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Oh, no. Here it comes. That reckless, tipsy urge. The one that clouds his head likes dark pink candy floss and turns his laugh all breathy and giggly. That draws his eyes to the broad shoulders and thick arms milling around him, the faces highlighted red-purple-blue by the flashing club lights and shaded in sharp angles, the lips mouthing along to the music, soundless under the shuddering bass. That stupid, shameless urge to pick a pair of shoulders, arms, and lips, and flirt his way into a kiss. To feel someone warm and muscular fit against the soft planes of his own body, to slide his hands under their shirt, let their tongue tease into his mouth. Even more ridiculous than the urge itself is the irrational liquid confidence that whoever he selects will want him back. It only arises after an inadvisable amount of drinks, and it sprouts like a parasitic weed, choking out all parts of him that are self-aware and logical. Suddenly, without knowing he’s been overtaken, he is no longer an awkward literature nerd, skinny and bony and out of place. He is graceful, lithe, and whip-smart—a certifiable twink. Desirable, intriguing, fuckable. And, against all odds, no matter how out-of-his-league his elected hunk is, it always works. He is always well-kissed and often well-fucked by the end of the night. Ittetsu hasn’t been out clubbing in more than a year. In the most random twist of fate, his entire life has been sideswiped by the world of high school volleyball. He comes home from practice every day too exhausted to go out, eyes drooping as he grades papers until midnight, but content with the assurance that he is making a significant difference in the lives of twelve teenage boys. His free weekend nights are spent gratefully taking a bath, drinking wine, lying back to drowsily enjoy his favorite prostate massager, and falling asleep before 8:00 pm. He hasn’t kissed anyone in a year, but he hasn’t often felt the need.He’s feeling it now. That weed has had a full year to grow, untempered, untrimmed, and Ittetsu feels the intoxicating tendrils of it taking root. His laugh is lilting sweetly, his eyes beginning to scan, his pulse quickening in anticipation. The only problem: he is not at the club. He is decidedly nowhere near a club.He is not dressed in something tight that makes his tiny ass look magically plump, not spritzed with spicy cologne or wearing his contacts, not shimmering with touches of glitter under the pulsing lights.He’s in a crowded izakaya in central Tokyo. It’s well-lit and boisterous with the laughter of very straight, working men fresh out of the office. He’s wearing his Karasuno High School track suit, surrounded by the coaching staff of Nekoma and Fukorodani. And Ukai Keishin, his own coaching partner, is sipping sake just beside him.  Ittetsu doesn’t have much of a choice when it comes to picking his kissing target. Nekomata-san and Yamiji-san are, obviously, out of the question. Fukurodani’s assistant coach is married, and—now that he thinks about it, Ittsetsu can’t even remember his name. Naoi-kun is handsome, but he has spent the past fifteen minutes explaining controversial referee calls throughout volleyball history without taking a break to chew his food. Ittetsu has seen far too much half-digested gyoza on his tongue to have any interest in becoming more intimate with it. Which leaves Ukai. (As if Ittetsu is really only picking him through process of elimination. As if he doesn’t already have a guilty habit of letting his gaze drift towards Ukai’s smirking mouth whenever he’s not looking.)Ittetsu has tried to be careful on nights like this, out with coaches and Ukai, drinking. He’s known that he gets reckless when he’s had too many. He’s known that Ukai would make the slide into recklessness even sweeter. He tries to know his limits. But Yamiji and Nekomata are in some mad competition to one-up each other with the amount of rounds they buy, and Ittetsu is in no place to turn down free alcohol on a teacher’s salary. Besides, it’s impossible to resist saying “Oh, go on, why not?” when Ukai teasingly offers to refill his glass. Ukai’s eyebrows raise higher every time. Sue him—Ittetsu likes surprising him. It’s his own fault that the inevitable has finally happened: that reckless, tipsy urge is pulling him towards Ukai. “I hope you all have sharpened your defensive skills these past few months,” Nekomata says. He’s leaning back with his arms crossed over his stomach, nursing his sake glass, eyes closed as he smiles towards Ukai in a way that is all the more menacing for its sweetness. “You cannot win a battle with a spear and no shield.” Ukai huffs and quirks a challenging brow. “You can if you strike smart enough,”  “There’s a chink in every armor,” Ittetsu adds. Ukai’s eyes flicker towards him, and his smirk snags at the corner of his mouth. Ittetsu watches closely as it spreads wider, smiling back. “How are you finding nationals, Takeda-sensei?” asks the coach whose name Ittetsu forgot. “Handling the organized chaos okay?” “I’m a high school teacher; every day of my life is organized chaos, so it’s not too unfamiliar for me. Although, I can’t imagine what it’s like for the boys, adjusting from our tiny Karasuno gym to a stadium with crowds of this magnitude.” Ittetsu hears the words pass his lips and smiles internally, pleased with himself. He’s always delighted by the bits of his vocabulary that surface after a few drinks. “It’s a challenge all its own to perform consistently on every court,” Nekomata agrees sagely. “For the first years, especially.”Coach Yamiji mutters something under his breath about “Third years” and Assistant Coach Whats-his-name lets out a groaned laugh. “We had a bit of hang-up yesterday with one of our third-years who couldn’t play properly because our gym’s audience was too small.” Ukai chuckles, deep and rumbly, and with the way Ittetsu can feel it in his bones, it’s as good as a thundering club bass. “Somehow, I think I know who you mean without telling us.” Yamiji shakes his head in exasperation and refills his glass. “Thank goodness for Akaashi-kun. Sometimes I think he’s more deserving of the assistant coach stipend than Agawa here.” “The hell?” Agawa squawks while the rest of the table laughs.  Agawa Agawa Agawa, Ittetsu stamps into his drunken brain.“Hey, don’t feel too bad. I offered my position to Kenma-kun a few weeks back and he turned me down,” Naoi says through a bite of gyoza. “Said he had better things to do.”Nekomata’s shoulders shake in silent amusement. Ittetsu giggles, at the point of tipsiness where everything feels sillier than it is.When the laughter dies down, Ittetsu turns to Ukai, skating  his gaze over the charming tipsy flush on his cheeks. “Who do you think on our team would be best suited to replace me? Sugawara? Ennoshita maybe?” Ukai’s lips pinch briefly before they stretch back into a smirk. “There’s no replacing you, sensei. No money on earth could give any of these kids your way with words. You’re stuck with us.”  The compliment drips warm and syrupy down Ittetsu’s skin. If he replays it in his head enough times, it almost sounds like flirting. Ittetsu rests an elbow on the table and fits his cheek against his fist, peering at Ukai through half-lidded eyes. “Stuck with you, hmm?” “Yep. Sorry, sensei. Bet I could be replaceable, though. Once he graduates, Sawamura would make a fine coach.” Ittetsu frowns. “No,” he says firmly. “I fought for too hard and too long to convince you to join me. You’re not going anywhere now. I’m not above begging you all over again.” Ukai’s eyes widen a fraction, smirk faltering, and when he reaches for his sake glass, it looks a little like he needs it. “Begging?” Naoi chimes in with a salacious grin. “Now, what exactly did Takeda-sensei do to persuade you, Keishin?” He’s leaning into the double entendre of it, his tone facetiously suggestive. The joke isn’t just in the implication of something sexual—it’s the laughably absurd concept of two men interacting in that way. Homosexuality is so inconceivable to him, it’s a joke in and of itself. Ittetsu’s stomach flutters. Of course, he’s always painstakingly private. Of course, he wishes he didn’t have to be. But queerness being so far off the radar of these men means he gets to play right in front of their faces, without them once considering if it’s real. “I offered to beg on my knees in the middle of the Sakanoshita store, didn’t I, Ukai-kun? Is that what finally did it?” Naoi laughs and smacks the table with mirth, jostling the several empty sake bottles, and the rest of the men chuckle. But Ukai—Ukai just smirks, watching his fingers rotate his glass on the tabletop, ears turning pink to match his alcohol-flushed cheeks. And that— that —is what floods Ittetsu with confidence that he’s chosen the right target. Because it shouldn’t be on Ukai’s radar either. From everything Ittetsu has heard, every teasing quip from Takinoue, every joke about his “crazy ex” during past nights spent drinking, Ukai is straight. Yet his ears are pink, and he’s not laughing, and he won’t meet Ittetsu’s eye. The implications aren’t comprehensively absurd to him.“He dredged up a rivalry I hadn’t thought about in a decade to get me to join, then brainwashed me into developing an emotional attachment to the same twelve ridiculous kids who buy out my whole stock of meat buns every other day. Don’t ever try to win an argument with Takeda Ittetsu. He’s stubborn as a mountain and the rest of us are blades of grass.” “Pardon me, Ukai-kun, I think determined is a better word.” “Obstinate.”“Tenacious. I’m a literature teacher. You don’t want to have a vocabulary battle with me.”“See what I mean?” Ukai throws up his hands theatrically, and the other men laugh.“However you got here, you two seem to work well,” Nekomata supplies, ever smiling. “Your strengths complement each other. Karasuno is fortunate to have you both.”Ittetsu inclines his head gratefully. “It could have gone several ways, but I could not be more pleased with how patient and helpful Ukai-kun has been. He is just what the team needed.” He glances over to find Ukai watching him thoughtfully. Caught, Ukai smiles smoothly, a little sheepish under the praise. It’s moments like this where Ittetsu is reminded of Ukai’s age, that it is new for him to have responsibilities like this one and even newer still to be praised for doing well. It’s the alcohol, the cloudiness of his head, that has Ittetsu’s knee shifting to touch Ukai’s, and the looseness of his lips that has him softly saying, “He’s been just what I needed too.”Ukai’s leg jolts against Ittetsu’s. His eyes dart away, a raspy laugh bubbling up as his ears flush again. “Sensei here always acts like I’m the one who saved Karasuno. Never gives himself enough credit.” Ittetsu shrugs, pushing his glasses up his nose and reaching for his sake glass. He shifts in his seat but keeps his knee where it is. 
Let him think about that. 
The conversation moves on, but Ittetsu can feel Ukai’s tension. He’s still rotating his glass between his fingers, barely sipping it. When the table laughs, he joins belatedly, quietly, like he’s hardly listening. Their waitress appears to take more drink orders, and Ukai clears his throat in the small beat of silence when she leaves. “I need a smoke,” he says, pushing himself up to standing.  The dark spices in his deodorant or conditioner wash over Ittetsu in a wave. Ukai points a finger towards Nekomata. “Don’t you tell the old man.” Nekomata holds both palms up, the picture of innocence. Ukai’s body looks tantalizingly long stretched out beside Ittetsu in the pitch-black of that track suit. The fabric shifts nicely over his broad shoulders as he walks away. Already, in his absence, the spot on Ittetsu’s knee has gone cold. “I’ll come with you!”Ukai turns back and cocks his head, blinking in perplexity. Ittetsu stands, and his tipsiness swoops in on him, the floor tilting beneath him. He’s a bit further along than he thought, then. Not drunk, but well past buzzed. At the point where it feels like gravity forgot about him, his body full of more air than muscle; a slight gust of wind might send him tumbling to the side. “Whoa there, sensei.” Ukai catches him by the wrist when he stumbles over an uneven floorboard. “Don’t try telling me again that you’re not a lightweight.” His fingers are gone as quickly as they came, but the bright slash of his smirk lasts until they’re out the back door. The alley behind the izakaya is lit from one side—the neon lights of the busy Tokyo street seeping in as though through a crack in a door. Where they stand, in the dark beside the unfrequented back entrance, the izakaya’s sign is attached just above them, the feeble orange glow of it like an egg cracked over their heads. It shines off the blondest streaks of Ukai’s hair, the tip of his nose, the sharpness of his cheekbones, and the ridge of his knuckles as he fishes out a cigarette. The rest of him is cast in dark, dripping shadows. Ittetsu leans back against the cool concrete wall, the chill of it soaking pleasantly through his jacket and against his flushed skin. He watches the practiced way Ukai fits a cigarette between his lips and flicks his thumb over the lighter, cupping his hand around it to protect it from the brisk winter breeze. It takes only two tries for the flame to take. Ukai breathes in a long drag, then pulls the cigarette from his lips on his exhale, sure to direct the smoke away from Ittetsu. Something loosens in his posture, in his expression, like one knot has come undone amongst the dozens that keep him strung together. A burst of heat glows in Ittetsu’s stomach—another spark of a lighter. He’d like to pick and pull at the rest of those knots, witness Ukai Keishin come totally unraveled. “You want one too?” Ukai asks, voice low in the quiet dark. “Or did you just come for some fresh air?” “A bit of both, though I don’t know if I’d finish a whole cigarette.” “Y’know, ‘a bit of both’ kinda cancels out the fresh air part.”Ittetsu chuckles, watching the delicate space between Ukai’s lips as they blow out another stream of smoke. “It’s been a while since I’ve smoked anything. Maybe I can just take a few puffs of yours?” Ukai’s eyes flick towards him, brows ticking up. He clears his throat gently and leans his head back against the wall beside Ittetsu, taking another slow drag. “Sure.”He holds the smoke in longer this time. As he exhales, he passes the cigarette over. Ittetsu takes it, careful to hold it casually and to bring it up to his lips as if he’d last done this yesterday. The paper is slightly wet where Ukai’s lips had been. Ukai’s eyes are on him as he breathes in. “I gotta admit, I’m surprised you’ve ever done this before. Didn’t strike me as the—“The smoke doesn’t get much further than Ittetsu's throat before he’s coughing it back out, the acrid sting of it in his nostrils. His eyes water, and he folds in half, his free hand on his knee as he struggles for fresh air. The flat of Ukai’s palm thumps his back. It sends him stumbling a step forward in his tipsiness.“Shit, you okay?” Ukai’s tone is probably aiming for kindness, but he’s laughing. “Breathe, sensei, careful, don’t burn yourself.” Mortified, blushing, finally able to take a full breath again, Ittetsu straightens. “I’m out of practice,” he rasps weakly. “Clearly.” Ittetsu giggles self-deprecatingly, swiping a thumb along the tears clinging to his lashes. He’s supposed to be getting a kiss, not thumped on his back like a gorilla. “Here, I’ll take it b—Wha—Hey! You shouldn’t…” Ittetsu breathes the smoke all the way in this time, fighting down the urge to cough. He lets it fog his lungs, his chest, his head, until he can’t stand it, and blows it out. His mouth twitches with the satisfaction of watching it stream out and dissipate in the dark.“There. Like riding a bike,” he says. He hands the cigarette back to Ukai. “More like getting flung over the handlebars.” Ukai raises the cigarette back to his smirking lips, but there’s a minuscule blip of hesitation in the practiced movement. A momentary pause right before he wraps his lips around it again, as if he’s considering where it has just been and consciously deciding it shouldn’t phase him. Ittetsu’s pulse quickens.“If you’re out of practice,” Ukai asks with smoke seeping from his mouth, “when were you in practice?”“In university. I never made it a habit—just on nights out, when friends offered.” Ukai squints at him, as if he’s trying to see through ten years of layers to a university Ittetsu still somewhere within him. Heat rises to Ittetsu’s cheeks again, but he lifts his brows and lets him look. “Do you not believe me?” “Nah, I’m just trying to picture it. You, smaller, with even bigger glasses, smoking on nights out. Did you wear ties back then every day, too?” Ittetsu scoffs. “No.”“Collared shirts?” Ittetsu averts his eyes. Ukai’s barked laugh echoes off the alley’s walls. “It was the style!” “Nice try, sensei. I’m only three years younger than you; the style couldn’t have changed that much.” This time, the heat on Ittetsu’s cheeks is less pleasant. It’s a stumble in his tipsy confidence, his certainty that if he simpers and flirts, he’ll get what he wants. Maybe Ukai knows him too well to see him that way now.The half-smoked cigarette appears in front of Ittetsu’s face. He blinks, then carefully takes it between his fingers, breathing in a measured inhale. When he glances towards Ukai, he finds him staring up at the strip of starless sky visible above them. Rolling the cigarette between his fingers, Ittetsu drinks in Ukai’s profile. He has a nice mouth. Ittetsu noticed it early and has always thought so: smooth, thin lips, and that one charmingly crooked fang that stays hidden unless he smiles wide. A nice face, too. Sharp and handsome, a little intimidating in its intensity, and therefore even more striking when it softens. His hair is the same with how it’s religiously spiked back. Ittetsu can only imagine its silkiness when it hangs down to frame his face. Ittetsu feels small next to him. There is a power in his muscles that Ukai never gets to use as a coach, a strength to his hands during serving demonstrations, a fierceness to his emotions in the heat of a game, and an earnest compassion after a loss. Strong and sweet… He has to be a damn good kisser; Ittetsu knows it. The same way he knows grass is green.Fuck, he really wants that kiss. “Maybe I’ve never been wild,” he starts up again abruptly. “But university was probably the closest I’ve ever come.”“Yeah? What all did you get up to in your collared shirts?” “Partying, mostly. Lots of clubbing on the weekends, after assignments were turned in, of course.” Ukai huffs through his nose. “I kissed a couple of girls in those clubs, early on. Realized I didn’t like it very much.”There’s a beat. Then a curious, “No?”“No. When I tried kissing boys, I found I enjoyed that much more.” Ittetsu looks unseeingly at the sky as he takes another puff of the cigarette. The awareness of Ukai’s wide-eyed gaze tingles over the whole side of his face, curling deliciously hot in his stomach. Ittetsu lets it linger, even as his heart pounds, as fear tries to encroach in on this precipitous feeling. Eventually, he breathes out and turns to meet Ukai’s eye. Ukai says nothing. He’s not frowning, but he’s not smiling either. Behind his eyes, there are calculations whirling—the revisiting of moments swept under the rug, perhaps reliving tonight ’s comments, seeing them through a new lens. “I… didn’t know,” is what Ukai finally murmurs. The encroaching fear fades back to the periphery. 
