Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sun filtered through the windows of the Gymnasium, soft and golden against the freshly polished wooden floors. The air buzzed with anticipation, not just from the teams, but the scattered crowd of early spectators, coaches, and students from nearby schools who’d come to witness the beginning of what was shaping up to be a legendary practice match. Karasuno’s team had just finished warm-ups, the squeak of sneakers and the rhythmic thump of volleyballs echoing through the gym. The team gathered near the bench, water bottles in hand, some joking, others already locked into focus mode.
Daichi Sawamura exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders. His eyes scanned the court, automatically assessing every detail: spacing, lighting, the tension in his teammates' shoulders. He had a job to do, and it started now.

That’s when the doors swung open.

"Looks like the cats have arrived," Tanaka muttered, nudging Nishinoya, who instantly perked up.

In strode Nekoma, uniforms crisp, movements almost too calm. Their presence was like a wave of red silk, sleek, quiet, dangerous. And at the centre of it, leading the pack with the kind of swagger that seemed born, not practiced, was him.

Kuroo Tetsurou.

Daichi’s eyes landed on the unfamiliar captain immediately. He was tall, lean, with messy black hair that defied gravity and a lazy smirk that screamed confidence. Or trouble. Maybe both.
Kuroo’s gaze slid across the court like he was taking mental inventory, and when his golden eyes met Daichi’s, something subtle clicked into place. Not a moment of recognition, no, more like… target acquired.
Daichi stood straighter, unconsciously.

"Yo." Kuroo was already making his way over, that insufferable grin tugging at his lips. "You’re Karasuno’s captain, right?"

Daichi nodded, extending a hand. "Sawamura. And you?"

"Kuroo. Nekoma’s captain. Obviously." He grasped Daichi’s hand in a firm shake, but his eyes never left Daichi’s face. "Nice to finally meet the famous ‚Smiley Assassin.’ I was starting to think you were a myth."

Daichi raised an eyebrow. "Myth?"

"Yeah," Kuroo shrugged, feigning innocence. "You know. Unseen, unbeatable, unwavering. I figured someone like that would at least have glowing eyes or a bandana or something."

Daichi snorted. "Sorry to disappoint."

"You don’t," Kuroo replied, eyes gleaming.

Before Daichi could formulate a response, Coach Nekomata clapped his hands, signalling for the teams to line up. The match was about to begin.
They bowed. Exchanged names. Moved into position.
Karasuno’s starting lineup was tight: Daichi, Asahi, Tanaka, Nishinoya, Tsukki and, for the extra amount of chaos: Kageyama and Hinata. The air shifted. You could feel the electricity in the gym, new blood, old rivalry.

From the other side, Kuroo stood across from Daichi at the net, eyes sharp, posture loose. He radiated that kind of offbeat calm, the kind that made you second-guess whether he was actually watching or just thinking about dinner.
But then came the serve.
Nekoma took the first point, a quick, clean set from Kenma, finished by Inuoka. Smooth, effortless. Daichi felt the weight of it settle in his chest. Not panic, but awareness. These weren’t opponents you could half-play. This was a team that knew each other. Like clockwork.

Karasuno pushed back, fast.
Kageyama’s toss to Hinata was nearly too fast to track, but Hinata, with that untouchable spring in his legs, slammed it through a narrow opening, scoring with a satisfying crack against the floor.
Nekoma’s heads turned.
Daichi didn’t miss Kuroo’s impressed blink.

"Huh," Kuroo muttered under his breath, "Looks like the rumours about your new rookies weren’t exaggerated."

"Neither are ours," Daichi shot back, already moving into position.

It was like that for a while. Back and forth. Each team pushing harder, faster. The match had only just begun, but the tempo was brutal. Daichi’s hands stung from blocks. His breath came heavier now, sweat beading at his temple. Kuroo, across the net, moved like smoke, unpredictable, watching everything, always smiling like he knew something no one else did.
On a long rally, with both teams scrambling, it was Daichi who finally dove for a near-hopeless ball, keeping it alive. His body hit the floor hard, but the set continued, and Asahi ended it with a crushing spike.
Whistle. Point. Karasuno.

Daichi stood, brushing off his elbows.

"Nice save," Kuroo called casually. "I would’ve gone for the block, but I figured I’d let you have your moment."

Daichi chuckled dryly. "Generous of you."

"Don’t get used to it."

That was how they met.  Not with much fate.
But with sweat, teasing, tension, the kind that wrapped tight in your chest and wouldn’t let go. And the worst part?
Daichi already knew he’d be thinking about that smile for the rest of the week.

ᨐ

"Alright, break's over!" Daichi clapped his hands, corralling his team into a huddle.

Sweat-slicked brows, flushed cheeks, and short, sharp breaths all around. The match had only been going for a set and a half, but Karasuno was already feeling the heat. Not just from Nekoma’s relentless rhythm, but from how well they knew each other’s movements. It was like playing against an organism with one heartbeat.

"We’re letting their pace get to us," Daichi said, voice low and firm. "Trust our tempo. Don’t mirror theirs. We’ve got our own weapons."

"Like a high-speed tomato," Suga added, grinning at Hinata.

"WHO’S A TOMATO?!"

"You are," Kageyama muttered, adjusting his knee pads. "You go red when you’re excited."

Daichi allowed himself a small breath of relief. Good. They're still in it.
Across the court, Nekoma’s huddle broke up with quieter coordination. Kuroo stretched his arms behind his head, muscles tight under his red jersey, and caught Daichi’s gaze again..  like he’d been waiting for it.
Then he wiggled his eyebrows.
Daichi rolled his eyes.

"You two gonna flirt or serve the ball?" Tanaka muttered as he took position.

"I will end you," Daichi said flatly, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

The next few rallies were rough. Nekoma’s synch was hard to crack. Kenma’s sets weren’t flashy, but they were terrifyingly precise. Kuroo scored with a feint that sent both Tanaka and Asahi lunging in opposite directions like startled puppies.

"Sorry, was that mean?" Kuroo called over the net, feigning wide-eyed innocence.

Daichi squinted at him. "I think you dropped something."

Kuroo blinked. „Huh?"

"Your modesty."

"Ohh, Captain Sawamura, was that a joke?" Kuroo beamed. "You do talk! I was starting to think you only spoke in team strategy and inspirational monologues."

Daichi exhaled through his nose. "I only speak when necessary."

"Hot."

Daichi’s brain stuttered for half a beat. "...Excuse me?"

"I said, ‘Noted,’" Kuroo replied, entirely unconvincing.

Nishinoya let out a choking sound behind Daichi. Hinata stared at Kuroo like he was a cryptid. Kageyama just looked annoyed, though that was probably his default face.
Play resumed before Daichi could respond. Not that he had a response. What was there to say?

Hot?

What did that even mean in context? Was he joking? Was he mocking him? Was it just another weird Kuroo-ism, like his hair or his omnipresent smirk?

The rally dragged on, brutal, long, and filled with incredible saves on both sides. Daichi shut everything else out. Focus returned in full. He had no time for weird opponents with cats on their shirts and chaos in their smiles.
But just as Karasuno started clawing their way back into the set, Kuroo was at the net again. Ready to block. Reading the play too well.
Daichi went up for the spike and- there was Kuroo. Perfectly timed. Blocking it clean.
Point to Nekoma.

"You’re predictable," Kuroo said low enough that only Daichi could hear.

Daichi’s jaw tightened.

Kuroo’s grin widened. "But hey, I like that. Keeps things... fun."

By the time the second set ended, 25–23, Nekoma’s win, both teams were flushed and high on adrenaline. The match would continue, of course. Practice matches usually did, running through rotations, subs, trial combinations. But the captains? They stayed on.
As the teams took a break, bottles cracked open and towels wiped down the worst of the sweat. Daichi sat on the edge of the court, stretching out his legs, mind ticking through every error and adjustment.
A shadow loomed.

"You’ve got a good team," Kuroo said, plopping down next to him like they were friends and not mid-match rivals.

"Thanks." Daichi eyed him warily. "You’re pretty sharp for a guy who walks like he just woke up from a nap."

Kuroo laughed. "Can’t all be poster boys for textbook posture."

"You stalking my posture now?"

"Only when you’re in front of the net. It’s hard to miss."

There was a beat of silence.

Kuroo took a long sip from his water bottle. "You’re different than I thought."

"Let me guess, taller?"

Kuroo grinned. "Nah. Less grumpy. I expected you to be more... uptight."

"I am uptight," Daichi said dryly.

"Not in a bad way. Just…" He paused. "You play like you’ve got a whole world riding on your shoulders. But then you make a joke, or back up a teammate without even thinking, and I think, maybe there’s more going on in there than just volleyball formations and protein bars."

Daichi turned toward him, eyebrow raised. "Is that supposed to be flattery?"

"No," Kuroo replied, standing and stretching. "Just an observation. You’re interesting."

Daichi blinked.

Kuroo smirked, stepping backward toward his bench. "Don’t worry. I’ll keep my thoughts to myself during the next set."
He turned.

"Mostly."

ᨐ

The final set ended with Karasuno barely scraping a win, 26–24. Both teams were drenched, breathless, and running on sheer stubbornness. No official winner had been declared,  practice matches weren’t really about that. But no one was pretending this hadn’t been personal.

"We’ll call it a draw," Coach Ukai finally said, scratching the back of his head and looking like he needed a cigarette or two. "Draw," Nekomata echoed, though the glint in his eye said he was already plotting a rematch.

"Draw my butt," Tanaka muttered under his breath, stretching his arms behind his head. "We totally had them if we’d played one more."

Yamamoto Bokuto-style roared from across the court: "BRING IT ON, BALDY!"

"WHO YOU CALLING BALD, YOU LION-MANEED LOSER?!"

"Better bald than a boiled egg!"

"WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!"

"Stretching pairs!" Nekomata bellowed, cutting through the rising chaos. "Nekoma and Karasuno mix it up. Captains, you're in charge."

Daichi stepped forward. "Alright, let’s make this clean."

Kuroo sidled up with that catlike walk of his. "Or let’s make it interesting."

Daichi gave him a look. "I already know I’m going to regret whatever you're about to suggest."

"Good. That means it’s worth doing."

Kuroo clapped his hands, voice loud and smug: "Everyone pair up! Nekoma and Karasuno, one of each. Fate decides your doom. Stretch with whoever’s nearest to you on the count of three. One, two—"

"WAIT I HAVE A BAD FEELING ABOUT THI-„

"THREE!"

Chaos. Absolute, beautiful chaos.

Hinata + Kenma: 
Kenma blinked up at the orange blur now crouched two inches from his face.
"Hi! I’m Hinata! I watched your game against Fukuroudani, your set to Kuroo-san was sick!!"
Kenma blinked again. "This is going to be loud, isn’t it?"

Tanaka + Yamamoto:
The gym physically trembled from the force of their high-five.
"YOU READY TO STRETCH LIKE WARRIORS, BRO?"
"I WAS BORN READY, BRO!"

Nishinoya + Yaku:
The two liberos locked eyes and immediately started trying to one-up each other in back bends.
"My flexibility is off the charts!" Noya declared.
"I’ve been stretching since elementary! Let’s go, punk!"
"You calling me punk?!"
"You heard me, twinkle-toes!"

Asahi + Lev:
Silence.
Lev loomed over Asahi like a newborn giraffe.
"You're… big," Lev said cheerfully.
Asahi, caught between intimidation and confusion, muttered, "...Thanks?"

Suga + Kai:
Both smiled politely.
"So, should we do hamstrings first?"
"That sounds reasonable."
"Finally," Suga sighed. "A sane one."

And then there was Daichi and Kuroo.

They stood in silence for a beat.

"...You did this on purpose," Daichi said.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Kuroo replied, far too innocently.

They sat on the floor, facing each other. Daichi leaned forward for a basic stretch, already feeling his back twinge. Kuroo mirrored him, casually close. A little too close.

"Legs out," Daichi instructed.

"You wanna buy me dinner first?"

Daichi stared.

"Okay, okay," Kuroo chuckled, hands up in mock surrender. "I’m stretching. Look. Serious face engaged."

They did the partner hamstring pull, feet together, hands locked, leaning in and out slowly. Daichi tried to ignore the way Kuroo’s fingers laced so easily with his own. Focus. Captain. Neutrality. Rival. Volleyball.

"You know," Kuroo said as they leaned back, "you’ve got really solid grip strength. Do you train for that?"

"It’s called having a team that doesn’t let you drop the ball," Daichi muttered.

"Mm. Practical and poetic. You are a surprise."

"You're a headache."

"And yet you're smiling."

"I'm grimacing."

Kuroo tilted his head. "Is that what we’re calling it?"

"Yes."

Their eyes held for a fraction too long.
Then Daichi broke the stretch, releasing Kuroo’s hands a little too quickly and reaching for his towel. "Switch sides," he said, his voice even.

Kuroo grinned, flopping onto his back dramatically. "Only if you promise to let me insult your posture again."

"I dare you."

Kuroo blinked up at him, propped on his elbows. "Dangerous words, Sawamura."

Daichi gave him a sideways glance. "Then stop testing me."

Kuroo just laughed. A low, lazy sound that hit somewhere just under Daichi's ribs.

Around them, the gym buzzed with noise, Tanaka and Yamamoto now doing push-ups for fun, Kenma visibly dying as Hinata pulled him into a butterfly stretch, Yaku and Noya somehow both crab-walking competitively, and Suga looking toward the ceiling like he was questioning every life choice that brought him here.

Daichi shook his head. "What a circus," he muttered.

Kuroo, sitting beside him again, nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. But it’s a good one."

He looked over at Daichi, eyes serious for a flicker of a second.

"You’re not what I expected, Sawamura."

Daichi didn't look back, but his voice was steady. "You keep saying that."

"Because it's true."

This time, Daichi glanced sideways, not annoyed, not curious, just... steady. Solid. The way he always was. "Then you probably weren’t expecting much."

Kuroo’s smirk softened, just barely. "No. I just think you hide it well."

Before Daichi could ask what exactly he was hiding, Nekomata blew his whistle and called for cleanup. "Next time," Kuroo said, standing and tossing Daichi his towel. "Rematch. No distractions. Just captains. Mano a mano."

"You’ll lose."

Kuroo winked. "We’ll see."

ᨐ

Evening settled slowly over the gymnasium, golden light pooling across the court as the sun slipped lower behind the windows. The last match had ended hours ago, but no one had quite left. Not the Karasuno team, still buzzing with post-match energy. Not Nekoma, who somehow managed to both cool down and stir trouble at the same time.
And definitely not the chaos.
Daichi stood near the bench with a clipboard Coach Ukai had tossed at him and the weight of every bad decision his team had ever made pressing down on his soul.
Somewhere behind him, a volleyball exploded off a wall.

"What the!?" He whipped around.

"Kenma, why are you hiding under the bench?!"

"Because I value my life?" came Kenma’s muffled reply. "Hinata's trying to make me race him up the bleachers for ‘fun cardio.’ I don’t do cardio."

Hinata zipped by in the background, yelling, "I’M GONNA BEAT YOUR WALKING SIMULATION STAMINA, KENMA!"

"You can’t just yell the word stamina and expect it to work!" Kenma shrieked, crawling deeper into the shadows.

Daichi pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Tanaka! Stop teaching Yamamoto the 'Karasuno intimidation stance'! You're scaring the janitors!"

Tanaka and Yamamoto were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, knees wide, arms crossed, faces contorted into the most aggressive grins ever seen outside of a biker gang.

"THIS IS FOR TEAM SPIRIT, CAPTAIN!" they shouted in unison.

"TEAM SPIRIT CAN’T BE A FELONY!"

Near the net, Yaku and Noya were attempting to choreograph a synchronised dive.

"For libero unity!" Nishinoya declared.

"For the motherland!" Yaku added.

They both dove, perfectly, beautifully, and crashed into Suga and Kai, who were walking past like tired parents with matching water bottles and zero expectations anymore.
Asahi was in the corner, being quietly cornered by Lev, who was somehow both complimenting and intimidating him.

"You have the energy of a gentle forest beast," Lev said earnestly.

"...Thanks?"

"But also like... you could rip my spine out if you wanted to. That’s really cool!"

„...Okay."

Daichi looked at the carnage. Looked at the clipboard.
Then he looked across the gym. And saw Kuroo. Sitting on a stack of unused mats, sipping from a bottle of water like this wasn’t his circus too.

"You!" Daichi barked.

Kuroo perked up, all wide eyes and innocent shrug. "Me?"

"Yes. You. Captain of the other half of this nightmare." Daichi marched over. "I’m trying to keep things under control."

"Looks like you're doing great," Kuroo said, utterly unbothered. "Look, no one's died. Yet."

"I’m five minutes away from letting them figure out natural selection," Daichi muttered.

Kuroo hopped down from the mats with a dramatic stretch. "Okay, okay. I’ll help."

Daichi blinked. "...Really?"

"Of course," Kuroo said sweetly.

For three blissful seconds, Daichi felt the spark of hope.

Then Kuroo cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "HEY YAKU, FIRST ONE TO DO A BACKFLIP WINS A BAG OF MILK BREAD!"

"YOU’RE ON, TRAITOR!" Yaku screamed, already mid-sprint.

Noya screeched, "MILK BREAD IS MY DESTINY!"

Lev: "I CAN DO TWO!!"

All of them launched themselves into chaos. Kuroo looked immensely pleased with himself.

Daichi stared at him. "…Why."

"You said help. You didn’t say what kind of help."

"This is sabotage."

"This is leadership," Kuroo corrected. "It’s called morale boosting. Also, you’re cute when you’re about to burst a blood vessel."

Daichi didn’t even dignify that with a response. He turned back toward the court, lips pressed into a thin line.
Someone (likely Tanaka) was now leading a full-group chant that involved chicken sounds. Suga had disappeared. So had Kenma. Hinata was climbing something he absolutely shouldn't.
Kuroo stepped beside Daichi, hands in his pockets, gaze amused.

"...You're really taking this Captain thing seriously," he said, not teasing for once.

"It’s my job," Daichi replied, tired but grounded. "Someone has to."

"Yeah. Guess so." Kuroo tilted his head. "You always like this?"

"Like what?"

„Responsible."

Daichi turned, half-expecting sarcasm. Instead, Kuroo was just looking at him. Not mocking. Just… studying.

Daichi shrugged. "Karasuno doesn’t run on chaos. Someone has to hold it together."

"That's where we're different." Kuroo grinned again. "Nekoma runs on chaos. You just have to steer the current."

"Like herding cats."

Kuroo nodded solemnly. "Exactly like that."

Daichi sighed and finally allowed a ghost of a smile. "Then I hope you brought a leash."

"Do I look like someone who uses a leash?"

"...You know what? Never mind."

Eventually, Coach Ukai whistled everyone into cleanup, bribing them with the promise of vending machine snacks if they didn’t destroy the entire gym in the process.
As the teams slowly dispersed, sweaty, sore, and loud, Daichi grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. Beside him, Kuroo did the same.

"You know," Kuroo said as they walked toward the doors, "I think we make a pretty good team."

"We’re not a team," Daichi replied.

"Yet," Kuroo said with a wink.

Daichi shook his head. "You're exhausting."

"You’re welcome."

ᨐ

Chapter Text

The sun had long dipped below the horizon by the time the two teams stumbled into a little ramen shop tucked just off the main road. It was the kind of place with too few seats, a menu written in sharpie on laminated sheets, and the steady background hum of slurping and clinking bowls.
Nekomata and Ukai had split off to sit in the corner and pretend they weren’t responsible for this many teenage boys in a public setting.
The rest? Crammed elbow-to-elbow across three tables shoved together like some kind of temporary alliance treaty. The chairs wobbled. The table was sticky. There were already chopsticks on the floor. Perfect conditions for disaster.

Daichi sat at the far end of the center table, finally exhaling as he loosened the collar of his practice jersey. He’d chosen a corner seat, optimal for keeping an eye on everything, minimal likelihood of being elbowed in the ribs. And then Kuroo sat down next to him.

Of course.

Daichi barely turned his head. "Is this your new thing? Following me?"

"Following? I’m just naturally drawn to leadership energy," Kuroo said with a grin. "Also, Kai stole the good seat by the fan. And Lev tried to sit next to Kenma, but Kenma threatened to delete his save file. So here I am."

Daichi muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "karma."

Kuroo, already perusing the laminated menu like it was a treasure map, smirked. "You know, I hear sharing ramen increases trust."

"That’s dogs."

"Oh. So you’re calling me a dog now?"

"No, I’m calling you incorrect."

Before Kuroo could retort, the background erupted.

"NOODLE THIEF!"

"IT WAS ONE NOODLE!!"

Across the table, Hinata and Kageyama were locked in a tense noodle standoff. A strand of ramen dangled precariously between their chopsticks, mid-air, mid-tug-of-war, both sets of eyes burning with mortal offence.

"You reached into MY bowl!" Kageyama barked.

"You were TAKING TOO LONG!" Hinata barked back.

"IT’S MY RAMEN!"

"You don’t OWN noodles, Kageyama!"

"YES I DO, WHEN THEY’RE IN MY BOWL."

"YOU’RE THE WORST BOWL MONARCH EVER!"

Kenma, seated next to them, had his hood up, earbuds in, and was quietly Googling "how to dissolve a body in broth."
Nishinoya and Yaku were trying to out-slurp each other at the far end. It sounded like a vacuum cleaner was being choked out.
Tanaka and Yamamoto were already on their second round of gyoza and were loudly toasting to "the power of eyebrows."
Asahi, poor sweet Asahi, sat in silence between Lev and Suga, visibly praying for invisibility while Lev asked if he could spike meatballs.

Back at his seat, Daichi sighed deeply and turned his eyes back to the menu.

Kuroo, unbothered, leaned closer. "So, what’s your order, Captain Responsibility?"

"Spicy miso."

"Ooh. Bold choice. You gonna cry in your broth or handle the heat like a man?"

"I handle you like a man. I think I’ll survive soup."

Kuroo laughed, low and amused. „Touché."

Their orders arrived quickly, a blur of clattering bowls and shouted thank-yous. The table quieted for about thirty seconds, the sacred Ramen Silence descending as steam curled into the air.

Hinata: "...This egg looks like Kageyama’s head."

Kageyama: "Shut up."

Kenma: "He’s not wrong."

Kuroo snorted, nearly inhaling his noodles.

Daichi took a slow sip of broth. "This was a mistake."

"Dinner?" Kuroo asked.

"Inviting them."

Kuroo grinned. "You’re cute when you’re trying to be angry."

"I’m always angry."

"Exactly."

Daichi gave him a flat look, but it lacked real heat. He was tired. He was sore. And for some reason, Kuroo’s presence, annoying and relentless as it was, didn’t grate the way it should have. Not really.

"...You’re not as exhausting as your team," Daichi admitted after a pause.

"Wow," Kuroo said, touched. "The closest thing to a compliment I’ve ever gotten from you."

"I take it back. You're even more exhausting."

"Too late. It’s mine forever now."

Daichi hid a reluctant smile behind his spoon.
As they ate, Kuroo didn’t press further. He didn’t push the conversation or throw more teasing jabs. Just sat beside him, quiet for once, slurping his ramen and occasionally glancing at the ongoing food war across the table like it was dinner theatre.
Eventually, Daichi let his shoulder relax. Just a little.

Later, as the teams spilled out into the cool evening air, bellies full and voices hoarse from laughing and yelling, Kuroo lingered near the sidewalk with Daichi while the others wrestled for fun.

"You know," Kuroo said, "this was kinda fun."

Daichi raised a brow. "You cause a riot and then call it fun?"

"Exactly. That’s how you know it worked."

Daichi shook his head, but there was no real bite in it anymore.

Kuroo stretched, arms over his head, eyes half-lidded, but a sly smile appeared. "So, when’s our next match?"

"Tomorrow?" Daichi asked, blinking. 

"I’m gonna hold you to that, Smiley Assassin."

"You do and I’ll make you run laps with Kenma."

Kuroo chuckled. "Worth it."

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment as the Karasuno Boys rumbled to life.

Then Kuroo gave a lazy wave. "Night, Sawamura."

"...Night, Kuroo."

And with that, they split; two captains headed back to their separate flocks.

ᨐ

The Karasuno boys’ team had taken over an entire floor of the hostel, six twin-sized bunk beds crammed into a rectangular room that smelled like sweat, ramen seasoning, and teenage bravado. Outside, the night air was cool. Inside? A furnace of energy that refused to wind down.
Daichi sat on the edge of a lower bunk, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he’d been doing it all day (because he had). Across from him, Suga was flossing in the most judgmental way humanly possible.

"You're doing it again," Suga said through his teeth.

"Doing what again?" Daichi muttered.

"The thing. Where your soul leaves your body and your eyes glaze over. Classic Captain Dissociating pose."

Daichi exhaled. "That’s because Tanaka and Nishinoya are trying to do backflips on a mattress, Hinata and Kageyama have been arguing over whose toothbrush touched the counter, and Asahi won’t leave the corner because he thinks he saw a bug."

"Ah yes," Suga said, patting his shoulder. "The thriving ecosystem of Karasuno."

As if on cue:

THUD.

"Ow!"

"Totally worth it!!"

"I said NO BACKFLIPS INDOORS!!" Daichi yelled, already standing.

Suga didn’t move. Just grinned at him in the mirror. "Hey. You’re the one who sat next to Kuroo all night. I think you wanted this mood to carry over."

Daichi froze halfway into stomping across the room.

Then he turned slowly. "…What?"

Suga turned. Smirked. Crossed his arms. "I saw you two. Whispering. Laughing. Sitting close. Very friendly."

"It was dinner."

"Exactly. Dinner," Suga repeated, like it was a sacred word. "You let him sit next to you. Voluntarily. He made you laugh."

Daichi glared. "I did not laugh."

"Your face twitched. That’s laughter in your language."

Daichi picked up a pillow and lightly whacked Suga with it.

