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"Asahi-san," Nishinoya calls. "Come help me stretch."
It hasn't been that long yet, since Asahi and Nishinoya returned to the volleyball club. Well—Asahi, at least. He knows Nishinoya came back before he did.
They've both missed a substantial amount of practice. Asahi had barely touched a volleyball during his time away from the club, too consumed by guilt and distress; and while Nishinoya did get some practice with the local housewives' team, he's admitted himself that it wasn't nearly enough compared to the Karasuno team's usual level of practice. Daichi, backed by Coach Ukai, suggests that they make up for it by staying after hours for a few days, until they're up to speed.
"Just the two of you," Suga says, winking at Asahi when Nishinoya's not looking. "Isn't that nice?"
I don't know what you're trying to imply, Asahi tries to communicate back non-verbally, even though he kind of does.
Suga just gives him that signature grin of his, two parts cheerful and one part cheeky. Typical Suga, Asahi thinks, which really means good old Suga, which really means I've missed you, Suga.
I've missed you, Suga. I've missed you, Nishinoya. I'm not going anywhere again.
Hinata and Kageyama are wildly jealous, of course, and entreat Ukai to let them stay for longer too (don't those two ever run of stamina? Maybe it's the whole first year thing). Ukai refuses point blank, citing the importance of rest and relaxation. Hinata protests and Kageyama grumbles, but Daichi tells them they can come in early the next day, and then they're satisfied enough to wrap up and leave with the rest of the team, letting Asahi and Nishinoya have the gym.
Like Suga said: just the two of them.
Asahi finishes locking up the storeroom and goes over to Nishinoya, who's sitting on the floor with his shoes off and his legs stretched out before him. Nishinoya smiles when Asahi approaches him, and Nishinoya's smile is infectious, so Asahi smiles back.
"What's so funny?" he asks.
"Nothing," Nishinoya says, breezily. "It's just—I've been seeing you around school all month, since my suspension ended, but I couldn't come up to you and say hi or any of the stuff I used to do before. It was probably the same for you, right?"
Asahi had done his level best to avoid Nishinoya—everyone from the club, really—but sometimes he'd catch a glimpse of spiky hair and a blond fringe, and he'd... do his best to lose himself in the crowd of students, even though part of him wanted to just drop the whole charade and go to Nishinoya, big blow up fight from before be damned.
He nods, and Nishinoya laughs out loud. "Yeah, see? And now I can just barge into your classroom whenever I want. It's kinda nice."
"Well," Asahi says diplomatically, "you probably shouldn't barge into my classroom when there's a teacher inside." (Nishinoya had done that just yesterday, walked into the classroom yelling Asahi's name right in the middle of Math. He'd played it off by claiming that Takeda-sensei had sent for them—which he hadn't—but Asahi still had a mini heart attack anyway.) "But yeah, it's nice."
He starts helping Nishinoya stretch. Even after a month away from practice, it still comes as easily as breathing. Muscle memory, probably: he's spent so long doing this that the routine's ingrained in him by now.
With the team in general—and with Nishinoya in particular.
Asahi and Nishinoya have always... gravitated towards each other, for lack of a better word.
They've been that way ever since Nishinoya first joined the club—just a little over a year ago, but it feels like forever. Nishinoya has that effect on people, though. A week into club activities and he was calling everyone by their first names like he'd known them their whole lives. (Except for Suga, whom he'd christened Suga-san instead. And then they were all calling him Suga, and the nickname stuck.)
Nishinoya latched onto everyone in their own way—he latched onto Tanaka especially—but the way he latched onto Asahi was different from the others. Because, well. Unlike with the others—he'd latched onto Asahi on the court as well.
Y'know what's cool about being a libero, Asahi-san? Nishinoya had asked him once, before the Inter High qualifiers in Asahi's second year. It's that—the ace is the guy who gets to protect the rest of the team. But the libero gets to protect the ace. Neat, huh?