That’s one hurdle down. One still to go.
Ittetsu shrugs and smiles softly. “I’m very private.”This time, when he hands back the cigarette, Ukai’s gaze flicks to Ittetsu’s lips and away again, quicker than a blink. They stand there, side by side, silent, until Ukai has taken the last puff of the cigarette and ground it to dust under the toe of his shoe. Ukai heaves a sigh, cupping a hand behind his neck and rolling it side to side. “It’s a bad habit, I know, but sometimes it just feels so fucking nice.”“You’re a man who puts others above yourself constantly, Ukai-kun. You’re allowed to have a thing or two that just feels nice.” Ukai looks at him. It’s clear he picked up on the suggestion in those words. His mouth opens and closes, his eyes darting towards the door behind Ittetsu. He could easily leave. He could comment on how cold it is or how late, and argue they should head back. Ittetsu wouldn’t stop him. But he hesitates, and Ittetsu sees it as his opening. There’s a gap between what Ukai should do and what he’s doing. Between where he should be looking and the glances he keeps stealing at Ittetsu’s mouth. Maybe it’s the sake, or the nicotine, or both, but Ittetsu feels unstoppable. Confidence buzzes in his bones. Certainty simmers under his skin. He’s right about this, he knows it. 
Ukai wants to kiss me.
He turns towards Ukai and leans his shoulder against the wall, peering up at him through his lashes. “Have you ever kissed a man, Ukai-kun?” Ukai’s eyes flare wide. Even in the orange light that drains them of color, Ittetsu can make out the adorable darkening of Ukai’s ears and track its bloom over his cheek, down the side of his neck. “No. I-I’m. I’ve only been with women. I only like women.”Ittetsu hums thoughtfully. He purses his lips. Visibly, Ukai struggles not to look at them. He holds Ittetsu’s gaze with the desperation of a man scrabbling for purchase on a cliff’s edge. Ittetsu smiles, letting it crinkle at the corners of his eyes, and tilts his head. “Have you ever thought about it?” Ukai inhales sharply. “A-Are…” He swallows. His next words are shaky, the humor in them weak: “Are you trying to seduce me, sensei?” It’s a callback, a desperate grab for a time when he held all the cards. One last swipe at a handhold, an attempt at normalcy. Ittetsu doesn’t let him have it. “Yes.”He pointedly drops his gaze to Ukai’s parted lips. When he peers back at Ukai’s eyes, he finds he can no longer meet them.  Ukai is watching his mouth, staring as Ittetsu dips his tongue out to wet them. “F-fuck, Takeda, I…”“If you wanted to try…” Ittetsu takes a step closer, so they’re face to face, almost chest to chest. “I’d be happy to help.”Ukai’s eyes are half-panicked, half-hazy with something dark that sends a shiver down Ittetsu’s spine. “But I’m—and you’re… We’re drunk.” “Exactly. We’re reckless enough to do something we might never admit we want otherwise.”That seems to hit Ukai like a truck. He sways forward, compulsively, as if yanked by a leash. He halts before his lips can meet Ittetsu’s, hovering just out of reach, his nose grazing Ittetsu’s cheek. “I haven’t… How do I…?” Ittetsu skates a hand up Ukai’s shoulder to cup the back of his neck, smiling as Ukai shivers under his touch. “Just do what comes naturally, Ukai-kun. It’s not all that different. Just kiss me. Touch me. However you like.”With a shaky exhale, Ukai dips the rest of the way to close his lips over Ittetsu’s. And Ittetsu knows within seconds, with the way Ukai’s fingers graze his neck on the way to cup his jaw, the way he gently tilts Ittetsu’s head to kiss him better, the way his lips linger, tugging slightly at Ittetsu’s upper lip as they pull away: Ukai is every bit the good kisser he hoped. “Yes,” Ittetsu whispers as the thrill of it sinks into his bones. His first kiss in over a year, and it’s with Ukai. So sexy, so strong, supposed to be straight. Ukai shudders at the whisper, or at the kiss itself, and Ittetsu giggles through his nose. He feels deliriously powerful. He feels fucking fantastic. The second kiss lasts longer, focused on Ittetsu’s lower lip. Ukai slides his other hand around Ittetsu’s waist, and Ittetsu rocks up on his toes to loop his arms around Ukai’s shoulders, pressing into the firmness of his chest. He forgot how liberating it feels to be dwarfed by someone like this, to be wholly at someone’s mercy physically, yet kissed like he’s what they need. The third kiss is longer, their lips parting and catching, and the fourth is deeper. Ukai’s lips are already open when they meet Ittetsu’s, and he dips into Ukai’s mouth on instinct, sliding their tongues together. Mmmm god, he tastes like sake and smoke, and it’s so absurdly sexy, it does things to Ittetsu’s already cloudy head, makes him even tipsier. Forget alcohol, he could get drunk on that taste alone.If he couldn’t tell just how much he does, Ittetsu would pause to ask if Ukai likes this. But Ukai tells him with his hand twisting into the fabric of Ittetsu’s jacket and his groan at the touch of their tongues. He tilts his head and kisses back deeper, caressing Ittetsu’s tongue and scraping his bottom lip with his teeth. They settle into that slow, savoring rhythm. Deep, languorous kisses. The soft, wet slide of their lips is the loudest sound in the alleyway besides the far-off traffic and muffled izakaya chatter. Ittetsu lets Ukai control the pace, lets his head tilt this way and that at the insistence of Ukai’s callused fingertips. Ukai’s thumb pinches Ittetsu’s chin, holding his mouth open so he can lick inside, and Ittetsu stutters a moan at the gentle dominance. Each kiss is a wave of simmering heat through his muscles, gathering low in his stomach, his legs more and more unreliable with each press of lips. Maybe Ukai senses it from the desperate way Ittetsu clings to his shoulders, but he finds himself shuffled back against the wall, crowded against it, able to melt into the support of Ukai’s arms. “W-wait” he mumbles against Ukai’s mouth. Ukai pulls back, lips swollen, blinking in drowsy alarm. “What? Was it–?”Ittetsu pushes his glasses on top of his head and pulls Ukai’s face back down before he can finish his question. This way, Ittetsu doesn’t have to worry about jamming them into Ukai’s cheek, and he can concentrate instead on the feel of Ukai under his hands. The drag of barely-there stubble against his thumb, the warm skin of his throat, the breadth of his shoulders. It’s been too long since he’s explored someone like this; he didn’t realize how much he missed it. Needed it.He hums as his fingers find the hem of Ukai’s jacket, slipping tentatively beneath it. His fingertips meet the warmth of his skin, slide up the strong planes of his back. The muscles of his abdomen jump and tighten under the barest graze of a touch. Ittetsu knew Ukai was hot, but, goodness, he’s gorgeous. Trim and muscular—of course he is.Ukai’s breath is trembling in through his nose, out in low groans against Ittetsu’s lips. Ittetsu might worry he was almost hyperventilating if it weren’t for the way his hands begin to wander too. As if taking Ittetsu’s exploration as permission, he strokes through his hair, palms at his flat chest, and fits his fingers around his hips. His mouth drags a wet line over Ittetsu’s cheek to kiss at his neck. “This okay?” he huffs hot against Ittetsu’s skin. “Yes. ’S’okay, it’s so good.”  It’s good, it’s good, it feels so nice. It has Ittetsu’s lungs stuttering, head dropping back on a gasp. The fact that he is the first man Ukai has ever kissed, and Ukai is so into it he has to have more of him, taste more of him… Arousal is no longer a hazy cloud in Ittetsu’s mind; it’s fierce and real, tightening in Ittetsu’s core, rushing to his cock. It’s always taken so little to get him hard. When Ukai’s teeth scrape over his throat, he can feel the catch of that crooked fang, and a bolt of heat strikes through him. His cock thickens, throbs. His knees tremble under his own weight, and the concrete scratches at his back as he begins to sink.Before he can get far, the grip at his hips lifts him up, and Ukai’s firm thigh slips smoothly between his legs. It’s such a practiced movement, so confident, Ittetsu knows Ukai has done it dozens of times before. Ukai’s hands even tug at Ittetsu’s hips, encouraging him to rock against him as he sucks at his throat. It’s what Ittetsu needs—that friction— but he knows it’s instinctive. Ukai hasn’t thought it through, which is clear when Ittetsu grinds helplessly forward, following Ukai’s guidance. The pressure is so good, Ittetsu’s weak, relieved whine spills out of him without thought. Ukai freezes up completely. There’s a breathless moment of stillness. Ittetsu stares hazily at the blurry orange sign above his head, pleasure simmering in his gut, blood rushing too loudly in his ears. This might be it. The moment Ukai decides it’s too much. A kiss was good, a makeout fine, but the reality of another man’s hard cock humping against his thigh… Ittetsu shuts his eyes, bracing himself for the shock of cool air when Ukai’s body pulls away. “Oh, fuck, sensei, do that again.” Ukai’s mouth crushes against his. He kisses him with a searing heat wholly unlike their former slow, searching kisses. He’s devouring Ittetsu, their lips slick with spit, both of them whining and groaning on every other breath. Oh god, to anyone listening, surely it would sound like they’re fucking. Ittetsu obeys Ukai’s command, overwhelmed, euphoric, grinding his straining erection against the firmness of Ukai’s upper thigh. The thick press of Ukai’s cock against his hip gives him all he needs to envision what fucking him might actually feel like. Whimpering, Ittetsu clings to Ukai’s shoulders, the pleasure draining him of rationality. Images flicker like flashes of flame through his mind, imprints of light on the backs of his eyelids: sinking to his knees in this grungy back alley, taking Ukai’s thick cock all the way down his throat; turning around, bunching his pants down around his knees, keeping his thighs tight together for Ukai to fuck between until they both cum all over the concrete wall; being lifted in Ukai’s arms, bounced on his cock, showing him how good it can be, how good Ittetsu can be. “Yeah, fuck, Takeda. Shit, oh my god.” Ukai mutters against his lips, practically dragging Ittetsu up and down his leg all on his own. “Yes,” Ittetsu breathes, going boneless. “Yes, yes…” Ukai mouths at his ear, his jaw, the corner of his lips. Ittetsu shivers as the cool air tickles every wet spot Ukai leaves behind. Circling his hips, Ittetsu gasps at the spike of pleasure, his eyelids fluttering. All he’d wanted was a kiss, but fuck, being wanted like this, being held, kissed, listening to Ukai’s groans edging closer to growls—he’s leaking. “Ukai-kun, I m-might cum.”  Ukai’s hips buck harshly against him, cock grinding against Ittetsu’s hip. “Fuck. Yeah, fuck, okay. I might—me too.”Their lips find each other again, though it can hardly be called kissing, more like panting pressed together, breathing each other like smoke. Ittetsu fists a hand in Ukai’s hair, and it’s as soft as he imagined. He’s even hotter than Ittetsu thought he would be, and Ittetsu’s core is tensing, the pleasure coiling up tight, his cock slicking his underwear with every grind. “I-I’m close…” he breathes into Ukai’s mouth. Ukai grunts and kisses him harder. It’s not easy to find his orgasm through his track pants, with nothing stroking him, nothing petting at his prostate. Ittetsu humps frantically, brainlessly, the crest of the summit just torturously out of reach. “Faster, Ukai.”“F-fuck,” Ukai repeats, grip bruisingly tight on Ittetsu’s hips. “Fuck.” He pushes and pulls rapidly, and his hips buck, grinding back. With that, Ittetsu feels the start of it: his spine arches into Ukai’s chest, his toes curl in his shoes, the pleasure blooms at the back of his brain… The Naruto theme blares into Ittetsu’s haze of pleasure like an airhorn. Shocking as an earthquake.Ukai’s lips detach with a jolt and a sloppy sucking sound, and he meets Ittetsu’s gaze with equally startled eyes. Fumbling, he pulls his jingling phone from his back pocket and stares at it dumbly, then flips it open and stares at it some more. “Nekomata,” Ukai mumbles.Reality floods Ittetsu’s head, and just like that, his orgasm evaporates, slipping through his fingers, floating away on the breeze. It’s as if someone opened the door of their cozy, sweltering dreamland to frigid air, and it’s too late now, he couldn’t get that heat back if he tried. Itettsu’s balls ache with the ruined orgasm. He drops his head back against the wall with a weak groan, clapping his hands over his face to hide in his mortification. “S-sorry, sensei, I—“ Ukai stutters. He clears his throat. When he speaks next, it’s with a carefully casual voice. “Hello? No, we’re fine, we went for a w-walk. Is it? Shit, sorry, we lost track of time. Nah, yeah, we’ll head back. We’ll be right in. Okay, thanks.” There’s the beep of him hanging up. Ittetsu uncovers his eyes to squint at him. “How late is it?” He slides his glasses back onto his nose, and the furrows of Ukai’s anxious expression and flush of his arousal crystallize. “Past 11:00.” Gingerly, Ukai slips his leg from between Ittetsu’s thighs, wincing at Ittetsu’s involuntary gasp. He steps back, straightens his jacket, and rubs behind his neck, struggling to meet Ittetsu’s eye. Guilt twists Ittetsu’s stomach. The same tipsy cloudiness that had lowered his inhibitions now frustrates him. His trusty vocabulary is failing him. He struggles to locate the right words in the murkiness of his mind.“I’m sorry, Ukai-kun. I only meant to kiss you, not… I lost control. I’m sorry if I overwhelmed you.” “No, I—I mean, clearly, I liked it. I’ve got, um. Fuck. I liked it, yeah.” His lips twist anxiously, eyes distant as he stares down the alleyway. He looks almost comical with his hair tugged half out of his headband, glowing in the dramatic orange lighting. Ittetsu’s guilt and mortification is dampened as that weed of confidence rears up once more. Flowering with self-satisfaction. Ukai liked kissing a man. Kissing him.  