"Okay, okay," Suga chuckled. "But I’m just saying… Kuroo?"

"He’s the enemy," Daichi said flatly.

"The enemy who called you ‘cute’ like, twice."

"That was bait. He’s like a raccoon with a captain badge."

"Sounds like someone’s thinking about it too much."

"I’m going to push you off that bunk."

"And I will land gracefully, thank you."

Meanwhile, around the room:

Nishinoya and Tanaka were now trying to stand on each other’s shoulders while chanting "One Mind! One Soul!"
Hinata and Kageyama were still snarling over a tube of mint toothpaste like it was a weapon in a fantasy duel.
Asahi had finally moved from the corner, only to check under every bed with the flashlight on his phone.
Yamaguchi was trying to read a manga under his blanket.
Tsukishima had headphones in and was ignoring all of them like they were background noise in a documentary about primitive life forms.

Daichi turned in a slow circle.

"Okay!" he shouted. "Everyone off the beds unless you're sleeping in them. That means you, Tanaka. You too, Nishinoya. Hinata, pick a toothbrush and commit! Kageyama, stop foaming like a rabid dog! Asahi, there’s no bug, we’re just in a room full of humans!"

"You don’t know that."

Suga finally stood and clapped his hands like a kindergarten teacher.

"Alright, kiddos. Time for lights out. Everyone has five minutes to pee, brush, and wrap up any emotional crises. After that, I’m singing a lullaby whether you like it or not."

"NOOO!"

"YES," Suga grinned. "And it will be a ballad. In D minor. The saddest key."

Five minutes (and three more warnings) later, the lights were finally dimmed. The room slowly settled, though murmurs and giggles still floated in from the top bunks.
Daichi lay back, finally horizontal, and stared at the ceiling. Suga, in the bunk across from him, spoke just loud enough for only him to hear.

"Y’know… just saying… you and Kuroo would make a pretty powerful combo."

Daichi didn’t answer.

"Your strategic mind. His chaotic instinct. You’d balance each other out."

Still nothing.

"…Daichi?"

Daichi rolled over and faced the wall.

"Captain Sleep Mode: Activated," he deadpanned.

Suga snorted into his pillow. "Coward."

"...Goodnight, Suga."

"Goodnight, Denialchi."

ᨐ

Chapter Text

6:00 AM.

The sun had just begun to peek over the treetops. Birds chirped. Dew clung to the grass.
And Daichi already hated everything.
He stood in the gravel courtyard outside the hostel, arms crossed, track jacket zipped halfway, watching his team emerge like the undead.
Hinata was bouncing on his toes, bright-eyed and smiling like a golden retriever.

"Let’s gooooooo! Morning run!! Fresh air! Stamina building! Adventure!!"

Next to him, Kageyama looked like a wet cat that had just been thrown into daylight.

"Stop yelling. It’s too early to exist."

Behind them, Tanaka and Noya were smacking their cheeks like sumo wrestlers, yelling "FIGHTING SPIRIT!" at increasing volumes.

Suga walked out in a matching tracksuit, looking suspiciously well-rested and sipping tea from a thermos.

"Morning, Daichi," he said cheerfully. "Ready for Round Two?"

Daichi gave him a deadpan look.

"I swear to god, Suga. If one of them cartwheels into traffic, I’m resigning on the spot."

Then came Nekoma.
Kai led the pack like an actual functioning adult.
Lev waved with both arms. "GOOD MORNING NEW BEST FRIENDS!"
Kuroo strolled out with a yawn and a smirk, hoodie up, sweatpants dangerously low on his hips like he had exactly zero respect for gravity.
Daichi had no time to emotionally process that.

"Captain Sawamura!" Kuroo called across the group. "You’re glowing this morning. Did my charming company last night keep you up?"

Daichi, perfectly neutral: "You’re going to trip on those pants and I will not help you."

Behind Kuroo, Kenma emerged, slow, hood strings pulled so tight he looked like a human marshmallow with legs.
"I swear if Hinata talks to me I will trip him."

 "KENMA!! WANNA RACE?!"

 "I will commit crimes." Kenma sighed.

Daichi blew his whistle.

"Alright! Everyone pair off, one Nekoma, one Karasuno. We jog the river path. Five kilometres. No detours, no racing, no tackling each other. This is not Mario Kart."

Kuroo raised his hand lazily. "What if it’s metaphorical Mario Kart?"

Daichi didn’t answer that.

Pairs quickly formed:

Hinata + Kenma (Kenma was not quick enough to escape.)
Tanaka + Yamamoto (Their high-five cracked a nearby tree.)
Yaku + Nishinoya (Already hip-checking each other mid-stretch.)
Sugawara + Kai (Polite jogging with light gossip commentary.)
Kageyama + Lev (Height war. Silent tension. Absolutely will trip each other.)
Tsukishima + Inuoka (Tsukishima hated it already and Inuoka just tried to be polite.)
Yamaguchi + Fukunaga (Just giving each other a silent nod.)

And then…

"Guess we’re partners again," Kuroo said, appearing beside Daichi like a shadow with messy hair.

Daichi stared at him. "That wasn’t an invitation."

"But it was fate."

"I believe in fate less every time you talk."

"Then I’ll make you a believer."

"Or I’ll make you run laps."

The river path stretched ahead, early light bouncing off the water.
The air was crisp. The birds sang. So did Lev. "Laaa la laaa- OH NO BUG!"
He screamed and sprinted forward, forcing Kageyama to sprint after him like an angry babysitter.
Tanaka and Yamamoto yelled "BRO ENERGY!!" and began leapfrogging each other, crashing into bushes.
Nishinoya and Yaku were speed-walking, elbow-to-elbow, refusing to break eye contact.
Hinata had somehow picked up Kenma bridal-style. "KENMA YOU’RE SO LIGHT YOU FLOAT!!"
Suga and Kai jogged peacefully, discussing who on their teams would survive in a zombie apocalypse.

That left Daichi. Running alongside Kuroo. Who was humming.

"...Are you singing?"

"Just vibing," Kuroo replied, completely unbothered. "This is peak bonding time, you know."

Daichi increased his pace.
Kuroo matched him.
Daichi glared.

Kuroo smiled, easy and wolfish. "You trying to outrun your feelings?"

"I’m trying to outrun you."

"Oh, you’ll have to try harder than that."

By kilometre three, the group had spread into categories:
The Overachievers: Hinata, Lev, Tanaka, Nishinoya, Inuoka, Yamamoto and Kageyama sprinting, jumping, possibly racing ghosts.
The Sleepwalkers: Kenma, Tsukishima, Asahi, Yamaguchi and Fukunaga barely jogging, muttering curses.
The Captains of Chaos™: Daichi and Kuroo, running side by side, too proud to admit they’re both low-key racing.

"I could keep this pace all morning," Kuroo said, barely winded.

Daichi nodded. „Same."

Beat.

"Your breathing’s uneven," Kuroo added with a grin.

Daichi side-eyed him. "Your face is uneven."

"...Ouch."

By the end of the route, everyone collapsed onto a patch of grass in various states of sweat and regret. Hinata was glowing. Kenma was flat on the earth, whispering "I see the void."
Kageyama had a leaf in his hair. Tsukishima had murdered a gnat mid-run and wouldn’t stop talking about it. Tanaka and Yamamoto were doing push-ups for "recovery."
Yaku and Nishinoya were arguing over who could plank longer.
Asahi was just glad he didn’t die.
Suga looked like he’d jogged to a café and back.
Kai offered everyone a banana.

Daichi stood near a tree, stretching his arms. Kuroo stood beside him, grinning like he hadn’t just run five kilometres with flair and menace.

"Not bad, Sawamura," he said. "You kept up."

"I set the pace."

„Exactly."

Daichi looked over. "Do you ever take things seriously?"

Kuroo turned, mouth twitching. "More often than you think."

There was something in his tone, a little quieter, not quite teasing.
Daichi blinked. Before he could think of a reply, Kuroo was already turning away.

"C’mon, Captain," he called. "We’ve got a team to wrangle. Let’s go herd some cats and crows."

And with that, he jogged back toward the chaos.
Daichi followed.
Maybe fate did have a twisted sense of humour.

ᨐ

The dining hall was bathed in soft morning light, wooden tables creaking under the weight of steaming bowls and clinking utensils.
Karasuno and Nekoma’s squads gathered around the largest table, spread out in a somewhat organized mess.
Daichi sat near one end, quietly spooning miso soup with a practiced calm that somehow kept the chaos at bay, at least for now.
Kuroo slid in beside him, hands behind his head, stretching with that lazy wolf grin that made it impossible not to want to roll your eyes.

"Hungry, Captain?" Kuroo teased, eyes flicking to Daichi’s empty plate.

"Hungry enough to eat, not enough to invite more trouble," Daichi replied dryly, but his voice softened as he glanced at the boy next to him.

Kuroo chuckled. "You know, for someone who seems so responsible, you sure don’t mind having me around."

Daichi glanced at him, lips twitching. "You’re not exactly an improvement to my morning peace."

"Challenge accepted."

As Kuroo reached for a slice of toast, Tanaka suddenly lunged forward.

"LAST SLICE!" he shouted, grabbing it mid-air.

Hinata squealed, "TANAKA NOOOO!"

Kenma just stared at the unfolding madness like it was an unsolvable puzzle.

Kuroo, amused, looked at Daichi. "Want to make a bet on how long that toast survives?"

Daichi shook his head with a small smile. "You’re incorrigible."

Suddenly, Suga appeared with two plates of perfectly balanced breakfast, placing one in front of Daichi and another in front of Kuroo.

"For once, I made enough for both of you," he said, raising an eyebrow. "No fighting."

Daichi and Kuroo exchanged a glance, the kind that said: We’ll see about that.

Hinata and Kageyama were already deep in debate over the optimal way to spread jam.
The morning stretched on with quiet laughter, gentle teasing, and the soft clatter of dishes.
Between bites and glances, Daichi found himself thinking maybe, just maybe, mornings weren’t so bad when Kuroo was around.
But don’t tell Suga that.

ᨐ

The gym buzzed with energy as Karasuno and Nekoma warmed up on opposite sides of the net. The bright overhead lights cast sharp shadows, and the polished wooden floor echoed with the slap of volleyballs and the shuffle of sneakers.
Daichi stood at the centre of Karasuno’s court, eyes sharp and steady. Kuroo lounged nearby on the Nekoma side, stretching casually, that trademark smirk playing on his lips.

"You ready to lose, Sawamura?" Kuroo called out, loud enough for the whole gym to hear.

Daichi met his gaze, unflinching. "Not a chance, Kuroo."

The teams called out final strategies, voices bouncing off the walls. Hinata and Kageyama exchanged quick looks, already bristling with focus. On Nekoma’s side, Kenma looked around, calm and calculating.
The whistle blew.
The match erupted.

The ball soared over the net, slicing the air with electric speed.
Daichi barked commands to Karasuno’s players, adjusting positions, calling out blocks.
Kuroo’s presence was magnetic, every move precise and teasing, forcing Karasuno’s side to push harder.
Hinata’s quick attacks dazzled, but Nekoma’s defence was a solid wall. Inuoka and Yamamoto collided in a chaotic yet effective double block. Nishinoya’s fearless dives drew gasps.
Between rallies, Daichi and Kuroo locked eyes across the net, silent challenges exchanged in every glance.

"Not bad, Sawamura," Kuroo teased after a particularly tough point. "You keep up like this, I might start liking you."

Daichi gritted his teeth, returning serve with fierce precision. "Keep dreaming."

As the match wore on, sweat slicked brows and breaths came in sharp bursts.
The score was tight, neither side giving ground.
Near the end, Coach Ukai called a timeout, gathering Karasuno close.

"Focus on communication. Use your strengths. Hinata, Kageyama, your quick sets. Tanaka, Asahi, cover the wings. Tsukishima, support Daichi on blocks."

Across the net, Kuroo nodded to his team, rallying their spirits.
When the whistle blew to resume, the game exploded with renewed vigour.
At the final set point, the ball soared high.
Hinata leapt, a blazing streak of orange and determination.
Kuroo dove, extending every inch.
The ball hit Daichi’s hands in perfect defence.
With a roar, Karasuno launched the final attack.

Point.

Victory.

Breathless and sweaty, the two captains met at the net, exchanging a nod. No words needed.

Kuroo grinned, eyes shining with respect. "Not bad at all, Sawamura."

Daichi smirked back. "Next time, I’m taking you down again."

"Looking forward to it."

ᨐ

The gym hummed with the slow buzz of post-match chatter and footsteps scraping on polished wood. Karasuno’s team was sprawled across benches and the floor, towels draped over shoulders, catching breaths and sipping water.
Daichi leaned against the net post, stretching out tight muscles while watching his team unwind.
From the other side, Kuroo sauntered over with that familiar wolfish grin, towel slung casually around his neck.

"Congrats on the win," Kuroo said, voice low enough for just Daichi to hear.

Daichi narrowed his eyes but allowed a small smirk. "I told you it’d be close."

Kuroo chuckled. "You kept me entertained, I’ll give you that."

Hinata bounced over, face flushed and beaming. "Captain! Did you see my last spike?!"

Kuroo raised an eyebrow at Daichi. "They really are as loud as you said."

Daichi groaned, rubbing his temple. "You’re welcome."

"Ready to turn up the heat?"

Daichi raised an eyebrow, already wary.

"Let’s just say I brought a little... something extra," Kuroo said, tossing a volleyball between his hands, eyes glinting with challenge.

The room fell quiet. Even the usually loud Hinata seemed to hold his breath.

Suga exchanged a glance with Daichi and shrugged. "Well, you asked for it."

Kuroo’s grin deepened. "How about a captains’ drill? Just you and me, one-on-one. Let’s see who can keep the rally alive longer. No teams, no distractions. Just skill, stamina, and a little pride."

Daichi felt a ripple of surprise. A duel? 

His heart kicked in.

"Fine," he said, voice steady but low. "You want a match? You get one."

Kuroo served first, a smooth, calculated strike that skimmed just over the net.
Daichi responded, eyes sharp, legs ready, moving with precise, practiced ease.
The ball bounced between them in a dizzying rhythm, volleys exchanged with a speed and accuracy that drew awe from everyone watching.

Kuroo’s teasing tone came with every shot. "Is that all you got, Captain?"

Daichi’s glare said it all: "Watch me."

Back and forth, their movements were poetry in motion, Kuroo’s instinctive creativity meeting Daichi’s unyielding discipline.
Sweat gleamed on their brows. Breaths shortened, muscles tightened.
But neither faltered.
The gym seemed to shrink to just the space between them, the volleying ball, and the unspoken challenge that charged the air.

On the fifteenth hit, Kuroo suddenly shifted strategy, sending a lightning-fast cross-court spike that Daichi barely managed to receive.

"Trying to get me off balance?" Daichi asked, chest heaving.

"Always," Kuroo replied with a wink.

Daichi grinned despite himself. "Then let’s see how long you last."

He launched a surprise drop that forced Kuroo to dive forward, barely keeping the ball in play.

The crowd, Karasuno and Nekoma players alike, erupted in cheers and gasps.

When the rally finally ended, after an exhausting twenty-three exchanges, both captains stood, chests rising and falling, sweat dripping but eyes alight.

Daichi offered a hand, firm and steady.

Kuroo took it, squeezing with a grin. "You’re better than I thought, Captain."

Daichi smirked. "Says the guy who just got outplayed."

Kuroo laughed. "Touché."

The rest of the teams clapped, the energy shifting from competitive to camaraderie.

Suga stepped forward. "Now that’s what I call motivation."

Hinata bounded up, breathless. "Can we do that again?! Please?!"

Daichi shook his head with a tired smile. "Maybe next time."

The day stretched on with renewed spirit, the unexpected challenge sparking something new, a fire not just between captains but within both teams.
Kuroo’s teasing had turned into respect, Daichi’s guarded calm showing cracks of something warmer.

ᨐ

Chapter Text

Exhausted but buzzing, both Karasuno and Nekoma teams lined up for the traditional post-practice handshake.
Players from both sides paired up, slapping hands and exchanging nods, smiles, and occasional laughs, friendly gestures sealing a day of hard work and rivalry.

Daichi and Kuroo found themselves face to face.
Without a word, their hands met, firm, strong, gripping like steel.
The rest of the teams fell silent, watching as the two captains began an intense handshake. Fingers tightening, wrists twisting slightly, muscles flexing.
And then: the shake.
Fast. Relentless. Hands moving back and forth in a blur.

Daichi’s eyes locked with Kuroo’s, both silently challenging the other to let go first.

Kuroo’s grin was wide, teeth flashing, eyes gleaming with pure teasing fire.

"You’re strong, Sawamura. But not quite strong enough."

Daichi tightened his grip, a low growl almost vibrating from his chest.

"We’ll see about that, Kuroo."

Hinata bounced beside Daichi, eyes wide. "Whoa! You guys are fighting with your hands!"

Kenma just adjusted his glasses and muttered, "Excessive."

Suga stepped in, raising a hand with mock authority.

"Alright, captains, save some energy yeah?"

Reluctantly, Daichi and Kuroo released their grip, both breathing a little heavier but flashing each other a final smirk of mutual respect.

After saying their goodbyes, the Karasuno team climbed aboard the bus, the tired murmur of conversations filling the air.
Daichi found a seat and sighed deeply as Suga settled in beside him, a sly smile already forming.

"So," Suga began, nudging Daichi lightly, "about your new favourite nemesis Captain Charming over there…"

Daichi groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "He’s infuriating. And somehow impossible to ignore."

Suga chuckled softly. "You know, you’re kind of enjoying it."

Daichi shot him a glare that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Don’t push it."

The bus rumbled to life, tires humming against the road.
Outside, the sun dipped low, casting golden streaks across the sky.
Inside, amidst quiet chuckles and tired stretches, Daichi allowed himself a small, reluctant smile.
Maybe rivalries weren’t so bad.
Not when they came with a little spark of something… unexpected.

ᨐ

Karasuno was home.
The warm, familiar air of Miyagi wrapped around them like a blanket as the team filed back into the gym the next afternoon. The bus ride, the travel haze, the sore muscles, all of it lingered. But so did something else.
Determination.
Ukai stood at the front, arms crossed, a toothpick shifting between his teeth as he surveyed his players. The gym smelled like wood polish and resolve.

"All right," he said, raising his voice just enough to quiet the scattered conversations. "Let’s talk about Nekoma."

That got everyone’s attention.

Hinata, already bouncing on his toes, shot a hand into the air. "They were soooo good!! And Kuroo was super strong and Kenma was, like, scary smart.."

Tsukishima cut in. "You mean he actually used his brain. A wild concept."

"Tsukkiiiiii!"

Ukai raised a hand, silencing them with a look.

"They’re good, yeah. Annoyingly so. But that’s the point. You all saw what they can do, their coordination, their court coverage, their patience."

He paced slowly, eyes scanning the group.

"But I also saw us giving them a hell of a time. The quick sets worked, our defence held up, and most importantly: none of you backed down. That’s what I want to build on."

Suga nodded, calm as ever. "So… we’re gonna figure out how to take them down."

Ukai grinned. "Exactly."

Yamaguchi raised a cautious hand. "Um… how? They read our tempo really fast."

"We work on tempo shifts," Ukai replied, already scribbling notes on the whiteboard. "Unpredictable rotations, variations in receive patterns, and keeping our attackers fluid."

He clicked his marker shut.

"And we’ll do it all during the joint training camp."

A pause.

Hinata blinked. "Wait… what?"

Ukai turned to face them fully. "In four weeks, we’re heading out again. Nekoma’s hosting. And this time… Fukuroudani will be joining us."

There was exactly half a second of silence before..

"WHAAAAAAAAATTTT?!"

Hinata nearly launched into orbit. "THAT’S AMAZING!!! ANOTHER CHANCE! I’M GONNA FLY!"

Kageyama muttered something about not ruining the set just because he was excited.
Nishinoya and Tanaka were already high-fiving like they’d won the lottery.

Tsukishima sighed. "So we’re signing up for even more chaos."

Suga patted his shoulder. "You’ll survive. Barely."

Ukai waited for the excitement to settle. "Use the next few weeks wisely. This is a chance to level up. Nekoma isn’t invincible. And neither is Fukuroudani."

Daichi hadn’t said a word.
Not because he wasn’t listening.
But because his mind was already elsewhere.
He stayed behind as the others filtered out, sweat cooling on his skin as he picked up stray balls and tucked towels back into their bin. His thoughts drifted.

Four weeks.

A whole month to train, refine, push the team harder.
And then…

He’d see Kuroo again.

That smirk. That confidence. The way he somehow managed to provoke and respect him in the same breath. Daichi tightened his grip on a volleyball, just slightly.
He wasn’t entirely sure what it was. This feeling Kuroo left behind like static in his blood. But he knew it wasn’t going away.

"Daichi," Suga’s voice broke his thoughts as he stepped back into the gym, water bottle in hand. "You good?"

Daichi glanced over. "Yeah. Just thinking."

Suga gave him a long look. And then, as he passed by, he added with a small grin:

"One month, huh? Plenty of time to prepare. For volleyball, I mean. Or whatever else you’ve got on your mind."

Daichi rolled his eyes. "It’s volleyball, Suga."

"Sure, sure," Suga said, heading out again. "Just saying, maybe stretch your handshake muscles too."

Daichi groaned softly and tossed a volleyball at his retreating back.

ᨐ

The first week after returning from Tokyo passed in a blur of sneakers on hardwood and the sound of volleyballs smacking into palms.
Karasuno was focused.
Ukai had ramped up the tempo training, tweaking rotations and trying new plays. Suga was working closely with Hinata and Kageyama on altering set rhythms. Tsukishima, begrudgingly, agreed to practice late blocks. Even Asahi was beginning to shift his timing, just slightly. A half-beat slower, a hair earlier… all to throw off defenders used to reading his spikes.

And Daichi?
Daichi trained harder than anyone.
He stayed later. Ran longer. Watched footage of their matches after practice. He scribbled notes in the corners of strategy sheets and called extra morning drills.
But sometimes, just sometimes, his mind wandered.

He’d be in the middle of tossing a ball to Kageyama and suddenly recall the exact sound of Kuroo’s laughter echoing in that other gym.
That lazy grin.
The ridiculous speed of that one cross-court spike.
The way his handshake had felt like a dare.
Daichi would blink, shake it off, and refocus.
But it happened again.
He found himself second-guessing drills because Kuroo would’ve read that feint.
Or adjusting their receive pattern with a thought like, Kenma would break this in two seconds.
And at night, when the gym was quiet and the lights were out and his teammates had already collapsed in their futons or beds, Daichi would lie awake, staring at the ceiling.
Wondering if he was doing the same. Then wondering, why he was wondering about that.

Week Two

"You okay, Daichi?" Suga asked one day as Daichi lingered at the board, arms crossed.

Daichi didn’t answer right away. He was staring at a diagram of their back-row rotation.
Suga waited, patient.

Daichi finally said, "We need to shift this one… a little to the right. If we close the left too hard, someone like Kuroo will hit the soft spot in the middle."

Suga blinked. "Kuroo again?"

Daichi frowned. "It’s just good strategy."

"Mmhmm," Suga hummed.

Daichi turned to glare at him. "What?"

Suga smiled, too innocent. "Oh, nothing. I just think it’s interesting how much real estate one guy can take up in your brain."

Daichi opened his mouth to respond but had absolutely nothing.
Which only made Suga grin wider.

Week Three

By the third week, Hinata was driving everyone insane with his countdown.

"Ten days until the camp! Nine days now! You guys, that’s so soon!"

"Hinata, please," Kageyama groaned as he lay on the floor mid-stretch. "Shut up for five minutes."

"I CAN’T! I’M TOO EXCITED!"

Tanaka and Nishinoya were already planning pranks for the camp’s first night, while Tsukishima threatened to strangle them both with a towel.
And in the middle of it all, Daichi kept training.
But that restless feeling was growing.
He wasn’t sure what was worse, the anticipation of seeing Kuroo again, or the fact that he wanted to. And they hadn’t even exchanged numbers.
No texts. No messages.
Nothing.
Just lingering glances and smirks burned into memory.

Week Four

"Camp’s almost here," Ukai reminded them that Friday evening, tossing his clipboard onto the bench. "Gear bags packed, all permission forms in, and I expect you all to represent Karasuno properly. I don’t care if Nekoma’s technically hosting, we’re going to own that court."

The team whooped in agreement.
Daichi just nodded quietly.
That feeling, the strange tension that lived between the exhaustion and the expectation, was back. Louder now. He hadn’t said it aloud, but he could feel it.
This camp wasn’t just a rematch. It wasn’t just drills and sweat and new plays.
It was Kuroo.
Again.
And this time, it would be for days.
No running. No excuses. No pretending he wasn’t getting under his skin in ways Daichi couldn’t fully name yet. He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose, slow and steady.
Whatever this was…
He’d face it on the court.

ᨐ

The air in the Nekoma gym was always a little stale in the afternoons, too many bodies, not enough windows, too much history in the walls. The wooden floor groaned under familiar weight. Kuroo’s shoes squeaked softly as he paced the edge of the court, arms crossed, chin tilted, eyes sharp. Kenma tossed a ball lazily toward him, missing on purpose.

"You’re thinking too loud again," he said without looking up.

Kuroo blinked, dragged back to earth. "What?"

"You only do that thing with your jaw when you’re overanalysing something."

"I do not"

Kuroo paused. His jaw was tight.
Kenma raised an eyebrow.

Kuroo sighed through his nose. "It’s nothing."

Kenma gave him a long, tired stare. "Karasuno Captain?"

Kuroo flinched so subtly it almost didn’t happen.
Which meant yes.

Kenma just turned and walked away. "Knew it."

