Chapter Text
It starts on Valentine’s Day.
Asahi finishes up at work around 7 and heads home, chocolates for Yuu already secreted away beneath his summer clothes in their shared closet. Yuu doesn’t care too much about romantic holidays but Asahi thinks it’s important to show affection, to remind Yuu that he’s beyond a doubt the most important person in Asahi’s life. And he knows that, whatever the occasion, his boyfriend will be thrilled by a surprise.
He stops at the mail boxes in front of their building on the way up, grabbing some flyers and a letter addressed to Yuu. He tosses them all on the table when he gets inside and gets started on heating dinner – Yuu will be home from practice soon, and he’ll be hungry.
They’ve taken to eating late. Asahi’s not home until after 7 most nights, and Yuu’s doesn’t get home from practice until nearly 8. It always amazes Asashi that Yuu can do a full day of classes, four hours of practice, and still have energy to spare when he gets home. His stamina is incredible for his size, his spirit indomitable. He’s graduating from university this year and has a pro slot lined up starting April, and Asahi knows the grind of the pro circuit won’t have a foothold with Yuu.
He’s less sure how he’ll cope with it. Having Yuu home with him every evening, in bed with him every night, has been a dream he would never have believed could come true back at Karasuno. Once Yuu’s gone pro he’ll be at away games all across Japan, will be living a wild life on the road with a team of young men while Asahi keeps trudging along in Tokyo.
Asahi sighs and wipes his hands on a dish cloth, leaning back against the tiny kitchen’s single counter. He knows it’s a silly fear, knows Yuu’s crazy about him – he tells him so at every opportunity.
He’s just setting out the plates when he hears Yuu’s key in the lock. The libero bursts into the tiny Tokyo apartment with a wide grin: “Asahiiii!” He’s got a single red rose in his gloved hands. Asashi smiles; he’s sure Yuu would have bought a dozen or even two, but money is tight. They live their lives with little gestures rather than grand ones and rely on their ardour to make up for it. “For you,” he proclaims, coming into the kitchen and handing Asahi the rose.
“Thank you,” says Asahi, and bends to kiss his upturned lips. Yuu sneaks a hand down his back and beneath Asahi’s belt, and Asahi pulls away, smiling. “Dinner first, or it’ll get cold.”
“Who cares? I want you, not your stir fry.”
“You won’t feel that way when it gets all cold and chewy,” replies Asahi from experience.
Yuu makes a face but picks the rose out of Asahi’s hands. “I’ll take care of this.” He looks through the cupboards for a vase and pours some water into it, crossing to the table to place it. “Mail?” He rips it open and glances at it. “Huh.”
“Yuu?”
“It’s a fan letter. All about my amazing plays and how I rock on the court.” Yuu glances up at him and waggles his eyebrows, grinning.
“Well, they’re not wrong.”
“Very true. It’s just signed ‘Your Fan.’ No return address; I can’t reply.” He turns over the page, shrugs, and puts the paper down on the table. “Could’ve been that televised game against Waseda. I kicked some serious ass.” He returns to the kitchen, throwing an arm around Asahi’s waist and pressing himself to his side. “We gonna eat? ‘Cause you know I’ve got some plans centred around devouring you afterwards.”
Asahi smiles and opens the rice cooker. “Save room for dessert – there’s chocolate,” he says.
“Mm.” Yuu puts his head on Asahi’s shoulder. “Almost as sweet as you,” he says, and reaches in to pick out a grain of rice. Asahi watches, eyes shuttered, as Yuu licks it off his thumb. His tongue runs over his lips afterwards, slow and sensuous, his hip pressed up against Asahi’s ass. Asahi feels the ache of arousal settle low in his groin, hot and heavy.
“Yuu…”
Yuu’s clever fingers run over his waistband, tucking in under his belt and loosening it. He looks up, amber eyes shadowed by heavy lashes, just a sliver of playful amber shining through. “How about just a quick round?” he suggests, tugging Asahi’s belt open one-handed while his other hand works its way up Asahi’s chest beneath his shirt.
Asahi swallows as the weak threads of his composure snap. Then he’s letting Yuu press him up against the counter, the libero kneeling in front of him and opening his pants. His elbows shove the rice cooker back, the stir fry slowly growing cold on the stovetop as his breathing quickens.
The letter ends up in the recycling bin, forgotten.