Ittetsu’s shoes scrape against the asphalt as he straightens, and that brings Ukai’s attention back. “We should go settle our bill,” he says, as if he needs to remind himself as well. “Nekomata and the others are wanting to leave.” “Right. Yes. Perhaps I should be the one to sort it out? It’s a bit easier for me to, well. Disguise my predicament.” At Ukai’s cocked head of confusion, Ittetsu demonstrates, dipping his hand down the front of his pants to tuck his erection into his waistband. With the hem of his jacket hanging over it, it’s as if nothing is amiss. Ukai’s eyes go lidded, watching, then widen with realization. He peers down at himself, where his sizable cock tents the front of his pants obscenely. Even if he were to adjust himself, his cock is so thick, it still would be too obvious. “Shit, um. Yeah. I’ll stay out here.” Ukai clasps his hands awkwardly in front of himself, and Ittetsu realizes he’s definitely staring more intently than he should. “Do I look mostly presentable?” “Ah, maybe zip up your collar. And—your hair is a bit…” Ukai spreads his fingers to mimic a small explosion.Flushing, Ittetsu recalls the sensation of Ukai’s mouth on his throat. His lips twitch as he zips up his jacket as far up his neck as it will go. With a ruffle of his hair back to a normal level of messiness, he nods. “Good enough?” “Yeah. I don’t think I made any marks.”  Oh goodness, sheepish Ukai is adorable.  “Okay. I’ll try to stall them so you can, ah, sort yourself out. Your hair is a bit—” he giggles, copying Ukai’s gesture— “too.”Ukai pats over his head, grimacing at the state it's in.With his hand on the door handle, Ittetsu pauses, peeking back. “Thank you for the kiss, Ukai-kun. It was very nice.” Before Ukai can do more than stare and struggle for a response, Ittetsu slips inside. He winds his way back to their table to find the rest of the men packing up. He smiles through his apologies and makes excuses smoothly when Nekomata asks if their walk was enjoyable. He settles their portion of the bill and gathers Ukai’s things, his veins pulsing with an invisible pride, down to the tips of his fingers.  None of them suspect a thing. None of them can even fathom the reality: That their acquaintance is not just waiting outside, having another smoke. That he’s still standing in an alley behind the izakaya, fighting off a raging erection. That before tonight, he thought he was straight, and now he has not only kissed a man but kissed him with a groaning desperation, desired him fiercely enough to nearly bust in his pants like a hormonal teenager. And out of all the men who could have triggered this thunderbolt of a sexual tryst, it was Ittetsu. The man who brought three novels to Nationals as if he’d ever have time to read them, who wears thick-lensed glasses and packed a bag full of collared shirts.A year out from his last kiss, and Ittetsu is still able to turn it on and pull the hottest guy in the room. When he and a significantly less disheveled Ukai part ways with the other pairs of coaches, Nekomata wishes them an ominous, smiling, “Good luck.” Ukai and Ittetsu shake his hand in turn—Ukai with menacing firmness. Ittetsu replies with his own playfully frigid cheeriness, “And to you too.”Side by side, he and Ukai hurry the few blocks back to their inn. The exertion begins to clear Ittetsu’s head, his buzz gradually fading. They discuss what times they’ll need to set their alarms and what the team will be having for breakfast. Ukai makes teasing quips here and there. They settle into a familiar rhythm of banter, which seems to indicate that, fundamentally, nothing has changed between them. Unspoken, there is the understanding that any discussion of tonight's back-alley heavy petting will be tabled for a better time and place. For now, Ukai seems fine, if a little flustered. Worries subsiding, Ittetsu nearly skips down the sidewalk with the spring in his step.Nerves might rattle the team tomorrow as they face their long-time rivals, but Ittetsu will lead them in with unshakable, intrepid confidence. If he can pull Ukai Keishin, the boys can beat Nekoma. Ittetsu will make sure they believe they can fight all the way to the top.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The bathroom door slides closed behind Keishin, and his mask of composure falls instantly. He drops to a crouch, drags his hands over his face, and mouths a silent stream of every curse he’s ever been taught at the tile floor between his feet. He even sprinkles in the few he’s learned in foreign languages. He gives himself thirty seconds like that. Just. Taking a motherfucking moment. And then he stands, turns the shower on, cranks it up as hot as it will go, shucks his clothes off in a pile, tosses his headband on top of them, and steps under the near-scalding spray. Because as much as he feels like he’s plummeting down the slope of a rollercoaster, choking back the urge to scream, he doesn’t have the time to freak out. It’s almost midnight, and tomorrow is the third day of nationals. He needs to shower, dry his hair, drink a liter of water, and sleep as well and long as he can. He needs to be clear headed in the morning. He’s got a team to lead, a long-fated match to win. He won’t allow himself to let something personal like…… making out with a man…  … affect his ability to coach. Even if the man he made out with happens to be his coaching partner. Who is sharing a room with him. Who just walked out of this same bathroom in a matching pajama set. Who gave Keishin a smile and said “Shower’th all yourth,” with his dorky metal retainer lisping his speech. Grinning sweetly as if he didn’t hump Keishin’s thigh just shy of completion thirty minutes ago.Yeah, no. Way too much to unpack there. He’ll deal with all of that later. Unfortunately, there is one thing he doesn’t have a choice but to deal with now.  And that thing is chubbing up again rapidly under the heat of the shower, rearing up with a vengeance after being persuaded into submission with the barrage of unsexy images Keishin dreamt up in that alleyway. Grimacing, he pours some shower gel into his hand and wraps it around his cock. His abs jump at the contact, and he has to bite his lip hard to keep from groaning out loud. Takeda is right outside, so this has to be a reasonably short shower. 
Let’s get this over with. 
He leans his other hand against the wall and jacks himself at an unforgiving pace. This is functional, not enjoyable. It’s not a time to luxuriate in the sensation, let the tension build up gradually, or get lost in fantasies. He grits his teeth and shuts his eyes against the harsh bathroom light and conjures up the filthiest things he can think of. Whatever will get him off fastest. 
His cock slipping between soft tits, spurting onto an eager tongue.

Holding a girl’s hips and ramming hard into her pussy until her legs quake with overstimulation.

A pair of big brown eyes rolling back as Takeda cums against his thigh, trembling and letting out the sweetest cry. 
Fuck.  Keishin’s cock hardens further, a blurt of precum mixing with the slick lather of the shower gel. His teeth dig sharp into his lip, but he can hardly feel it. Maybe it’s the lingering effects of the alcohol, or its just horny logic, but he thinks, I need to get off fast, and that will fucking do the trick.  He pumps his hand faster, and again, in more detail, he imagines that moment: if his phone hadn’t rung, if they hadn’t been interrupted, what Takeda would have looked like. Flushed, brows knitted, arching into Keishin, clinging to him to stay upright as his legs gave out completely. The wet spot soaking through his pants as he shuddered. What he would have looked like if he’d pulled his cock out. It’s small, so much smaller than Keishin’s. How pale and pink would it have looked if he humped it against Keishin’s thigh and shot all over the black polyester of his pants? He’d been so fucking good, warning Keishin at each stage. How would his voice have sounded when he actually whined and stuttered, “I-I’m cumming!”  “Nnnnghh, fuck,” Keishin grunts as his climax is wrenched from him. His hips slam forward into his fist, his cock erupting in heavy pulses, streaking the shower wall. His balls throb, his head fuzzy as the pleasure explodes and courses through his body. Takeda’s shuddering frame and pinched brows play on a loop behind his eyelids. “Nngh, nnmph, shit,” he mutters as the smaller waves of bliss wash through him, the spurts going weak enough to drip from his cock and wash away into the drain.Once he’s milked himself through it, he drops his head into the shower’s stream, letting his breaths gradually even out. The haze of ecstasy dims to a lingering glow of satisfaction, a relief in his muscles. He remembers where he is, can feel the water pounding against his scalp and hear the staccato buzz of the broken vent, barely audible over the shower.  Audible. Oh, no. Goddammit. He’d groaned, hadn’t he.Yeah he did, definitely, he can hear it now, good and loud in his memory, echoing off the walls. He’d grunted and cursed—the most blatant cumming noises he could possibly have come up with. And that bathroom door is thin. Earlier, he’d been able to make out the sound of Takeda brushing his teeth. Oh god, he is fucked.  He’d kissed Takeda, asked him to hump his thigh, had him point out his huge humiliating hard-on, and then completely obviously jerked off in their shared shower. And he still doesn’t get to freak out about it! He still has to be normal! Because he has to go out there and tell Takeda goodnight and go to bed! Since when does coaching volleyball come with all of this additional, insane stress and humiliation? This wasn’t in the contract, he wasn’t supposed to go to nationals and come back with a massive fucking question mark where his sexuality used to be. He just wanted to teach some kids how to hit a ball!Keishin shampoos his hair aggressively and glowers as he wipes his cum off the wall. He wants a cigarette. But— fucking hell. Now he’s afraid it will turn him on again. He wants to go to goddamn sleep.It’s when he shuts the shower off and stands dripping on the bathroom rug that he realizes he didn’t bring a change of clothes. Which means he has to go back out there, wrapped in just a towel, and face the man who knows he just jerked off. He could put on his track clothes again, but to do that only to grab his pajamas would be admitting he’s embarrassed. And that’s even worse. Takeda’s head turns towards him when Keishin slides the door open. He’s already lying on his futon, propped up on a stack of pillows, reading with a book light attached to his novel’s cover.His eyes are nearly hidden by the glare off his glasses, but a strange swoop of self-consciousness rushes through Keishin anyway. He fights the urge to shiver when Takeda’s lips quirk in a pleasant little smile. Keishin mutters something along the lines of ' pajamas, gotta, clothes’ and grips the towel carefully closed with one hand at his hip. Shuffling to his duffle bag, he squats and rifles through it aggressively. His skin prickles along his spine and the back of his neck where his hair is dripping. His ears burn hot as he snatches up his clothes and slips back into the bathroom. But when he slides the door shut and glances at Takeda, his eyes are focused on his book.  Keishin scrubs hard at his wet hair, then lets the towel drape around his neck. He faces himself in the mirror, tracing his gaze over the lines of his chest and hips. He balls his hands into fists and flexes his arms a little, experimentally. He meets his own eyeline again and cringes at himself. What the fuck is he doing?With his teeth aggressively brushed, his hair aggressively combed, his shorts and shirt pulled aggressively on, a glass of water aggressively chugged, and his freakout aggressively postponed, he pisses, normally, because he doesn’t want Takeda to think he pees like a racehorse. He refuses to assess himself one last time in the mirror, stepping instead back into his and Takeda’s shared room. The lights are still off, save for the one hovering over Takeda’s book. Keishin doesn’t look towards him as he crawls quickly onto his futon.  Oh, sweet goodness fuck. It feels good to lay down. The fatigue of a long day, a surprise alleyway humping, and a recent orgasm settles over him like another heavy blanket. He sighs slowly through his nose. He could lay here for at least a year, he thinks.“I thet the alarm for 6:00 AM,” comes Takeda’s quiet, lisped voice. “Okay. Thanks.”Keishin settles onto his back and shuts his eyes, trying to turn his brain off. The memory of Takeda’s petite waist in his hands flutters through his mind. Flinching, he blinks and tries a different tack; forget switching off his brain, he’ll think about volleyball. He runs through each of Nekoma’s players, their strengths, their weaknesses, then flicks through each of Karasuno’s attack formations, playing them in his head in slow motion. Eventually, he begins to think he’s passed the boundary into sleep, but the subtle click of Takeda’s book light switching off has his eyes shooting wide open again. Frustrated, he rolls to face the wall, pressing his forehead to the cool concrete. “Ukai-kun?” Takeda whispers, barely audible, checking if he’s still awake. Keishin grunts in a questioning way. “Are you… okay?”Though quiet, Takeda’s voice is soft with concern. It rings out with a frequency that strikes a pleasant cord within Keishin, hums down his spine and dissipates the tension in his muscles. He’s heard that same tone directed towards the kids time and again, but never him. There’s a kind of magic in it. “I’m realithing, the timing of thith… how much this mutht be for you. I’m thorry for being so inconthiderate. I was jutht…” Keishin hears a waver in his voice and rolls quickly onto his other side, facing him. He can’t make out more than his outline in the dark: the rise of his shoulder and feathery silhouette of his hair. “Don’t apologize. It’s not like I was thinking about the ‘timing’ of anything either. I’m okay. I’m just gonna focus on the team and Nekoma right now. Everything else can wait.”After a long moment, Takeda says, “Thith team ith lucky to have you.” Keishin shuts his eyes. He knows without seeing him that Takeda is looking at him in that earnest, intense way, full of the unshakable certainty that his understanding of the world is the right one. That same cord twangs within Keishin, and he finds himself a little persuaded. “You too, sensei.” Takeda huffs a soft chuckle, and Keishin opens his eyes. Of course, though, it’s too dark to see his smile. “They’re going to win tomorrow,” Takeda says. “They’re going to beat Nekoma.”“Yeah they are. They’re gonna win the whole damn thing.” Takeda makes a sleepy humming sound that yanks that cord within Keishin and makes it sing. With great effort, Keishin quiets the feeling. 