Week One

Kuroo kept himself busy.
Tighter drills. More repetitions. Specialised blocking work with Inuoka. Late nights watching game footage, fingers drumming against his thigh every time Karasuno made a clean receive.
Every time he saw Sawamura calling out orders.
Holding the line.
Moving like a force of nature.
Kuroo scowled at the screen.

"Of course he’s that kind of captain," he muttered.
He’d known from their handshake, that ridiculous over-the-top powerplay, that Sawamura Daichi wasn’t going to leave his head quietly.
That annoyed him.
He also… didn’t stop watching.

Week Two

Kuroo showed up early to practice.
Yaku accused him of being sick.

"I’m not sick," he grumbled, tying his shoes tighter. "I just want us to be ready for the camp."

"Teshiro," Yaku said to another player, "he’s being weird."

"Very weird," Kenma added.

Kuroo growled at them both. "I’m motivated, okay?"

"You’re unhinged," Yaku replied.

But Kuroo didn’t deny it.
Because every time he pictured the camp, he saw Karasuno walking through the door and Sawamura at the front of them.
That unreadable expression. That ridiculously calm face.
That captain-ness.

Ugh.

Week Three

He almost asked Kenma if he could ask Hinata for Sawamura's number.
Almost.
Late one night, standing in front of the vending machines outside the gym, watching the city lights flicker off the nearby rooftops.
It had been another long practice. He was sweaty and exhausted and wired from the caffeine of three canned coffees. He stared at the machine like it held answers instead of sports drinks.

"Why didn’t we exchange numbers?" he muttered.

Kenma, who had just wandered out with a melon soda, raised an eyebrow. "Because you were too busy challenging him to an intense alpha handshake?"

"Not helpful."

Kenma took a sip. "Do you want his number?"

Kuroo opened his mouth, shut it again, and grumbled, "That’s not the point."

"Sounds like the point."

Week Four

He dreamed about the match once.
Not like, a romantic dream, gods, no, but one where he was back in that gym, and he and Sawamura were on opposite sides of the net again. And the rest of the teams were frozen like mannequins. Just them. Just the ball. And every time Kuroo spiked, Sawamura was there.

Blocking or receiving. Reading him. Smirking.
It wasn’t even frustrating.
It was… exhilarating.
He woke up sweaty and annoyed.

Now, standing at the edge of another afternoon practice, Kuroo watched his team warming up. The camp was days away.
He stretched his arms behind his head, grinning lazily to himself.
He wasn’t nervous.
He was looking forward to it.
Too much, probably.
But if Sawamura thought he was going to show up and play cool, well..
Kuroo cracked his knuckles.
He couldn’t wait to mess with him.
In the most infuriating, smug, slightly-too-close kind of way.
After all…
He still owed him for that handshake.

ᨐ

Chapter Text

The bus ride from Miyagi to Tokyo was loud.
Not "rowdy" loud.
Not even "Nishinoya-and-Tanaka-are-singing-again" loud.
It was Hinata loud.

"I CAN’T BELIEVE WE’RE DOING THIS AGAIN!!"

"Hinata."

"WE’RE GONNA TRAIN WITH NEKOMA!!!"

"Hinata, please."

"AND FUKUROUDANI!! THE FUKUROUDANI!!!!!!"

Kageyama leaned across the aisle with murder in his eyes. "Shut. Up."

But Hinata, vibrating in his seat, simply grinned with the unshakable power of a boy whose dreams were about to come true. His excitement bounced off the walls of the bus, echoing through the nerves and amusement of his teammates.
Daichi, sitting up front with Suga as usual, pinched the bridge of his nose.

"We’re not even there yet," he muttered.

Suga smiled. "He’s just expressing enthusiasm."

"He’s screaming enthusiasm."

Suga leaned closer. "You nervous?"

Daichi glanced at him. "About the camp?"

"No," Suga said, eyes glittering. "About him."

Daichi didn’t reply.

As Karasuno filed off the bus, the late morning air was already warm with summer.
Hinata burst out first.

"WE’RE HEEEERE!"

He spun in a circle so fast his bag flung off one shoulder. His feet moved in every direction. 

Then...

"Oh no"

He turned pale. Stopped moving.
And, in front of the stunned group, he hunched over and vomited into the grass.
Everyone froze.

Suga’s hand flew to his mouth. "Oh my god."

Kageyama didn’t even blink. "I told you not to eat three onigiri and a banana."

Tanaka whispered to Nishinoya, "Is he dying?"

Daichi sighed, rubbed his temples, and calmly walked over.

"Hinata. You good?"

Hinata looked up weakly and gave a thumbs up. "I'm FINE! Let’s goooooo!"

He then immediately ran toward the gym.

Suga grinned. "Told you. Indestructible."

The coaches began sorting rooms while the team set their bags down along the wall, gazing around the massive gym in awe.
Daichi stretched out his shoulders, scanning the space.

"Alright. Let’s stay focused. Warm-ups in thirty. We’ll get court time as soon as we’re cleared."

Suga bumped his shoulder gently. "You’re allowed to smile, you know."

"I am smiling."

"That’s your ‘murder the opponent’ face. Or should I say.. Smiley Assassin?"

Daichi rolled his eyes, but only just.. when..
The gym doors slammed open. Just like last time.
Nekoma entered like a slow-motion movie shot: red tracksuits, duffle bags over shoulders, Kenma already glued to his phone.
And at the front:

Kuroo.

Grinning like he owned the building. Which he did, kinda.

"Oiiii Karasunoo," he called. "Fancy seeing you here."

Daichi’s spine straightened.
Kuroo’s eyes found him instantly.
The air between them pulled tight like a wire.

"Ready to lose again, Sawamura?"

Daichi crossed his arms. "That’s funny. I was about to ask you that."

Behind them, Tanaka and Nishinoya whispered, "They’re doing the thing again."

Kenma sighed and walked off toward a corner.

Suga leaned toward Daichi. "Good to see your boyfriend made it safely."

Daichi muttered, "He is not"

But the doors burst open again.
This time, it wasn’t calm.
It was chaos.

"HELLOOOOO TRAINING CAMP!!!"

Bokuto shouted before he’d even stepped fully into the gym.
He tripped over his own bag, caught himself, and fist-pumped.

"Did you miss me?! I missed ME!"

Hinata, halfway through a warm-up stretch, froze. Slowly, dramatically, he turned.

Kuroo groaned. "Oh no."

The two locked eyes across the gym.
Stars formed.
The world tilted.
And then-

"YOU’RE BOKUTO-SAN!!"

"YOU’RE LITTLE GIANT V2!!!"

Hinata launched across the gym, leaping into a mid-air chest bump with the Fukuroudani captain.
They collided and collapsed into a heap of shouting and laughter.
Kageyama stood very still.

"…I don’t like this."

Akaashi, walking in behind them, already looked exhausted. "This will be a long camp."

As teams spilled in, chaos erupted.
Yaku and Nishinoya were already bickering about receive form.
Tanaka and Yamamoto started doing push-ups on the court for no reason. As always.
Hinata was following Bokuto like an excited puppy.
Daichi watched it unfold with a growing sense of dread.
He turned… and found Kuroo standing right beside him, far too close.

"You missed this, didn’t you?" Kuroo purred, gaze focused on the chaos.

"I miss peace," Daichi replied.

Kuroo leaned in slightly, voice low. "You’re lucky I’m here then. Gotta keep you on your toes."

Daichi gave him a sidelong glance. "I’m always on my toes when you’re around."

They stared for a beat too long.

Suga, walking by, fake-coughed loudly. "Tension. Tension in the air."

Daichi ignored him.
Kuroo didn’t.
He just grinned.
And Daichi wasn’t sure if he wanted to punch him… or smile back.

ᨐ

It began the moment Ukai blew the whistle.

"Joint warm-ups!" he barked. "Two lines, mix the teams!"

Reasonable. Logical. The start of any solid training session.
What followed was not reasonable.
Or logical.
Or in any way normal.

They were only twelve minutes in.

"WOOO!!! FUKURODANI X NEKOMA COLLAB BABY!!"

Bokuto whooped, flinging an arm over Kuroo’s shoulder like they were frontmen in a rock band.

"We’re gonna BREAK the rotation with our energy," Kuroo declared, spinning the volleyball on his finger like he was auditioning for the circus.

"LET’S DO TEN SPIKES EACH!" Bokuto yelled.

"Fifteen," Kuroo challenged.

"I LOVE YOU."

"Focus, Bokuto," Akaashi said, walking by like a tired single dad. "Please."

Meanwhile, on the other side of the gym:

"LOOK AT MY MUSCLES," Tanaka shouted, flexing aggressively at Yamamoto.

"I WILL MATCH THEM," Yamamoto roared back, rolling up his sleeves and almost tearing his shirt in the process.

Nishinoya and Yaku were both doing one-handed handstands for no reason at all, and Kenma had wandered off entirely.

"I don’t think this is part of the plan," Suga whispered to Daichi as they watched Hinata vault off Bokuto’s back to touch the ceiling.

Daichi didn’t answer.
He was standing in the middle of the gym, motionless, volleyball in hand, jaw clenched, staring into the void like a man who had seen too much.

Ukai shouted from the sidelines. "SAWAMURA. PLEASE. WRANGLE YOUR CHILDREN."

Daichi blinked slowly. "They’re not my children. They’re demons in human form."

"You’re their dad." Suga chuckled. 

"I DIDN’T SIGN THE ADOPTION PAPERS."

Finally, somehow, they got into proper drills. Teams were shuffled, and players rotated through six-on-six scrimmages with mixed lineups.
The pace was blistering.
Kageyama was already murdering sets with sniper accuracy.
Bokuto and Hinata turned every ball into a competition of who could jump higher.
Yaku started shouting at Nishinoya for "insulting receive fundamentals."
Tanaka and Yamamoto tried synchronised spikes.
Kenma muttered something about moving into the forest and never coming back.
And at the center of it all..

Kuroo.

"I’ll block left, Captain," he said to Daichi as they lined up on the same side for one of the mixed matches. "Unless you’d prefer I just carry the team?"

Daichi exhaled slowly through his nose. "If you keep talking, I’ll block you."

Kuroo grinned. "That’s the spirit."

The whistle blew.
Play started.
And somehow, somehow, the gym got even louder.

Half an hour later, Daichi stood at the back of the court, panting, sweat dripping down his face.
He wasn’t out of shape. Not by a long shot.
But this?
This was psychological warfare with knee pads.

Bokuto had started screaming compliments at everyone.

"KARASUNO’S RECEIVES ARE SO PASSIONATE!"

"TSUKKI! YOU'RE SO TALL AND ELEGANT!!"

"Kuroo, YOUR BLOCKS ARE LOOKING SO SHARP TODAY!!"

Kuroo, naturally, accepted this with open arms. "Thanks, bro! You’re soaring like a majestic owl!"

Daichi watched the two captains slap hands mid-air while blocking together and almost walked out of the gym.

Suga approached him during water break, handing over a bottle. "You look like a man on the edge."

"I am," Daichi said, staring at nothing.

"Just remember…" Suga patted his back. "You’ve only got four more days of this."

Daichi didn’t respond.
He took a slow, solemn sip of water.

Eventually, mercifully, Ukai and the other coaches called time.
Sweaty and spent, the players collapsed in groups. Some flat on their backs. Others leaning against walls or friends. Bokuto flopped on the floor like a starfish and yelled, "BEST. DAY. EVER."
Kuroo made his way toward Daichi, towel around his neck, still smiling.

"Nice court leadership today," he said casually.

Daichi narrowed his eyes. "You unleashed volleyball Armageddon."

Kuroo winked. "Gotta keep things interesting."

"You nearly got spiked in the face by Bokuto twice."

Kuroo shrugged. "Worth it."

They locked eyes.

Somewhere in the background, Hinata screamed, "TWO MORE SETS, KAGEYAMA!"

Daichi sighed. "I need a nap."

"You need to relax," Kuroo said, grinning like a devil in a tracksuit. "Come on, Captain. Don’t tell me you’re not having fun."

And Daichi, exhausted, sore, and absolutely surrounded by chaos, glared at him.

Then, reluctantly, the corner of his mouth twitched.

"…Maybe a little."

Kuroo’s grin widened like he’d just won the match.

ᨐ

After all that intense training, the evening meal of madness followed, fuelling the fire.
The cafeteria smelled like rice, fried food, and doom.
There were long tables set up in three rows, buffet-style dinner ready and waiting: massive pots of curry, trays of karaage, grilled fish, miso soup, rice buckets the size of Tanaka’s ego, and more pickled vegetables than anyone had asked for.

"FOOOOOOD!!" Bokuto yelled the moment they entered. "I’M GONNA GROW TEN INCHES TALLER TONIGHT."

"You’re already loud and tall enough," Yaku grumbled.

"You’re just saying that because you’re fun-sized," Nishinoya chirped.

"I’M FIVE FOOT FIVE, YOU SPIKEY GREMLIN"

Ukai pinched the bridge of his nose again. "God help us all."

Somehow, the seating plan was "sit where you don’t cause a fight." Which was a flawed strategy.
Kenma, wisely, sat in the corner with a bowl of plain rice and a book.
Kageyama and Akaashi ended up across from each other, silent, serious, and terrifyingly focused on protein intake.
Hinata and Bokuto were already fighting over the last karaage chunk like it was a championship point.
Tanaka and Yamamoto made a mutual decision to become wingmen for life, high-fiving every time one of them made a particularly dramatic food-related statement.

"I would DIE for curry this spicy," Yamamoto declared.

"YOUR SPICE TOLERANCE INSPIRES ME," Tanaka shouted back.

Tsukishima, three seats away, whispered to Yamaguchi, "I’m surrounded by morons."
Yamaguchi just smiled and passed him the salt.

Daichi found himself seated at the far table with Suga, Kai, Asahi, and of course Kuroo, who slid into the seat next to him like it was his destiny.

"Dinner and a show," Kuroo mused, glancing toward Bokuto and Hinata now fake-wrestling with chopsticks.

Daichi didn’t even look. "If they start throwing food, I’m ending the entire camp."

"Aw, come on," Kuroo said, resting his chin on his hand as he watched Daichi with that ever-present smirk. "Don’t tell me this isn’t the highlight of your volleyball year."

Daichi side-eyed him. "You’re enjoying this way too much."

"You’re just mad I’m sitting next to you."

"You’re correct."

Suga, across the table, coughed gently. "You two have such charming chemistry."

Daichi kicked him under the table.

Kuroo laughed, reaching for another helping of curry. "So uptight, Sawamura. Relax. We’ve got almost a whole week together."

"Unfortunate."

"Exciting," Kuroo countered.

Suga grinned. "This is better than dessert."

After the mess that was dinner (and a near incident involving Bokuto attempting to chug miso soup), the teams were ushered to their rooms.
Karasuno had been assigned a smaller room: two rows of futons, open windows letting in the summer breeze, the sound of distant cicadas humming through the dark.
Everyone settled in slowly. There was light chatter, stretches, tired groans. Hinata was out like a light the moment his head hit the pillow, mumbling something about "jumping to the moon."

Suga sat beside Daichi, giving him a very intense look. "So."

"No."

"You don’t even know what I was going to say."

"You were going to say something about Kuroo."

"I was," Suga said, amused. "Just checking in. You seem... shaken."

Daichi laid back against his pillow, staring at the ceiling. "It’s not him. It’s all of it. This camp is going to kill me."

Suga tilted his head. "You sure it’s not because every time he’s near, your neck does that stiff captain thing and you forget how to blink?"

Daichi threw a towel at his face.

Later, when the room was quiet, save for Nishinoya’s weird sleep mumbling and Tanaka whispering "push-ups tomorrow…" in his dreams, Daichi stepped out into the hallway for some air.
The corridor was dim, windows open, the floorboards cool under his feet. He leaned against the wall near the staircase, exhaling slowly...

"Couldn’t sleep either?"
Kuroo’s voice.

Of course.
Daichi looked to the side, and there he was, leaning casually against the doorframe of another room, towel over his shoulders, hair messier than usual.

Daichi didn’t move. "…What are you doing?"

"Breathing," Kuroo said, stepping closer.

"Go breathe somewhere else."

Kuroo smirked. "Wow. Romance isn’t dead after all."

Daichi sighed. "It’s too late for this."

"Too early for this," Kuroo corrected. "Training starts at seven. We’ll be in hell again by then."
They stood there, a few feet apart, silence falling between them like a net mid-match.

"You really are something," Kuroo said, quieter now.

Daichi blinked. "What?"

Kuroo shrugged, eyes sharp in the low light. "You keep it together. Even when your entire team is on fire."

Daichi watched him for a long beat. "…It’s exhausting."

Kuroo laughed, softer this time. "You make it look easy."

It wasn’t a flirt. It wasn’t a tease.
Just… honest.
And it hit Daichi in a way he hadn’t expected.

"…Thanks."

Kuroo stretched, yawned, and backed up toward his room.

"See you on the court tomorrow, Captain."

And then he was gone.
Daichi stood there a little longer, heart beating too loudly, unsure why that meant anything at all.

ᨐ

The Nekoma room was quiet, or, as quiet as a room full of volleyball players could get.
Shoes were off. Futons unrolled. A few guys had already passed out, limbs flung across blankets like casualties of war. Someone (probably Fukunaga) was snoring faintly.
Kuroo lay on his back, hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. The light from the hallway peeked in from the crack under the door. The cicadas outside were buzzing a little louder now that the world had slowed down.
Across the room, Kenma’s Nintendo Switch clicked quietly.
Kuroo sighed through his nose. "Kenma."

"Hm?"

"Why are you still awake?"

"I’m on a raid."

"…It’s 1AM."

"Your fault. You guys took forever at dinner."

Kuroo grinned faintly to himself. "That wasn’t me. That was Bokuto."

Kenma made a small noise of disapproval. "You encouraged him."

"I encourage everyone. I’m a good captain."

"Debatable," Kenma muttered. More clicks.

There was silence for a while.

Kuroo closed his eyes, letting himself drift..

"Did you talk to him?"

Kuroo’s eyes opened again.

"…Talk to who."

Kenma didn’t even look up from his screen. "You know who."

"…There are a lot of hims in the world."

Kenma paused his game.

Looked up.

Stared straight at him with that sleepy but cutting gaze.

"Kuroo."

Kuroo groaned and threw an arm over his eyes. "He’s just a rival, Kenma."

Kenma blinked once. "So no."

"I mean, we talked," Kuroo muttered. "Barely. A little bit. Sort of."

Kenma tilted his head. "You stood in a hallway alone with him for four minutes and came back weird."

Kuroo peered at him from under his arm. "You timed it?"

"I track weird things when I’m bored."

"…That’s terrifying."

Kenma unpaused his game. "You like him."

Kuroo’s breath caught.

"What?"

"You like him," Kenma said again, totally unbothered. "Sawamura. Captain Dad. Whatever his name is."

"I do not"

"You do."

"I literally- Kenma, come on"

Kenma set the Switch down and rolled onto his side to stare at him directly now. "You get that look every time you talk about him. Like you’re mad at how much you respect him. And you keep bringing him up. And you keep looking for him in the gym like a stalker hawk."

Kuroo sat up, glaring. "That is not-"

"Also, you tried to beat him at dinner," Kenma continued, "and then stared into the hallway for twenty seconds like a sad golden retriever until you followed him out."

Kuroo opened his mouth.

Closed it.

"…He’s interesting," he said finally, quieter. "That’s all."

Kenma raised one unimpressed eyebrow.

Kuroo shifted awkwardly. "He’s..he’s composed. And grounded. And serious. But also? Kind of terrifying. Like he’s always in control."

Kenma blinked. "You do like him."

"I respect him," Kuroo corrected.

"You like him," Kenma said again, slowly, like explaining basic addition to a very dumb child.

Kuroo flopped back onto his futon with a groan.

Kenma smirked and went back to his game.

"I hate you," Kuroo said into his pillow.

"No you don’t."

"I hate this."

"No you don’t."

Kuroo sighed dramatically. "Why does this feel like a rom-com?"

"Because you’re the dumb one who doesn’t realise he’s the main character."

Kuroo threw a sock at him.

Kenma didn’t even flinch.

ᨐ

Chapter Text

The second day of the training camp began with noise.

Thick, early sunlight spilled in through the windows of Karasuno’s shared room, dragging golden stripes across sleeping faces and futons. Someone had already left the window cracked; cicadas buzzed, birds chirped, and someone’s alarm, Kageyama’s, probably, was going off at an ungodly volume.
Daichi cracked one eye open.
Regret.
His body was sore in ways he didn’t have words for. His shoulders ached. His knees throbbed. His spine felt like someone had stuffed it into a ball cart and rolled it down a mountain.
he was feeling somewhat old.

"Morning, sunshine," Suga whispered from beside him, already sitting up, combing his hair with his fingers. "Sleep okay?"

Daichi made a low noise.

"Dreamt about him?"

Daichi threw a pillow.

By the time they shuffled down to the dining hall, chaos had already begun to brew.
Bokuto was singing again, a deep, dramatic rendition of what might’ve been a love song to miso soup.
Hinata harmonised enthusiastically, despite having a toothbrush still in his mouth.
Nishinoya and Yaku were arguing about footwork while carrying trays of rice.
Kenma sat hunched at the end of the table with earbuds in, radiating quiet despair.
Of course, Kuroo was already seated, coffee in hand, legs stretched out like he owned the place. Daichi spotted him immediately.
And Kuroo saw him too, smiled, slow and sharp, like they were about to spar in a dojo instead of play volleyball.

"Oiiii Sawamuraaa," he called across the room, voice silky with morning mischief. "You look like you slept in your kneepads."

Tanaka choked on his tea.

Suga grinned wide. "He’s not wrong."

Daichi sat down without responding.

But his jaw ticked.

ᨐ

The teams rotated through warm-ups quickly. There was no room for laziness, not at this camp.
Drills were sharper. Movements more aggressive. The first few touches of the ball were thunderous, each team itching to prove something after the chaos of the previous day.
But for Daichi, it was different now.
He’d slept like garbage. His muscles were tight. But the pressure in his chest wasn’t soreness, it was tension.

Kuroo.

Just existing across the gym like a tall, smug headache in red.
Taunting without even opening his mouth. Blocking like he was built out of steel beams. And worst of all? Calm. Effortless. He had the nerve to look relaxed.
During a blocking drill, Daichi caught him staring from across the court, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.

"What," Daichi snapped between sets.

Kuroo tilted his head. "Nothing. Just admiring the posture. Very… firm. Captain-y."

Daichi narrowed his eyes. "Don’t start."

"Too late," Kuroo said, smiling.

Things escalated fast.
A mixed scrimmage started: Karasuno and Nekoma shuffled between lineups, intensity dialled up. Every spike turned into a challenge. Every serve became a statement.
On one rotation, Kuroo ended up directly across from Daichi.

"Long time no see," Kuroo said under the net.

"It’s been fifteen minutes," Daichi replied flatly.

"You missed me."

The whistle blew before Daichi could respond. Play began.
And something shifted.
Daichi moved differently now, faster, sharper. His blocks weren’t just reactive, they were commanding. He read Kuroo’s body like a playbook. Cut off attacks. Called plays with steel in his voice. Stepped into spikes with more power than usual, like he had something to prove.

Kuroo noticed.
And loved it.
He started baiting him: tipping instead of spiking, dropping fake calls across the net, brushing too close on passes, whispering things like "you’ll have to jump higher than that, Captain."
At one point, they collided at the net, an awkward scramble save gone wrong. Both hit the floor, limbs tangled.
Daichi grunted, pushing himself up.

Kuroo, grinning beneath him, said, "I knew we’d end up on top of each other eventually."

Daichi stared at him, visibly unamused.

Suga yelled from the back line, "You two wanna get a room or"

"WE’RE PLAYING A GAME," Daichi roared, red to his ears.

When they paused for hydration, Daichi stood to the side, wiping his face with a towel, trying to slow his pulse.

Suga sidled up. "You good?"

"I’m fine."

"You’re very red."

"I’m hot."

"From volleyball, or from feelings?"

Daichi did not dignify that with a response.

Meanwhile, across the gym, Kuroo leaned down next to Kenma, smirking as he chugged water.

Kenma glanced at him. "You’re being extra annoying today."

"I’m being strategic," Kuroo said.

"You’re flirting."

"Am not."

Kenma raised one unimpressed eyebrow. "Your block timing’s sloppy. Your jokes are worse. Just ask him out and spare us."

Kuroo chuckled low in his throat. "Where’s the fun in that?"

Kenma sighed. "I hope he spikes you in the face."

By the end of the morning session, sweat clung to every corner of Daichi’s body. His lungs burned. His shoulders ached.
He’d won a few volleys against Kuroo that felt like personal victories. Clean reads. Smarter receives. Iron-tight blocks.
When the whistle blew, the gym fell quiet, just for a second.
Kuroo approached as they stretched.

"Solid form today, Sawamura," he said lightly, tossing a towel over his shoulder.

Daichi looked up at him, breathing slow. "Try harder," he replied.

Kuroo paused. Then smiled, wide and crooked and delighted.

"There he is."

ᨐ

Lunch break came. Or maybe you should rather call it a breakdown.

The cafeteria was loud.
Louder than breakfast somehow, despite everyone having already trained for four hours and being covered in sweat and regret.
Someone had opened the windows, letting the heat and humidity roll in. The air was thick with steam from hot rice and freshly grilled meat. Chopsticks clattered, trays scraped, and the ever-growing chorus of high school boy hunger filled the room like a swarm of volleyball-obsessed cicadas.
Daichi was exhausted.
He sat stiffly at a table near the back with Suga and Asahi, trying to stretch his shoulder without wincing. The tray in front of him was full, grilled fish, rice, pickled radish, miso soup, but he’d only taken one bite.
Across from him, Suga was eating like it was a polite competition. Asahi, on the other hand, looked like he was one loud noise away from a breakdown.

"Are you okay?" Daichi asked.

Asahi didn’t move. He just muttered, "I can hear Bokuto chewing from here."

