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The astronomy club rooftop was cold tonight. Late autumn wind bit through the thin fabric of his uniform blazer, but Tsukishima Kei didn't bother pulling it tighter. He leaned against the railing, eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the city lights—somewhere where stars actually existed, not just the cheap imitation of street lamps.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn't check it.
He already knew it was Yamaguchi. Yamaguchi, who texted him every night now with cheerful updates about his day. Yamaguchi, who had been dating Kageyama Tobio for three weeks, two days, and approximately fourteen hours.
Tsukishima had counted. Of course he had.
"Oi, Tsukishima."
He didn't turn around. He knew that voice too—bright, irritating, familiar in a way that made his teeth clench. Hinata Shoyou climbed through the roof access door, his breath fogging in the cold air.
"You're late," Tsukishima said flatly.
"Sorry, sorry. Ukai kept me after practice. Something about my receive form." Hinata came to stand beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. Almost. "Did you think I wouldn't come?"
"I didn't think about it at all."
"Liar."
The word hung between them, sharp and accurate. Tsukishima finally turned his head, letting his glasses catch the dim light from the stairwell. Hinata was looking at him with those stupidly earnest eyes—eyes that saw too much, that always had.
They'd started this two weeks ago. Three days after Hinata had walked in on Kageyama and Yamaguchi kissing in the hallway, their hands tangled in each other's hair, oblivious to the world. Hinata had come to Tsukishima's classroom after school, face blotchy from crying, and had said:
"You too, right? You get it, right?"
And Tsukishima, who had just watched Yamaguchi pack his bag while humming a love song, who had felt his chest cave in like a rotten building, had nodded once.
That was it. That was the beginning of the arrangement.
"Are we doing this or not?" Tsukishima asked now, his voice deliberately bored.
Hinata swallowed. His throat moved. "Yeah. But—can we… can you hold me first? Just for a minute?"
Tsukishima's heart twisted painfully. Because that wasn't a request for him. That was a request for the ghost of someone else. But he nodded anyway, because he was a hypocrite, because he needed this too.
They moved to the shadowed corner of the rooftop, behind the old equipment shed where no one could see. Hinata pressed his back against the wall, and Tsukishima stepped into his space, letting his body block the wind.
"Close your eyes," Tsukishima whispered.
Hinata obeyed instantly. His eyelashes fluttered against his freckled cheeks, his lips parting slightly. Beautiful. Infuriating. Reminding Tsukishima of someone he didn't want to think about.
He leaned in. Their lips met.
It was soft at first—almost tender. Tsukishima's hand came up to cup Hinata's jaw, tilting his head, deepening the kiss. Hinata made a small sound, a whimper, and his fingers curled into the fabric of Tsukishima's blazer.
They both knew who they were pretending to kiss.
Yamaguchi, Tsukishima thought, and the name burned like acid. He imagined smaller hands, softer lips, a shy smile. He imagined Tadashi's voice saying his name the way he used to, before Kageyama stole him away.
Kageyama, Hinata thought, and he pressed closer, chasing the illusion. He imagined slightly shorter, broader shoulders, gruff hands that didn't know their own strength, a rare smile that made his heart stop.
They kissed until they couldn't breathe. Then Tsukishima broke away, lips wet, eyes half-lidded.
"More?" he asked.
Hinata nodded, already reaching for his belt.
They didn't talk about feelings. That was the rule.
Inside, they talked with their bodies, with desperate hands and open mouths. Tsukishima pushed Hinata down onto the old gym mats they'd dragged up here weeks ago—stolen from the storage room, hidden behind the shed. Hinata's back hit the foam with a soft thump, and he looked up at Tsukishima with that hungry, broken expression.
"Make me forget," Hinata whispered.
Tsukishima's throat tightened. "Shut up."
He kissed down Hinata's neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark. Hinata gasped, arching up, his hands finding Tsukishima's hair and pulling. They both knew the bruises would be hidden by collars tomorrow. They both knew that was the point.
Tsukishima's fingers found the button of Hinata's pants. "Lift your hips."
Hinata obeyed. His pants came off, then his boxers, kicked aside into the darkness. The cold air hit his exposed skin and he shivered, but Tsukishima's body was warm above him, blocking out the world.
"Look at me," Tsukishima said.
Hinata looked.
For a moment, just a moment, Tsukishima saw him—not the substitute, not the placeholder, but Shoyou. The boy who also knew what it felt like to be second choice. The boy who was using him just as much as he was being used.