Later. 
“G’night, sensei.” “Good night, Ukai-kun. Dream of beating Nekoma.” Fuck, Keishin is really gonna try.  *      *      * In the morning, Keishin downs a cup of coffee before he does anything else. He sips another over breakfast. He sits back and watches as anxious anticipation manifests itself in each of the boys. Asahi fixes and re-fixes his bun at least seven times, while Sugawara scribbles something in his notebook and peeks up every other minute to tell Asahi that he missed a few strands. Noya is literally bouncing off the walls, doing some kind of libero parkour, and Sawamura is barking at him with threats of informing all the female managers he’s actually eleven years old. Kageyama and Hinata bicker for twenty minutes about whether or not Hinata needs to throw up, Tanaka tries to help Kiyoko gather dirty dishes, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi eat in silence—pretend indifference and nervous concentration, respectively—and the rest of the second years snicker at the chaos. All in all, Keishin thinks there’s a good energy in the air. Takeda seems in good spirits too. He greeted Keishin brightly this morning, as if he’s never even heard the word ‘hangover.’ Positivity is practically seeping from his pores. As he mills about the room, chatting with the boys, Keishin tracks him from the corner of his eye. Takeda giggles at something Ennoshita says, patting him on the shoulder, and Keishin’s lips twitch. He sips his coffee to conceal it. Once they arrived in the gym lobby, the boys gather around the board to find out which court they’re assigned. After their encounter with Nekoma just outside, Takeda is radiating excitement. Keishin doesn’t have a drink to hide his smile anymore. They get their assignment, and Takeda begins to corral the boys into the main court. Even from the lobby, the stadium is loud as people begin filling the stands. The first morning, the air was full of hope, nerves, and the fear of having made it this far only to get knocked out in the first round. Two days later, it now hums with determination. This is where things really get good.Keishin’s heart rate rises a little higher than he’d like, and he wipes his palms against his pants. He needs to be level-headed, cool and collected, reflecting pure focus and confidence. “Hey, sensei!” he calls over the boys’ heads. Takeda peers back, and Keishin holds up a hand with his fingers spread out. “I’ll be five minutes!” At Takeda’s thumbs up, Keishin slips back through the clusters of teams and spectators and into the sunshine. Finding a quiet spot against the side of the gymnasium in the shade, he lights up a cigarette. One final moment of peace before a full day of intense focus and emotional investment. He leans against the wall and shuts his eyes, trying to clear his head as somewhere in the tree above him, baby birds titter and sing. He takes a puff and sighs at the satisfying feel of it hitting the back of his throat. The memory of Takeda hacking up a lung flits through his mind. “Oi! Don’t you have a team to coach?” Keishin’s smile shifts into facetious annoyance, opening his eyes only so he can roll them exaggeratedly. “Just when I was having a moment of peace and quiet.”“Not a lot of that lately, eh?” Takinoue drops back against the wall beside him, bumping his shoulder and sticking his hand out, palm up. Keishin glances up at him, taking in the red sash tied around his forehead and his artfully ruffled blonde hair.  “I had breakfast with a dozen teenagers this morning. So, no.” Keishin sets a cigarette and the lighter in his open hand. “Where are they now?” Shimada asks, stopping in front of them and crossing his arms sternly. He is the opposite of imposing when his glasses and that bright red band take up nearly his entire face. “Don’t you think you’re being a little lax on the whole ‘legally responsible for the well-being of fourteen children’ thing?”“They’re inside. With Takeda,” Keishin returns, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve been gone literally two minutes.”“Well.” Shimada flutters a hand, batting that statement aside. “That’s not what we heard about last night.” That throws Keishin for a loop. His stomach does a full somersault. “What did you hear?” “Oho. So someone did have a wild night.” Takinoue elbows him, and a bit of ash tumbles onto Keishin’s shoe. “No. I had a late night. How do you even know that?” “The eyebags,” Takinoue smirks.“Saeko-chan gave us an earful this morning about how she wouldn’t have agreed to babysit if she knew she’d be stuck there till midnight. She told us you and Takeda-san came stumbling in an hour later than you’d said, could barely walk straight, and that you looked particularly… ruffled.” Keishin scoffs. “We could walk fine.” “Sure, but were you ruffled?” There’s a clear insinuation to the word.“For fuck’s sake, I was drinking with the Nekoma and Fukurodani coaches. It’s not like I went to a club.”Their interrogation pauses. Keishin struggles to maintain his casually exasperated expression, like they’re making something out of nothing, when there is, in reality, a whole lot of something going on. Shimada pushes his glasses up his nose and squints at him. “Here comes the X-ray vision. Be strong, man.”“What were you smiling about before we walked up?” Shimada demands.“The birds were singing. It’s a nice day. I was having a pleasant moment. Not that it lasted long.”“Hmm.” Shimada lets him stew in a moment of silence. He taps at a spot on his own throat. “You have a hickey.”Keishin inhales sharply and slaps a hand over his neck. Only when Shimada’s mouth stretches in an infuriating smirk does Keishin remember Takeda had never even kissed him there. His stomach plummets.Takinoue whistles low, smoke streaming from his lips, and holds up a hand up to Shimada, who high-fives it with a supremely self-satisfied expression. “Seriously, Keishin.” Shimada glances around, then continues with a hissed whisper. "Are you that horny, you couldn’t go three days without getting laid? You have children you’re responsible for!” “Who was she? Did you get a hotel room? Or did you have to fuck in a bathroom? Did the other coaches know what you were doing? Were you wearing your tracksuit! God, dude, I gotta go out with you next time; you gotta teach me how you do it!”“You had a girl on your lap literally last night.”“Yeah, but there was no way she was gonna sleep with me.” “For fuck’s sake. Weren’t you just telling me you’re ready to find a good girl and settle down?”“Yeah! But, c’mon, settling down still involves fucking, Makoto. Just, like, heartfelt version. Making love.”Shimada inhales slowly and whispers towards the sky—a private lament: “Why do you two always get all the action?” “Hey, okay, first of all, I didn’t get any action,” Keishin butts in, stamping his cigarette on the concrete sidewalk. It’s doing absolutely nothing to cheer him up anymore. “We just… made out a bit.”“That’s all?” “That’s all.”“Then why are you blushing?” Keishin throws his hands up. Denying his blush would be futile: his cheeks are burning, the tips of his ears flaming with the memory of the truth. Some part of him longs for the relief of confiding in his friends, but he doesn’t even know what he would say.“I don’t know! Maybe because it was hot!” is what he settles on. In the light of day, sober, that bit of honesty makes his palms sweat, his heart race. It feels like walking a tightrope, with a thousand meters of wide-open questions and implications looming beneath him.“Wait.” Takinoue steps sideways to stand beside Shimada, so they’re both squinting at him head-on.  They know. Oh, fuck. Me and Takeda—they’ve put the pieces together.  “Is this—do you actually like her? Dude. You caught feelings for her!” “What?” Keishin blusters, high and loud. “Of course not!”  His friends blink back at him, silent. After a moment, he blinks too, and it sinks in how extreme that response was, how incriminating it must have looked for their theory—a theory that is complete bullshit. All of Shimada’s scorn has melted, replaced with wide-eyed wonder. “Sorry, Keishin, I… didn’t realize. Did you manage to get her number?”Keishin grumbles and pinches the bridge of his nose. This conversation snowballed into a disaster so quickly, and once again, still, it isn’t the time or place to freak out. His friends got literally everything wrong—(fuck, in two minutes they invented a girl that thought Keishin was hot enough in his tracksuit to fuck him in a bar bathroom, with all the other coaches waiting for him, and now they’ve decided Keishin’s in love with her?)—but they have one thing correct: right now, the twelve teenagers warming up inside are his first and only priority.“I don’t—I can’t talk about this anymore. Sensei will be wondering where I am.” “Right. You do owe him after ditching him last night. The poor guy.” Keishin rolls his eyes, even as something thrilling curls though his stomach. Poor guy. They have no idea. “Yeah,” he says anyway. He kicks the ash off his shoe and takes a deep, steadying breath, tabling his exasperation for later. He looks at his best friends with fresh eyes, takes in their orange-and-black outfits. His frustration melts from him, leaving behind only a fierce, immovable gratitude. Stepping forward, he wraps an arm around each of their shoulders and pulls them in for a hug. “Thanks for coming, guys.”Takinoue snickers, and Shimada thumps his back, their smiles genuine as he steps away. They may be idiots, but at times like these, Keishin is reminded that they’re also pretty great friends. “Of course.”“Wouldn’t miss it.” “I’m gonna go. Wish us luck.”“Good luck!” They call as Keishin jogs back towards the gym. “Crush those cats for us!” “Peck their eyeballs out!” “Make ‘em choke on your feathers!” A few young high school girls look extremely concerned as Keishin laughs and weaves around them. He shoots Shimada and Takinoue one last grin and points at them with their old hand signal for a C-quick: their team’s nearly fool-proof attack from third year that still gets them out of tricky spots on the court today. Over the years, it’s become a promise. *      *      * In high school, volleyball is everything. More than it ever has been or will be again.There is no career to strive for, no dinner to cook. No setting out on adventures or settling down. If you’re fortunate, there’s no family who depends on you to look after them. Your world is you and whichever small universe you choose. You and a handful of other boys who live and eat and breathe, all to keep a ball from hitting the floor, who train every day to stretch those breathless moments even longer.  Homework is a stepping stone to practice in the morning, and classes are a checklist towards afternoons in the gym. Training camps, tournaments, practice games. They all swell so large in your life, you can hardly see past them. You can hardly imagine what else might matter more.It’s why victories are like rocket fuel, send you spinning for days. Your whole world is in front of you, and you have taken hold of it; together, you have conquered it.Losses are the opposite. Devastating in equal measure. You don’t fly. Instead, the earth crumbles in on top of you.“This is still volleyball,” Takeda says in his firm, quiet voice, kneeling in front of a boy whose entire world is made of those seconds before the ball hits the floor. The ball has hit the floor. Hinata’s face is streaked with sweat, and Keishin’s chest cracks down the middle. This is still volleyball, but it’s not a part he remembers. The careful breaths in and out of his nose. The effort to keep a straight face, to remain a pillar of certainty those eleven other boys can look to while their head coach crouches on the floor. The flash of panic that this moment might break Hinata. The heaviness of his tongue, the fear that it’s up to him to say something to keep that from happening. The bloom of gratitude for a person so much stronger than him, so much better with words. As the game slips through their fingers, Keishin can see on their faces all the parts of volleyball he’s familiar with: the disbelief, thankfulness, and grief. The third years’ knuckles are white as they clench their fists and bow to their supporters. Keishin’s fingers flex in sympathy. He lifts a hand to his chest and presses hard against it with the heel of his palm, rubbing over his breastbone. The tightness there is new. Pride twisting with guilt, tangled in a knot. They were incredible, they did everything they could. Keishin didn’t. Keishin didn’t even notice.  Takinoue and Saeko are crying, and Shimada’s absence is a stinging reminder of Hinata being somewhere else, on his way back to the inn. Shit, Keishin can’t look at them. He scrunches his nose to keep it from prickling, pinching his lips to the side. He looks to Takeda, whose eyes are fierce and clear. A few deep breaths, and the emotions are back under control. “Not one thing for any of you has ended today.” Again, always, Takeda knows what to say. There is a strength in the set of the team’s shoulders as they make their way to the van. There is sniffling silence on the ride back to the inn, but it’s interspersed with laughter and grumbles of Daichi telling Tanaka and Nishinoya to put their seatbelts on. There is joy and normalcy mixed up in the disappointment. At the inn, Shimada is waiting, wearing a mask over his mouth and nose. Hinata is fine, resting in bed, he says, shaking Takeda’s hand and giving Keishin a bracing hug. He’s always been the most emotional of their friend group. His breath trembles by Keishin’s ear, and Keishin swallows against the tightness of his throat.“You did it,” Shimada says, thumping Keishin’s shoulder and giving him a watery-eyed smile. Keishin nods and tries to be proud of it. The boys flock back to their room, bathe, and by the time they’re changed into fresh clothes, dinner is ready. Keishin steps carefully around the table where they’re seated and gathers a tray of everything that looks good. The smell of a fresh, warming meal soothes him more than anything else has, and he can see its effect on the faces of each boy around him. He slips the elastic bands of a mask over his ears and picks up the tray, catching Takeda’s eye. He jerks his head towards the hallway. Takeda smiles softly and mouths, thank you.  Firmly ignoring the swoop of his stomach, Keishin turns and catches Kageyama clambering to his feet. The boy doesn’t make a move to follow him, just stares at him with wide, intense eyes. A few of his teammates glance up curiously. Meeting Kageyama with a serious look of his own, Keishin nods. Kageyama’s posture relaxes slightly, but he doesn’t sit down, his gaze following Keishin out of the room. Hinata isn’t asleep when he slides his door open. Keishin sets the tray of food down and sits cross legged beside his futon, and Hinata blinks up at him with his big, fierce eyes. Somehow, they’re even more demanding when the lower half of his face is concealed. Keishin wracks his brain for some advice to give, something to push Hinata—help him use this to further himself. 
What would Takeda say? What would Gramps say? 