Suga leaned over. "Focus on the soup."

"I’m trying," Asahi whispered, clutching his chopsticks like a lifeline. "But Bokuto keeps making eye contact while yelling about chest sets."

"AKAASHI. AKAASHI, LOOK."

Bokuto slammed his tray down with the force of a meteor and proudly held up two rice balls stacked on top of each other.

"I made a tower!"

"That’s not a tower," Kuroo said from beside him, poking the structure. "That’s a culinary tragedy."

"I THINK IT’S ART."

Akaashi, mid-bite, closed his eyes.

Inhaled. Counted to three.

"Bokuto-san," he said calmly, "please don’t use the cafeteria food to build monuments."

"But it’s a training camp! I’m building morale!"

"Morale would improve if you sat down quietly and ate like a human being."

Kuroo laughed. "I’ve never seen him this close to murder. It’s beautiful."

"I’m fine," Akaashi said, not fine.

Bokuto dramatically wilted into his chair. "No one appreciates my creativity."

"You’re an athlete," Akaashi said through his teeth. "Not an architect."

Further down the table, Hinata shoved a bite of rice into his mouth and bounced in his seat.

"Eat faster, dumbass!"

"I’m eating at a normal speed!" Kageyama snapped, his tray still mostly untouched. "Stop talking while chewing!"

"But I have to talk about the last play, your set was, like, a little high and I could’ve gotten more airtime if-"

"It was perfect."

"It was close to perfect."

"It was perfect."

"Okay, setter god, calm down," Hinata chirped.

Kageyama looked like he was developing stress wrinkles.

Yamaguchi leaned toward Tsukishima. "Do you think Kageyama’s gonna pop a blood vessel before dinner?"

"I hope so," Tsukishima replied, sipping his tea.

Suga was openly watching the chaos now, chewing slowly.

"This is better than Netflix."

Asahi sat frozen, gaze unfocused.

Daichi?

He was doing his best to not look at the table across from them. Specifically, the one where Kuroo sat with Bokuto and Kenma, hair damp from practice, laughing over something Bokuto said while casually eating like he wasn’t a menace to society.
It was… weirdly disarming. Kuroo, in a non-captain context.
Shirt clinging to his shoulders from sweat. Lazy grin still sharp. And, worse, eyes that occasionally drifted toward Daichi’s side of the room with just a little too much focus.
Daichi stiffened. Suga absolutely noticed.

He leaned closer, voice low. "You’re staring."

"I’m not"

"You were," Suga said. "And I quote: shirt clinging to his shoulders."

"I didn’t say that out loud!"

"You thought it very loud."

Daichi went silent.
Suga hummed, far too pleased.

Asahi glanced between them. "Did I miss something?"

"Yes," Suga said.

"No," Daichi muttered.

Suga just sipped his miso, victorious.

Lunch ended, trays were stacked, and cleanup began.
Daichi volunteered for trash duty just to avoid further teasing. He carried a heavy bag of discarded rice and paper bowls out to the back dumpster, grateful for the quiet.
But of course.
He wasn’t alone for long.

"Taking out the trash?" Kuroo’s voice behind him.

Daichi turned.

Kuroo leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smiling like he’d been waiting.

"I like a man who does his own dirty work."

Daichi sighed. "Do you ever turn it off?"

Kuroo stepped closer. "You say that like you don’t love it."

"I don’t."

Kuroo gave him a once-over. "You’re sweating."

"We just trained for four hours."

"Still looks good on you."

Daichi stared, utterly blank.

Kuroo tilted his head. "Should I stop?"

"…Yes."

Kuroo smiled. "You said that very unconvincingly."

Before Daichi could come up with a response that didn’t involve tossing the trash bag at him, Ukai called from inside.

"Break’s over in five! Let’s go!"

Kuroo straightened. "Duty calls, Captain."

He turned to walk off, tossing over his shoulder, "Try not to miss me during drills."

Daichi stood there, trash bag in hand, pride in shreds.

He muttered to himself, "I need a stronger constitution."

ᨐ

The gym buzzed with tension and the sharp echoes of volleyball slapping against palms and floors. Karasuno was locked in its third full match of the day, this time against Fukuroudani, whose players moved with the precision and power of a well-oiled machine. Nekoma was warming up in the corner, already dominating their own match, casting sharp glances across the court.
From the start, Fukuroudani made it clear: Karasuno’s defence was going to be tested like never before. Bokuto’s spikes flew fast and fierce, each one a challenge to Karasuno’s blocks and receives.
Daichi crouched low, eyes narrowing as he tracked Bokuto’s wind-up. The ball came like a rocket, and Daichi dove, fingertips barely grazing the ball before it scraped past him. The point went to Fukuroudani.

Kageyama called out, voice tight, "Keep focus! Reset!"
But Fukuroudani’s coordination was ruthless. Karasuno scrambled, diving for impossible passes, but time and again, the ball landed out of reach.

From across the gym, Kuroo leaned against the wall, arms crossed and a slow, sly smile playing on his lips. His gaze flicked to Daichi every few moments, eyes sharp, calculating.
At one point, Kuroo’s gaze locked with Daichi’s for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Daichi caught it and stiffened.

"Keep your head in the game, Sawamura," Kuroo’s voice echoed faintly, as if daring him to respond.

The scoreboard was merciless. Karasuno lost the match 25-14.
Ukai’s voice rang out, "Alright! You know the drill, receiving dives for everyone!"
Daichi exhaled sharply, already resigned.
As they dropped to the floor in unison, sliding and stretching their arms out to catch the impossible serves, Bokuto and Kuroo stood at the sidelines, smirking like they were watching a particularly entertaining show.

Next match, Nekoma.
The Nekoma players moved with uncanny synchronicity, the legendary "defence-first" strategy on full display. Kuroo commanded the net with ferocious intensity, while Kenma’s calm, precise sets sliced through Karasuno’s defence.
Hinata’s jumps were higher than ever, but even his fiery energy wasn’t enough to break through the Nekoma wall. Daichi stood firm, directing blocks, but Kuroo kept testing his limits, sending spikes just out of reach or feinting until Daichi bit.

"Nice try, Captain," Kuroo murmured once, his eyes glinting as their gazes met across the net.

"Don’t get cocky," Daichi fired back, breath heavy.

The match was brutal, Karasuno fought fiercely but lost 25-16.
Again, the receiving dives.
This time, Kuroo lingered at the sidelines, watching Daichi’s every move with that subtle, knowing smile, like he was savouring the challenge as much as the victory.

By the time practice wrapped up, limbs shook with exhaustion, sweat poured like rivers, and muscles screamed in protest.
But Karasuno’s spirit was intact.
Daichi stood, drenched, catching his breath, and somewhere in the corner of his eye, he caught Kuroo’s figure, relaxed but watching, waiting.
The gym was quieting down now. The echo of the last whistle had faded, replaced by the soft shuffle of tired feet and the occasional grunt of muscles begging for rest.
Karasuno’s players leaned against walls, sat on the floor, or sprawled across benches, every one of them breathing heavy, chests rising and falling like slow drums. Sweat dripped from foreheads, shirts clung to backs, and the stench of pure effort hung in the humid air.
Daichi wiped his face with the back of his hand, shoulders sagging just a little. Suga was beside him, towel slung lazily over his neck, sipping from a water bottle.

"That was brutal," Suga said softly, eyes half-lidded.

"Worth it," Daichi replied, voice hoarse.

Across the gym, Kuroo stretched with his trademark lazy grin. His gaze slid over to Karasuno’s corner, catching Daichi mid-breath. A slow smirk spread on his lips.

"Captain Sawamura looks like he’s been through the wringer," Kuroo called out, voice smooth and teasing. Daichi shot him a tired glare. "You’re one to talk. Didn’t see you breaking a sweat."

"Oh, I don’t break a sweat. I break people," Kuroo quipped.

Bokuto, who’d been chuckling nearby with Kenma, suddenly jumped in with a wide grin. "Hey! Don’t forget who’s the ace of Fukuroudani! You sure you’re not just jealous, Kuroo?"

Kuroo glanced at him, mock-serious. "Jealous? Please. I’m just admiring the spectacle. You’re like a one-man tornado, loud, messy, but impossible to ignore."

Bokuto puffed his chest. "Yeah! That’s right! You wish you had my energy."

"Maybe," Kuroo said, arching an eyebrow. "But I prefer style over noise."

Bokuto stuck out his tongue. "Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that."

Kenma rolled his eyes, earbuds still in. "I prefer silence over both."

The group laughed softly, a much-needed release after the tension of the matches.

Daichi, catching his breath, managed a small smile. "Alright, enough teasing. Tomorrow, we go again."

Kuroo’s grin sharpened. "Looking forward to it. I like watching you try to keep up."

Daichi shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching. "You’re impossible."

"And you like it."

ᨐ

Chapter Text

The gym lights cast long shadows as the main players filtered out, muscles still humming with the day’s exertion. Most were ready to call it quits, but a handful stayed behind, because for them, training didn’t stop when the sun went down. Kuroo leaned against the wall near the door, eyes scanning the exit as if waiting for someone. When Daichi approached, wiping sweat from his brow, Kuroo’s grin widened.

"Well, Captain Sawamura. Care to join us for some late-night drills? Fukuroudani and Nekoma aren’t exactly known for calling it early."

Daichi hesitated, fatigue weighing on him, but something in Kuroo’s sly expression was hard to refuse.

"Sure," Daichi said, dropping his bag by the bench. "Let’s see what you’ve got."

Just then, a loud squeal shattered the relative calm.

"Wait! I want in! I want in! Please!" Hinata’s wide eyes and frantic hand-waving made it clear: he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Kageyama emerged from the shadows, rubbing his temples. "Hinata, it’s late."

"Exactly! We need more practice!" Hinata insisted, bouncing on his toes. "Plus, Kuroo invited Daichi-san, so"

Kuroo smirked, watching the exchange. "Looks like you’re in, Hinata."

Kageyama sighed but followed, because when Kuroo says jump, you jump.

Across the court, Bokuto and Akaashi were already warming up. Bokuto waved energetically at Hinata. "Hey! The more the merrier! Let’s see what you’ve got, small fry!"

Hinata’s grin stretched ear to ear. "You bet!"

The warmup quickly devolved into controlled chaos as Tsukishima appeared, arms crossed and expression carefully neutral.
"Why am I here?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

Bokuto threw a playful shove at him. "Because we’re dragging you in whether you like it or not!"

Hinata chimed in, "Yeah, you can’t just sit out!"

Tsukishima groaned but cracked a smile. "Fine. But if I get hit in the face, I’m blaming all of you."

The drills started, passing, blocking, quick sets, but the focus was peppered with laughter, shouts, and Bokuto’s booming voice echoing off the walls.

"Tsukki, you’re slow on that block!" Bokuto teased.

"Yeah, show ‘em what you got!" Hinata added, bouncing beside him.

Tsukishima rolled his eyes but pushed harder, eventually nailing a block that sent Bokuto stumbling back in mock defeat.

Kuroo watched from the sidelines, eyes flickering between Daichi, who was steadily regaining his rhythm, and the wild duo of Bokuto and Hinata, who were clearly having the time of their lives.

"You all are hopeless," Kuroo muttered with fond amusement.

Akaashi, calm as ever, simply shook his head but didn’t try to stop the madness.
The night stretched on with sweaty drills and bursts of chaos, the team bonding over shared exhaustion and relentless teasing, a reminder that sometimes the best training is the one where you push each other just as much off the court as on.

The gym was dimmer now, the harsh glare of the main lights softened by the late hour. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and determination.
Kuroo crouched near the net, his sharp eyes trained on Tsukishima as the lanky middle blocker shifted uncertainly, his arms awkwardly positioned.

"No, no," Kuroo said, voice low but firm. "You’re too rigid here. You want to be like a spring: tense, ready to snap. Not a statue."

Tsukishima’s brow furrowed. "Like a spring?"

"Exactly. Watch." Kuroo demonstrated, bending his knees, coiling his arms in a fluid, ready stance. "Your block timing has to be anticipation and instinct. You don’t wait for the hitter to commit, you read them. And move before they touch the ball."

Tsukishima tried to mimic, shifting his weight, eyes narrowing in concentration.
From the corner of his eye, Daichi sat on the bench, silent and still, watching. He found himself admiring the way Kuroo explained things, patient, precise, a natural teacher despite his usual teasing demeanor.
It was… kind of hot.
Kuroo noticed Daichi’s gaze and gave a quick smirk, but focused back on Tsukishima.

"Good. Now, try to time your jump with the hitter’s approach, but don’t overcommit. Stay balanced."

Tsukishima nodded and launched into a practice block, arms reaching up, slightly better, but still stiff. Kuroo clapped once. "Better. Remember, blocking is a conversation, not a wall. You adjust, you react. Be fluid."

Suddenly, the sharp sound of crashing and yelling shattered the focused silence.

"BOO! HINATA, YOU'RE BLOCKING ME!"

"You started it!"

Bokuto and Hinata were wrestling near the sidelines, nearly toppling over the water bottles. Akaashi’s eyes narrowed.

He pulled out his phone and whispered urgently, "I’m calling Sugawara-san."

Daichi shook his head with a smile. "Some things never change."

Suga appeared seconds later, hands raised in mock surrender.

"Alright, boys, calm down before someone actually gets hurt."

Bokuto grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Mom."

Hinata pouted but sat down, still bouncing in place.
Kuroo chuckled, turning back to Tsukishima and Daichi.

"See? Volleyball’s not just about skill, it’s chaos and energy too."

Daichi smiled softly.

ᨐ

After all that chaos, the gym was soaked in the soft hum of silence, the kind that settles only after a storm of noise and movement. The late evening air was cool against the lingering warmth of freshly spent muscles and scattered sweat droplets on the polished floor. One by one, the players had filtered out: Bokuto and Hinata, chattering and laughing as they disappeared toward the bathrooms, Akaashi and Suga trailing behind like parental units, eyes scanning for any sign of mischief. Kageyama and Tsukishima had retreated to their room, grumbling about soreness and early bedtimes.

Leaving only two figures standing amid the nets and scattered volleyballs. 

Kuroo and Daichi.

Kuroo stretched lazily, arching his back with a satisfied grin. "Looks like the field’s clear, Captain."

"Apparently."

For a moment, the quiet felt like a soft pressure, the kind that invites conversations yet dares no one to start. Kuroo broke it, voice low and teasing. "You’re still holding back, you know."

Daichi’s eyes flicked up, sharp despite his fatigue. "I’m just pacing myself."

"Sure you are." Kuroo’s smirk deepened as he took a step closer. "But I’m not so sure that’s working for you."

The subtle electricity in the space between them was undeniable. The unspoken challenge, the lingering glances, the way exhaustion didn’t dull the edge of competition but sharpened it…
Daichi let out a breath, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Maybe you just like seeing me struggle."

"Maybe I do." Kuroo’s eyes gleamed, full of mischief and something else, something softer that only flickered when he thought Daichi wasn’t looking.

Kuroo and Daichi moved in quiet rhythm, gathering stray balls and stacking them carefully near the racks. The overhead lights cast long shadows between them, stretching their figures into giants in the empty space.

"Think we missed one?" Kuroo asked, tossing a ball up and catching it casually.

Daichi glanced around, scanning the polished floor. "Looks clear."

They worked side by side for a few more minutes, the only sound their breathing and the occasional tap of ball on floor.
Kuroo paused, ball in hand, then reached up to the light switch on the wall.

"Wait-" Daichi started, but before he could finish, the gym plunged into darkness.

Daichi blinked, momentarily blinded.

"Kuroo!" he hissed, stepping back, hands reaching out instinctively.

From somewhere close by, Kuroo’s voice broke the silence, low and teasing.

"Gotcha."

A sudden movement, a shadow lunging forward, Kuroo’s hands found Daichi’s shoulders, steadying him but also stealing his breath for a moment. They were gone a few seconds later though.
Daichi’s eyes narrowed as the gym lights flickered back on.

"I swear" he growled, cheeks flushed, "you’re impossible."

Kuroo’s grin was wide and unrepentant. "You should know by now, Captain. I play to win."

Daichi crossed his arms, sour but not quite able to suppress the twitch of a smile. "Somehow, I don’t think this game’s ever going to end."

"Good." Kuroo stepped closer, voice dropping just a little. "Because I’m only just getting started."

Daichi’s gaze sharpened, but the tension between them was different now, less about competition, more about something unspoken but thrillingly clear.

"Next time," Daichi muttered, "I’m turning the lights off first."

Kuroo laughed, a low sound that filled the quiet gym like a promise.
The gym lights clicked off again, but this time, Daichi was ready.
A small glow appeared in his hand as he pulled out his phone and flicked on the flashlight app. The narrow beam cut through the darkness, painting a soft circle of light on the floor.

Daichi blinked, a reluctant grin tugging at his lips despite himself. "You and your tricks."

"Can’t help it. Makes things more interesting," Kuroo said, his voice low and casual as he started walking. Daichi followed, the flashlight bobbing ahead of them like a friendly ghost.

They moved toward the showers, the quiet patter of their footsteps and the soft splash of water already running mixing with the stillness around them.
As they stepped inside, the cool mist greeted them.

Kuroo handed Daichi a towel. "So, thoughts on today’s matches? Fukuroudani and Nekoma were something else, huh?"

Daichi wiped his face, nodding slowly. "They’re solid teams. Definitely on another level. We lost more than we won."

"But," Kuroo added with a sly smile, "you held your ground."

Daichi glanced at him. "I had to. Couldn’t let you have all the fun."

Kuroo laughed softly. "Always the captain. Respect."

"I like how your team fights," Kuroo continued, voice echoing a little in the tiled room. "You all dig in and never give up."

Daichi’s smile softened, the weight of leadership settling over him again. "It’s all about trust. That’s what keeps us going."

Kuroo flicked the flashlight toward the wall, sending soft light dancing in the steam. "Same with us. Even if we joke around, everyone’s got each other’s backs."

Daichi looked over, meeting Kuroo’s steady gaze. "That’s what makes a real team."

They stood in comfortable silence, the quiet broken only by the gentle hum of running water and the occasional drip from the showerhead.

"Thanks for the company," Daichi said after a moment.

Kuroo shrugged, still smiling. "Don’t mention it. Besides…" He leaned in just enough, voice dropping, "I think you might need more distractions like this."

Daichi raised an eyebrow, but the faint smile on his lips said he wasn’t about to argue.

ᨐ

The showers were quiet now, steam swirling like a gentle fog around the empty gym. Daichi had just wrapped his towel around his shoulders when Kuroo nudged him with a grin.

"You know," Kuroo said, voice low and conspiratorial, "the hallways are pretty empty right now. Perfect time for a little exploration."

Daichi shot him a skeptical look. "Exploration? It’s almost midnight."

"Exactly." Kuroo’s eyes gleamed. "No distractions. Just you, me, and the adventure."

Daichi groaned but followed anyway, knowing there was no talking him out of it.
The hallway lights flickered overhead as they crept along, Kuroo’s phone flashlight still cutting a path through the shadows.

Kuroo ducked into a side room and then peeked out with a mischievous smile. "Bet you can’t catch me."

Before Daichi could react, Kuroo took off down the hall, his footsteps light and quick.

"Hey!" Daichi called, breaking into a chase.

The two dashed through the dormitory corridor, dodging laundry baskets and squeaky floorboards.
Kuroo slid behind a corner, barely stifling a laugh.
Daichi rounded the bend and nearly collided with him.

"Gotcha," Kuroo teased, reaching out to tap Daichi’s shoulder.

Daichi pretended to glare but couldn’t hide his grin.

As they caught their breath, Kuroo lowered his voice. "You’re not so bad at this."

Daichi raised an eyebrow. "You’re terrible at this."

"Maybe," Kuroo admitted. "But it’s more fun when you’re involved."

A beat passed between them, the quiet settling in again.

Daichi cleared his throat. "We should probably get back. Bedtime soon."

Kuroo nodded but flashed one last sly smile. "Next time, I’m bringing reinforcements."

Daichi’s heart skipped. "Is that a threat or an invitation?"

"Both," Kuroo said, then winked.

They turned back toward their rooms, the night alive with unspoken promises and the soft echo of footsteps fading into the dark.

ᨐ

Daichi eased open the door to Karasuno’s sleeping room, the warm glow of a single bedside lamp casting soft light across a scattering of futons. The air smelled faintly of sweat and laundry detergent, familiar and comforting. Hinata was sprawled near the window, whispering excitedly about some imaginary match-winning spike, cheeks flushed with the last sparks of his boundless energy.
Nishinoya lay on his back, snoring softly, the steady rhythm a low drumbeat that seemed to slow Daichi’s racing thoughts.
Suga sat cross-legged against the wall, flipping through a notebook, his pen moving quietly in the dim light.
Daichi collapsed onto his futon, muscles finally allowing themselves to relax. He caught Suga’s eye.

"Rough day," Suga observed gently.

Daichi exhaled sharply. "Yeah. Kuroo’s relentless."

Suga smiled, a knowing curve. "He’s good at getting under your skin, huh?"

"Too good," Daichi muttered, rubbing his shoulder. "Feels like he knows exactly where to push."

Hinata suddenly giggled from across the room, "Did he make you mad again, Captain?"

Daichi shot him a tired glare, but couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at his lips.

Suga chuckled softly, jotting something in his notebook. "At least you’re holding your own."

"Barely," Daichi admitted.

The room settled into a peaceful quiet, broken only by Hinata’s low murmurs and Nishinoya’s steady breathing.

Meanwhile, in the adjacent hallway, Kuroo leaned against the doorframe of the Nekoma sleeping room. The door was slightly ajar, revealing Kenma seated on his futon with earbuds draped around his neck.

"So, how’s Sawamura handling the camp?" Kenma asked, voice low but curious.

Kuroo grinned. "More stubborn than I thought. But I like it."

Kenma raised an eyebrow. "You’re enjoying making him flustered, aren’t you?"

"Maybe," Kuroo admitted. "He’s… interesting. More than just a rival captain."

Kenma smirked, folding his arms. "You should stop teasing him and just ask him out."

Kuroo laughed quietly. "Where’s the fun in that?"

Kenma shook his head with a fond sigh. "You’re impossible."

The quiet of the room wrapped around them like a shield, their voices low but carrying a thread of unspoken feelings.

ᨐ

Chapter Text

The cafeteria was a muted battlefield of sleep-deprived warriors.
Despite the sun climbing higher in the sky, Karasuno’s team looked more like zombies than athletes. Eyes half-lidded, hair tousled beyond recognition, and more than a few yawns punctuating the early morning air.
Daichi sat near the middle of the table, chopsticks hovering above his rice, but his mind was far away.

"Morning, Daichi," Suga said quietly, already halfway through his meal, serene and steady as ever. Daichi offered a weak smile in return, but it barely reached his eyes.

Nearby, Hinata had somehow managed to wake up even more hyper than usual, bouncing on his seat and loudly announcing, "I slept three hours! We’re gonna crush Nekoma today, I just know it!"

Kageyama’s glare could have frozen fire. "Hinata, you should rest more, not less."

"But then I wouldn’t have dreamt about that crazy block Kuroo did yesterday! Did you see that?"

The table collectively stiffened. Daichi’s jaw clenched.

Suga caught Daichi’s glance and shrugged subtly. "Kuroo’s a force to reckon with."

"More like a show-off," Daichi muttered under his breath, glancing toward the opposite side of the hall where Nekoma and Fukuroudani teams lounged like predators. Kuroo was already chatting animatedly with Kenma, his usual sly grin in place.
From afar, Kuroo’s eyes flicked toward Daichi for a moment, a slow, sharp smile forming as if daring him to look back.
Daichi didn’t look away.

ᨐ

The gym was thick with the sound of balls thudding. Coach Ukai’s voice cut through the hum, sharp and insistent.

"Let’s pick up the pace! Last week’s softness is history, I want fire in your eyes, Karasuno!"

Kuroo, across the gym on Nekoma’s side, moved with effortless grace, a predator’s rhythm, blocking every chance Karasuno had to score.
Every time Daichi lined up to receive or block, his eyes caught Kuroo’s.
That slow, teasing stare.
He felt it like a needle under his skin.
During a blocking drill, Daichi dove for a ball with everything he had, barely beating Kuroo to the spot. Kuroo’s eyebrows lifted in surprise and genuine respect.
But the smirk never left his face.

"You’re getting better," Kuroo called out over the net.

Daichi glared. "Don’t get comfortable."

Exhausted, the teams collapsed near the water fountains. Daichi’s shoulders heaved with heavy breaths.
Kuroo approached with two bottles, handing one to Daichi without a word, then leaning casually on the wall.

"You’re serious about this, aren’t you?"

Daichi met his gaze, tension thick in the silence.

"You’re making this camp hell."

"And you’re making it worth it."

Daichi scoffed but didn’t look away.

The afternoon practice matches were chaotic and intense.
Karasuno faced off first against Fukuroudani, a wall of power and precision (and chaos).
Despite giving their all, Karasuno lost every set, their blocks penetrated, their serves returned with brutal accuracy.
Daichi found himself lunging again and again, diving for balls that never quite stayed in play.
The team groaned collectively when the final whistle blew.
Coach Ukai barked, "Penalties for missed blocks! Ten dives for every point lost!"
The gym echoed with the desperate scrambles of exhausted players, including Daichi, hitting the floor again and again, muscles trembling.

After that it was time for more drills.
This time, Kuroo was paired with Daichi for blocking practice, a deliberate move from both coaches.
The tension crackled between them like live wires.

"You ready to lose again?" Kuroo teased, arms crossed.

Daichi’s eyes narrowed. "Not a chance."

They moved side by side, reading each other’s signals, Daichi blocking with renewed focus, Kuroo baiting him with calculated tips and feints.
The ball flew faster, spikes harder.
Each near miss stoked their silent battle, a dance of power, skill, and barely concealed rivalry.