***
Next week, though, there’s another one. The writing is the same but this time the envelope’s stiffer, not just paper tucked inside it. Asahi brings it up to the apartment along with the take-out sushi he bought for dinner. In exchange for his providing meals Yuu does the laundry and cleans the dishes, two tasks that can be done almost anytime, his schedule busier and less reliable than Asahi’s. They split the cleaning, Asahi a regular tidier while Yuu cleans in fits and spurts. It’s not perfect, but from what Asahi can tell it’s a better division of labour than many have. Suga’s always complaining about Daichi’s slovenly habits when it comes to putting away dirty clothes, although he’s always smiling as he does so.
Upstairs in the apartment Asahi slides the packs of sushi into the fridge and puts the envelope on the table, pulling out his laptop to see if he can get any replays of Yuu’s morning game. He finds some clips and queues them up, pulling a beer out of the fridge and settling down on the sofa to watch them.
Watching Yuu play always makes his heart heavy with pride. Asahi knows he played a part in Karasuno’s success in his third year, but it’s stand-out players like Yuu, Kageyama and Hinata that really amaze him. The saves Yuu can achieve these days, literally throwing his body across the court to dig a ball and landing in a perfect roll afterwards are incredible. He was playing first string in second year of university and has stayed there since, Chuo’s most valuable libero. Asahi can’t put into words how impressive he finds it, and how precious Yuu’s heart is to him. Yuu brings light and laughter into his life, his carefree attitude both shocking and refreshing.
Yuu’s louder than life, and he brings Asahi out into his world. Asahi will always love him for that.
“’Sup!” calls Yuu as he kicks the door open; Asahi winces as it slams into the wall. His sheer volume, on the other hand, is a constant file against his patience.
“Yuu, the door!”
“Fuck the door – we won!”
He hasn’t finished watching the clips yet. “Spoilers,” he chides, but with a smile. Yuu’s grinning as he crosses the room, a plastic conbini bag in his hand. “The guys got me a gift, seeing as I saved the match point in both sets.” He puts the bag on the table and pulls out two cans of chuuhai. He notices the letter as he does so, eyebrows rising. “Another one?” he tears it open and pours out the contents onto the table – three photographs and a letter. Yuu glances through the letter as Asahi picks up the photos. They’re of Chuo playing a match against Tokai, all three of the pictures focused on Yuu.
“She says she’s a huge fan and wishes I could sign the photographs for her, and aren’t I amazing?” reports Yuu, puffing up his chest. He looks at the photos and frowns. He scoops them from Asahi’s hands and stares. “These are from today!”
“Quick developing,” says Asahi. Yuu picks up the envelope.
“This wasn’t put through the mail – it was hand posted. Someone dropped it off here.” He looks up at Asahi. “Why not stop by to say hi if she’s such a big fan?”
“She?” asks Asahi.
“Well who else would be writing these? They’re a little… well, it’s clear she’s got a crush on me.” He hands Asahi the letter.
Dear Yuu-kun,
I’ve been watching your matches. You’re really incredible you know – I’ve never seen anyone like you. You don’t get enough appreciation; everyone in the stands watches the spikers and the setters, but I’ve got eyes only for you. I’m your biggest fan. I wish you could sign these photos, I wish I could see you holding them after I’ve touched them… I wish a lot of things, Yuu-kun. Someday you’ll know how much you mean to me. Someday.
Your fan
“I don’t know, Yuu, but this looks like a man’s handwriting to me,” says Asahi, frowning.
Yuu smiles, slipping it out of Asahi’s hand and tapping it against his chest. “Worried you’ve got a rival?” he asks. He circles around Asahi and tosses it on the table, then draws his slender fingers down the side of Asahi’s face, pulling his gaze away from the missive as he cocks his hips alluringly. “Don’t worry, you’re the only man I’ve got eyes for.”
“You didn’t notice anyone at the game taking photos? Or trying to catch your attention?”
“Asahi, you know my entire focus is on the court during a match. A herd of elephants could trample through and I wouldn’t notice. Besides, everyone takes pics – why shouldn’t they? We love fans, they love us, perfect balance!”
Asahi nods and allows Yuu’s enthusiasm to wash over him, his brightness transferring itself to Asahi like an electric current. Somehow, his smile is always enough to lighten Asahi’s mind.
None the less later that evening when Yuu’s in the bath, Asahi takes the pictures and the letter and tosses them in the recycling with the rest of the junk mail. Something about them just makes him uneasy.