What he comes up with is something about food and strength. Building up his physical endurance along with his mental fortitude. It feels clumsy and ineloquent compared to Takeda, but Hinata listens raptly. Even with a fever, the gleam in his eyes hasn’t faded. If anything, when Keishin finishes speaking, they shine even more intensely. Keishin smiles, tells Hinata to enjoy the food, and leaves to let him eat on his own. In the hallway, he sighs and rubs a hand over his tired face, replaying that conversation. He wishes… It would just be nice if he could know he was doing well. If only there was a coach for coaches. These boys don’t know how valuable it is to have someone break down their strengths and weaknesses for them. Keishin slides his hand into his track pants pocket, palming his cell phone and chewing his cheek. Instead of heading back to the team, he turns the opposite way, pushing through the door that leads to the side of the building. The old man answers on the third ring, which is rare. Usually it takes a few calls for him to find his phone.  “Hello?”“Hey, Gramps.” Keishin sits on the concrete doorstep, taking his mask off and pulling his hood up to fend off the cold.“Keishin. Where’s your team?” “Having dinner. Takeda-sensei is with them.”“Have you eaten?”“... No.”“Keishin. You need a good meal.”“I’ll eat soon.”Gramps hmphs. Keishin snickers. The old man has always been headstrong. It used to be intimidating, but now he just comes off sassy. “Why are you worried about me? You’re the one in the hospital.”There’s an annoyed sort of grumble, and Keishin can picture him waving his hand dismissively. “I’m fine. There’s six total channels on the television to keep me entertained. And they give me plenty of overcooked rice. It’s so mushy I don’t even have to chew. Very considerate.” Keishin laughs, rolling his eyes. “Are your doctors being nice?” “They’re nosy. They kept checking on me while I watched your matches today. Said to be sure I didn’t get ‘overexcited.’ But I will say, there’s a nurse around your age who’s very pretty. I pointed you out to her on the screen, and she said you’re a very handsome man. Said you take after your grandfather.” “Did she really say the last part?”“Don’t you start. Next time you visit, I’ll introduce you. She kept coming in, saying she wanted to check my blood pressure, but I think she just wanted to see more of you.”Keishin sighs. His family has always been like this, wanting to set him up with women, often exaggerating how interested they are in the hopes that it’ll get Keishin moving. Sometimes it’s annoying, sometimes it’s overwhelming. Right now, it makes anxiety itch beneath his skin, that chasm under the tightrope looming large, so Keishin changes the topic as smoothly as he can. “So you were able to watch the tournament okay?” “Yes. I had a whole cheering section here—couple of the kids and everything. That was a lot for one day, wasn’t it? A victory and a loss. The boys looked exhausted by the end.” “Yeah.”“Nekomata was definitely pleased with the game, but he’ll be wanting another match soon.”“We’ll be ready for them.”Silence settles between them. Keishin picks at the fabric of his pants, listening to the rumble of distant traffic. As the quiet stretches on, his nose prickles. His voice feels thick, and he tries to clear it subtly.“I should h-have noticed Hinata’s fever. I should’ve made him sit out sooner.” There’s a sigh on the other side of the line, like the old man was waiting for him to say that. “You noticed what you could. You learned what to look for. And that boy is a rare breed. If he didn’t learn to be more aware now, he would’ve learned it some other time. If he wants to continue, he needs to know himself, not always be told when to rest.” “Yeah. I know. I just feel like… Sometimes, I have no idea what I’m doing. I tried to encourage him, and I felt like I was talking out of my ass.”“Keishin. Your team made it to nationals. You won three rounds against the top schools in the country. That is no accident. Your team was able to do that because you were there during each time out, each warm up. You don’t feel it right now, but you’re good at this. Coach to coach, believe me, you can trust your instincts.”Keishin holds the phone away so the old man won’t hear him sniffle or wipe his nose. He doesn’t want to look like he’s been crying; the team doesn’t need to see that. It just welled up in him so quickly: the relief of those words. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”“You need to eat. You’ll feel better.”“I know. Yeah, I should.”“Good night. Enjoy your dinner.” “Enjoy your mushy rice. Bye.” There’s another blustery grumble before the line goes dead. Keishin chuckles. Standing, he wipes over his eyes again and tucks his phone in his pocket, taking a deep recentering breath. Gramps was right. Dinner helps. It warms him up and smiling comes easier. Today begins to truly feel like more of a beginning than an end. Keishin stuffs his cheeks full of perfectly fluffy rice and thinks ‘Eat a good meal, get stronger’ isn’t the worst pillar of coaching advice after all.  *      *      * For all intents and purposes, Keishin should be sprawled across his mattress right now, two hours deep into an unfaltering sleep. It’s been an exhausting whirlwind of a week, full of emotional extremes, and today was no different. From the mayhem of rounding up the boys this morning and persuading them to pack, to the long drive back, to the emotional last send off of the third years, Keishin has been struggling to stay alert and level-headed. All he longed for was a warm dinner and a pillow, but when he tossed his duffel on his bed and plopped down beside it, he bounced right back up instantaneously. His legs carried him into the kitchen, where he made himself an unnecessarily complicated and time-consuming version of katsudon. He then wiped down the kitchen, then his small living room, then his bedroom and bathroom, and eventually pulled the vacuum out of his closet to suck up any scattered dust. Once his place was sparkling, his duffel unpacked, and his laundry begun, it was 8 PM, a perfectly respectable time to go to sleep after a week spent with high-energy teenagers. Stripped to only his boxers, he stood motionless in his room, staring at the bed that was crooning a lullaby to his exhausted limbs.He’d be waking up early in the morning to open the store. He needed rest.  Yet, his brain was spinning like Yacchan in a room full of middle blockers, surrounded on all sides by hulking questions he could no longer distract himself from. There was no way around them, only through them. Which is why, now, he’s shuffling down the main street of town in boots, jeans, and his heaviest coat, headed towards his favorite izakaya. If he can’t avoid confronting the elephants in his mind any longer, he might as well soften the blow with a beer. The door creaks as Keishin pushes it open. The lively chatter and inebriated warmth fold him in in a familiar embrace. As he hangs his coat on the rack and scuffs the soles of his boots against the mat at the entrance, he scans the room for familiar faces. There are a few regulars scattered amongst the many low tables, including the baker who supplies Sakanoshita with pastries. Keishin gives him a wave and a nod. Hino-san, the izakaya’s balding, quick-witted owner, is putting away glasses behind the bar. “Ahh, Ukai-kun,” Hino greets as Keishin claims a stool at the end of the bar, separated from any other customer by a few empty spaces. “Here to sneak in a few early rounds and put ‘em on Shimada-kun’s tab?” Keishin chuckles good naturedly at Hino’s playful wink, sighing. “No, not today. I’ll be paying for this one all by myself.”Hino grunts in amusement, but Keishin catches the subtle lift of his brows. It’s rare for him to be found drinking with anyone besides Shimada, Takinoue, and their neighborhood team, and even rarer for him to drink alone. “Kawaba?” Hino asks. “Please.”Keishin has his cash ready when Hino returns with the beer and trades him, taking a slow grateful sip. The cool liquid trickles down the inside of his ribcage and goes warm in his stomach. He sighs, leaning his elbows on the bartop and scrubbing his hands over his face. The babble of the izakaya, the warmth of the alcohol—it's bringing back clipped memories of two nights ago, like the drip, drip, drip of a dam before it bursts. “Everything alright, Ukai-kun? Hey! Weren’t you with the high school boys at that tournament this week? How’d they do?” Keishin drops his hands and takes another sip, smiling ruefully over his glass. “They did great. Made it to the quarterfinals.” “Damn.” Hino blinks in genuine surprise. “A bunch of kids from Karasuno, up against those Tokyo private schools? That’s somethin’, Ukai-kun. Your grandpa is proud, I’m sure.” “He’s just bitter it wasn’t him coaching.” Hino laughs heartily, attracting a few curious glances. “Remind me, how many years has it been since he—”“Oji-san!” A young woman interrupts him, peeking through the curtain that divides the bar from the kitchen doorway behind it, a streak of soap suds on her face and more coating her fingers. “The dishwasher is overflowing again, and we can’t figure out why. It’s flooding into the kitchen.” “Are you kidding me? For fuck’s sake, I just sold both of my arms and legs to get that thing fixed last week. So much for doing Yonai and his deadbeat son a favor, kid wouldn’t know a working pipe if it hit him in the b… ” Hino’s grumbles fade from earshot as he bustles through the doorway into the kitchen. The girl who Keishin assumes is his niece steps hurriedly out of the way, glancing at Keishin with her lips pressed together in poorly contained mirth. She shuffles to the sink behind the bar and begins rinsing the suds off her arms. Her hair falls in a smooth black sheet against her cheek, her silver earrings glinting between the strands. Keishin watches her as he takes another casual sip of his beer. She’s probably only a few years younger than him, but he doesn’t recognize her. He’s definitely never seen her behind the bar here before. There’s a clang, a clatter, and another grumbled curse from behind the curtain. The girl glances at Keishin, giggling, and Keishin chuckles. Flicking his eyes to her forehead, he points to the side of his own face. “You’ve got a little…”The girl’s eyes widen, and she swipes hastily over her face, flushing as she feels the soap there. “Thanks,” she murmurs, sending him a wincing smile. Keishin nods. He leans an elbow on the table and rests his chin on his palm, watching his beer rotate between his fingertips, aware all the while of the woman stealing glances at him as she wipes down the bar. It’s a familiar sensation for Keishin. Some years after graduating high school, something seemed to click. Maybe it was the ear piercings or dyeing his hair, but suddenly, women’s gazes no longer grazed over his intense eyes and angular face and moved on. They lingered, kept coming back. Somewhere down the line, Keishin accepted that he was attractive and learned what little mannerisms he could adopt—a warm, sideways smile, a hand dragged through his hair, a subtle broadening of his shoulders—to make himself even moreso. He’s not sure why he has the urge to do that now, when he’s exhausted and has a major crisis he’s meant to be sorting through. He decides not to analyze it.Ruffling his hair, careful not to disturb his headband, he sighs. Glancing up, he finds Hino’s niece peeking at him. “Long day?” she asks, stepping closer to his end of the bar. “Long week,” Keishin says, giving her a weary smile. “Ah, I know that look. That’s how Hino-san’s been smiling lately. Did your dishwasher break too?” Keishin laughs, surprised. Though, she’s related to Hino-san; he should’ve expected her sense of humor. “Don’t have a dishwasher. Gotta do everything by hand, which is probably why I’m so tired.”“Well, if do you ever get a dishwasher, I don’t recommend hiring Yonai and his deadbeat son to install it. They’ve got poor reviews.”Chuckling, Keishin takes in her face now that she’s turned to him fully. She’s got full cheeks, sharp eyeliner, and a long, straight nose that scrunches when she laughs. There’s a faint shadow beneath her eyes that suggests maybe she’s low on sleep, too, from more than just a pesky dishwasher. She’s pretty. Average height but curvy, and the way her silky hair settles over her shoulders draws his gaze right down to her chest. There’s an unfamiliar anxious twist in his stomach, and Keishin glances hastily back to his beer, taking a long swig. “So, you’re Honi-san’s niece, I’m guessing? Are you just visiting for the winter?” The girl leans her forearms on the bartop in front of Keishin, bringing with her a wave of rose-scented perfume. Her nails are painted a chipped bright blue, like she’s picked at the polish. “Yeah. I’m from here, originally, but my dad moved us to Okinawa when we were young. All of the pleasant, sunny winters were starting to get boring. Figured I needed some icy roads and snowstorms in my life. A little variety, you know?” When Keishin laughs, she smiles shyly and continues, “No, I’m here for… however long. Just needed a change of scenery. New faces.” Keishin hums sympathetically. “I get that.” “Have you…?” She tucks her hair behind her ear and starts to say something more, but a holler of “ASAMI-CHAN, C’MERE WE NEED AN EXTRA HAND” interrupts her. Rolling her eyes, she gives Keishin an exasperated smile and slips away into the kitchen, the curtain swishing closed behind her. The air still smells faintly of roses in her wake. Keishin stares at the condensation on his glass, tracing a drop of it in a meandering line with his finger. He likes the smell of roses. Cherry blossoms. Vanilla. He’s always loved kissing a girl’s neck and letting his head go foggy with the scent of her perfume. It’s because of the contrast, he always thought. Something so feminine and different than himself, so intimate and thrillingly unfamiliar. So why can he recall the exact clean, masculine scent of Takeda’s hair when he’d been kissing his neck? It’s hardly different from the way his own shampoo smells, so why does it make his pulse quicken just thinking about it?   He likes rose perfume. Sharp eyeliner and long, shiny hair. He does. He’s enjoyed it too many times for it to not be true. Women are lovely and beautiful and sexy. But, fuck, Takeda breathing “yes, yes, yes” as he ground his cock against Keishin’s thigh was so fucking sexy, it still makes his heart race to think about.Keishin shuts his eyes, trying to expel the image from his mind, but he can’t. There’s no tournament to get to in the morning, no children to look after. There’s no reason not to remember exactly how good Takeda looked under the orange glow of those back alley lights, smiling with liquid confidence and melting in pleasure. The mere memory warms his skin, the tips of his ears burning. He chugs three big gulps of beer in one go, setting his near-empty glass down heavily. He knows there’s such a thing as men who are attracted to other men. There are bars, in quiet corners of big cities, where they supposedly go to meet each other. There was a guy he went to highschool with who he heard whispers of in the years since. At their five-year class reunion, he’d scanned the crowd for him several times, gripped by a morbid curiosity, but he didn’t show.  Takeda is a man who’s attracted to other men. Sensei, with the collared shirts and the dorky glasses, the stubborn persuasiveness and eloquent metaphors. So many months of seeing him nearly every day, and Keishin never noticed. Should he have? Is that something people can tell just by looking at you? Keishin feels a little nauseous. Maybe he got too fancy with that katsudon and it isn’t sitting well. “Sorry about that!” The woman, Asami, is back, rinsing another coating of suds off her forearms. “That’s okay. All fixed?” Keishin asks, downing the last few sips of his beer. “Not quite, but not spewing suds into the walk-in refrigerator anymore, which is a plus.” Her eyes catch on the empty glass as Keishin sets it down. “Want another?” “Nah, just the one for tonight. Thanks, though.” Keishin pushes up from his stool, rolling his shoulders and giving her a smile. “I’ll see you around, though, yeah? Welcome back to Miyagi.”“Thanks—uh, wait! Hold on.” With a bustling energy, Asami rifles around the cash register and writes something on a slip of paper, then crosses back to Keishin, sliding it across the bar. “Here, um, that’s my number. I’m just—I’m new in town, and I don’t really know anyone… Maybe we could get a drink sometime and you could show me around? Somewhere other than here, maybe? Though, I could probably get us a staff discount if you really wanted.”Keishin’s eyebrows raise the longer she talks, surprised by her boldness and endeared by her anxiously rushed speech. “Sure. That sounds nice,” Keishin says, because why shouldn’t he? He slips the paper into his pocket, smiling as Asami’s shoulders visibly relax. “Okay. Great. Oh—I’m Hino Asami.” “Ukai Keishin.” Asami nods, flushed prettily, her nose scrunching with her smile. “Nice to meet you, Ukai-san.” “You too. Have a good night. Tell your uncle thanks for me.” “Sure. Be careful of the icy roads.”Keishin smiles as he crosses the izakaya, shrugs on his coat, and waves goodbye. When he steps back out into the cold, though, the expression falters, shoulders hunching up as the chill seeps under his collar. He pauses against the front of the building, lighting up a cigarette. While the first few puffs warm him up, they do nothing to soothe the anxiety turning in his stomach and twisting in his chest. Releasing a grumble that sounds disturbingly like his grandpa, he pulls his phone from his pocket. There’s a text there from Shimada, asking if the kids got home alright, and another one from Takinoue, with a picture of a tracksuit and a caption: “gonna test out the Ukai Keishin method. Tell the babes to watch out.” Fishing around in his other pocket, Keishin pulls out the slip of paper. He goes to his contacts and punches the numbers in, one by one, by the weak glow of the streetlight above him. Holding the cigarette between his lips, he opens a new chat with Asami, his thumbs hovering over the buttons. His hands are shaking a little, he notices. It might be that he’s shivering, because it’s fucking freezing out here. Or, it could be the fact that his pulse is pounding, sending a shockwave through his body with each heartbeat. He stares at the blinking bar that’s taunting him, waiting for him to type. Fuck, he’s not quite tipsy, but one beer should at least be enough to help him stop being a coward.He punches a few buttons, types a message, checks it for spelling errors, presses ‘send,’ and flips his phone shut with a snap, squeezing it in his fist.  