As the sun dipped low, the gym grew quiet.
Sweat glistened on tired bodies.
Daichi and Kuroo stood apart for a moment, catching their breath.
Kuroo tossed a towel at Daichi.

"Not bad, Captain."

Coach Ukai clapped his hands loudly to get everyone’s attention.

"All right, everyone! Today we’re splitting into pairs for more specialised drills. You know your partners, work hard and push each other."

Daichi’s eyes immediately found Kuroo’s across the gym.
The sly grin Kuroo gave him promised both challenge and trouble.

Akaashi & Hinata:
Akaashi calmly demonstrated proper footwork, but Hinata’s energy was a wildfire. He bounced and fidgeted, accidentally tripping Akaashi twice before finally nailing a spike that made Akaashi blink in surprise. Akaashi’s deadpan "Focus, please," was met with Hinata’s breathless grin.

Bokuto & Asahi:
Bokuto was loud and dramatic, barking encouragement in between massive swings. Asahi, ever patient but clearly overwhelmed, kept reminding Bokuto to slow down to no avail. Bokuto ended a drill by collapsing theatrically, "I’m drained!" Asahi gave a tired smile and a quiet, "Good job."

Yamamoto & Nishinoya:
Receiving drills turned into a comedy show. Yamamoto’s booming voice tried to instruct, but Noya’s random outbursts and occasional snores made it tough to keep focus. At one point, Nishinoya missed an easy ball and apologised with a sheepish grin, then promptly dozed off standing up.

Kenma & Tsukki:
Quiet and calculated, these two practiced positioning and reception. Kenma’s meticulous breakdowns clashed with Tsukki’s dry humor. "You call that a receive?" Tsukki deadpanned. "Better than your gaming reaction time." Kenma smirked, "Keep dreaming."

Kageyama & Lev:
Intense setter-spiker drills had Kageyama barking commands while Lev kept pace with surprising agility. "That’s it, Lev! Eyes on the ball!" Lev grinned, "I’ve got your back, genius." Their fast passes made the net hum with energy.

Kuroo stood across from Daichi, arms folded, eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Ready to get schooled again, Captain?"

Daichi smirked despite himself. "Not a chance."

They started with blocking drills, Kuroo feeding Daichi spikes and tips as he went.

"Watch your foot placement," Kuroo said, his voice low but firm.

Daichi adjusted, muscles coiling tighter. "Got it."

Kuroo watched him with something like approval.

"Not bad," he said quietly. "Better than I expected."

Daichi flushed but didn’t let it show.
Then Kuroo threw a sudden fast spike. Daichi barely blocked it, the ball rattling his fingers.

"Close call," Kuroo teased. "You’re getting sloppy."

Daichi growled, "Focus."

They moved to receiving drills next.
Kuroo lobbed tricky balls, watching Daichi struggle just a little, but always pushing to get the ball up.

"Good form," Kuroo murmured as Daichi recovered a difficult pass.

When a stray ball rolled between them, Kuroo kicked it back with a playful smirk.

"Keep your eyes open, Captain."

Daichi’s glare deepened.
Between drills, Kuroo lingered just a little too close, watching Daichi’s every move with that slow, intense stare. Daichi’s heart thumped.. and not entirely from exhaustion.

As the pairs worked, other players’ antics filtered through the air.
Bokuto’s booming laughter when Asahi landed a spike.
Hinata accidentally tripping over Akaashi’s foot again.
Tanaka and Yaku exchanging mock trash talk.
Kenma silently shaking his head at Tsukki’s dry wit.
Kageyama yelling at Lev with laser focus.
Nishinoya snoring quietly behind the chaos.

ᨐ

Later that evening, Daichi stepped quietly out of the gym, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the heavy heat and sweat clinging to him all day.
The area was nearly silent, the usual buzz of daytime replaced by crickets and a soft breeze whispering through the trees.
He found a bench near the edge of the gym and sat down, eyes lifting to the wide, ink-black sky.
Stars flickered faintly, distant and patient.
A soft voice startled him from the shadows.

"You ran off without saying goodbye."

Kuroo slid onto the bench beside him, his silhouette sharp even in the dim light.

Daichi gave a half-smile, "Needed some air."

Kuroo chuckled quietly. "Smart move."

They sat in easy silence for a moment, shoulders almost touching.
Daichi finally spoke, voice low.

"Third year of high school. Feels like... everything’s speeding up."

Kuroo nodded slowly. "Yeah. Feels like the last stretch. After this camp, the season starts for real. No more messing around."

Daichi exhaled sharply. "I’m worried. About leading the team. About keeping everyone together."

Kuroo’s gaze shifted upward, tracing the stars. "Being a captain means carrying a lot. But you’re not alone. You’ve got your team."

Daichi looked at Kuroo, surprise flickering in his tired eyes. "Not so different from Nekoma’s captain, huh?"

Kuroo smiled, soft but knowing. "Yeah. We both want the same thing. To make our teams better."

They fell quiet again, the night wrapping around them.

Kuroo’s voice broke the stillness.

"You doing okay, Sawamura?"

Daichi nodded slowly. "As okay as I can be."

Kuroo leaned back on his hands, eyes on the stars. "Good. Because you’re damn good at this."

Before Daichi could respond, footsteps approached.
Suga appeared, flashlight in hand and a gentle smile.

"Dinner’s ready. You two coming?"

Daichi stood up, brushing off his pants. Kuroo stretched, flashing his trademark grin.

"Guess the stars will have to wait."

They walked back together, side by side. The night felt a little lighter.

ᨐ

The dining hall was buzzing, not with high energy this time, but with the kind of sleepy, slow-burning chaos that only happened when exhausted teenage volleyball players tried to eat and stay upright at the same time.
Even Tanaka had his head on the table. Yaku was poking him with a chopstick.
Nishinoya was staring blankly into his miso soup, mumbling about ghosts and cursed rice balls.
Hinata was chewing with his eyes closed, nodding slowly, as if every bite was a spiritual experience.

Next to him, Bokuto whispered dramatically to Akaashi, "I think this curry has made me evolve."

"You’ve eaten three bowls," Akaashi said flatly. "You’re going to explode, not ascend."

Kenma was playing a quiet game on his Switch under the table while pretending to sip water. Tsukishima was watching over his shoulder and silently judging every pixel.
Meanwhile, Kuroo flopped onto a bench beside Daichi, tray in hand, hair still damp from the late shower. He nudged him slightly with his elbow.

"Captain. You alive?"

"Barely," Daichi replied around a mouthful of rice. "Pretty sure I left my soul in the gym."

Kuroo grinned. "I’ll go find it tomorrow."

Suga leaned over from across the table, grinning. "You two still having your nightly heart-to-hearts under the stars?"

Daichi coughed. Kuroo sipped his tea like he hadn’t heard a thing. "We’re bonding. It’s called captain therapy."

"I think you mean corruption," Tsukishima muttered.

Suga just smiled wider. "Call it what you want. It’s adorable."

Daichi seriously considered switching tables.

An hour later, the camps settled into quiet.
Karasuno’s room was dim, the windows open to the soft sound of cicadas again. Most of the team was already on their futons, sprawled out in varying states of post-training coma.
Hinata was humming to himself about jumping higher tomorrow.
Tanaka was snoring with one arm flung over his face.

Suga, already half asleep, murmured a drowsy, "Don’t forget to stretch tomorrow…"

Daichi sat down at the edge of his futon, finally allowing himself to relax. He stared at the ceiling, blinking.
Then frowned.

"…Where’s Asahi?"

Suga cracked one eye open. "Huh?"

"I don’t see him," Daichi said, already standing.

"Maybe he’s in the bathroom," Yamaguchi mumbled.

"Ten minutes ago," Tsukishima added without looking up. "He’s not back."

That got Daichi’s attention. He slid the door open, stepping into the dark hallway, eyes adjusting.
Quiet.
Until..

"Captain."

Daichi turned.
Kuroo stood a little further down the hall, wearing sweatpants, a towel still around his neck. "You look like you’re about to do a hallway patrol."

"I think Asahi’s missing," Daichi said. "No one’s seen him since lights out."

Kuroo blinked. "Oh no. Has he finally snapped?"

"He’s not the snapping type."

"Then maybe it’s ghosts."

Daichi gave him a look.

Kuroo grinned. "Let’s find him."

After patrolling the hallways together, they found Asahi crouched at the far end of the main hallway, near a dark storage room. He was pressed against the wall like it might save him.
Daichi approached cautiously. "Asahi?"

"D-Don’t come closer," Asahi whispered, eyes wide. "It’s in there."

Kuroo was already wheezing.

Daichi held back a sigh. "What is?"

"The ghost. It floated past the door. I saw it."

Kuroo made a very undignified snort.

Asahi whipped his head toward him. "Don’t laugh, Kuroo."

"I’m not" Kuroo wheezed again, doubling over. "It’s just, oh my god, you look like you’re about to do an exorcism with a volleyball."

Asahi looked horrified. "It was real."

Daichi held a hand up. "Okay. Okay. Let’s check it out. Just to make sure."

Kuroo wiped tears from his eyes. "I can’t breathe. This is the best night of my life."

They opened the door cautiously.
Inside, a half-open window let the wind rustle a hanging white towel from the laundry rack, which had caught on a broom and drifted across the room in the breeze.
Daichi stared at it.
Kuroo broke again, cackling.

"It was the towel?" Daichi asked.

Asahi looked like he wanted to disappear. "It was floating," he mumbled.

Kuroo leaned against the doorframe. "You thought a haunted rag was coming for you. I’m never letting this go."

Asahi stood there in complete silence for a moment. Then muttered, "I hate everything," and walked off down the hall.

Kuroo followed, still laughing.

Daichi trailed behind them, rubbing his temples. "If Nishinoya hears about this, we’ll never hear the end of it."

Kuroo wiped his eyes again, still grinning. "Let him hear it. This is folklore now."

As they reached the room, Kuroo bumped his shoulder lightly into Daichi’s.

"Thanks for letting me join the rescue squad."

Daichi sighed. "You’re not helpful."

"You say that," Kuroo said, pausing at the Nekoma door, "but you’re smiling."

"I’m not."

"You are," Kuroo said, smug. "Night, Captain."

The door slid shut.
Daichi stood there a second longer before returning to his own room, Asahi now tucked back into his futon like nothing happened.

Suga raised a sleepy eyebrow. "Find the ghost?"

"It was a towel," Daichi muttered.

Silence.

Then Suga rolled over, face buried in his pillow, shaking with silent laughter.
Daichi sighed again and laid down.
Another night at training camp.
He wasn’t sure how much more he could take, or how much more he wanted.

ᨐ

Chapter Text

The last day of training camp dawned bright and a little bittersweet.Despite sore legs, stiff backs, and brains full of serve-receive formations, there was something buzzing in the air that had nothing to do with the ever-present cicadas. It was energy. Excitement. And for some, notably Hinata, mild existential dread.

"We’re leaving today?" he gasped during breakfast, mouth full of rice. "Today today?!"

"You’ve known this for a week," Tsukishima said flatly, buttering his toast like it had personally offended him.

"But I haven’t processed it," Hinata wailed. "What if I didn’t jump enough?! What if my blocks didn’t grow?!"

"You definitely did enough jumping," Akaashi muttered, sipping his tea.

Kuroo, sitting lazily at the far end of the table, stretched his arms behind his head and grinned. "Let’s go out with a bang, yeah? Total chaos. Last day. No regrets."

"Chaos," Bokuto repeated with reverence. "YES."

Daichi, chewing steadily through his third bowl of miso, side-eyed the chaos twins and muttered, "I’m already regretting this."

To make the final morning special, the coaches decided on something radical.
Three main teams.
Scrambled lineups.
No captains kept on their original squads.
The gym exploded with noise when the rosters were announced.

Team One:

Kuroo, Akaashi, Daichi, Kai, Lev, Tanaka and Nishinoya

Team Two:

Kenma, Hinata, Yamamoto, Tsukishima, Asahi, Suga and Yaku

Team Three:

Kageyama, Bokuto, Yamaguchi, Inuoka, Konoha, Komi and Yamato

"THIS IS INSANE," Hinata yelled gleefully.

"I'm with Kenma! I’m gonna FLY with Kenma!"

Kenma just sighed, stretching out his fingers like he’d already accepted his fate.

"You’ve got Daichi and Kuroo on the same team?" Suga said to Ukai in horror. "They’re gonna glare the other team into dust."

Ukai just shrugged. "Might be fun to watch."

Team One vs Team Two started it all.. and the gym lit up.
Kenma’s sets to Hinata were surprisingly effective, once he got used to the tempo. Daichi had to adjust fast, Kuroo’s pace was slightly more chaotic than Suga’s, and Akaashi’s sets had a sharp, smart edge that forced him to stay on his toes.
Lev blocked Tsukki.
Tsukki blocked Lev back twice.
Nishinoya had a spectacular pancake save that made even Yaku whistle.
But the highlight?
Kuroo and Daichi moving in perfect sync for a dual block against Asahi, shutting him down completely.

"Damn," said Kenma from the back line. "That’s terrifying."

On the sideline, Bokuto and Kageyama shouted in unison: "WE’RE NEXT!"

Team One vs Team Three.
If Kageyama and Bokuto sounded intense on paper, on court they were like setting a fire inside a hurricane. Bokuto powered through Lev’s block like it was made of cardboard. Kageyama made impossible back sets without blinking. But Kuroo wasn’t about to let them dominate. He adapted, fast, and the connection with Akaashi started sparking like a live wire. Meanwhile, Daichi adjusted to Lev’s wild tempo with a captain’s focus. When Daichi dove for a receive, skidded across the floor, and sent the ball high enough for Kuroo to spike it down with a grin, even Kageyama flinched.

"Nice save," Kuroo said, landing beside him.

Daichi, still catching his breath, just muttered, "You better have scored off that."

"Oh, I did," Kuroo said, smirking.

Team Two vs Team Three was pure comedy.

Kenma set a low ball.
Hinata hit it, spiking straight at Bokuto’s head.
Tsukishima tried to act like it wasn’t funny.
Asahi apologised three times to Bokuto for an accidental chest set.
Yaku and Suga did most of the strategic heavy lifting.
By the time Team Three won by two points, Kenma had silently removed himself from society and gone to sit on the bench.

"I can’t feel my soul," he said to no one.

Finally, Team One vs Team Two, again. A rematch.
More polished. Sharper. Tighter.
Daichi was sweating hard now, heart hammering in his ears, not just from the rally, but from the way Kuroo kept catching his eye after every point. Like they were speaking in code. Like the whole camp had been leading to this one match. They blocked together like they’d trained as a pair for months. Fell into each other's rhythms without a word. At one point, Kuroo even reached out to adjust Daichi’s footing before serve receive, and Daichi let him.
They lost by three points this time.
But the grin on Daichi’s face when he high-fived Nishinoya afterward said it didn’t matter.

"Nice work, Captain," Kuroo murmured beside him, brushing his shoulder lightly as they exited the court.

Daichi just nodded, breathless. "You too."

ᨐ

Lunch was chaos, as always.
Tanaka made a speech about their "final war rations."
Bokuto got teary-eyed about his "last training camp rice bowl."
Kenma ate in silence and stared at his Switch like it was a portal to peace.
Suga and Akaashi shared a look that said: never again.
Kuroo sat across from Daichi, nudging his foot under the table just once. Daichi glared at him. But didn’t move it away.

The last practice was a killer, one final full session, no corners cut.
Conditioning drills. Serve receives. Spike accuracy. Everything.
When Daichi dove for a ball and missed by inches, Ukai barked, "Five dives, now!"
And so Karasuno groaned and dropped. Five court dives, back to back.
Even Nishinoya whimpered.

Kuroo, watching from the sideline during a drill switch, smirked. "Bet you’re gonna miss this."

Daichi, face flushed, glared at him. "You say that like you won’t."

"…Touché."

ᨐ

The sun hung heavy above the gym by the time afternoon practice wrapped up. The shadows on the court stretched long, and everyone’s shirts clung to their backs like second skin. Breathing was harder now, not from exhaustion, necessarily, but from the creeping awareness that this was it.
The final practice was over.
And no one knew what to do with themselves.
Post-Practice Delirium.

"We survived," Tanaka wheezed, collapsing dramatically onto the court.

Nishinoya flopped down beside him, flailing like a dying fish. "My soul left my body three dives ago. I’m speaking to you from beyond the grave."

"I can see the light," Lev groaned, cradling a volleyball like it was his emotional support pet.

Bokuto, on the other hand, was somehow still full of energy, if not more than usual.

He threw his arms wide. "ONE LAST AFTERNOON! WHO WANTS TO DO SPIKE PRACTICE WITH A BUCKET ON THEIR HEAD?"

"No one!" Akaashi yelled from the benches. He was massaging his temples. "Absolutely no one wants that!"

"I do!!" Hinata shouted immediately.

"Of course you do," Tsukishima muttered. He was already trying to sneak off to the showers before Bokuto noticed him.

Too late.

"TSUKKISHIMA!" Bokuto bellowed. "One last block battle! For old time’s sake!"

Tsukishima froze in the doorway. "…I’m already emotionally gone."

"You’ll regret it if you don’t!" Bokuto pointed at him like a superhero. "Don’t let our rivalry die on a whimper!"

Kuroo chuckled from across the gym, lounging against the wall. "Let him go, Bo. You’re scaring the freshman."

"He’s not scared," Bokuto said, chasing after Tsukki like an over-caffeinated puppy. "He’s just in denial!"

Someone,  probably Tanaka,  shouted, "ONE LAST ONE-TOUCH GAME! WINNERS GET ICE CREAM!"

And that was that.
The court exploded with chaos.
Yaku set up a brutal one-touch-only drill with Kenma and Kageyama refereeing (badly).
Hinata and Lev formed a temporary "Jumping Is My Only Skill" alliance.
Suga and Akaashi stood on the sidelines pretending they weren’t absolutely judging everyone’s form.
Daichi joined mid-game, got elbowed in the ribs by Nishinoya, and returned the favour by body-checking him into Bokuto.
Tanaka tripped over his own feet, took out Yamamoto mid-receive, and they both blamed the ball.
Kenma hit someone in the head. No one’s sure who. He didn’t care.
Through it all, Kuroo hung back at first, just watching.
He spotted Daichi every few minutes, saw him laughing as Lev fell into a tangle of limbs and apology, saw him steady Suga after a hard dive, saw him pause just long enough to catch Kuroo looking.

They made eye contact.

And Kuroo smiled, just a little. Not cocky this time. Just quiet. Warm.
Daichi didn’t smile back.
But he didn’t look away either.

Eventually, Ukai clapped his hands. "Alright! That’s it. Hit the showers, pack your stuff. We’ve got buses in an hour."

And just like that, the mood shifted. Someone groaned. Someone else sighed.

"Wait," Hinata said, looking around like they’d just dropped the cake before lighting the candles. "It’s really over?"

"Technically yes," Yaku said, stretching his back. "Emotionally? We’ll all be traumatised by this camp for years."

Lev looked like he might cry. "But I was just starting to learn everyone’s names."

"You learned them yesterday," Kenma said, not unkindly.

"You all feel this weird too, right?" Bokuto said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Like… the gym's not gonna sound the same after this."

Akaashi, for once, didn’t have a sarcastic retort ready. He just nodded.
Kuroo looked over at Daichi again, caught the way he was staring up at the ceiling, brow furrowed like he was trying to memorise the echo of the gym while he still had time.
Their eyes met again.
This time, Daichi gave him a tiny nod.
Kuroo returned it.
There was no joke in that exchange. Just something a little heavier than either of them would say out loud.
Not yet.

ᨐ

The gym was empty now.
No volleyballs on the floor. No whistles. No shouting. Just the quiet creak of duffel bags being zipped and the soft shuffling of sneakers on wood.
Karasuno was packing up.
Hinata was still in the middle of the gym, sitting cross-legged with a towel around his shoulders, looking completely defeated.

"We should start loading the bus soon," Daichi said from near the benches.

Hinata didn’t move. "I just…" he started, voice small, "I don’t wanna go yet."

Suga walked over, crouched next to him, and ruffled his sweat-damp hair. "Yeah, I know," he said gently. "But if we don’t leave, Coach Ukai might actually melt from exhaustion."

Hinata slumped harder. "But it was so fun. Even the parts that hurt. Even when we did dives as punishment."

"You collapsed on the floor after those dives," Tsukishima muttered, already done packing.

"I lived!" Hinata insisted, dramatic to the end.

Suga just smiled, then stood and offered him a hand. "Come on. You’ve got nationals to train for, don’t you?"

Hinata blinked. Then grabbed his hand, yanked himself up, and nodded. "Yeah. You’re right. I gotta get even stronger!"

Behind them, Kageyama muttered, "Finally," and picked up Hinata’s bag for him without comment.

On Nekoma’s side Kenma was packing slowly, not because he was sad, but because he was already mentally planning out what game to load up when he got home.
Kuroo slung his own duffel over his shoulder and glanced at him.

"You’re quiet," he said.

"I’m always quiet."

"Yeah, but this is different. You’ve got the sad-kitten face on."

Kenma sighed and zipped his bag. "I’m not sad. Just… thinking."

"About what?"

Kenma gave him a flat look. "About how you flirted with Sawamura the entire camp."

Kuroo barked a laugh. "That’s what you’re thinking about?"

"You’re lucky Akaashi and I didn’t start betting on it."

"We still have time."

Kenma ignored him. "It was a good camp," he said instead. "Good training. And the matches were actually fun."

Kuroo nodded, quieter now. "Yeah. They were."

Kenma side-eyed him. "You’re gonna mope when Sawamura leaves, huh?"

"I don’t mope," Kuroo said, mildly offended.

"You pined. In full view of the gym."

Kuroo raised both hands. "I was being strategic."

"You were being a dork."

Kuroo shrugged one shoulder, smirking. "Maybe. But I got him to yell at me, didn’t I?"

Kenma rolled his eyes. "Your standards are so low."

"I like when people are passionate," Kuroo said, too easily. "And he’s got so much fire. I’m just here to fan the flames."

Kenma made a face. "That was the worst sentence you’ve ever said."

Kuroo only grinned. "You’ll miss me."

"I’ll have peace and quiet again."

But his voice was softer than usual.

The sun was lower now, brushing gold across the trees and casting long shadows on the gravel path. The buses were parked just up the hill, engines humming softly. Bags were being loaded. Teams trickled out of the gym one by one, blinking in the light, stretching their sore limbs.

"Well," Bokuto said, clapping his hands once, "that was the best training camp ever!"

"You say that every year," Akaashi replied.

"AND IT’S ALWAYS TRUE."

"Your volume control hasn’t improved," Yaku noted.

"You love it," Bokuto said cheerfully.

Across the groups, teammates were exchanging back slaps, handshakes, lazy waves. Lev was trying to get everyone’s contact info. Nishinoya was hugging people with a force that implied it might be the last time they saw sunlight. Tanaka and Yamamoto were doing a complicated bro handshake that ended in mutual tripping.

Daichi looked across the way.
Kuroo stood near Kenma, arms crossed. Then, sensing the stare, he turned and met Daichi’s gaze again. Something unspoken passed between them.
Not an ending.
Just a pause.

Kuroo walked over, casual as ever. "Try not to get too sentimental, Captain."

Daichi raised a brow. "You’re the one making eyes across the gravel like it’s a movie ending."

Kuroo smirked. "If this were a movie, I’d be asking for your number right now."

Daichi didn’t blink. "I’m sure you already found a way to get it."

Kuroo’s grin stretched wider. "Maybe I did."

Kenma, behind him, muttered, "God, they’re both insufferable."

"Hey," Kuroo said to Daichi, a little more serious. "You played hard this week."

"You too."

"Good luck this season."

"You better make it to nationals," Daichi said. "We’re not done."

Kuroo’s eyes gleamed. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

Their special full force handshake followed.

Then the call to board the buses came, breaking the moment. Teams began moving. Shouts, waves, last-minute chaos.
Kuroo gave a final lazy salute.
Daichi rolled his eyes and finally smiled.
Just a little.

The shuffle toward the buses was well underway.
Karasuno’s duffel bags were loaded. Tanaka and Nishinoya were yelling across the lot about who’d forgotten their towel (it was Nishinoya). Hinata had already half-boarded the bus, still talking at full speed despite his team’s collective exhaustion. Ukai was counting heads like a man who truly just wanted to sit down and not move for three hours.
And Daichi?
He had one foot on the step of the bus when he heard it.

"Wait- hey! Sawamura!"

Daichi turned.
Kuroo jogged toward him, hair still a little wild, shoes crunching on gravel, that damn smirk back on his face.

Daichi raised an eyebrow. "Forgot something?"

Kuroo slowed to a stop in front of him, breath a little heavy, but not from running. From timing.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. Actually."
Daichi waited.

Kuroo looked up at him. "Your number."

"…Excuse me?"

Kuroo tilted his head, tone far too casual. "You know. For logistics. Practice matches. Future collaboration. Captain things." And maybe because he wasn’t joking while trying to get Daichi’s Number earlier.
But apparently he was joking when he said that he already found a way to get it.
Daichi stared at him.

Kuroo kept smiling. "Strategic purposes only, of course."

"You had the entire week," Daichi muttered.

"I know," Kuroo said, utterly unbothered. "But this way, you’ll remember me when you get back home."

Daichi hesitated.

Then pulled out his phone, scrolled a bit, and held it up. "Fine. You enter it."

Kuroo took it, looking deeply satisfied, and typed with annoyingly fast thumbs. "There. Now you have the number of your favourite rival."

"I didn’t say favourite."

"I felt it in my soul."

Daichi took the phone back, glanced at the new contact, and almost groaned.

Kuroo "Block This 🔥" Tetsurou

"…Seriously?"

"It builds character."

"Remind me to spike at your face next time we meet."

"I’ll be waiting," Kuroo said, and there was something almost warm in it.