***
It’s late that night and they’re in bed, lights out and a faint cold draught coming in through the single pane window. In the distance Asahi’s half-sleeping brain can hear the trains arriving at the local station. He’s always been slow to fall asleep; now he snuggles down against Yuu’s delicious warmth, his nose just poking out overtop the duvet, and tries to unwind.
He’s just dropping off to sleep when the phone rings. Yuu’s ringtone, a heavy bass riff. Beside him Yuu stiffens, then reaches out and grabs his phone off the bedside table. “Hello? Hello?... Hello?” He looks at it, the white LED screen blindingly bright in the dark room. It casts his face in harsh lines of light and dark, drawing sharp shadows beneath his cheekbones and the quizzical line of his lips. He presses the red end call button and the phone goes dark. “Unknown number,” he says, voice rough with sleep. “No one there.”
Asahi closes his eyes and tries to go back to sleep.
***
The phone calls continue over the next few days, late at night and early in the morning. All unknown numbers – all different. Yuu blames it on telemarketers and crank calls, and starts turning his phone off when they go to bed. Asahi considers asking Daichi about it, but bringing in the police seems excessive, seems alarmist.
The last letter comes a week later, this time not even properly addressed, just To Yuu-kun. Asahi frowns as he pulls it out of the mailbox, and vaguely considers dropping it straight in the paper recycling area in front of the building instead of bringing it into the house. But that’s ridiculous – it’s just stupid fan mail, just some person who has a mild crush on his boyfriend struggling to express themselves. Maybe they’re kindly and shy like him, too nervous to approach Yuu directly. He can understand that.
“Oh, another one,” says Yuu when he comes home. “Hand delivered?”
“Yes.”
“I still think it’s weird they haven’t come by.”
Asahi shrugs. “Maybe they’re too nervous.”
Yuu grins. “Maybe they’ve seen you, my big handsome boyfriend, and gotten scared off.” He picks up the letter and opens it. The light-hearted grin slowly disappears as he reads it.
“Yuu?”
The libero looks up, eyes thoughtful. “I dunno Asahi. Maybe I don’t want to meet them after all. This is a bit intense.”
Asahi takes the letter and reads it.
Yuu-kun,
You’re such an inspiration. Everyone around you loves you – it’s only natural. I saw it in Kojima-kun’s eyes when you rolled into the chair for him; I saw it in Kozume’s face when you backed him up on tossing. I want to be able to love you too. You never seem to see me, but I’m always there. I want to be with you, Yuu-kun. And then I would be able to love you like I should. You’re lonely – I hear it in your voice late at night. You need me too.
Your fan
“Yuu… this is scary,” says Asahi, looking up from the letter, his earlier thoughts of a shy, awkward follower evaporating instantly. “This is the person who’s been calling you in the middle of the night.”
Yuu leans against the table, his eyes thoughtful. “Maybe. Those things they mentioned about the team – about Shinta and Kenma. Those both happened during practice, not an actual game. Whoever wrote this attends our practices. Maybe is even on the team…”
Asahi crosses his arms, suddenly convinced. “We should talk to Daichi about it.”
Yuu looks at him sharply. “Daichi? It’s not that serious. They’re just awkward… Maybe one of the first years, or some member of the support staff. You know volleyball nerds, we’ve got no sense of tone.”
“Yuu, this isn’t normal – it sounds like a stalker. This person knows your number, and where we live.”
“Well that makes sense if they’re part of the team. Besides, you don’t think I can take care of myself?”
“I don’t think you should have to. This is already almost harassment.”
“It’s just a few letters, Asahi. Weird, bizarre letters, but that’s it. They haven’t even come up to the apartment, haven’t said anything at practice.” Yuu plucks the letter from his hands and tosses it on the table where it lies, just an innocent piece of paper.
Asahi fists his hands, his stomach knotting itself anxiously. “I don’t like it. It’s more than letters – it’s photographs, phone calls… It’s not nothing.”
“Look,” says Yuu, eyebrows sharpened in irritation. “Talk to Daichi if you want. But what’s he going to do? He’s a uniformed officer, not a detective. We don’t know who this person is, so we can’t even give them a warning. I’ll talk to some of the guys. Kenma and Kou. See if they’ve got any ideas; they’re pretty savvy. I’m telling you though, it’s nothing to worry about. Don’t let it get to you, Asahi.” But for once his tone isn’t reassuring, is gruff and irked.
“Don’t throw out the letter. I want to show it to Daichi,” insists Asahi.