Hey sensei. I couldn’t sleep and went out for a drink. If you’re asleep, you can ignore this but if not, wanna join me? I’m buying. <<

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Truthfully, Ittetsu isn’t awake when Ukai texts him. He’s passed out on his couch, a book splayed open on his chest and a crusty streak of drool across his cheek. The buzz of the text jolts him awake, and the book on his chest tumbles to the floor in a sad heap, its pages bent and bruised. In a groggy fumble, Ittetsu groans sympathetically and rescues the poor thing, straightening out its pages and bookmarking his spot. Only when he sets it carefully on the kotatsu and gives it an apologetic pat does he realize he was out like a light and something woke him. He searches blearily around himself until he finds his phone shoved in the couch cushions and blinks through his drowsiness at the screen. 
Ukai Keishin

>> Hey sensei. I couldn’t sleep and went out for a drink. If you’re asleep, you can ignore this but if not, wanna join me? I’m buying. 
 A white-hot surge of adrenaline rushes through Ittetsu, and he leaps to his slippered feet, wobbling with the suddenness of the movement. When he goes still, he stands there, not sure exactly why he stood up. He reads the text again. He checks the time: 8:53. He scans what he’s wearing—fluffy blue slippers and matching striped pajamas—and his face blooms hot. The guilt that he has been trying for two days to dismiss crawls back, winding thorny vines through his bloodstream, turning that thrilling rush sour. They both poured their everything into coaching the team this week, guiding them through victories, heartbreak, and, this afternoon, bittersweet goodbyes. With the way Ukai was battling his exhaustion on the bus ride back, Ittetsu knows it drained both of them. He caught Ukai snoring in the passenger seat several times. His attempts to play it off as throat-clearing were totally unconvincing. Yet, while Ittetsu has been able to doze off this evening, cozy and comfortable, Ukai has been restless enough to brave the formidable winter weather for a beer.The reason for the discrepancy is clear: Ittetsu is used to kissing men. Even if kissing his coaching partner is a first, a back-alley makeout is not so groundbreaking as to totally derail his sleep schedule. But kissing men is not typical for Ukai, no matter how cool-headed he remained during Nationals. The grimace of embarrassment when emerging from the bathroom that night after what sounded like an eventful shower; the nervous shiftiness of his smile the following days—Ittetsu can picture them perfectly. He can visualize Ukai in an izakaya somewhere with his head in his hands, nursing a beer, emotions all twisted up in confusion. Ittetsu was selfish that night. As much as he’s tried to reassure himself it was kind to help Ukai discover more about himself—that it was freeing, it was fun—he doesn’t quite believe it. It was fun for himself. He got to blow off some steam with one of the hottest men and best kissers he’s ever had. Ukai got the brunt of a gay crisis. Ittetsu breathes out a slow measured breath and reads the text again, trying to be kinder to himself. Things aren’t all bad. Ukai texted him, asking to get a drink. Odds are, Ukai doesn’t hate him. On the contrary, Ukai is asking him out for a drink, knowing full well that the last time they drank together, they ended up nearly climaxing in their Karasuno tracksuit pants like a couple of teenagers. Is this a romantic text, then? Is he hoping it happens again? Is this a date?  The questions are unbidden, and they spark a new flare of adrenaline under Ittetsu’s skin. Shaking his head, trying to dislodge any thoughts of how nice it would feel to kiss Ukai again, refusing to entertain how nice a good fuck would feel after a week like this, Ittetsu begins pacing around his kotatsu. He’s going to think through this rationally, prioritizing Ukai’s feelings. Ukai, who is not only his coaching partner but someone he cares about. He will not be so frivolous about that again.  The fact of the matter is: more alcohol with Ukai is a terrible idea. He knows with just a few sips of sake, all he’ll be able to think about is how handsome Ukai is and how talented his mouth was, how promisingly thick his cock looked tenting his pants, how sexy his groans were, even muffled by the bathroom door. Any memory of the guilt he now feels will evaporate. However, spending time with Ukai sober could be good. Ittetsu remembers that first moment for himself: the kiss in the dark backyard of a university party, eight years ago. What he would have given to have had someone to talk him through what came next—the fear and the exhilaration both. Maybe he can be for Ukai what he didn’t have back then. He shoved Ukai into this mess; the least he can do is help him through the aftermath. He holds his phone up again, halting his pacing. Before he can talk himself out of it, he dials Ukai’s number. “Sensei?” Ukai answers quickly.“Hi, Ukai-kun.”“Sorry, I figured you were sleeping. I started heading home, but I can—”“Oh!” Ittetsu interrupts hurriedly. “Okay, that’s good, you should sleep!” “Uh. Yeah, that’s. I probably should. But I haven’t gotten far. If you were wanting to come out, I can turn back, no problem.” Ittetsu swallows, fiddling with the buttons of his pajama shirt. Ukai doesn’t sound drunk. His voice is gruff and richly warm like fine whiskey, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. “I don’t think I should, Ukai-kun.” “Oh.” Ukai is quiet for a beat. “Alright, yeah. No worries, that’s okay.” “It’s just—I was already getting ready for bed.” “Ah. Got the retainer ready and everything?” Ittetsu giggles, surprised. On the line, Ukai huffs a soft laugh.“Not quite. I was making a cup of tea. I don’t know if alcohol is wise for me at the moment, but I’d be happy to make you some tea, too?” Another pause. “You mean… Come over? To your place?” The way he says it, so low, so quietly cautious, leaving a blank space full of implications—Ittetsu’s heart trembles in his chest. “Just to talk!” he clarifies, cringing at how flustered he sounds. “I mean, this week was taxing and it might help us both to process a little.” The sound of gravel crunching under Ukai’s feet stops. “Okay. Yeah, that sounds nice. What’s the address?”

Ittetsu almost misses the sound of Ukai’s knock under the scream of the kettle. Switching the stove off and rushing to the genkan, he gives himself a quick once over in the mirror, and thank goodness he did. His hair looks like something one might call tornado-chic, which he’s pretty positive isn’t what the kids are doing these days—excluding Fukurodani’s ace, perhaps. Hastily refluffing his curls and scrubbing the drool off his cheek, he pulls the door open with a welcoming smile.The expression falters in horror immediately as absolutely frigid air rushes through the doorway. “Ukai-kun! Goodness, oh my—it’s freezing out there, come in, come in!” There’s a hustle and bustle as Ittetsu makes room for Ukai in the cramped entrance, helping him remove his heavy coat and hanging it on the rack, then shoving spare house slippers in his direction and rushing off to fix him some tea to warm his hands. Only when Ukai’s standing awkwardly in his kitchen, cupping his hands around a mug and quirking his lips in amusement does Ittetsu realize he’s acting just as tornado-chic as his hair. “Sorry,” he winces. “Is hojicha okay?” “Mhmm, it’s great. Thanks.” Ukai brings the mug up to his lips to blow softly over the steaming water, and as he does so, his eyes flick from Ittetsu’s hair to his shirt to his pants and slippers. “Nice pajamas.” An intrigued thrill bubbles up in Ittetsu’s stomach, but he stamps it out quickly, scolding himself: Ukai is here to talk. Turning back to the stove, he busies himself with his own mug of tea and returns Ukai’s cheeky smile. “Thank you. They’re very comfortable.” “Where do you buy all of these? I swear I’ve never seen pajama sets for men, but you seem to have an endless supply.”“They’re in every department store. Given, they’re not usually next to the tracksuits.” Ukai huffs. “Speaking of,” Ittetsu adds. “I’m not sure I’ve seen you wear a sweater without a hood. This one’s nice.”Ittetsu doesn’t mean it to be flirtatious; it’s just something that needs to be said, and even that much is an understatement. Ukai’s wearing a rich brown knit sweater that clings to his broad shoulders, so warm and casual against the worn denim of his jeans.Ukai’s ears go red to match his chill-bitten nose and cheeks. His lips press together like he’s not sure how to respond, so Ittetsu fills the silence for him. “You can sit down if you’d like. I’ll join you in just a second.” Ukai shuffles into the living area as Ittetsu wipes off the counter and reorganizes the tea supplies, taking a moment to mentally reiterate to himself why he invited Ukai over. When he joins Ukai in the other room, he’s surprised to find him still standing. “Sorry. I wasn’t sure where…” Ukai gestures sheepishly around the room. Ittetsu scans the couch and chairs, and embarrassment rushes hot over his face as he realizes every seating area and flat surface is already claimed by books or stacks of essays. “I’m so sorry!” he squeaks, hurriedly setting down his mug and snatching up the nearest stacks of paper. “Clearly, I don’t have people over often—Just give me one second, you can take the couch, I’ll just put this away—I-I have a desk for a reason, I swear, I’m so sorry!”“It’s okay, don’t worry. Are all those papers from this year?” “Just this month!” “No shit? You’ve got the whole Amazon rainforest in here, looks like.” “Yes, well,” Ittetsu giggles nervously, grateful for the humor. “It takes a lot of writing to prepare third years for entry exams.” With an armful of papers nearly spilling from his grip, he rushes into his bedroom to dump them onto his desk. When he returns, he finds Ukai on one end of the couch, peeking at the Japanese pro volleyball history book Ittetsu was reading earlier. “Getting into the V League, sensei?” Ukai wonders, tracking Ittetsu as he retrieves his tea and crosses the room. When he sits with a solid amount of space between them, Ukai’s shoulders relax, as if he was mentally preparing for Ittetsu to settle directly on his lap. Pulling one knee up onto the couch, Ittetsu turns sideways towards Ukai and searches him, guilt squeezing at his heart. He needs Ukai to feel at ease around him again.  “I don’t think I have the time to watch any games, to be honest,” he sighs. “But I wanted to learn about it, just in case any of the boys ever hope to try out someday.” “Huh. I hadn’t even thought about that yet. I’m sure at least Kageyama will. It’s amazing that you’re so… thoughtful about those kinds of things.”  Not about everything, Ittetsu wants to say. He watches Ukai rub a thumb back and forth over the rim of his mug, his strong brow furrowed in thought. The apartment is silent save for the ticking of the clock above the bookshelf and the rare rumble of a car down the quiet street. Should he have put on music? Ah well, it’s too late now, and besides, in the silence, there’s nothing to shield Ukai’s uneasiness or apparent exhaustion. There’s a faint bluish shadow beneath his lower lids. Ittetsu squeezes his mug tighter as his mind slips into a familiar track of determination.“Ukai-kun?” he tries softly. “Hmm?” Ukai glances up. “Is there a reason you asked me to come out with you tonight? Is there something you wanted to talk about?” Ukai’s gaze flickers briefly away. “Yeah. Yes, um,” he starts haltingly, jaw tense. “I wanted to make sure you were doing okay, after the tournament. Hinata… and then the third years today. It was a lot, and I know you invested so much into them—so much more than me. I hope you’re not beating yourself up over any of it.” It’s obviously not the only thing on his mind, but it’s still very kind of him. Ittetsu adjusts his glasses, smiling ruefully.“To be completely honest, I can’t help feeling guilty for not noticing Hinata struggling earlier. But I’m attempting to listen to my own advice: it’s part of volleyball, and it’s something he needed to learn one way or another.”“That’s what Gramps said, too. It was fuckin’... God, it was tough seeing him like that, wasn’t it? But yeah, it’s a lesson he needed to learn for himself if he’s gonna go where he wants to go.” Ukai taps the V League book with the toe of his slipper and smiles. “I’m really proud of them.”“Me too. They really did amazing, didn’t they? They were such a cohesive team in those last few games.” “Yeah.” Ukai’s smile turns gentle in a way that softens the intensity of his face, warms his eyes like melting honey. “I guess I get why the old man did it so long.” “Does that mean I can count on you for next year?”“Eh, sorry, sensei, I don’t think coaching is for me after all.”“What if I told you I’ve got a practice match with Nekoma scheduled for March?”“Oh yeah? On second thought…” Ukai lifts his eyebrows comically and grins when Ittetsu laughs. He stretches forward to place a steadying hand on Ittetsu’s mug. “Careful, sensei, don’t burn yourself.” “Ah. Thank you.” Ittetsu rights his mug, bringing it up to his smiling lips, and Ukai’s fingers brush Itettsu’s knuckles as they pull away. With just the simple touch, a thread of tension snakes through their easy atmosphere—one dissonant note amongst a major chord. It grates at Ittetsu. He watches the shadow under Ukai’s eyes, the stubborn wrinkle returning between his brows, just when it had disappeared. Releasing a slow breath, he decides: if Ukai won’t bring it up, he will. “Are you sure that’s all you wanted to talk about?”Ukai settles an arm on the back of the couch, pinching at the fabric. The words on the tip of his tongue are all but visible, held back by his gritted teeth. Ukai’s jaw clenches and unclenches. Without thinking, Ittetsu rests a hand over Ukai’s fidgeting fingers, squeezing in a way he hopes is reassuring. Wide and vulnerable, Ukai’s eyes meet his. His lips part, and the words finally tumble out, but they’re not at all what he’s expecting. “A woman gave me her number tonight. She asked me if I’d wanna go out sometime, a-and I said yes.” Ittetsu blinks, processing. “Oh? And… you like her? She’s nice?”Ukai frowns, shaking his head, like Itettsu’s not getting it. “Yeah, she was funny. And she’s cute. She’s pretty.” The way he says it, it sounds like an annoyance.“Okay. That’s good, is it not?”Setting his mug on the kotatsu, Ukai runs that freed hand through his hair while the other remains beneath Ittetsu’s. “No, it’s—She’s pretty. I thought she was pretty. But, how the fuck can she be… Because the other night, I thought you were…” Ukai’s eyes flicker between Ittetsu’s, searching. More than overwhelmed or conflicted, he looks lost.  Oh. It sinks in, like the punishing winter air flooding through the doorway all over again, just how thoughtless Ittetsu has been. “I see what you mean… Ukai-kun, have you ever heard the term ‘bisexual?’”The furrow between Ukai’s brows deepens even as his ears glow a brighter red. He shakes his head. Ittetsu squeezes his hand again. “I assume you’ve heard the terms ‘gay’ and ‘straight’?” “Yeah.”“Okay. Well, most people see those things as opposite sides of a coin. Men who like women and women who like men are on one side, and gay people are on the other. Like me.” Ittetsu smiles. “But rather than something two-sided, it’s more helpful to think of sexuality as a spectrum. Homosexuality on one end, heterosexuality on the other, and bisexuality—people who are attracted both genders—in between."Ukai swallows, steadily meeting Ittetsu's eyes. “In between. People who like both.”“Exactly.” “So it’s a thing more people have.” “Yes,” Ittetsu chuckles softly. “It’s a thing that more people are.” Ukai chews his lip, unsure. “Is it, like, super rare?” “What do you mean?” “I mean, I’ve heard of, of gay people. Is that okay to say?” “Yes,” Ittetsu smiles. “How come I’ve never heard of bisexual people?” Ittetsu hums. He catches Ukai peeking at their hands resting together and notices he’s been stroking back and forth over the ridged tendons on the back of Ukai’s hand. “Sorry.” He cups both hands around his mug.“Don’t mind.” Ukai keeps his hand where it was, stretching his fingers out flat. “I think it’s because… well, honestly, being bisexual is easier for society to dismiss. If you feel attraction to both men and women, you can hide the part of yourself that’s taboo. You can try to only let people see the part that won’t change their idea of you. Even though it’s painful to not be fully true to yourself, bisexual people can conform to what society expects and marry the right,” Ittetsu uses air quotes, “gender. And maybe they convince even themselves that those other urges aren’t real.” “Huh.” Frowning, Ukai reaches for his mug, taking a few slow, thoughtful sips. After a moment, his lips twist in a wry grimace. “Not much chance of convincing myself I’ve never felt ‘other urges’ when I kissed my coaching partner in an alleyway, huh?” Ittetsu smiles, cheeks warming, watching the steam curl from his tea. “You’d be surprised.” “What d’you mean?” Ittetsu sighs. “If you wanted to pretend that that never happened, I wouldn’t blame you. In a lot of ways, it can be more painful to be honest with yourself than it is to pretend to be someone else. Lots of people wish queerness didn’t exist. They wish they could blot it out, and if they can’t, sometimes they blot you out. If you want to pretend it didn’t happen, I won’t ever tell anyone, Ukai-kun, I promise.”Looking up, Ittetsu expects panic in Ukai’s eyes, shiftiness in his gaze, but he’s watching Ittetsu intently. A shiver trickles down Ittetsu’s spine, and it feels like the slow tug of a zipper. Like his skin has peeled open, and Ukai is free to stare inside. Ittetsu’s shoulders climb up towards his ears. “S-Sorry, I don’t mean to depress you or dissuade you from anything. I just—I got you into this mess without considering at all how you might process it. And I want to help you now, to at least warn you that it’s difficult.”