A beat of quiet stretched.
Daichi looked at him, at the way the sunlight caught in his messy hair, at the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his temple, at the impossible calm he wore like a second skin.
Kuroo grinned one last time and stepped back, throwing a lazy wave.

"See you soon, Captain."

Daichi rolled his eyes. But he didn’t look away until the bus door closed.
And from his seat, phone resting on his thigh, he glanced once more at the contact name.
Smirked to himself.
Then finally let the exhaustion catch up.

ᨐ

The bus rumbled down the highway, full of uneven breathing and the soft rustle of snacks being smuggled from backpacks. Karasuno was half-asleep and fully silent for the first time in days.
Most of the team had passed out within the first thirty minutes.
Hinata was curled into a strange sprawl against the window seat, his hoodie pulled over his head like a cartoon ghost. Kageyama sat beside him, chin tucked, mouth open just slightly in the way that meant his dreams were probably about toss drills.
Asahi had pulled his jacket over his face and wasn’t moving at all. Tsukishima had earbuds in. Yamaguchi drooled discreetly. Even Tanaka and Nishinoya had nodded off at some point, tangled up in what might’ve been a nap or a low-level wrestling match.
Daichi sat in the back corner, forehead against the glass, watching the scenery blur into haze. Trees. Street signs. Empty stretches of road.
And his own reflection.
Still.
But his mind wasn’t.
He could feel the leftover adrenaline in his bones, not from the games, not from the drills, but from something quieter. Something heavier.

Kuroo.

The stupid smirk. The smugness. The blocking drills. The flashlight-lit walk to the showers. The way Kuroo stopped him right before entering the bus, just to get his number.
Daichi exhaled slowly.
Then dug out his phone.
He stared at the contact.

[Kuroo "Block This 🔥" Tetsurou]

"…Unbelievable," he muttered to himself.
He hesitated.
Then tapped a message.

[Sawamura Daichi]
Here. So you have my number too.

Sent.
The typing bubble appeared immediately.

[Kuroo "Block This 🔥" Tetsurou]
I knew you couldn’t resist 😏

Daichi narrowed his eyes.

[Sawamura Daichi]
I’m being polite.

[Kuroo "Block This 🔥" Tetsurou]
You’re being emotionally attached.
It’s okay. I’m very likable.

Daichi let his head fall back against the window with a quiet thunk.

[Sawamura Daichi]
Remind me again why I gave you my number?

[Kuroo "Block This 🔥" Tetsurou]
Because I earned it.
…And because now you owe me a match.

Daichi blinked at that.

[Sawamura Daichi]
Planning already?

[Kuroo "Block This 🔥" Tetsurou]
Always.
Gotta give you something to look forward to.

Daichi couldn’t help the tiny curve of his lips. He thumbed back a reply, just:

[Sawamura Daichi]
You’re insufferable.

The typing bubble popped back up like it had been waiting in ambush.

[Kuroo "Block This 🔥" Tetsurou]
You like that I’m insufferable.

Daichi didn’t respond.
He closed the chat.
Let the phone rest face-down in his lap.
And stared out at the road again, the last streaks of daylight fading into the warm blue of summer dusk, the hum of his team snoring softly behind him.
He wasn’t smiling.
Exactly.
But it was close.

ᨐ

Chapter Text

The Karasuno gym was a hive of noise, movement, and the kind of chaotic energy only a high school volleyball team like Karasuno could generate after weeks away at training camp.
Sunlight streamed through the high windows, catching dust motes in the air as the team warmed up. The air smelled of sweat, rubber soles scraping on polished wood, and a faint tang of chalk from the nets.
Hinata was at the center of it all, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a firecracker about to explode.

"Okay! Okay! What if we did a drill where we only used back-row attacks? Like, every spike has to come from the back! We can call it the Back-Row Blitz!" he pitched enthusiastically, eyes sparkling.

Kageyama shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. "We’re barely keeping the ball on the court as it is. Less talking, more playing."

Hinata grinned, undeterred. "That’s because you don’t have enough energy."

Yamaguchi, meanwhile, was panting quietly after a particularly brutal receiving drill. He glared at the ball in his hands like it was a personal enemy. "If I get hit again, I swear I’m going to explode," he muttered.

"Nishinoya!" Tanaka shouted from the other side of the court, chasing down a wild spike. "You better catch that or you owe me fifty push-ups!"

Nishinoya grinned wildly, eyes blazing with competitive fire. "You’re on."

The pair launched into a ridiculous one-upmanship display, spikes, dives, and scattered laughter reverberating through the gym.
At the edge of the court, Suga observed everything with a mixture of tired amusement and patient resolve, occasionally stepping in to smooth over a dispute or remind someone to hydrate.
Asahi was sitting out for a moment, carefully tending to a bruised wrist. His expression was tight, part frustration, part exhaustion. Hinata dropped down beside him, bouncing with relentless energy.

"Come on, Asahi-san! We can’t lose our edge after camp! Just one more set!"

Asahi groaned softly. "I think my edge snapped in half."

Daichi was in the thick of it all, calming tempers, encouraging the tired players, managing rotations. Even though his body was heavy with fatigue, there was an undeniable lightness in his steps when he caught glimpses of the familiar chaos he loved. He glanced around and caught Tanaka yelling at Tsukki over some minor footwork mistake, Kageyama silently correcting Hinata’s positioning, and Suga calmly guiding Yamaguchi through a breathing exercise.
The team was alive. Messy. Beautiful.

ᨐ

On the next Day, Daichi had a doctors appointment in Tokyo. Just a routine check-up, paperwork, and a bit of awkward small talk with the nurse who recognised him from last year’s Prefectural Qualifiers. He stepped out of the clinic with a clean bill of health and a mostly cleared schedule.

Now, standing in the middle of Tokyo with nothing but time until his train back to Miyagi, he realised he had no idea what to do with himself.
He took a deep breath.
The air was different here. Heavier, maybe. Faster. It buzzed with possibility and caffeine and a thousand overlapping conversations. The buildings rose above him in layers of glass and steel, and despite the noise, he felt oddly… separate from it all.
Daichi adjusted his backpack strap, checked the time on his phone, and started walking with no particular destination.
He strolled for about twenty minutes. Bought a melon soda from a vending machine. Glanced into a bookstore but didn’t go in. Passed a group of middle schoolers in volleyball jackets talking excitedly about a match they'd just won. It was comforting, in a strange way, seeing how volleyball still followed him even here.
He turned a corner near a wide pedestrian street, head tilted back to glance at an ad playing on the side of a building.

And then..

"...Sawamura?"

Daichi froze.
That voice.
That voice.

Smooth, low, teasing. He could hear the smirk in it.
He turned slowly.
Kuroo Tetsurou stood about five feet away, one hand in the pocket of a navy windbreaker, the other holding an iced coffee from a chain Daichi didn’t recognise. The Tokyo sunlight caught on the sharp lines of his jaw and the lazy gleam in his eyes.
It was so on-brand Daichi almost laughed.

"Kuroo," Daichi said, a touch flatly. "Of course."

"Of course?" Kuroo repeated, grinning. "You say that like I planned this."

"I do say that."

"Well," Kuroo drawled, strolling closer, "I can’t help it if the universe is determined to give you quality time with me."

Daichi gave him a look. "In the middle of Tokyo."

Kuroo shrugged. "Big city. Small volleyball world."

Daichi folded his arms, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Met up with some old teammates for lunch," Kuroo replied easily. "They bailed early, and I decided to wander for a bit. Didn’t expect to see your grumpy face haunting the streets."

"I’m not grumpy."

"You’re a little grumpy."

Daichi rolled his eyes. "I had a doctor’s appointment. Was killing time before my train."

Kuroo raised an eyebrow. "Alone in Tokyo with time to spare, and you weren’t planning to call me?"

"I didn’t know you were free."

"I’m always free for you, Sawamura."

There it was again. The grin. That same ridiculous charm. The nerve.

Daichi sighed, half-exasperated, half-amused. "Do you flirt with everyone this much?"

"No," Kuroo said, voice suddenly softer. "Just you."

Daichi blinked. And for a half-second, the street noise faded behind the rush of blood in his ears.
Kuroo seemed to realize it too, the pause, the shift, the heat between them.

Then he cleared his throat. "Anyway. You got time before your train?"

Daichi nodded, slowly. "Yeah. About an hour and a half."

Kuroo tilted his head. "Come on. I’ll show you a place with the best karaage in this part of town. Real locals-only kind of spot."

Daichi hesitated. "You sure?"

Kuroo grinned. "I always lure captains to chicken joints in back alleys. It’s my thing."

Daichi laughed despite himself. "God help me."

True to his word, Kuroo led him through a tangle of side streets that made no geographic sense until they reached a tiny storefront with hand-painted signs, delicious smells, and about five seats total.
They grabbed two stools by the window.
Kuroo chatted with the owner like a regular, ordered for both of them, and Daichi had to admit, the food was incredible. Crispy, juicy, perfectly seasoned. It kind of made him mad.

"You’re lucky this is good," Daichi muttered between bites.

Kuroo smirked, chin in hand. "I’ve been called worse."

Conversation flowed easily after that, about team practices, training drills, and which of their underclassmen had somehow gotten louder since camp (Hinata and Lev being the obvious top offenders).

At one point, Kuroo asked, "How’s Sugawara-san?"

Daichi looked up. "Still soft. Still scheming."

"Tell him I said hi."

Daichi chuckled. "He probably already knows we ran into each other."

Kuroo raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because he’s Suga," Daichi said.

"Right. That tracks."

They left the shop and strolled slowly toward the station, still talking. The afternoon sun was golden now, casting long shadows on the pavement.
Daichi glanced sideways at Kuroo, the warmth of the meal still in his chest.
This was nice.
It was… easy.

When they reached the station steps, Daichi checked the time again. "Train leaves in twenty."

Kuroo nodded. "Guess that’s my cue."

They lingered.
Then, just as Daichi was about to turn toward the gates..

"Hey, Sawamura."

Daichi looked back.

Kuroo shoved his hands into his pockets. "Next time, text me before you come to Tokyo."

Daichi smirked. "Why?"

Kuroo smiled, warm and lopsided. "So I can be the one to ‘accidentally’ bump into you."

Daichi shook his head. "You’re ridiculous."

"I’m right, though."

"Maybe."

Kuroo stepped back, lifting a hand in a lazy wave. "Safe trip, Captain."

Daichi waved back, expression soft.

"See you, Kuroo."

ᨐ

Chapter Text

It had been three days. Not that he was counting.
Daichi stood near the far wall of the Karasuno gym, thumb skimming idly across the screen of his phone. The rest of the team was still changing in the locker room. He’d finished early. Efficient as ever. And now he was just… waiting. For what, exactly, he wasn’t ready to admit.
He opened his messages. Not to send anything, just to look. The last text was from Suga two days ago, reminding him to bring tape for Tanaka’s ankle. No spam from any unknown numbers. Nothing with the annoying little grinning-cat emoji Kuroo used too much.
Daichi locked the screen and slipped the phone back into his jacket pocket.
Fine.
Not a big deal.

He walked back toward the bench, rolling his shoulders as he moved. Maybe the training camp had been a lot. Maybe he was just mentally adjusting. Maybe Kuroo was busy. Maybe..

"Waiting for a ghost text from your volleyball boyfriend?"

Daichi didn’t even turn. "Suga."

"Daichi." Suga’s voice was light and laced with judgment. He padded over with his usual effortless grace and sat beside him on the bench. "You’ve checked your phone three times in the last ten minutes. I’m just saying."

"I was checking the time."

"Your watch is on your wrist."

Daichi glanced down. Dammit. It was.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I’m not waiting for anything. He didn’t say he’d message."

"And yet," Suga said sweetly.
Daichi glared, but it was all surface. Underneath, he knew the truth. Suga had been watching him since the moment they stepped back into the gym.
"You’ve been weird," Suga added, adjusting the tape on his knee. "Like… 20% more broody than usual. And don’t say it’s post-camp muscle fatigue. You’re still beating the rest of us in suicide drills."

"I’m not broody."

"You’re broody adjacent. Captain Broodamura."

"Stop."

Suga smirked. "So what’d he do? Flirt too hard? Accidentally confess his love? Break your fragile, volleyball-shaped heart?"

Daichi shot him a look. "Nothing happened."

"Ah. So that’s the problem."
Before Daichi could retaliate, the doors to the gym burst open with the force of four human natural disasters.

"We’re back, baby!!" Tanaka yelled, flinging his practice jersey like a flag of war.
"Nishinoya SAYS WE’RE DOING DIVE RACES!"
"I NEVER SAID THAT BUT NOW I’M INTO IT!"
"NO DIVE RACES," Daichi called automatically.

Too late.

Hinata and Nishinoya were already across the court, sliding across the polished floor with wild enthusiasm and zero regard for safety. Kageyama followed behind, looking both annoyed and reluctantly competitive.
"You’re not even doing them right!" he shouted. "You’re just throwing your bodies at the ground!"

"EXACTLY!" Nishinoya yelled back. "DIVE WITH YOUR HEART!"
Tanaka joined in with a battle cry and an attempted knee-slide that ended with him crashing into a ball cart.

Daichi pinched the bridge of his nose.
Suga, utterly unbothered, leaned back on his hands and hummed, "Ah… home sweet home."

"You’re enjoying this."

"I’m enjoying watching you try to suppress a full mental breakdown. It’s wholesome."
At that moment, Asahi wandered in with a fresh water bottle and instantly froze at the sight of Nishinoya doing cartwheels across the court while Hinata tried to leap over him.

"...What’s happening?"

"Team-building," Tanaka said proudly, now stretching with one leg on the net post like a Broadway extra.

"Sanity collapse," Kageyama muttered.

Asahi looked to Daichi, silently pleading for structure.

"Don’t look at me," Daichi said. "I gave up twenty minutes ago."

Hinata ran toward Asahi, bouncing like a toddler on sugar. "Come onnnnnn, Asahi-san! We need your height for the next part!"

"What’s the next part?"

"AERIAL CATCHES!" Nishinoya cried. "YOU JUMP AND WE THROW BALLS AND YOU GRAB THEM IN MIDAIR!"

Suga turned to Daichi. "Should we stop them?"

Daichi paused. Considered. Then shrugged. "Let them tire themselves out a little. We'll start drills in twenty."

"Responsible parenting."

"I’m not their dad."

"You are absolutely their dad."

Suga stood and clapped his hands sharply. "Fifteen minutes of chaos! Then blocking drills!"

The collective groan that rose was loud and immediate.

"That means you too, Hinata."

"BUT I’M NOT EVEN TIRED YET!"

"Exactly. Let’s fix that."

Daichi shook his head, but couldn’t help the way his mouth twitched.
He loved them. Every single unhinged, loud, dramatic one of them. Even Tsukishima, who was off in a corner doing solo receive practice like he wasn’t secretly enjoying the background chaos.
Still, as drills resumed and the energy slowly funnelled into actual training, Daichi’s mind drifted again. He wasn’t angry. Not even disappointed, really.

Just…
Waiting.
Even if he told himself he wasn’t.

ᨐ

Practice started with a whistle.
Not a dramatic one. Not a match-day, stadium-roaring whistle. Just the sharp, simple blast that echoed across Karasuno’s gym and meant only one thing: practice had begun.
And Karasuno? Karasuno moved.

Daichi’s voice rang out, clear and commanding. "Two laps around the gym. Warm up your legs, I want blood pumping before we hit coordination drills."

Shoes squeaked. Hinata shot forward like he’d been launched from a cannon, Kageyama on his heels with that wild, competitive energy that sparked whenever Hinata so much as existed. Nishinoya and Tanaka whooped behind them, already shouting battle cries like the running itself was a war.
Tsukishima jogged like he’d been personally wronged by cardio.
Yamaguchi stayed just half a pace behind him, loyal as ever.
Asahi jogged steady, calm, while Suga… drifted. Coaching from within the pack.
The air was already heavy with sweat and anticipation.
Quick transitions.
Receive into set into spike.
Blocking footwork.
Emergency coverage.
They moved through it all like parts of a machine just slightly out of sync, grinding harder than usual, like gears needed oiling. The raw energy was there. The skill. But the emotional timing was off. A little too quiet between points. A little too much overthinking.

Daichi felt it.
He was part of it.

"All right," Ukai barked from the sidelines. "Enough warm-up. Full court. Let’s run six-on-six. Don’t hold back."

Daichi slid his elbow pad up. "Teams: Suga, Tanaka, Yamaguchi, Narita, Ennoshita and me, receive first."

The others scrambled into place, Kageyama already cracking his neck like a boxer about to step into the ring.
Kuroo would be amused by this lineup, Daichi thought vaguely before immediately shutting that thought down.
Suga tossed the ball to the other side. Hinata caught it mid-jump and spun it dramatically.

"You’re goin’ down!" he shouted, grinning like a demon.

Daichi smirked. "You can try."

The whistle blew. First serve.
The ball tore through the air, low and deadly. Daichi dropped into a textbook receive, arms firm, angle perfect. The ball arced clean to Suga.

Without even looking, Suga flicked the ball up. Hinata leapt..

Wait. Wrong side. Hinata was on defence.
He still jumped, like his body forgot he wasn’t supposed to attack.

Kageyama grunted. "Idiot."

"Force of habit!" Hinata called mid-air before landing like a cat and scrambling back to position.

"Focus!" Daichi barked.

Next, Suga set for Tanaka, a clean, fast toss. Tanaka drove it down the line with a roar. Yamamoto would've been proud.
Ball out. Point lost.

Tanaka howled at the ceiling. "I SWEAR THE LINE MOVED!"

"Maybe your eyes did," Tsukishima muttered.

"SHUT UP, GIRAFFE."

Ukai blew the whistle again. "Play doesn't stop just because your ego’s bruised! Reset! Let’s go!"

Rotation shifted.
Daichi moved to the back row. Took a breath. Read Kageyama’s twitchy fingers. Read the shift in Tsukishima’s stance.
Ball in. Asahi blocked. The ball ricocheted to Suga. He popped it high.

They kept going. Ball back to the other side. Yamaguchi served. Tsukishima blocked. Kageyama dove. Nishinoya flung himself across the court just because he could.
The gym roared with motion. With footsteps. With breath.
It was beautiful. Ugly. Clumsy. Glorious.
Like them.

Mid-rally, Tanaka yelled, "ASAHI-SAN, JUMP!"

"I AM JUMPING!"

"JUMP MORE!"

Asahi growled and slammed the ball through Narita’s attempted block. The gym shook.

"YEEEEEAAAHHHH!!" Nishinoya screamed, fist pumping. "THE POWER OF FEAR!"

Daichi wiped sweat from his brow, panting. A corner of his mind said, This is good. This is right.
The part underneath it whispered:
Still waiting, though, aren’t you?
He growled and pushed it down.
They rotated again. And again. And again.

Hinata’s eyes gleamed across the net. "One more, Captain!"

Daichi nodded. "Give me your best."

The ball flew.
Set.
Spike.
Receive.
Block.
Dig.
Daichi read it all. Stepped where he had to. Grit in his jaw. Power in his arms.
Hinata came down from a monster jump, laughing breathlessly.
Kageyama muttered a curse and reset.
Tanaka wiped his face and declared, "This is what men are made for."
Daichi stood in the middle of it. Breathing hard. Muscles humming.
It was everything.
It still wasn’t enough to shake the feeling.

As the whistle blew, Ukai’s voice cut through. "That’s practice! Cool down and stretch! You looked like actual volleyball players for a second there!"

Laughter. Groans.
Nishinoya and Tanaka immediately began trying to one-up each other in stretches.
Hinata was stretching one leg and talking at the speed of sound.
Tsukishima wandered off to rehydrate and not talk to anyone.
Suga walked over, bumping shoulders. "You played hard today."

Daichi nodded. "Felt good."

Suga handed him a water bottle, his tone lighter. "Still no text?"

Daichi took a long sip. "I didn’t check."

Suga raised an eyebrow. "But you will."

"...Maybe."

"Mm." Suga smiled. "He’s probably checking his phone, too."

Daichi didn’t answer.
But maybe, just maybe, that helped.

ᨐ

Over in Tokyo, the weight room was quiet, not silent, but full of the kind of sound that didn't interrupt thoughts: the low whir of a fan in the corner, the soft clink of metal plates, the rhythmic inhale-exhale of someone counting reps under their breath. Kuroo liked it that way. Focus. Burn. Push through.
He wrapped his hands around the barbell, adjusted his stance, and pressed upward. Again. And again. Deltoids screaming now, which was good. Better than his brain screaming instead.

You could just text him.

Nope.

Push.

The weight came down again.

Just a simple, ‘How was the trip back?’ It’s polite. Normal.

Push.

He grunted and racked the bar, dropping onto the bench with a heavy exhale. His phone was nearby. Still untouched since he started.
It wasn't that he didn’t want to talk to Daichi. He did. Badly. But for once in his life, the words didn't line up. Nothing felt casual enough to mask how not-casual it was.

"You're pouting," said a voice from behind.

Kuroo startled slightly and twisted around. Kenma was standing at the doorway, hoodie half-zipped, game console in one hand and a disapproving cat-face sticker crookedly clinging to the corner of his phone.

"I'm not pouting," Kuroo said.

Kenma raised an eyebrow. "You only train this hard when you're overthinking. Or flirting. And you’re alone, so..."

Kuroo grabbed his towel and wiped sweat from his forehead. "Maybe I’m just working on my vertical."

"You already jump high enough to block my self-esteem. What’s her name?"

Kuroo looked at him flatly. "What makes you think it’s a girl?"

Kenma blinked. Then blinked again.

"Oh," he said. "It’s him."

Kuroo froze, towel still halfway down his neck.

Kenma narrowed his eyes slightly. "Wait. Is it still... Karasuno him?"

Kuroo didn’t answer.

Kenma clicked his tongue. "I knew you were weird after the camp. You were being too nice to Yaku. You hate being nice."

"I was not"

"You were also staring at your phone like it had emotionally wronged you."

"It did."

Kenma shrugged and wandered toward a bench, plopping down and pulling his hoodie over his knees. "So what did you do? Say something dumb? Scare him off?"

"No," Kuroo muttered. "I just didn’t say anything."

Kenma peered at him over his sleeve. "So... you chickened out."

"I didn’t" Kuroo stopped, sighed, then ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, yeah. Maybe."

"Text him."

"It’s not that simple."

"It’s exactly that simple."

Kuroo stared at the screen of his phone. Blank. Empty. No new messages. No missed calls. No signs from the volleyball gods. Just the weight of a decision he should’ve made days ago.

"I’ll text him later," he said finally.

Kenma didn't argue. Just went back to his game with a shrug and a muttered, "He’s probably waiting."

Kuroo stretched his arms out and tilted his head back toward the ceiling. The gym’s fluorescent lights buzzed quietly above.

He’s probably waiting.
Kuroo bit the inside of his cheek.
Maybe later wasn’t going to cut it anymore.

ᨐ

Kuroo sat in the corner of Nekoma’s gym, his back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. The team had cleared out after evening practice. The lights above hummed faintly in that way they always did when the building was too quiet. Distant echoes bounced from the utility hall, a stray broom or the rustle of someone locking up.
His phone was in his hand. Again.
Still unopened messages. Still no new ones.
His thumbs hovered over the screen like they had for the last fifteen minutes.

There were several tries in his draft box:

> Hey, hope you made it back okay.

Too short. Too boring.

> Was weird not seeing you in the gym today.

Nope. That sounded weird.

> You didn’t die, right?

...Why did that feel somehow worse?

He hit backspace, erased the whole thing, then flopped his head back against the wall with a groan. "What the hell am I even doing…"

"You’re spiralling," Kenma said blandly from two meters away, where he sat cross-legged with his console on his knees and his hood up like a sullen ghost.

Kuroo didn’t bother to ask how long he’d been sitting there.

"How do people do this?" Kuroo grumbled. "How do normal people text without sounding like they just fell off a cliff of desperation?"

Kenma didn't look up. "They just type and hit send."

"That can’t be right."

Kenma sighed. "You're the same person who once sent me twenty-three texts in a row because I took two hours to reply with ‘yeah’. You’ve never cared about sounding clingy before."

"That’s different. You’re not intimidating. Sawamura could block a train."

"And yet, you flirted with him the entire training camp like you were trying to win a bet."

"I wasn’t trying to win a bet."

Kenma hummed, noncommittal. "You smiled at him every time he got flustered. You handed him water bottles with dramatic flair. You kept calling him ‘Captain’ like it was a private joke."

"...That was a private joke."

Kenma didn’t answer, which meant he agreed.

Kuroo groaned again and flopped dramatically onto his back, one arm thrown across his eyes like the dying heroine in a Victorian play. "He probably doesn’t even remember me."

"You mean the person you locked eyes with every night at the hotel like you were in a soap opera? That guy?"

"Kenma."

"Just saying."

Kuroo sat up and jabbed his phone toward him. "Fine. If you’re so smart, you tell me what to say."

Kenma finally looked up, blinking slowly as if waking from another dimension. "To  Sawamura Daichi?"

"Yes. Pretend you have a soul and help me."

Kenma reached out, took Kuroo’s phone with both hands like it was an ancient relic, and slowly typed. Then handed it back.

Kuroo read it aloud. "‘Hey. I think about your legs when I’m doing squats. Hope that’s not weird.’"

He stared at Kenma. "What the hell is wrong with you."

Kenma shrugged. "You said to help."

"You want me blocked."

"You want to suffer."

Kuroo tossed the phone into his gym bag with a soft thump and buried his face in his hands. "This is impossible."

"It’s literally not. You’re just dramatic."

Kuroo muttered into his palms, "I’m composed."

"You’re pining."

"I am not"

"You are," Kenma said flatly, setting his console down and giving him an unblinking stare. "You’ve been working out twice as much, stretching like you’re in an idol group, fixing your hair for practice, and lying to yourself. It’s weird. Stop being weird."