Asahi had been at a loss for words even back then, something falling into place at the back of his mind, something he couldn't name. But he doesn't think he truly realized how deep that sentiment ran—how much Nishinoya meant it—until recently.
But what he did know was this: he and Nishinoya were a set on court, and they were a set off court as well. When Nishinoya wasn't horsing around with Tanaka, he was hanging out with Asahi, pulling him to the court for serve-receive practice, regaling him with middle school stories, asking for his help—or offering his own—while stretching after practice.
By now, Asahi's one of the best on the team at serving, though he's definitely got plenty of room for improvement. He knows tons of little details about Chidoriyama Middle School, and Nishinoya's old teammates, all of whom have scattered to different high schools.
And he knows the feeling of Nishinoya's skin under his hands. He doesn't think he could forget if he tried—and he's tried.
"Thinking too hard, Asahi-san," Nishinoya murmurs under his breath, as Asahi helps him stretch his lumbar muscles.
Asahi smiles apologetically, even though Nishinoya can't see him from his position.
Truthfully, Asahi would like nothing better than to stop thinking, sometimes. For his thoughts to stop running around in circles so much.
In the month he spent away from the volleyball club, he'd had more free time than he ever did in the past three years. His body was idle, but his mind was a mess. Normally it's like a whirlpool in there, but this time, it was like a hurricane.
He'd thought about volleyball incessantly. About Karasuno, about the former Coach Ukai. About his middle school team, about Daichi and Tanaka; about Suga who he'd let down for the last time; about Ennoshita, Kinoshita, and Narita, who had also left the team, once, but—the difference between them and Asahi was that they returned.
Asahi wasn't planning on it.
The one person he'd made a real effort not to think about was—Nishinoya, of course. The look on Nishinoya's face as Asahi turned away from him in that corridor haunted him. (Still haunts him, really—but with each time Nishinoya turns that beaming grin of his upon Asahi now, that tight, fraught expression from back then grows a little fainter in Asahi's memory.)
Asahi had put all thoughts of Nishinoya out of his mind—or made a shoddy attempt to, at least. He'd expected Nishinoya to do the same; after all, Nishinoya said it himself, I won't forgive you for giving up. But that was where he'd underestimated Nishinoya—who, if Suga and Daichi and the rest of the team are to be believed, took Asahi's desertion much harder than Asahi had expected him to.
He thinks about what Daichi told him, the day after he returned to the team. He said he didn't want to play without you, Asahi. Didn't want to win without you. After all the time you'd spent training together, he couldn't just let you go.
He thinks about how he was willing to give up all of this just a short while ago, the tête-à-têtes with Daichi and Suga. The smell of the polished court, the smack of the ball against wood. The warmth of Nishinoya's skin under his hands.
He thinks about how Nishinoya was willing to give up the same.
"Asahi-san," Nishinoya says again, insistently, and he's going to call Asahi out for overthinking again, Asahi knows. Nishinoya's developed a sixth sense for when he does that.
Sure enough, Nishinoya stops in the middle of his stretch and lifts his head, shaking his hair out of his eyes.
He looks beautiful like this, Asahi thinks, and then his brain screeches to a halt.
Nishinoya's got the most striking eyes, amber in the light and sharp enough to cut.
They're trained on Asahi now, cutting right into him, as Asahi yanks his hands away and tries to backtrack. A sense of vertigo suddenly hits him, like he's about to teeter off the edge of—something. He doesn't know.
Or maybe he does. Asahi's proven better at lying to himself than he'd thought, especially during that month he was away from the club. Maybe he does know, and maybe Nishinoya knows too, because even if Asahi can lie to himself, he could never fool Nishinoya. Maybe Nishinoya can see whatever stunned, panicky look Asahi probably has on his face right now, and he knows exactly what it means.