“But is it good?” “What?” “There must… There’s gotta be something good about it right? You told me you liked kissing boys. And that you’re gay. There’s gotta be a reason you didn’t at some point just say ‘fuck it, I’ll marry a woman, it’s easier.’” That makes Ittetsu laugh, and Ukai’s mouth twitches. “True, yes. Besides the fact that breasts do absolutely nothing for me, and despite the fact that most people don’t understand that, kissing men is definitely very, very good.”Ukai begins fiddling with the fabric of the cushions again. “How come it’s so good?”“It feels good,” Ittetsu chuckles. “It’s freeing. Even though I was drunk and I wish I had been more considerate of the repercussions, that’s what I was trying to show you that night: how much fun it can be.” Ukai’s smile falters, a shadow of fear passing over his expression. “But that’s what I can’t—How did you know? How could you tell that I would kiss you? I didn’t even fucking know.” Again, Ittetsu gives in to the urge to cover Ukai’s hand with his own, to squeeze it gently and hold his gaze. “When you’ve suspected you’re gay for most of your life and known for certain for nearly a decade, you learn to recognize signs. It’s tough to find other queer people in the wild. If a man blushes when I flirt with him, I notice it. But I promise, no one else at that table suspected a thing. Which is maybe the only upside to being gay in Japan. Homosexuality is kept so quiet, most people don’t know what it looks like.”Ukai nods slowly. The shadows beneath his eyes remain, but the tension in his shoulders has loosened slightly. “How are you doing?” Ittetsu gently prompts. “I’m…” Ukai shrugs with one shoulder. “I dunno, it’s—new vocabulary. It’s a lot.” “I’m sure. Do you need a moment? You can use the balcony to smoke if you’d like.” Ukai’s brows lift. “Yeah? Okay, yeah, that sounds nice, actually. Uh, sorry.” Gingerly, he slips his hand out from beneath Ittetsu’s and sets his mug on the kotatsu. When he stands, he rolls his shoulders back and stretches his neck side to side. Ittetsu takes a slow sip of tea, watching him cross the room out of sight toward the genkan, and back again, donning his coat and fishing his pack of cigarettes from the pocket. Grasping the handle of the sliding balcony door, he glances back. “I’ll be back in just a minute, sorry.” “Don’t be sorry. Take your time. I’ll make some more tea to warm you up when you’re back.” “Thanks, sensei.” Once Ukai is outside, facing out over the cramped street with his back turned to him, Ittetsu releases a long sigh. He places his mug down and scrubs at his tired eyes under his glasses. A whole week of keeping teenagers in line and giving them pep talks, encouraging them to believe in themselves even when things seemed dire, and this is by far the most difficult conversation he’s had. A surge of emotion wells up within him, prickling at his nose, making his lips tremble. He presses them firmly together and breathes in and out four times, waiting for the ripple to smooth back out. When it does, he unfolds his legs and stands from the couch, busying himself with tidying a few stacks of books and papers. How he hadn’t even noticed the chaos of his apartment until someone else was here, he has no idea. He’s back in the kitchen fixing up two fresh mugs of tea when he hears the balcony door slide open and closed. Careful not to spill, Ittetsu carries their tea back towards the couch and sets them on the table. He sits, but Ukai doesn’t. Cocking his head, he peers up at Ukai curiously. The cold has bitten his cheeks and nose pink again, and with his coat draped over a nearby chair, his hands are stuffed into his jeans pockets. Ittetsu nods towards the opposite end of the couch, but Ukai doesn’t move to sit.“Everything okay?” “Yeah, it’s—I’m fine. I was just thinking. The other night—I was drunk. And I know I liked what we did, but after all this stuff you said, I feel like I need to make sure. But, you’re sober now, and you may totally regret everything that happened, so it’s totally fine if not. Plus, I know I just smoked, so I can go brush my teeth or chew some gum if you want. But is there any way I could try kissing you again?”A flighty, frantic bird zips through Ittetsu’s ribcage. “Weren’t you out drinking tonight, too?” “I just had one beer.” Ukai shakes his head firmly. “And it’s worn off now.” “Ah.” Ittetsu watches Ukai’s adam’s apple bob, his chiseled jaw clench and unclench, his tongue dip out to wet his lips.A smile tickles at his own mouth.“Okay. Sure. And you don’t need gum, Ukai-kun, it’s fine.”“Really?”“It’s just to make sure you like it, right? Kissing men?” “Right.”“Okay. Do you want me to stand up or…?”“You can stay there.”The low suggestion sends a thrilling heat through Ittetsu’s stomach, but he waves it away. This is only going to be a kiss. A favor, to help a friend in need. Ukai slides onto the couch and scoots close, his warmth and the breadth of his shoulders cornering Ittetsu, until it feels only natural that he should lean back into the cushions and let Ukai keep chasing him. But he doesn’t. He’s sober this time, aware of the delicacy of this moment, and this is only going to be a kiss. “Okay,” Ukai murmurs. “I’ll just…” He lifts a hand to cradle one side of Ittetsu’s face, leaning nearer, watching his lips. At the last moment, his eyes flicker up to meet Ittetsu’s, and they’re full of so many delicate, desperate things it steals his breath away. “Ukai-kun…” he whispers, not really sure why he says it. He closes his eyes and tilts his face up, offering his lips, letting Ukai meet them when he’s ready.In the stillness of Ittetsu’s silent apartment, in the vulnerability of the moment, Ukai’s kiss is so soft it feels fragile. It is Ukai stepping out onto thin ice, testing if it’s true, if it will hold him. His breath is shaky through his nose, his lips gentle as they move against Ittetsu’s. Heart thudding loud in his ears, Ittetsu skates a hand up the sleeve of Ukai’s sweater to cup the back of his neck, stroking his thumb back and forth under his jaw in a way he hopes is soothing. Ukai tilts his head, deepening the angle for one kiss, for another, and then he pulls slowly back, his lips clinging to Ittetsu’s until they separate with the most delicate of sounds. Ittetsu’s lashes flutter, his eyes attempting to open. He twists his fingers into the collar of Ukai’s sweater, needing to ground himself, otherwise he might float right off this couch. He doesn’t think he’s ever been kissed like that—where it isn’t meant to go anywhere and it really, truly doesn’t. The intimacy of it… of just kissing. Ittetsu would happily do that again a dozen times more if Ukai needed it, as a favor. Finally, Ittetsu gets his eyes open, and he finds Ukai watching him with knitted brows and a conflicted expression. “So? What do you think the second time? Any good?” Ittetsu curls a lock of Ukai’s hair around his index finger. “Yeah,” Ukai says, voice weak. He clears his throat. “You’re right, it feels, like, freeing, yeah.” Ittetsu smiles, but it falters as Ukai slumps back against the couch, scrubbing his hands over his own face. Ittetsu’s hand falls into his lap. “Okay. So. What if I’m bisexual. What the hell comes next?” “What do you mean?” “Like, do I just go out and start fucking men now?” “You could,” Ittetsu giggles, curling both legs up. “Or, you don’t have to do anything.”“Just go back to work at the shop tomorrow and act like nothing is any different,” Ukai says flatly. “You could. You’re still attracted to women, right? You could keep dating them and marry one, and nothing has to change.”“But, weren’t you just saying it’s painful to not be fully yourself?” “If you know who you are and you find a woman who makes you happy, who’s to say you aren’t being fully yourself?”Ukai squints at him, shaking his head slowly, looking more confused than he has all night. “No,” he says roughly. “I can’t—This is too big of a deal to just keep going like normal. Am I crazy? This is a big fucking deal, right?” “It’s part of who you are, so yes, it’s a big deal. But it’s up to you how you respond to it.”Ukai curls his hands into fists, frowning at the kotatsu. “How did you process all of this? When you first figured out you were gay?” “I explored what was out there. Mostly, I went to a lot of clubs and used online forums to find men to have sex with.”The blush is not only in Ukai’s ears now but crawling up his throat. “But through the people I met, I eventually found community. And I think that was the most important aspect of coming to terms with it: seeing that there are lots of people trying to navigate it too. If you wanted… There’s a gay bar in Ōsaki that I used to go to a lot in the past few years. It’s out of town, so you don’t have to be anxious about running into anyone you know, and the owner is incredibly welcoming. I’ve made some good friends there. If you wanted to see what queer communities feel like, I’d be happy to take you.” “A gay bar. What’s it like?”“An awful lot like a regular bar—snacks, cocktails, karaoke sometimes. Except only gay men are allowed.” “Huh.” “You don’t have to decide now. Or ever, really. This is your life and your process, and you get to decide the right way to do it. Even though I kind of forced you into it, which I’m sorry for, again.” Ukai bumps Ittetsu’s knee with his own. “You don’t have to keep apologizing, Takeda. I’m the one who kept on kissing you.” Nodding, Ittetsu tries to let that soothe his guilt, once and for all. “Okay.”“Besides,” Ukai sighs, smiling crookedly. “It was a really fucking good kiss. Can’t be too mad about that.” Ittetsu’s stomach blooms hot, his lips tingling with the phantom of both of Ukai’s kisses. The way Ukai is watching him—eyes dark and deep, full with that same helpless want as that night in the alley… It hints at just how powerfully alluring he’d be once he’s totally in his element. It promises that if Ittetsu were to make a move, to follow that stomach-deep pull and slip between the casual spread of his legs, Ukai would acquiesce easily. Ittetsu could do it. But the shadows beneath Ukai’s unguarded gaze remind him: he’s not going to be selfish tonight. Instead of answering, Ittetsu pushes his glasses up his nose and looks towards the clock on his wall. With the break in eye contact, the hairstring thread of tension snaps.“It’s late, Ukai-kun. You should really get some sleep if you’ve got work in the morning.”“Right.” There’s a beat. Then, Ukai cracks a rueful smile. “Ma’s been covering for me all week; she’ll be furious if I sleep in.” Denim shifts over fabric as Ukai pushes to his feet. He picks up his mug, still full to the brim. “Sorry I didn’t get to this one. But thank you. For the tea.”“Of course,” Ittetsu smiles gently, standing with him. Ukai gathers Ittetsu’s mug as well and takes them into the kitchen, despite Ittetsu protesting that he doesn’t need to. He rinses them out and places them on the drying rack, looking broad and rugged in the cramped, simple space. “Thank you, Ukai-kun,” Ittetsu says once Ukai has his boots and coat on, prepared to leave.“Thank me?” Ukai blinks incredulously. “For what?” “I haven’t had all that many conversations like this. You’ve been very gracious and sweet with me. I really appreciate it.” Ukai’s eyes soften, and Ittetsu resists the urge to fidget under his gaze. It’s just a bit arresting—that boyish earnestness in contrast with the intensity of the rest of his face. “No problem, sensei.” The familiarity of that ‘sensei’ quiets all of Ittetsu’s lingering worries. Much has shifted between them, but their foundation remains unshaken. “I’ll see you at practice next week, yeah?”“Right. We’ll have to have a chat with Ennoshita-kun.” “Gods help him.” Ittetsu giggles. “Stay warm. Sleep well.” “You too.” Ittetsu watches the frame of his shoulders and the glimmer of his blonde hair wander down the quiet street until his freezing fingers can no longer stand the cold.  *      *      * At the tone of the final school bell, Ittetsu has thirty minutes to breathe. Thirty minutes while the team migrates to the club room, changes, stretches, and warms up. The interval used to be much smaller—a frantic rush to organize his room and prepare the needed materials for tomorrow’s classes, all while knowing there was a group of rowdy teenagers waiting for his supervision in the gym. Now, with Ukai to rely on, Ittetsu has a moment in between all the rushing and the volleyball practice to get his head on straight. Just that little reprieve has done wonders for his mental health. And it’s become a tradition—(he refuses to call it an addiction)—to let his feet first carry him down the hallway towards the teacher’s lounge, to the counter beside the refrigerator, to the tin of shiroi kobito that the angelic, grandmotherly Higa-sensei replenishes weekly. Humming quietly to himself, Ittetsu lifts the lid off the tin and peers into its contents. His smile sours in disappointment. There are no chocolate ones left. “Ittetsu-kun.” The metal lid slips from Ittetsu’s fingertips with an incriminating clatter when he whips around. He’s used to the teacher’s lounge being deserted after school, and he typically indulges in his daily treat in sacred silence.  “S-Sorry—” Ittetsu squeaks, retrieving the lid. “I—Ah. Ono-chan! I didn’t notice you in here.” Sitting at one of the small round tables in the back of the room, Minaho Ono sips at coffee from a styrofoam cup, amused. “Of course you didn’t. The school could be in flames and you wouldn’t notice until you had your after school cookie.” Ittetsu huffs. “I’m not that bad! Look, I may not even eat one today.” He resolutely places the lid back on the tin, lifting his chin stubbornly even as his tastebuds cry out in disappointment. “Only because there’s not a chocolate one.” “Ono,” Ittetsu whines, facade breaking and shoulders falling. He shuffles across the room, settles into the seat across from her, and lays his planner on the table. “If you know I’m in a fragile headspace, why are you being so mean to me?”Smirking mischievously, Minaho slides a napkin from behind her coffee cup into plain view. On it, like a gorgeous little gift package pulled out from beneath a Christmas tree, sits a chocolate shiroi kobito. Ittetsu gasps. “For me?” he wonders, blinking at his friend with wide eyes. “Saved it for you,” Minaho shrugs with a smile, tucking a strand of her sharp black bob behind her ear. “I figured after being away last week, you would really be craving them.” “Ono-chan.” Overflowing with affection, Ittetsu reaches past the cookie for her hand, clasping it in his own and fixing her with a focused look. “You are brilliantly sarcastic and deeply kind, and I hope you know you are one of my most treasured friends.” Minaho squirms, shaking free from his grip. “Okay! Just take the cookie; it’s weird when you do that!” Giggling, Ittetsu happily pulls the cookie towards him and bites into it, letting out a reverent moan as the flavors of dark chocolate heavenliness soothe his weary brain and body. “If only Higa-san was thirty years younger and single,” he whispers. “I think I would marry her.” Minaho snorts, sipping her coffee and watching him. “I fear those are not the only obstacles between you two and a happy relationship.”Ittetsu shakes his head. “Miraculous baking skills overcome all kinds of differences.” He finishes the cookie and sucks his fingertips clean of the crumbs, one by one. “So. Now that I’ve lured you here with treats, tell me about Nationals. How is Hinata-kun?” Ittetsu smiles softly. Minaho had texted him the evening after the Komomedai match, expressing her sympathy for the boys and her pride for Ittetsu.“He’ll be alright. It was important for him to learn that he’s not invincible, and that caring for the team means caring for himself, too. We told him to rest all this weekend, so I’m sure he’s crawling out of his skin by now to play. It’s far more likely he’s fired up than downtrodden by what happened.”“Hmm. Good. I’ve never seen determination quite like what those two boys have.” Humming, Ittetsu smiles. “It’s remarkable. And a lot to handle, as you know. I’m sure Ukai-kun has his hands full as we speak.”“Speaking of Ukai-kun…” Minaho uncrosses her arms and leans her elbows on the table. This time, Ittetsu is the one pinned with a penetrating look.His heartbeat stutters. He picks cookie crumbs off the table top and brushes them off onto the napkin, hoping it makes him look casually unbothered. “What about him?” “Just wondering how it was sharing a room with a very handsome former bad boy jock for three nights. Did anything happen?” “Ono. What could possibly have happened?” “I don’t know. Emotions were high. Maybe you pushed your futons together and comforted each other through the chilly winter nights.” Ittetsu swallows, huffing a frustrated breath. “I’ve told you. Ukai-kun is s-straight.”  Oh no.  Minaho’s teasing smile turns fascinated. Her eyes widen. “What was that?” she demands.“Crumb in my throat! N-nothing!” 