Kuroo groaned, dragging his palms down his face. "Fine. Okay. So what would you say? Honestly?"

Kenma considered for a moment. Then: "Send him something normal. Not flirty. Not stiff. Just... like a person. Something you’d say out loud if he was here."

Kuroo stared at the ceiling. "If he was here, I’d say... ‘you left your water bottle, dumbass.’"

Kenma blinked. "Better than nothing."

"God." Kuroo dropped onto his side. "Why does he have to have shoulders like that. And a voice like gravel and honey. It’s offensive."

"Not as offensive as you rolling around on the floor like a teenager in a drama."

"You’re no help."

Kenma gave a rare, tiny smile. "I am helping. I’m not letting you send the thigh text."

Kuroo groaned again. "I’m losing it."

"You’ve already lost it," Kenma replied softly, leaning his head against the wall. "Just… maybe tell him something real. That you liked seeing him. That it’s weird not having him here. That you’re gonna challenge him to a push-up contest next time. Whatever. Just be you. The you that makes people not hate you."

Kuroo was quiet for a beat.

Then: "You’re kind of a softie, huh."

Kenma yawned. "I’ll delete all your progress if you say that again."

Kuroo laughed, genuinely, finally. Then picked up his phone again.
Drafted one more message.
Didn’t send it.
But this time, he saved it.

ᨐ

Chapter Text

Kuroo was staring at his phone again.
The message sat there, quietly glowing in Kuroo’s draft folder like a loaded trap.

Hey. It’s weird not seeing you around the gym.

Hope the trip back went okay.

Simple. Harmless. Practically neutral.
And somehow it still made his palms sweat.
Kuroo sat at the edge of his bed, hair still damp from the shower, wearing a worn-out Nekoma t-shirt and sweatpants that had been through more seasons than he could count. His phone rested beside him, screen dimmed. Like it was waiting for his courage to grow legs.
He leaned back against the wall, kicked his foot against the mattress once. Then again.
What was the worst that could happen?

Daichi could leave him on read.
Daichi could reply out of politeness.
Daichi could not reply at all.

...Daichi could reply with something soft. Or teasing. Or real.

Kuroo rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. His gaze drifted to the ceiling. The familiar cracks in the paint. Everything so normal.. except the silence between them.
He picked up the phone again.
Opened the message.
Read it five more times.
Deleted a period. Put it back.
He inhaled slowly.

And hit send.

The message disappeared from the draft box with a quiet whoosh and landed in the chat thread, timestamped, clean and simple.

Sent.

Kuroo stared at it for another full minute, heart pounding for no logical reason.
Then he tossed the phone across the bed, flopped back onto his pillow, and exhaled like he’d just survived a mountain climb.

ᨐ

Evening had settled like warm steam over the Karasuno gym. Practice had wrapped twenty minutes ago, but no one had actually left, not really. The team lingered like they always did, reluctant to go home while energy still buzzed in their limbs. Hinata and Kageyama were bickering just outside the gym doors. Again.

"You stepped on the line!" Hinata yelled, arms flailing with righteous fury.

"I did not!" Kageyama growled. "Your eyes are broken. Get them checked!"

Daichi stood near the wall inside, watching them through the open door with a bemused expression. Somewhere behind him, Nishinoya was balancing a water bottle on his head while Tanaka tried to flick a sweatband onto it like a carnival game. Suga and Asahi sat on the bench nearby, stretching and exchanging exhausted smiles.
It was familiar. It was loud. It was home.
And it was in the middle of all this that his phone buzzed in his pocket.
He barely noticed it at first, just a soft vibration against his thigh, but something about the timing of it made him pause. He pulled it out. Glanced at the screen.
Then stopped breathing for half a second.

[Kuroo "Block This 🔥" Tetsurou]

Hey. It’s weird not seeing you around the gym.

Hope the trip back went okay.

Daichi blinked. Read it again. Then again.
It wasn’t even a big message, not bold, not flirty, not overly casual. Just… real. Thoughtful. Exactly the kind of message someone would send if they’d been thinking about you but hadn’t known what to say until now.
Daichi’s heart did something stupid in his chest.
He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t prepared. His mind was already flipping through a thousand ways to respond:

> Glad to hear from you.

> Weird here too.

> Was starting to think you forgot me.

He was smiling before he even realized it. Just a little.
And that’s exactly when the screaming started.

"I SWEAR ON TANAKA’S HAIRLINE, YOU WERE ON THE LINE!!" Hinata’s voice pierced the air like a firecracker as he launched himself back into the gym with Kageyama chasing close behind.

Daichi barely turned in time.

"WATCH OUT!!" Nishinoya shouted.

Hinata barreled forward, not looking, not thinking, just moving, and his shoulder clipped Daichi square in the arm.
The phone flew.
Time slowed.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" Suga’s voice echoed across the gym like a banshee.

"CATCH IT!" someone screamed.

Tanaka dove. Nishinoya leapt after him. Kageyama flung a hand out mid-stride. Yamaguchi tried to slide into it like a baseball save. Even Tsukishima made a lazy grab for it, one eye still rolling with disdain, but it was too fast, too high, too doomed.
The phone arced through the air in the middle of Karasuno’s best and brightest.
And hit the ground.

CRACK.

The sound echoed like a slap.
Everyone froze.
Daichi stood in the middle of it all, mouth slightly open, one hand still held out uselessly.

Nishinoya was the first to crawl forward and pick it up. "Oh no."

He handed it back reverently, like a broken relic.
Daichi took it.
The screen was shattered. Not just a little. Glass webbed out like ice on a windshield. The message from Kuroo still faintly visible behind the cracks, frozen in time, unreadable now. Unreachable.

"Is it... is it dead?" Suga asked gently.

Daichi tapped the screen. Nothing. Tried the side button. Still nothing.
Silence.

Then:

"I’M SO SORRY CAPTAIN!!" Hinata wailed, bowing so fast his forehead hit the floor with a thud. "IT WAS KAGEYAMA’S FAULT!"

"WAS NOT!!"

"You tackled me like a flying squirrel!"

"YOU SAID I STEPPED ON THE LINE!!"

Daichi didn’t respond.
He was still staring at the screen. Still seeing the lines of the message. Still feeling the thud in his chest from earlier, except now it felt more like a bruise.
He sighed.

"Well," he muttered, "I guess I’ll be going to the phone store tomorrow."

Suga snorted behind him, rubbing his temples. "You mean we all are. You think we’re gonna miss the fallout of this?"

Tanaka nodded solemnly. "We ride at dawn."

"Hinata’s not allowed to carry anything more valuable than a rubber ball until graduation," Tsukishima added.

Daichi finally smiled. A small one. Crooked. But real.
Even with the chaos. Even with the crushed phone. Even with the frustration tugging at the edges of his chest… the message had come.
And he’d read it.
Just in time.

ᨐ

The broken phone sat like a corpse on the locker bench.
Daichi stared at it for what had to be the fifth time that hour, as if sheer willpower might bring it back to life. The screen was a mosaic of cracks, the faint glow beneath it flickering and dim like the tail end of a firefly’s last breath.

"I think you’ve stared at that thing longer than I’ve looked at another person in my entire life," Suga said, folding his arms and leaning against the locker beside him.

Daichi sighed. "There was a message. From Kuroo. I saw it just before… well. You saw."

"I did. Very cinematic. Slow-mo phone death. Whole team trying to catch it like a sacred artefact. I’m honestly amazed no one dislocated a shoulder."

"I didn’t even get to reply."

Suga tilted his head, face softening. "You really wanted to, huh?"

Daichi didn’t answer right away. He rubbed his thumb along the side of the ruined device.
"He didn’t say anything big," he said finally. "Just that it was weird not seeing me around the gym. And that he hoped the trip back went okay."

Suga smiled faintly. "And you melted like a popsicle."

Daichi groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I don’t melt."

"You melted," Suga said gently. "You’re melting right now."

"I was going to say something back. Something smart. Or casual. Or, I don’t know… normal. But then Hinata happened."

"Hinata does tend to happen. Loudly."

Daichi dropped his hands with a sigh. "Now I’ve just left him on read. And I can’t even message from another phone because I don’t have his number memorised. It was saved on this."

He held the phone up, and a piece of cracked glass slid off and clinked to the floor like punctuation.

Suga winced. "That’s not a good sign."

"No kidding."

Suga was quiet for a moment. "Well, we could try messaging from my phone? If we get his number somehow"

Daichi paused. "No. That’s too weird. What would I even say? ‘Hey, it’s Daichi. Suga’s phone. Broke mine. Texting you because I'm desperate. Still emotionally stable, promise.’"

"Okay, okay," Suga said, hands raised in surrender. "So we don’t do that."

"I could send an email?"

"Absolutely not. You’ll sound like his boss."

"Maybe I could wait until after I get a new phone…"

"Right. Because silence for days won’t send any kind of message."

Daichi groaned and flopped onto the bench like a man defeated.

Suga watched him for a moment, amused sympathy dancing in his expression. "You know," he said, "for someone who tackles volleyballs like they owe him money, you’re incredibly skittish about this guy."

"I’m not skittish," Daichi said into the towel draped over his face.

"You’re agonising."

"I just… want to get it right."

Suga crouched beside the bench, tilting his head to make eye contact. "What exactly is ‘right’?"

Daichi hesitated. Then sat up, towel still half-draped over his shoulder. His brow furrowed. "I don’t know," he said honestly. "Just… not weird. Not clingy. Not too much. Not too little."

Suga looked at him, then stood again, muttering as he walked to his locker.

"Man. I haven’t seen you this spun out since you forgot your speech for the third-years’ graduation ceremony."

Daichi followed him with his eyes. "That was one time."

"It was one dramatic time."

Daichi exhaled again, leaning forward and rubbing his face. "It’s just… I haven’t done this. Not like this. Not with someone who.."

"..makes you think too hard?" Suga offered gently.

Daichi met his gaze and nodded.

Suga closed his locker with a soft click, then came over and placed a hand on Daichi’s shoulder.

"You’ll figure it out," he said. "Probably not tonight. Definitely not with my phone. But eventually."

Daichi smiled, crooked and tired. "Thanks."

"But also," Suga added with a grin, "I swear to god if you pace around the gym muttering about message tone for one more minute, I’m telling Coach you’re dying of romance and need to be benched."

Daichi laughed, a real one, finally, and shook his head.

"Fine. No pacing. For now."

ᨐ

Chapter Text

Kuroo’s alarm went off at 6:35 AM like a threat.
He smacked it with more force than necessary, rolled over, and let out the kind of sound that lived somewhere between a dying cat and a hungover philosopher. Then he forced himself upright and blinked at his bedroom wall like it had wronged him personally.
It hadn’t.
But his phone still hadn’t buzzed either, and that was close enough.
Kuroo scratched his head, yawned like he meant it, and dragged himself out of bed with all the enthusiasm of a student on Tuesday morning. Which, unfortunately, he was.
He shuffled to the bathroom. Washed his face. Made eye contact with himself in the mirror and immediately regretted it.

"Still no message?" he asked his reflection.

The reflection didn’t answer. Which was just as well. He wasn’t ready for a lecture from mirror-Kuroo.
His parents had already left for work, and the house was quiet. He poured himself cereal, forgot he didn’t like that kind, poured it anyway, and stared out the kitchen window while chewing.
The weather was too nice. The birds were singing. His cereal tasted like regret. And still.. no new messages.
Not that he was checking. He totally wasn’t checking.
He just happened to glance at his phone. Three times. Okay, four.

He left for school with his bag slung over one shoulder and his jacket half-zipped. Tokyo air still had a late-spring chill in the mornings, crisp against the back of his neck. His headphones were in. Music on. Something with a beat. Something not romantic.
A block from his building, he spotted Kenma waiting by the vending machine, hood up, expression dead to the world.

"Morning, sunshine," Kuroo greeted.

Kenma made a noise like a distant modem trying to connect.
They boarded the train in silence. Kuroo leaned against the door, watching the scenery blur by. Tokyo looked like a moving diagram, all steel and color and rhythm. But his brain wouldn’t stop returning to that message.

Read. No reply.

He shoved his phone deeper into his pocket.
Maybe Daichi’s busy.
Maybe his team locked him in a supply closet as a prank.
Maybe he read it, panicked, and swore off phones forever.

"Stop it," Kenma said without looking up.

"I didn’t say anything."

"You were thinking loudly. It’s annoying."

Kuroo sighed and leaned back again. "I’m fine."

"You’re lying."

"I’m managing my expectations."

"You’re lying poorly."

They arrived at school ten minutes later. Kuroo shoved the phone into his locker like he was punishing it. The day passed in a blur of half-focused lessons, rushed notes, and occasional attempts at paying attention to things that were not Sawamura’s unread reply.
Gym class. Chemistry. Lunch.
He stabbed his bento with his chopsticks like it owed him money.

"Dude," one of his classmates muttered, sliding their tray away slowly.

After school, practice was the one place he could breathe. Nekoma’s gym buzzed with the usual controlled chaos: Yaku barking at Lev for missing yet another receive, Kai calmly directing stretching routines, Inuoka grinning like a golden retriever during footwork drills.
Kuroo called warm-ups and set up blocking exercises, laughing too loud at Yaku’s exasperation, throwing extra smirks at Lev to rile him up just enough. He played like someone trying to outrun his own thoughts, quick, sharp, focused.
But they always caught up eventually.
During water break, Kuroo sat with his towel over his head and finally caved, checking his phone again.
Still no reply.
A new message from Bokuto, though:

[Bokuto Koutaro]

DID U TEXT YET

I BELIEVE IN UR FLIRTY POWER BRO

MAKE HIM BLUSH >:D

Kuroo sighed, then typed back:

He left me on read, Bo.

This is my villain origin story.

[Bokuto Koutaro]

HE WHAT

DO U NEED ME TO FIGHT HIM

I CAN SQUAT A WHOLE TREE

Kuroo didn’t reply. He shoved his phone away, took a long drink of water, and stood again.

"Back to blocking drills," he called. "Lev, stop using your arms like spaghetti. Kai, you’re with me. Yaku, please don’t murder anyone unless absolutely necessary."

Yaku grunted, but complied.
The rest of practice was loud, fast, a little messy,  exactly what he needed.
After, when the gym emptied and Kenma lingered behind to stretch, Kuroo sat cross-legged near the bench, his shirt damp with sweat and his head buzzing less than before.
Kenma finally looked up.

"Still nothing?"

Kuroo shook his head. "I’m trying not to care."

Kenma stared at him blankly. "You’re doing terribly."

"I know."

Kenma stretched his legs out. "Want to stop at the convenience store?"

"Only if I can wallow in the snack aisle."

Kenma stood, already heading for the door. "Fine. But I’m not listening to you debate whether ‘Sawamura would like this chip flavour’ for twenty minutes again."

"No promises."

And they walked off into the Tokyo evening, the air cooler now, the sky streaked with the kind of blue that promised maybe, just maybe, tomorrow would be better.

ᨐ

"Can’t you just ask him for his number again?"

"I would," Daichi hissed to Suga under his breath, "if I could message him."

They were standing just outside the gym doors, the summer air warm and buzzing with leftover energy from practice. Most of the team was still inside, noisy, sweaty, loud in the way only Karasuno could be after drills. From here, they could hear Tanaka yelling about his "perfect spike form" and Nishinoya doing something that sounded suspiciously like backflips. Again.

Suga tilted his head. "So… you’re just going to do what? Summon it from memory?"

Daichi exhaled sharply. "There has to be a way to find it. The training camp info, didn’t we have a group chat with some other teams back then?"

Suga raised a brow. "You think anyone saved that? That was like… two phones ago."

"I’m grasping at straws here."

Just then, the gym door slammed open behind them.

"CAPTAIN!!" Hinata exploded into the hallway like a bottle rocket, face bright red and eyes full of manic energy. "KAGEYAMA’S SAYING I CAN’T JUMP STRAIGHT!"

"You can’t!" Kageyama shouted from inside.

"I CAN!"

"You land like a wounded pigeon!"

"I’LL SHOW YOU A WOUNDED PIGEON!"

Daichi turned around slowly. "Take it outside."

"Yes sir!" Hinata chirped, saluting before vanishing down the corridor like a streak of orange lightning.

Kageyama muttered something unintelligible and followed with a death glare.

Suga chuckled. "They’ve reached peak form today."

"They haven’t not been in peak form since they met," Daichi said flatly.

"Fair."

As the shouting faded, Daichi turned back toward the bench just inside the gym. He scanned it, not for volleyballs or towels this time, but for a familiar bob of hair.

"Yachi!" he called out. "Do you still have that folder from the joint training camp? The one where they emailed us the schedule and team lists?"

Yachi blinked from where she was carefully organising clipboards. "Um… maybe? I think I archived it. Why?"

"Just curious," Daichi said way too fast. "For… memory. Record-keeping. Nostalgia."

Suga coughed into his fist.

Yachi looked confused, but nodded. "I can check when I get home?"

"Great. Thanks."

Tanaka strolled by, shirt half-off and a towel over his head. "Yo, Captain. You looking for training camp stuff?"

Daichi tensed. "Just some info I thought might be useful."

Tanaka grinned. "Wait, is this about that message? The one from Nekoma guy?"

Daichi blinked. "What?"

"You know, the one you got before Hinata yeeted your phone into another dimension."

"Nobody yeeted anything," Daichi muttered.

"Ohhh," Nishinoya said, sliding in beside him like a cartoon character, "is this a romantic info search?"

"It is not romantic!" Daichi hissed.

Suga snorted beside him. "It’s a little romantic."

Daichi pinched the bridge of his nose. "I am simply trying to respond to a perfectly normal message from someone I know through volleyball."

"You mean someone whose hair you stared at for the entire final practice match?" Yamaguchi offered helpfully from the bench.

"I did not!"

Tsukishima walked by with a water bottle. "You did."

Daichi turned slowly to Suga. "This was a mistake."

Suga was smiling like a man enjoying a four-course meal. "This is better than any soap opera."

"Can we please focus?" Daichi asked the group, visibly trying to hold his composure. "I just need a way to contact him. That’s it. Without it being weird."

The team stared at him.

Then Tanaka said, "We should just go find him in Tokyo."

Nishinoya threw a fist in the air. "Field trip!!"

"No," Daichi said immediately.

"ROAD TRIP," Hinata added from down the hall.

"No road trip," Daichi repeated, louder.

Yachi waved timidly. "I’ll check the second I get home, okay?"

Daichi exhaled slowly. "Thank you, Yachi."

Suga leaned in. "You’re going to panic if she does find it, you know."

Daichi looked down at his still-cracked phone, nestled in his bag like a reminder of how not-casual this all was.

"I won’t panic," he said. "I’ll just… overthink very quietly."

Suga patted his back. "I’m proud of you. And also, I give you two days before you break into the school’s records like a lovesick criminal."

"No breaking in," Daichi muttered.

"Noted," Suga said. "For now."

ᨐ

"Don’t pick something cursed again," Kenma said flatly, eyes glued to his phone as he drifted behind Kuroo through the aisles of a tucked-away game shop in Ikebukuro.

"I didn’t mean to pick a cursed one," Kuroo replied, crouching to examine a stack of indie titles with suspiciously vague covers. "It looked like a strategy sim."

"It was a haunted dating game where all the characters were kitchen appliances."

"Look, the sentient rice cooker had emotional depth!"

Kenma side-eyed him. "You cried."

"I bonded," Kuroo said, standing up with a grin. "That’s different."

It was late afternoon, and the city buzzed with its usual mix of commuters and students, all weaving around each other under soft clouds and the golden haze of a setting sun. The air still held a bite of spring chill, but not enough to need more than a hoodie.
Kuroo had spent the morning ignoring his phone, then spent the early afternoon ignoring it even harder by dragging Kenma out on a mission to "find something good." He hadn’t said what that something was. Kenma hadn’t asked.
Now they stood in the third store of the day, surrounded by too many games, too much neon packaging, and the faint smell of carpet that had seen too many summers.

"You’re stalling," Kenma said.

Kuroo blinked. "At what?"

"Your brain."

"That’s vague."

"You’re pacing like an RPG character with no side quests left. Just say it."

Kuroo gave him a look. "I’m enjoying myself."

"You’re performing enjoyment."

"Fine," Kuroo muttered, turning back to the shelf. "Maybe I am trying to forget about being left on read."

Kenma hummed in acknowledgment. "Still no message?"

"Nope."

"How long’s it been now?"

"…Two and a half days."

Kenma blinked. "Oof."

"Thanks for the empathy."

"You’re welcome."

Kuroo plucked a game off the shelf and flipped it over. He wasn’t reading it. His mind was elsewhere, picturing Daichi, ignoring the message because it annoyed him or something.

"Do you think," Kuroo started, "he read it and thought.."

Kenma held up a hand without even looking up. "No."

"But"

"Nope."

"You didn’t even"

"I don’t need to know what you were going to say. The answer is still no." Kenma tapped his screen, then shoved a case into Kuroo’s chest. "This one. Multiplayer dungeon crawler. No haunted toasters. Let’s go."

Kuroo snorted, but took it. "Fine. You’re the boss."

ᨐ

Kenma’s room was quiet as usual, sparsely decorated but not cold. 
They dropped their bags inside the door. Kuroo kicked off his shoes, cracked open a canned coffee from the fridge, and collapsed onto the couch like it owed him rent.
Kenma slid onto the floor with a controller, already booting up the console. "We’re not stopping until we clear three levels."

"Deal," Kuroo said, stretching.

For a while, they didn’t talk. Not about feelings, anyway. Just stats, enemy placement, equipment drops. The room was filled with button clicks, music from the game, and the occasional sarcastic commentary.

"Don’t walk into the poison trap again."

"I thought it was loot!"

"It was green."

"It was shiny."

But underneath it all, Kuroo’s mind kept drifting.
Not always. Not painfully. Just little moments, the lull between loading screens, the part where they split up in the game and he didn’t have to think too hard. That space where memory lives.
The soft lighting of the Fokuroudani gym.
Daichi’s voice mid-play, low and steady.
The ghost of a smile at the corners of his mouth when he was annoyed but amused.
The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed.
The message he read but never replied to.

Kuroo leaned back with a sigh. "Maybe I should just send a follow-up."

"No," Kenma said immediately.

"But"

"No follow-ups until the first message is cold for a week. Minimum."

"A week?! I’ll be dead by then."

"You won’t. You’ll just have to develop personality traits like patience and resilience."

Kuroo rolled his eyes, but smiled.
They played another level. Kenma made Kuroo do all the tanking. Kuroo swore revenge. They stopped for snacks halfway through and argued about the objectively correct way to eat melon pan.
And when it got late, and the lights were soft and the window open just enough to let in the evening breeze, Kuroo leaned his head against the back of the couch and said quietly:

"I still think he’ll reply."

Kenma didn’t say anything right away. Just looked over at him from the floor.

"I know he will," he said eventually.

And Kuroo believed him.

For now, that was enough.

ᨐ

Chapter Text

It started with Yachi running up to Daichi after practice, cheeks pink and excitement practically bouncing off her shoes.

"I found it!" she said, a little breathless.

Daichi blinked, halfway through stuffing his cracked phone into his gym bag. "Found what?"

"The team list from the training camp! The one with all the captains’ contact info? I was cleaning out my school files and it was just… there!"

Daichi’s heart did a weird little flutter. He straightened, eyes wide. "You did? That’s, Yachi, you’re amazing!"

She beamed. "I thought it might help! You said you lost Kuroo-san’s number, right?"

"Yeah," Daichi said, tone softening. "Yeah, that’d really help."

Yachi looked down at her empty hands, then winced. "Oh… wait. I left it on my desk at home."

Daichi blinked. "You what?"

"I was in such a hurry this morning! I knew I forgot something."

Suga, who’d been lurking nearby with all the casual innocence of a fox near a henhouse, wandered over. "You mean the paper that could restore the Captain’s emotional equilibrium?"

"Don’t start," Daichi muttered.

Yachi bowed deeply. "I’m so sorry! I’ll bring it first thing tomorrow, I promise!"

Daichi waved a hand. "It’s okay, really. Thank you for even remembering it."

"Seriously," Suga added with a grin. "You’re the only responsible adult left in this gym."

"I.. thank you?"

The next day arrived with a mix of anticipation and nerves. True to her word, Yachi met Daichi before classes and handed him a neatly folded sheet of paper. The list was clearly printed, each school’s team listed alphabetically, captains and coaches included.
And there it was:

Nekoma High, Captain: Kuroo Tetsurou

Phone number. Cleanly written. Right there.

It felt strange seeing it again. Like an open door that had been locked for days.

Daichi held the paper for a long time. Folded it carefully. Slipped it into his bag.

"You gonna text him?" Yachi asked timidly.

"I… still don’t have a phone that works."

"Oh! Right."

"I’m going to fix that," Daichi said. "Today, actually. After school."

ᨐ

The electronics store near the train station was bright, clean, and entirely out of Daichi’s price range.
He wandered the aisles slowly, eyes moving from sleek display models to price tags that made his stomach turn. Every model that looked half-decent had at least four digits. The cheapest options looked like they might explode under a stiff breeze.

The sales clerk approached. "Looking for something in particular?"

"Something affordable," Daichi said honestly. "And sturdy."

The clerk gave him a well-practiced nod and gestured to a separate display. Daichi examined the options: scratched casings, limited storage, pre-owned models with suspicious quirks. He picked one up, only for the screen to glitch before it even turned on.
He thanked the clerk, left the store, and tried another down the block.

Worse.

The second place was barely holding itself together, cables tangled, floor sticky, a stack of cracked display phones sitting under a handwritten sign that said "Good as New."
Daichi stared. Blinked. Walked out.
By the time he made it halfway back toward home, the sun was setting and frustration weighed heavy on his shoulders.

Still no new phone.

Still no way to reply.