Asahi's a pessimist. Everyone who knows him knows that. Immediately, his mind presents him with a list of possible reactions Nishinoya might have: ranging from laughing in Asahi's face, to looking at him with aversion, to looking at him with pity, to asking him why he's suddenly freaking out for seemingly no reason, when he's been in relatively good shape since he officially returned.
Nishinoya doesn't do any of those things, though. He looks directly at Asahi with those piercing eyes of his, his face completely serious, and says, "Asahi-san. Don't look away."
Asahi feels like he's been struck by a bolt of lightning.
"Right," he replies faintly. "Don't look away." Of course. They need to be careful while stretching, if he does it carelessly he could hurt Nishinoya.
That's what they were doing in the first place, after all, before Asahi forgot himself—stretching.
…Like that's what Nishinoya was talking about, though.
Don't look away, Asahi-san.
(I'm not going anywhere again.)
Okay. Asahi won't.
Asahi goes back to helping Nishinoya stretch, but there's more deliberation to it now. There's something in the air.
They're just about finishing up, now. The serious look leaves Nishinoya's face as abruptly as it came, and by the time they move into the last part of the routine, he starts talking about the new tokusatsu show his kid cousins are watching, cheerful and nonchalant as ever. He gestures with his hands as he talks, and his hand's right in front of Asahi's face, and that's when Asahi sees the light bruise on his wrist.
Nishinoya's always bruised. Little purple marks standing stark against his pale skin, on his arms and legs and elbows. Comes with the territory, being a libero.
There's really no reason for Asahi to be staring at them. But Nishinoya said not to look away.
Nishinoya trails off in the middle of his anecdote when he notices Asahi looking. His sharp eyes flick up to Asahi's face, and it's everything Asahi can do not to rip his gaze away, but—Nishinoya said it already, didn't he, don't look away.
The air buzzes. The ball is in Nishinoya's court.
Nishinoya inspects the bruise on his wrist, the one Asahi was looking at.
“I got bruised all over, you know,” he says off-handedly, before giving Asahi a glance that’s just shy of cunning. “Practicing my block follow for you.”
Asahi huffs out a quiet laugh. Leave it to Nishinoya to one up him just like that, without a thought.
“You didn’t practice block follow for me, Nishinoya, you did it for the team,” he reminds Nishinoya. “You want to keep Tanaka and the others from getting stuffed too, don’t you?”
Nishinoya huffs, but it's mostly for show. “Well, yeah, of course I do, I'm your libero,” he says. “But that’s different. The regular practice I did with the aunties, that was for the rest of the team. The extra practice, though. The hours I spent repeating the same maneuvers late into the night, after everyone had left and I’d begged the aunties to let me lock up when I was done. That was for you. I wasn’t thinking of anyone else.”
“Oh,” Asahi says softly. His heartbeat quickens—but then it's always doing that, around Nishinoya.
Before he can think the better of it, he lifts Nishinoya’s hand to his mouth, pressing a feather-light kiss to the bruise on the jut of his wrist bone.
Nishinoya makes a little noise at the back of his throat. When Asahi looks up, releasing his hand, he’s pink in the face, eyes wide and awed.
The fluttering of Asahi's heartbeat turns into a steady thumping. I’ve made Nishinoya quiet, he thinks to himself, amazed. Nishinoya’s never quiet, except when he’s on the court—but right now, Asahi can barely hear him breathe.
Nishinoya swallows. Asahi tracks the motions of his throat. He doesn't know what he wants—he just knows that he does.
Asahi's never been in love before.
Daichi and Suga both dated in middle school, innocent and short-lived relationships. Suga's was with a girl—and Daichi's was with a boy, which he told Asahi and Suga during their first year in Karasuno, quiet and careful. And Suga had just bumped Daichi's shoulder with his, and told him that the way Daichi spoke normally, loud and clear, suited him better—so maybe he should go back to doing that. And Asahi smiled at Daichi, meeting his gaze, and just like that Daichi's hesitation melted away.