Goddamnit! 
“Ittetsu! Wait, look at me! Something actually happened? Oh my god, something happened! And you didn’t tell me? You better tell me right now, oh my god!” Ittetsu sputters, sinking into his seat, shoulders inching up towards his ears. “I-It was—It was barely anything. I can’t—I shouldn’t talk about it here.” “You mean it’s not even school appropriate?” Minaho’s grin is a little crazed, her voice a shouted whisper. She reaches across and smacks his arm. “Ittetsu! I didn’t realize you were freaky like that!”  “Hey! I-I’m not—!” Ittetsu is rescued by the jolly jingle of his cell phone. Sure, it makes him jump so hard he nearly falls out of his chair, but once he realizes what it is, relief washes over him in a wave. That is, until he looks at the name on his screen. His shoulders sink away from his ears, his frame deflating. The panicked flutter of his heart slows to a heavy, drumming beat.“What? Who is it?” In an instant, Minaho has abandoned her giddiness for concern. “My sister.” He flips his planner over as the ringtone continues. There on the front is a post-it note that was supposed to remind him. “I forgot we have our call today.” Minaho reaches for his hand on the table and squeezes his fingers. “It’ll be good for you to talk to her. I’m sure she wants to know about last week. Tell her I say hi, okay? Go on, before it stops ringing.” Ittetsu nods, pushing to his feet. He tucks his planner under his arm and answers. “Hello?” “Niichan! You’re late!” The sound of her voice is a sweet kind of pain. He smiles, waving at Minaho as he pushes the door open and heads back into the empty hallway. “Sorry! I had a post-it to remind me, but I didn’t see it.” “How do you possibly keep your life organized when you only use post-its?” “It works just fine!” “I still think you should use a planner.” Ittetsu glances at the planner under his arm—the one with the reminder stuck to the front cover rather than written inside. He decides not to mention it. “You’re right,” he sighs, chuckling. “I’ll try to follow your advice, Dr. Sakaguchi.” Ichika squeaks. “Don’t call me that yet!” “What am I supposed to call you as a med student? Just Sakaguchi-san?” “Niichan. Ka-chan is fine!” Unlocking his classroom door and slipping inside, Ittetsu smiles. “How is school? And how is Isao-kun?” “School is going well. We studied phlebotomy last week. My professor said I have a knack for it, but I don’t love the idea of poking holes in people all day. Surely, that would get old. And Isao? He’s… silly.” She scoffs, but it does nothing to mask the soft fondness that creeps into her tone. “He keeps trying to convince me we only ever need to use the same two bowls all day, just rewash them for each use, even though we bought four for a reason! Yesterday, he…”Ittetsu listens as he swaps his planner for his coaching clipboard, giving his classroom one last once-over to ensure it’s ready for tomorrow. Locking the door, he heads briskly down the hall towards the gymnasium.“Enough about me! How are you? We only managed to catch one game of the tournament—the one against that team with the scary twins? Isao was glued to the screen. We need to find him more friends to watch sports with.”“I didn’t realize you watched. Thank you. That’s…” Ittetsu swallows through a lump in his throat. “I-I should let you know, I don’t have much longer to talk. Today is the first practice without the third years, and my coaching partner is managing all alone at the moment.”“Ah. Okay. It’s ‘Ukai’, right?” “Yes, right.” “I would think he’s intimidating-looking enough to keep them in line. Then again, I’d bet all our savings they’re more scared of you.”“Nonsense!” Ittetsu grins, slowing his pace. He’s arrived across from the gym. The door is half-closed against the brisk winter breeze, but the squeak of shoes and the impact of volleyballs hitting the floor echo out into the open hallway. Ichika giggles. “Remember when Soma-chan and the neighborhood boys kept tapping on my window to get me to come play? And you stepped out with your massive glasses and your hands on your hips and told them to do their homework or they’d end up working at a konbini ‘and don’t you want to contribute anything significant to society?’ Little debate club fiend—you terrified them! You can’t really blame Dad for thinking you’d become a lawyer.” Ittetsu’s feet stutter to a standstill. His fingers tighten around the phone held to his ear, and he can’t think of a response. After a long beat of silence, Ichika speaks again, much more quietly, tentatively. “Have you spoken to them recently?” It throbs in his chest, like a fractured rib that wasn’t set right. “No. Not in a little while.” Ichika sighs softly. Ittetsu can picture her mouth pinched to the side, her brain ticking away, trying to fix things she doesn’t understand. “When did you last see them in person?” “At your wedding.” “Niichan…” 
Don’t say it, don’t say it, please. Don’t.
Despite the winter chill, Ittetsu’s face feels too hot. His heartbeat is too loud, his nose prickling unpleasantly. “I know they’re stubborn, but you really should reach out. If you just try, I’m sure they would work through things…” 
If you just try. 
It’s like a punch right to the place where he’s broken. Agitating proof that he still isn’t healed. Ittetsu’s face twists in a grimace, and he hates it. He wants to be hollow, for the words to echo around nothing, but he’s so full of raw, tender places. That’s how he’s always been. That’s how they raised him to be.He catches a glimpse of Tanaka jogging past the sliver of the open gym doorway and turns his back to it, hiding his face. “Ka-chan,” he murmurs. “I have tried.” “But… maybe, maybe if you get them a gift. That sake they like, and write them a letter. Explain how well teaching has been going. And your coaching! A gesture like that, to show that you’re still making them proud.” A retort—an explanation—sits at the tip of his tongue. But, to help her understand would be to burden her with more than she needs. He may hardly be a son, but he is still a big brother. So, Ittetsu nods to himself, swallowing away any waver in his voice, any hint of pain. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.” “I’ll put in a good word for you next time I talk to them,” Ichika chuckles softly.Ittetsu shuts his eyes tight. “Okay.” He takes two deep breaths, then opens them again. “I have to get to practice. Sorry this was so short; I won’t be late next time, I promise.” “Send me a picture when you write it in your planner!” Ittetsu huffs a laugh through his nose.They say their goodbyes, and Ittetsu takes a moment to wipe the wetness from his lashes, pressing his freezing fingertips against his eyelids. Then, he holds tight to his clipboard, turns on his heel, and strides through the short hallway and into the gym. The scent of volleyball fills his lungs—floor polish and new shoes and well-worn equipment. “What happened to that A-Pass from the tournament, dumbass?!” and “I can’t do it every time yet, jerk!” cut sharp through the open space. Ukai is standing on a platform at the net, wearing his signature red track suit, sending spikes down for the boys to dig up. The team is lined up, waiting for their turn to receive, except for Kageyama and Hinata, who are barking in each other’s faces like a pair of unsocialized puppies. Hinata’s face is full of healthy color, and his eyes are flashing with fire. He looks hungrier, somehow, but not in a reckless way. Determined. Even as he glares back, Kageyama is grinning. The court feels bigger without Azumane in it. Quieter without Sawamura’s growl and Sugawara’s lilting commentary. Yet, the energy hums, warm and hopeful. There’s a new set to the second years’ shoulders, as if they’re ready to charge forward.With his emotions so perilously close to the surface, Ittetsu’s lips begin trembling. He sniffs, wiping hastily at his cheeks. He’s so proud of them. And he’s so grateful. “Takeda-sensei? A-Are you okay?” Yachi asks cautiously, right beside him. Ittetsu nods until he can speak steadily. “Yes. I’m alright. Thank you, Yachhan.” Turning back towards the team, Ittetsu finds Ukai has noticed his arrival. Mid-motion, he is paused with a ball lifted in one hand, the other poised to spike. His strong brows are pinched in concern as he searches Ittetsu’s face. In favor of shouting across the court and overpowering Hinata and Kageyama’s bickering, Ittetsu waves a hand dismissively: it’s nothing. He nods towards where their freak duo have begun physically wrestling and giggles quietly.Ukai’s frown melts into a warm, exasperated grin that heats Ittetsu from the inside out.Long after Ukai shouts out, “Oi! You two! Get back in line!” and the commotion momentarily quiets, Ittetsu’s smile lingers.

“Hey, sensei?” It’s later. It’s cold. Practice has ended, they met with Ennoshita and offered him the captainship, and now Ukai is walking alongside Ittetsu towards the school parking lot. “Hmm?” “I’ve been thinking a lot. About the, uh, bar.” First, Ittetsu’s mind wanders to the izakaya at Nationals, with a certain cozy alley behind it, and then to some vague bar in town, where Ukai recently received a girl’s number. He glances at Ukai sideways and cocks his head for clarification. The look Ukai gives him begs him to follow his train of thought, his eyes darting around the empty school grounds.  Oh. That bar. A thrill zips through his chest, like the strike of a match.  Yes. After today, after that call, that’s exactly what he needs. To push through that unassuming door and be enveloped in familiar warmth and laughter and lingering glances and unhindered speech. It’s been so long. Attempting not to belie how much hope is stirring up within him, he prompts, gently, “Oh?”“I think I’d like to go. Just to see what it’s like.” He’s clearly very nervous, jaw tense, but Ittetsu can’t keep his own grin from breaking across his face. “That’s great, Ukai-kun! We can go this Friday! After practice we can get ready and then meet at the train station in the evening; how does that sound?” “O-oh, that’s—this Friday? Uh, yeah that’s, um. Yeah, I can do this Friday.” Nerves look good on him. In the twilight, his ears are all red, his arms shoved stiffly in his pockets. If Ittetsu were to dart up and peck a kiss on his cheek, he might explode. He giggles to himself at the thought.They reach Ukai’s car first, and they say their goodnights. However, Ukai catches Ittetsu once more just as he’s unlocking his own car. He pulls up right beside him, rolling his window down and resting his arm on the car’s windowsill.“Uh, Takeda. What kind of thing am I supposed to wear to this sort of place?” “Ah, right, I didn’t say. The dress code is crop tops and leather.” Ukai’s face drains of all expression, save for pure, unadulterated regret. He looks like rather than going home this evening, he might instead drive up into the mountains and begin life as a hermit. “I’m only kidding. Dress in whatever you feel comfortable in on a night out. It’s casual. Though, I do think you would look quite handsome in a crop top and leather, for the record.” “Sensei,” Ukai groans, laying his forehead on his steering wheel. “I almost had a heart attack.” “Sorry!” Ittetsu giggles. “You’ve got me in a good mood! I’m excited.” Ukai peeks at him, visibly struggling to maintain his glare. It’s very endearing. “Okay.” He nods firmly. “Friday. Train station. Jeans and a sweater.” “Perfect. Text me if you have any more questions. It’ll be fun, I promise.” There’s a beat of silence where Ittetsu can’t tell what Ukai’s thinking. He’s watching him, fingers drumming on the side of his car. Before he can ask, however, Ukai’s lips stretch in a crooked smile, his arm lifting to ruffle the back of his hair. For a moment, the streetlight above them highlights the generous curve of his bicep under his jacket. “Alright, sensei,” he sighs, letting his hand fall back to his steering wheel. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Driving home, tucking in to read before bed, switching on his prostate massager for a lazy last-minute release, Ittetsu finds himself distracted, replaying that sideways smile again and again, that casual flex of muscles. He’ll certainly do his very best to care for Ukai and show him a good time. But there’s no question: Ittetsu will be having plenty of his own fun too.