Then Hinata's eyes fluttered, and Tsukishima knew he was imagining blue eyes instead of gold, dark hair instead of blonde.
Fine. Two can play that game.
Tsukishima's hand wrapped around Hinata's cock, already half-hard. He stroked slowly, deliberately, watching Hinata's face contort. The whimper that escaped his lips was reward enough.
"You like that?" Tsukishima murmured, his voice low and cruel.
"Y-yes—"
"Who do you want to be touching you right now?"
Hinata's eyes flew open. His breath caught. "Don't—"
"Answer me."
The command was harsh, but Hinata's cock twitched in Tsukishima's grip. Fuck. They were both so twisted.
"Kageyama," Hinata breathed, the name like a confession. "I want him to—ah—"
Tsukishima's grip tightened, and Hinata cried out. He leaned down, mouth close to Hinata's ear, and whispered, "He's not here. He's with Tadashi. They're probably fucking right now, while you're here letting me use you."
Tears welled in Hinata's eyes. They spilled down his cheeks, hot and silent.
"Good," Tsukishima said, and he hated how much he meant it. "Keep crying. I want to taste your tears."
He kissed them away, one by one, salty on his tongue. Then he moved lower, spreading Hinata's legs open, settling between them. Hinata's tear-streaked face was a masterpiece of misery, and Tsukishima wanted to paint more of it.
"D-don't look at me like that," Hinata sobbed.
"Like what?"
"Like you—like you know—"
"Know what? That you're pathetic? That I'm pathetic?" Tsukishima's smile was sharp. "We both know. That's why we're here."
He lowered his head and took Hinata's cock into his mouth.
The noise Hinata made was raw, animal, a sob and a moan tangled together. Tsukishima worked him with practiced efficiency—tongue, lips, teeth grazing just enough to make Hinata's hips jerk. He swallowed Hinata down until his nose touched orange curls, until Hinata was gasping his name—Tsukishima, Tsukishima, oh god—and it was wrong, all wrong, because he was calling the wrong name but it didn't matter, it never mattered.
Hinata came with a broken cry, his body arching off the mat. Tsukishima swallowed every drop, pulling off with a slick sound, licking his lips.
"Your turn," Hinata whispered, still trembling.
Tsukishima's cock was painfully hard, straining against his own pants. He didn't ask permission. He didn't ask anything. He flipped Hinata onto his stomach, pulled his hips up, and pushed inside without warning.
Hinata screamed—pleasure or pain, impossible to tell—and Tsukishima buried his face in the curve of Hinata's neck, breathing him in. Sweat and salt and something sweet. Oranges. Hinata smelled like oranges.
Tadashi smells like green tea.
He thrust hard, fast, no rhythm but desperation. Hinata's hands clawed at the mat, his back slick with sweat, and Tsukishima watched the muscles move, imagined different muscles, imagined green eyes looking back at him.
"Yamaguchi," he breathed, the name escaping like a prayer.
Hinata heard. Hinata always heard.
"Yeah," he said, voice muffled against the mat. "I know. I know."
They fucked like that—Tsukishima fucking into Hinata's tight heat, both of them crying for people who weren't there. The rooftop echoed with wet sounds, with sobs, with names that belonged to other beds, other hearts.
Tsukishima came with a shudder, spilling deep inside Hinata, and collapsed on top of him. They lay there, breathing hard, the cold air slowly cooling their overheated skin.
After a long moment, Hinata laughed—a watery, broken sound. "We're so fucked up."
"Yeah."
"But it helps. For a little while."
Tsukishima didn't answer. He pulled out slowly, watching his cum leak from Hinata's hole, and felt nothing but hollow emptiness.
He reached for his glasses, put them back on, and stared up at the smoggy sky.
No stars tonight.
Just two broken boys using each other's bodies as bandages for wounds that would never heal.
"Same time tomorrow?" Hinata asked, already dressed, face wiped clean of tears.
"Yeah."
Hinata left first, climbing back through the access door, his footsteps fading down the stairs. Tsukishima stayed a while longer, letting the cold seep into his bones.
His phone buzzed again. He checked it this time.
Yamaguchi: Hey Kei! Kageyama and I are going for ice cream after practice tomorrow. Want to come? :)
He typed back: Busy. Maybe next time.
He deleted Yamaguchi's contact photo—the one of him smiling, bathed in golden sunlight—and stared at the default silhouette.
Then he followed Hinata's path down the stairs, into the dark, back to a world where he smiled and pretended and never, ever told the truth.