Yuu stares back at him, eyes intense, mouth thin. “Fine,” he says. “I’ve got some studying to do.” He picks up his bag and crosses over to his chair, a strange recycle-store find in red leather with a wide seat and a tall back. He clambers into the chair, seats himself cross-legged, and digs his books out of his bag. He doesn’t look up.
Asahi sighs and takes the letter, putting it on top of the fridge where it’ll be safe.
***
He talks to Daichi the next evening, even sending a picture of the letter to the policeman.
“I agree it’s unsettling, Asahi,” says Daichi. Asahi’s sitting on the couch waiting for Yuu to come home, hopefully in a better mood than yesterday. “But it’s certainly not criminal. Right now, even if you knew who was responsible I wouldn’t have any grounds to speak to them.”
“They’re calling Yuu at all hours of the night, Daichi!”
“You said it’s always from different numbers.”
“Yes – but surely there’s some kind of… of technology that allows that.”
“There is, but it’s not illegal. They haven’t made any threats, have they?”
Asahi sighs. “No.”
“Then there’s not much I can do. Nishinoya could change his number, but if he’s right and it is someone associated with the team they would find out about it pretty quickly.”
“I don’t like it,” says Asahi darkly.
“I appreciate that. But right now there’s not much to be done. And… you’ve always been a worrier.”
Asahi frowns. “You’re saying I’m overreacting?”
Daichi’s voice is calm, reasonable. “I’m saying you may be, yes. Once Nishinoya goes pro he’ll be in the limelight a lot more – on national broadcasts and in magazines, maybe even in commercials and on the radio. Sports players are celebrities, Asahi, and celebrities have fans. Often socially awkward ones who are slightly outside the boundaries of normalcy. You’re going to have to make your peace with that.”
His hand is tense, his nails cutting into his palm. Asahi closes his eyes and forces himself to relax. “Maybe I’ll have to accept it, Daichi. But it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“No. But you would be happier if you did,” replies the policeman softly.
“Thanks for your help,” says Asahi stiffly, and hangs up.
***
The next evening is Friday, Yuu’s last day of classes for the week. He has team practice on Saturdays of course, but it’s just a six hour day instead of a twelve hour one.
Asahi was in a poor mood the night before, stalking silently around the kitchen and answering Yuu’s questions in terse monosyllable until the libero took himself off for more studying. They had avoided talking all evening, going to bed with stiff smiles and lying back-to-back.
He wants to make up for it tonight. Has ordered out Yuu’s favourite, Indian butter chicken with rice and naan. He keeps it warm on the stove and puts on some low rock from his laptop, which also acts as their budget speaker system. Asahi even puts out one candle, not enough to be cheesy but enough to let Yuu know that he’s sorry.
Eight o’clock comes and goes, Asahi reading a fashion magazine.
Then eight thirty. Then nine. Frowning he checks his phone – but there are no messages, no texts from Yuu. He thumbs to their conversation and adds a new line, Waiting, where are you?
Sometimes the team goes out for drinks spontaneously, although Yuu’s pretty good about letting him know. He turns off the stove and eats an unhappy meal alone, half-upset and half-ridiculing. Yuu’s probably in some bar somewhere, his phone buried in his bag. He puts away the rest of the chicken in a container in the fridge and does the dishes for something to keep him occupied. Douses the single candle.
There’s no reply to his text from Yuu. Ten o’clock ticks by and Asahi texts Kozume. Is Yuu with you?
The response comes back immediately: No, not here. Didn’t he come home?
Asahi’s stomach flip-flops. Palms sweaty now he replies. No. Was he on his way home?
Think so. He didn’t say he had plans.
When did he leave?
Asahi taps the phone as he waits, knee jogging uncontrollably. Usual time – 7pm.
It takes Yuu an hour to get home from campus. He’s two hours late.
Can you check with the team pls? replies Asahi.
OK.
He gets up and walks around, throat tightening, chest aching. The only refrain in his head is one word: Please. Please let him be alright. Please let him come home. Please let him walk through that door with a stupid grin on his face, alright and rueful.
Please.
No one’s seen him, texts Kozume five minutes later. Kuroo and I are going back to the gym to look for him.
Kozume and Kuroo live a ten minute walk from campus. But Asahi can’t wait that long. I’m calling the cops, he replies.
He calls Daichi, voice hoarse and breathless. “Daichi? It’s Asahi. Yuu’s missing.”