Suga got a confession in second year—from a boy. He told Asahi and Daichi about it in practice afterwards, when the first years were busy cleaning up. Asahi could practically see Daichi holding his breath—and then releasing it, when Suga said, I think I'm going to give him a chance.
The relationship only lasted two months—the former Coach Ukai returned to Karasuno, and then none of them had time for anything other than volleyball. Suga took the breakup in stride, but Asahi couldn't help but wonder if it was worth it.
Well, it was nice while it lasted, Suga reflected, later. And he made me feel... I don't know, special.
Asahi wanted to say that he couldn't imagine what that might feel like. At least, he didn't think he could. But then Nishinoya was calling him over from the other side of the gym, smile bright and distinct even from a distance, and Asahi's feet were taking him there before he knew it.
Asahi-san! Let me receive some of your spikes. Your cross shot's been untouchable lately!
A compliment from Nishinoya would make anyone feel good about themselves, but when he said it like that, looking at Asahi like he couldn't see anyone else, Asahi felt like—well, the best spiker on this side of Miyagi. Like he could do anything.
In that way, maybe he did kind of understand what Suga was talking about.
In the end, Nishinoya's the one who leans up to kiss him.
Asahi feels like he should be startled, but he's not. It makes perfect sense, in that moment, to scoot forward and kiss Nishinoya back, tilt his head a little to make the angle work better for both of them.
Nishinoya's mouth is warm and insistent, and he kisses Asahi like he's trying to pull him forward, not push him back. Asahi's heart races in his chest as Nishinoya's hands come up to cup his face, and he feels around for Nishinoya's bruised wrist, clasping it gently. Nishinoya pulls off to kiss him on the cheek, and then he pulls his arm out of Asahi's grip, wordlessly showing him a bruise on his elbow.
Asahi's gripped with an aching sort of tenderness. He thinks about how lonely Nishinoya must've been, that month—Asahi was lonely too. He's missed the team. He's missed Nishinoya. He takes Nishinoya's arm again, bends down to kiss his bruised elbow. Nishinoya lets out this breathless laugh, bringing his other hand to the nape of Asahi's neck, fingers winding through the hair that's escaped from his bun.
There are other bruises on Nishinoya's arm, and Asahi kisses those too, soft and meaningful. With every press of his lips against Nishinoya's warm skin, he says—not sorry, because they're well past apologies by now.
Instead he says thank you. Thank you for believing in me. Even when I didn't believe in myself.
Nishinoya starts laughing, almost to himself, and Asahi glances up, puzzled. His heart stutters when he sees the smile on Nishinoya's face—he wants to keep that smile forever.
"Your beard tickles," Nishinoya says, by way of explanation. Asahi flushes, and Nishinoya laughs again. "'S not a bad thing, though. I like it."
You're beautiful, Asahi almost blurts out, but he's already used up all his courage for now.
That's okay, though. One day, Nishinoya will make him brave enough.
Eventually, Nishinoya stands up, pulling Asahi to his feet with both hands. One he releases right away, but the other he keeps clasped within his own; and then he shifts his hand a little so their fingers tangle together, and then they're holding hands.
Asahi's hand is bigger than Nishinoya's; his fingers are longer and thinner, where Nishinoya's are strong and stubby.
Nishinoya's hand is warmer than his, and their palms are equally rough from practice. It feels... well, it feels right.
Nishinoya grins up at him, amber eyes never leaving Asahi.
"Let's go home, Asahi san," he says, like they're both returning to the same place, instead of two different residences. But somehow that feels right too—because they are kind of going to the same place, aren't they? They're on the same page, at last. Asahi feels like he's finally settled back into himself, like there's nothing righter in the world than having Nishinoya by his side. Shoulder to shoulder—hand to hand.
"Yeah," he agrees, smiling. "Let's go home."
They walk out of the gym together, and there's nothing righter in the world than that either.