely, uncharacteristically quiet now.
Tsukishima exhales through his nose. “You’re incredibly irritating.”
Kuroo’s mouth twitches. “I’ve been told.”
“You’re loud. You have terrible hair. You don’t understand personal space.”
“All fair.”
“And,” Tsukishima adds, reluctantly, “this has already been a logistical nightmare.”
Yamaguchi nods fervently. “From an RA standpoint—”
Tsukishima shoots him a look. “I’m not finished.”
Kuroo stills, attentive in a way that makes Tsukishima’s chest feel annoyingly tight. Tsukishima adjusts his grip on the clipboard he’s still holding.
“…But,” he says, quietly, “you’re also not wrong.”
Kuroo’s eyes soften.
“I did enjoy myself,” Tsukishima continues, irritation creeping back in as a defense mechanism. “Which is deeply inconvenient. And if we are doing this,” He pauses, jaw tightening. “We are doing it properly. No lurking. No desk ambushes. No pretending you ‘forgot’ things.”
Kuroo breaks into a slow, genuine smile. “You’re saying yes.”
“I am saying,” Tsukishima corrects, “that I will consider one date.”
“One,” Kuroo agrees immediately. “I can work with that.”
Yamaguchi lets out a shaky laugh. “I can’t believe this.”
Kenma checks his phone again. “So can I go now?”
“No,” Yamaguchi and Kuroo say at the same time.
Tsukishima closes his eyes and wonders how on Earth he got here.
The table is crowded in the familiar way that only happens when no one bothered to make reservations. There are empty plates, half-finished drinks, Bokuto loudly recounting something that definitely did not happen the way he’s describing it, and Hinata laughing like he believes every word. Tsukishima sits shoulder-to-shoulder with Kuroo, who has learned in the past month, miraculously, to stay mostly within acceptable personal space boundaries.
Mostly.
Yamaguchi clears his throat, raising his glass.
“Okay,” he says. “Since everyone’s here, and since this keeps coming up,” He gestures vaguely between Tsukishima and Kuroo. “I would like it officially noted that this,” he motions to them again, “is not my fault.”
“It absolutely is,” Tsukishima says.
Yamaguchi ignores him. “I invited Tsukki to one party. One. And now I’m sitting at a table with my childhood best friend, a man who still hasn’t read a single resident email, and my best friend’s boyfriend.”
Kuroo grins. “Guilty as charged.”
“This,” Yamaguchi continues, warming up, “is how I found out my childhood best friend is capable of casual hookups, terrible secrecy, and—” he pauses, “dating.”
Hinata beams. “It’s like a love story!”
“It’s like a cautionary tale,” Yamaguchi corrects.
Akaashi sips his drink. “Statistically, it was inevitable.”
Tsukishima rolls his eyes, but his hand finds Kuroo’s under the table anyway as Yamaguchi begins his recounting of the weeks leading up to what he now refers to in his head as ‘The Incident.’ Kuroo’s hand is warm, slightly sweaty, and should be altogether too disgusting for Tsukishima to be holding. Despite this, he doesn’t feel the need to let go. Kuroo leans against him, one foot hooking around Tsukishima’s ankle, and Tsukishima suppresses a smile.