Still a name and number folded in his bag like a promise he wasn’t allowed to keep yet.

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "Tomorrow," he muttered. "Maybe tomorrow."

But even he didn’t sound convinced.

ᨐ

Day three.
Kuroo didn’t even check the timestamp anymore. He knew it had been three days. Every hour marked its place in his head like chalk on a prison wall.
He still opened the messaging app every now and then. Not because he expected something, not really. But because he needed to see it. That last sent message.
The little word bubble that hadn’t moved.
The "Seen."
And nothing else.
It was stupid how much that little silence hurt.
He kept waiting for it to start feeling funny. Embarrassing, maybe. Annoying. He would’ve welcomed anger, even. But all he got was that quiet ache that sat behind his ribs, like an echo that hadn’t figured out it was supposed to fade.

Kenma didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at him from over his Switch and then set it down gently like Kuroo was emitting some kind of emotional radiation.

"You look like a kicked dog," he said finally.

Kuroo groaned and flopped onto the floor of Kenma’s room. "I’m not a kicked dog."

"You’re something."

Kuroo rolled over, arms spread like a corpse. "It’s been three days."

Kenma raised an eyebrow. "Okay?"

"Three days with nothing. Not even a ‘sorry, can’t talk.’ Or a ‘hey, forgot to reply.’ Just silence."

Kenma resumed playing. "So he ghosted you."

Kuroo winced. "Don’t say it like that."

"Well, what do you want me to say?"

"I don’t know. That it’s a misunderstanding? That he lost his phone? That I didn’t imagine everything in Tokyo?"

Kenma paused his game again. "You didn’t imagine it."

Kuroo sat up slowly, crossing his arms over his knees. "It’s starting to feel like I did."

Silence settled between them. Not heavy. Just quiet. Familiar.

Kenma spoke again, voice lower this time. "So what now?"

"I don’t know."

"You’re gonna see him eventually. Probably at another match."

"Yeah. And what then? We shake hands across the net and pretend I didn’t leave a piece of myself in his inbox?"

Kenma blinked. "That was dramatic, even for you."

Kuroo let out a sharp, breathless laugh and ran a hand through his hair.

"I keep thinking about what I’d say. Like… if he did reply. Or if we bumped into each other. I rehearse it in my head like an idiot."

Kenma picked up a bottle of soda and handed it to him. Kuroo accepted it wordlessly.

"It sucks," he muttered. "It just sucks."

Practice that afternoon didn’t help.
Yaku was on a warpath about serve reception. Lev kept misjudging spikes. Even Kai was a little off. And Kuroo… Kuroo was trying. Trying to be loud, confident, guiding.
But something in him was muted.
He fumbled a block. Missed a timing on a spike. Smiled too hard when he was supposed to laugh.

"Kuroo?" Kai said, during a water break. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Kuroo replied automatically. "Just tired."

Kai gave him a look but didn’t press.
Kuroo looked around the gym.
The nets. The polished floor. The familiar rhythm of movement.
He imagined seeing Daichi across the court again. The way he stood. That posture.
Unmoving. Reliable.
But would he meet his eyes next time? Would it be warm? Cold? Nothing?
Kuroo wasn’t sure which scared him more.

He walked home alone that night.
Didn’t put his headphones in. Didn’t check his phone.
He just walked. Through the glowing streets of Tokyo. Past the quiet convenience stores and vending machines and narrow alleyways buzzing with neon and night.
There was a message he hadn’t sent, a second one. The one that hovered in his head every time he opened their chat.
He never typed it. Not even in drafts.
But it lived in him all the same:

Hey. Did I read this wrong?

He wouldn’t send it. Not ever.
But it stayed.

ᨐ

The inside of the third electronics store smelled like plastic, dust, and defeat.
Daichi stood between two glass cases full of discounted phones, one cracked, one suspiciously sticky-looking, and sighed for what felt like the fiftieth time that day.

It was day three.
Three days of no response.
Three days of holding onto a name and number he couldn’t even use.
Three days of window-shopping through Miyagi’s worst affordable tech.

He crouched to look at the lowest shelf. The phone he’d had his eye on the day before was already gone. What remained were flip phones, off-brand models with limited features, and one ancient device that looked like it belonged in a museum exhibit titled "Communication in the Early 2000s."
A clerk nearby gave him a hopeful, helpful smile.
Daichi offered a strained one back, muttered a polite "thank you," and walked out of the store empty-handed.

Again.

Outside, the late afternoon light painted the sidewalk in soft gold. Cars rumbled past. Somewhere down the block, a chime jingled as a door opened. Everything felt normal. Perfectly normal.
Except it wasn’t.
Daichi was not a guy who obsessed over texts. He didn’t get hung up on things he couldn’t control. He didn’t spiral. That wasn’t his thing.
Except it was now, apparently.
He let his feet carry him through the quieter side streets, mind on autopilot, frustration trailing behind him like a second shadow. He passed a bakery he used to stop at after school. A bookstore he hadn’t entered in months. A vending machine with a blinking OUT OF ORDER sign that somehow felt personally directed.

And then.. he saw it.

Tucked between a noodle shop and a closed florist’s stand, standing quietly like a forgotten relic of the past.

A phone booth.

Actual. Glass-paneled.
Dusty. Slightly scratched.
Still standing.

Daichi slowed to a stop.
He stared at it for a long time, arms crossed, unsure if he was about to laugh or cry.
A phone booth? Really?
It felt like fate had a weird sense of humour.
He took a cautious step closer. The receiver hung crookedly inside. There was a keypad. A coin slot. It looked clean enough.
He imagined it: standing in there, dialling the number, hearing a real phone ring somewhere in Tokyo, far away, maybe in Kuroo’s pocket. Maybe in his room. Maybe not at all.

He could call.
He had the number.
It was just sitting in his bag, folded neatly in the side pocket where he kept emergency medical tape and granola bars.
His stomach twisted.

God, it would be so embarrassing. What would he even say?

"Hey, sorry I ghosted you. I got suplexed by Hinata’s elbow and now I’m calling you from a phone booth like it’s 1997."

Still, his hand moved.
Before he could second-guess himself out of it, Daichi pulled open the door and stepped inside. It creaked faintly, and the smell of metal and old disinfectant wrapped around him like something ceremonial.
He reached into his bag. Pulled out the folded sheet of paper.
His heart thudded loud enough to drown out the city noise.
He fed coins into the slot. Each clink landed like a beat in his chest.
Unfolded the paper. Found the number.
One digit at a time, he pressed the buttons.

He could back out. He could hang up.
But he didn’t.
He pressed the final digit.
The line connected.

And then.. It rang.

Once.
Twice.

Daichi stood frozen in that tiny box of glass and metal, staring at the receiver like it might catch fire in his hand.

Three rings.

His breath hitched.
Was Kuroo going to answer?

ᨐ

Chapter Text

Kuroo sat sideways on his bed, back against the wall, one leg dangling off the edge, the other bent and wedged beneath his hoodie like it could hold him together.
His phone lay facedown next to him on the comforter. Silent. Mocking.
He hadn’t touched it in over an hour, a personal record, honestly. His resolve had finally snapped earlier that afternoon, and he’d stared at their message thread again for a full five minutes before throwing the phone like a cursed object across the room. It had bounced off a pillow with all the dramatic flair of a wet sponge.

Three days.
No message.
No call.
No reason.
Just silence.

It was almost easier to believe Daichi had simply decided not to care anymore.
Which made Kuroo’s brain go somewhere stupid like:

Was I imagining everything?

Did I get it all wrong?

Did he just feel sorry for me??

He groaned and flopped sideways until he was half-sunk into the mattress, staring up at the ceiling like it held cosmic answers.
The world outside moved on. Kuroo’s thoughts stayed static, stuck in the last sentence that had never been answered.

And then..
The phone buzzed.
Not a notification. Not a reminder. Not a spam email from some old sports newsletter.

A call.

He blinked, confused. Rolled over and grabbed it.

Unknown Number.
Miyagi area code.
No name.

Kuroo frowned.
Who the hell called people anymore?
He let it ring once. Twice. A third time.
Then, curiosity got the better of him, and he swiped to answer.

He lifted it to his ear, casual, bored. "Hello?"

There was a tiny pause.
A breath.
Then..

"Hey. It’s me."

Kuroo froze.
That voice.
That voice.

Sawamura Daichi.
On the other end of the line.
Speaking to him.
His heart detonated in his chest like it had been rewound and fast-forwarded at the same time. His brain flatlined. Every system in his body rebooted under a tsunami of holy shit holy shit holy shit.
His entire internal monologue short-circuited.
Okay Kuroo. Breathe. Be normal.
He called you. This is good.
SAY SOMETHING THAT MAKES YOU SEEM HUMAN.
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.

Kuroo didn’t speak for a second.
Or two.
Or five.

Daichi’s voice still echoed in his ear, calm but cautious. Measured.

"Hey. It’s me."

That one sentence had Kuroo’s entire bloodstream staging a concert inside his chest.
The silence on the line stretched. Not because he didn’t want to answer, because his body had completely forgotten how to form a response.
He swallowed. Blinked. Tried again.

"Uh.. yeah. Yeah. Hey."

Cool. Very smooth. That sounded exactly as awkward as he felt.

"Hey," Daichi repeated, softer this time. "Sorry… for the silence. I guess I owe you an explanation."

Kuroo found his voice just enough to say, "You… could say that."

Another beat of silence.

Then Daichi chuckled, low, sheepish. "Okay. Fair."

God. That sound.
Kuroo’s hand gripped the edge of the blanket without realising it. The last time he’d heard Daichi’s voice like this, warm and close and meant only for him, had been on the train platform, when the tension still felt new and the air between them hadn’t yet split open with uncertainty.
Now, that tension felt fragile again. Realer, somehow.

"I didn’t mean to ignore you," Daichi continued. "I got your message. Right after you sent it, actually."

Kuroo blinked. "Then…?"

"There was an incident."

Kuroo’s mouth twitched. "An incident?"

"Hinata."

"Oh no."

"Yeah."

Kuroo sat up straighter. "What did the little gremlin do this time?"

Daichi exhaled, clearly trying not to laugh. "He and Kageyama were arguing outside the gym. Again. I was reading your message when Hinata turned around a little too quickly and elbowed the phone right out of my hands."

Kuroo gasped, full drama. "Elbowed?"

"It flew."

"No!"

"Everyone tried to catch it, Suga dove for it, Tanaka tripped over him, Nishinoya slid across the floor, and Asahi just sort of screamed. Even Tsukishima tried to reach it."

Kuroo burst out laughing, all the tension finally snapping loose from his spine. "That sounds like a Looney Tunes episode."

"It looked like one," Daichi said dryly.

"So what happened to the phone?"

"It didn’t survive."

"Oh no," Kuroo said again, but now grinning. "Tragic."

Daichi sighed. "I couldn’t answer. The screen was shattered, the power button jammed. I only just got your number back."

Kuroo’s heart did something weird then. Like a balloon in his chest suddenly refused to obey gravity. "You went looking for it?"

"I asked Yachi if she had the training camp list."

"And… she did?"

"She forgot it the first day, but yeah. She brought it the next morning."

"And then you called me," Kuroo said, tilting his head, "from a mystery number."

"…Yeah."

A pause.

Kuroo narrowed his eyes, his grin sharpening. "Wait. Why is this an unknown number?"

Another pause.

"…Because I’m calling from a phone booth," Daichi admitted.

Kuroo exploded.

"You’re what?!"

Daichi groaned. "Don’t make it a thing."

"You’re calling me. From. A phone booth."

"I didn’t have another option!"

"That’s the most aggressively dramatic thing I’ve ever heard," Kuroo said, now pacing a slow, delighted circle in his room. "You, standing in a little glass box like a noir protagonist, dialling a number with coins"

"Kuroo."

"in public. On purpose."

"I hate you."

"No you don’t," Kuroo said, positively beaming now. "You’re lucky I didn’t let it go to voicemail. I don’t usually answer unknowns."

"Then why did you?"

"…I guess I was hoping it was a telemarketer. I love yelling at those guys."

"Charming."

"I aim to please."

Daichi let out a short huff of air, something halfway between amusement and exasperation.

"Anyway," he said. "I just didn’t want to leave things weird."

Kuroo dropped onto his bed, still grinning. "I mean, what’s weird? You ghosted me by accident, your team took out your phone in a precision ambush, and now you’re calling me from a payphone like it’s a scene from a retro detective movie. Totally normal."

"Exactly."

"I bet you’re wearing a trench coat, too."

"I’m hanging up."

"No no no wait, okay, okay, I’m done."

But he wasn’t. Not really. He was barely holding it together, because despite the teasing, despite the jokes, he was hearing Daichi’s voice again. He was talking to him. It was real.
And somehow, without saying anything even remotely serious, everything felt okay again.

ᨐ

Daichi leaned back slightly against the inside wall of the phone booth, shoulder nudging the glass as he adjusted his grip on the receiver. The cord was stiff. The booth smelled faintly like someone had cleaned it with lemon-scented something a week ago and then forgot about it.
On the other end of the line, Kuroo let the silence stretch out just long enough for it to feel like a challenge.

"So," Daichi said finally. "How’s Nekoma?"

Kuroo snorted. "Oh, you know. Same as always. Lev’s still convinced he’ll be the ace by next month, Yamamoto’s learned exactly zero chill, and Yaku has threatened to murder someone at least twice this week."

"Just twice? You’re slipping."

"We’re pacing ourselves. Coach said we need to focus more on endurance."

Daichi smiled, relaxing just a little. "Sounds like practice is going well."

"It would go better if Kai didn’t keep pretending he’s not lowkey judging all of us."

"You deserve it."

"Wow. Hurtful." Kuroo leaned back in his own room, twirling a pen between his fingers. "And how’s Karasuno? Still standing?"

"Barely," Daichi muttered. "The first years are chaos. And Tanaka and Nishinoya are in a competition to see who can get banned from more drills."

"Tell them to log their results. I’d like data."

"They’ll send you spreadsheets."

Kuroo laughed again, short and quiet. There was something weirdly comforting about it, like they’d just slipped back into the middle of a conversation that never fully ended.

Daichi shifted again, the phone booth glass cool against his arm. "I’ll have a new phone soon," he said, almost casually. "Prices were kind of ridiculous at the moment."

Kuroo raised an eyebrow. "Ah, so the call from a public artefact was your only option."

"Pretty much."

"Well, I admire the commitment."

"You’re not going to let that go, are you?"

"Sawamura," Kuroo said, solemn, "you just willingly used a phone that probably hasn’t been disinfected since 2005. I absolutely will not let that go."

A low laugh rumbled in Daichi’s chest. "Fair enough."

Kuroo hesitated for a second, then asked, "So… when you do get your phone, you’ll text?"

Daichi didn’t even pause. "Yeah. Of course."

Kuroo nodded even though Daichi couldn’t see him. "Cool. Yeah. Just making sure you won’t disappear again."

"Only if Hinata launches another surprise attack."

"Tell him to aim high next time. Spare the phones."

A pause.

"Thanks for picking up," Daichi said, quieter now.

Kuroo smiled. "Thanks for calling. Booth and all."

They both hesitated again, not quite wanting to hang up, but with nothing else left to say. Eventually, Daichi let out a soft breath.

"I should get going."

"Right," Kuroo said. "Before the booth explodes or something."

Daichi laughed once more, then added, "I’ll be in touch."

"Looking forward to it, Captain."

The line clicked.
The dial tone returned.
Kuroo sat there a moment longer, staring at the screen. Then he dropped the phone on his chest and let out a slow, stunned breath.
He was still grinning.

ᨐ

Chapter Text

Morning air still clung to the gym’s high beams, sunlight filtering through the open doors as Karasuno’s second gym slowly filled with noise: laughter bouncing off the walls, volleyballs hitting the floor in rapid-fire rhythm. The first thing Daichi noticed when he stepped inside wasn’t the usual chaos.
It was the suspicious silence.
The second thing he noticed was that everyone, everyone, was already there, standing in a loose semicircle in the middle of the court. They were watching him.
Too quietly.

Daichi stopped in the doorway, gym bag slung over one shoulder. He raised an eyebrow. "What."

Suga stepped forward, arms crossed and smiling like he’d just coordinated a surprise attack. "Good morning, Captain."

"Morning," Daichi said slowly. "Why do you sound like you’re announcing something?"

Behind him, Yachi bounced slightly on her toes, eyes wide. Asahi gave him a tiny nod, like he was trying to offer support from behind enemy lines.
Then Hinata stepped forward.
He was holding a box. Carefully. Like it contained either a birthday cake or a baby owl.

"I’m so sorry I elbowed your phone into the next dimension!!" Hinata shouted, bowing so deeply it looked like he might tip forward completely. "It was an accident, I swear!"

"Hinata," Daichi started, blinking. "We already talked about this"

"I know, but I still felt bad! So we all did something about it!"

Tanaka puffed up beside him. "Team effort, baby."

"Mostly Yachi’s coordination," Suga added, nodding solemnly.

Daichi’s eyes drifted down to the box in Hinata’s hands. "What is that."

"It’s a replacement!" Hinata said brightly, stepping forward and presenting the box like it was a sacred offering. "We all chipped in!"

"You got me… a phone?" Daichi asked, stunned.

"Not the fanciest one," Nishinoya said from the side, "but it won’t explode if you breathe on it, so, upgrade!"

Asahi rubbed the back of his neck. "And we made sure it has a screen protector this time…"

"Because some people don’t understand spatial awareness," Kageyama muttered under his breath.

"Hey!" Hinata shot back. "I said I was sorry!"

Yamaguchi leaned toward Daichi with a sheepish smile. "It really was mostly Sugawara-senpai’s idea."

"And Yachi handled the logistics," Suga said proudly. "I just handled morale."

Daichi looked at the faces in front of him, Hinata practically vibrating with hope, Suga trying to look casual but clearly proud, Yachi beaming nervously, and the rest of the team hovering like they’d just handed over a baby bird and were waiting to see if it would fly.
For a moment, he didn’t say anything.
Then he smiled, wide, genuine, warm.

"You guys are ridiculous," he said, taking the box.

"But we’re your ridiculous," Suga replied.

Daichi let out a soft laugh. "Thanks. Really."

Tanaka whooped. "Okay! Now we can start practice!"

"No, now we can make Daichi text like a normal human again!" Nishinoya shouted.

"I wasn’t texting anyone," Daichi replied automatically.

"Sure," Suga said, raising an eyebrow. "No one at all. Definitely no mysterious captains from rival teams."

Daichi flushed slightly. "Drop it."

Suga winked.

Daichi opened the box slowly. The phone wasn’t flashy, just sleek and sturdy and brand new, the plastic screen protector still clinging to the front. His thumb hovered above the power button.
He glanced at his team again.

"Thanks," he said again, quieter this time. "Really."

He meant it with every inch of his chest.

ᨐ

A little later, Daichi sat on the gym bench near the wall, away from the bulk of the noise, the new phone box resting open on his lap. He turned the device over once in his hands, thumb brushing along the sleek back of it. It still had that factory-clean feel, smooth edges, perfectly centred logo, no wear, no history.
Not yet.
Beside him, Hinata crouched with his chin nearly on Daichi’s shoulder, eyes practically glowing.

"Okayokayokay," he whispered. "This is the good part. Turn it on. I wanna see the animation."

Daichi gave him a sideways look. "You know this isn’t a game console, right?"

"Yeah, but still, first boot-up! It’s like… the birth of a digital warrior."

"…What?"

"JUST PRESS IT."

Daichi rolled his eyes, but his smile gave him away. He pressed the power button.
The screen lit up in a burst of soft white, then faded to the brand’s startup animation, a glowing logo pulsing on a dark background. Hinata clutched his fists like he was watching fireworks.

"That’s so cool," he whispered.

"It’s literally the same animation every phone has."

"Yeah but it’s yours. Now."

Daichi chuckled. "You’re worse than Nishinoya and Tanaka right now."

The phone finally opened into its setup screen. Hinata practically started bouncing. "Okay so, language, Wi-Fi, log into your account, do you need help? Wait, do you want me to do it? I can totally!"

"Hinata," Daichi interrupted gently. "I’ve used a phone before."

"Oh. Right." Hinata gave him an apologetic grin. "Sorry. I’m just, this is really exciting. A phone rebirth!"

"You need to stop saying that."

"HINATA, GET OVER HERE!" Kageyama’s voice thundered across the gym.

Hinata’s entire body jolted like a firecracker. "I’m COMING!!"

And then he was gone, full sprint across the court, shouting back over his shoulder, "Tell me if the ringtone’s lame!!"

Daichi shook his head, chuckling softly. The gym returned to its usual semi-chaos: shoes squeaking, volleyballs thudding, voices yelling from every direction. No one else was paying him much attention now. It was just him and the phone.
He continued the setup process slowly, carefully. Then it buzzed in his hand.
The lock screen came up clean and simple. The background was just the default, he hadn’t had time to personalise anything yet. The battery icon blinked at half full. No apps installed. Nothing on it yet.
Except for one number he typed in manually.

Daichi tapped on the messages icon and opened a new thread. He looked at the name he’d saved: Kuroo Tetsurou.
No emoji this time. No nonsense. Just his name.
He stared at the empty text box.
Then, slowly, he typed:

Got a new phone. No elbow casualties so far.

He hovered for a second… then pressed send.
A light chime. One little line of text sitting in the thread.
And for some reason, Daichi found himself smiling again.

ᨐ

Kuroo had just stuffed his water bottle back into the side pocket of his bag when his phone buzzed on the bench.
He glanced at it instinctively, expecting a group message from Yaku or maybe an update from the student council rep about some dumb schedule conflict.
But it wasn’t either of those.
It was a single text.

From Daichi.

Kuroo’s brain did not short-circuit.
Nope. Not at all.
He was perfectly composed.
Except that he almost dropped the phone.
The screen blinked at him innocently, one message sitting there like it hadn’t just upended his whole nervous system:

[Sawamura Daichi]

Got a new phone. No elbow casualties so far.

Kuroo stared. Then reread it. Then snorted, too loud, too sudden.

Lev, sitting nearby tying his shoes, looked over. "What’s funny?"

"Nothing," Kuroo said, far too quickly.

Lev blinked. "But you laughed."

"Your face is funny."

"I’m gonna tell Yaku you said that."

"Go ahead," Kuroo muttered, still not looking up from his screen. "Maybe he’ll throw his shoe at you again."

Lev narrowed his eyes suspiciously but let it go.
Kuroo, meanwhile, reread the text again.
Simple. No emoji. No punctuation aside from the period.
But the message landed like a small meteor in his chest.
He couldn’t stop the grin that curled up before he even realised it was happening.
It wasn’t just that Daichi had texted him, it was how he’d done it. Dry. Playful. A perfect callback to their last conversation.
A part of Kuroo that had been pacing in a mental cage for several days finally sat down.
He took a breath. Leaned back on his hands. Let the moment settle.
He didn’t answer right away.

Not because he didn’t want to, he really did, but because he needed to pick the exact right words.
Nothing too eager. Nothing too cool.
Strike the right balance. Like a volleyball set with perfect lift and no spin.
Eventually, he typed:

Proud of you for surviving your first few hours. May your new phone know peace and avoid spiker crossfire.

Send.
The message whooshed away. Kuroo locked the screen and tossed the phone back in his bag.
He sat there a moment longer, the grin refusing to go anywhere, no matter how hard he tried to smother it.

Yaku, walking past a moment later, raised an eyebrow. "What’s with the face?"

Kuroo stretched. "What face?"

"You look like you just hit an especially satisfying block."

Kuroo shrugged. "Maybe I did."

Yaku squinted at him, but moved on.
Kuroo leaned back again, gazing up at the ceiling of the Nekoma gym.
One text.
And somehow, the day already felt better.

ᨐ

Chapter Text

It was supposed to be a normal practice.
Warm-ups. Drills. A few scrimmage rotations. Maybe a little conditioning to round it off.
That was the plan.
But Karasuno never really did normal.
Daichi stood at the edge of the court, hands on hips, as Hinata and Kageyama faced off across the net, both of them crouched like they were about to duel at sunrise.

Again.

"Hinata," Kageyama snapped. "If you just followed the timing, that would’ve landed."

"I was following it!" Hinata shot back. "You hesitated!"

"Did not!"

"Did!"

"You’re supposed to react, not guess!"

"Oh, I’ll react!"

"No fighting on my court!" Daichi barked, stepping in before either of them could launch themselves over the net. "You’ll do three diving receives together if you argue one more time."

Hinata gasped. "You wouldn’t."

"Watch me."

Kageyama glared, but subsided with a muttered "tsk."

They reset. Ball in hand. Daichi moved back toward the sidelines.. and nearly got bulldozed by Nishinoya and Tanaka charging past in a blur.

"WE’RE ON FIRE TODAY!" Tanaka screamed.

"LET’S DO THE CRAZY CROSS SET AGAIN!"

"No crazy sets!" Suga yelled from across the gym. "You almost concussed Daichi yesterday!"

"We adjusted our trajectory!" Tanaka shouted back.

"You threw the ball into a wall," Yamaguchi said, helpfully.

Daichi sighed and ducked out of the way. He spotted Asahi standing frozen near the back corner, clearly trying to make himself one with the wall.

"Please don’t let them near me," Asahi muttered.

"No promises," Daichi replied.

Later, during blocking drills, Tanaka tried to pull a synchronised spike feint he saw on a pro team highlight reel, dragging Nishinoya into it for "moral support."
It ended with Tanaka crashing into the net and Nishinoya diving across the floor with no ball in sight.

Daichi pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have never regretted being captain until today."

Suga clapped him on the shoulder. "That’s a lie and you know it."

"I’m allowed one dramatic moment."

"You’ll get more dramatic moments when we lose another five minutes untangling the idiots."

Meanwhile, Kageyama served with such force that it ricocheted off the gym wall and knocked one of the water bottles off the bench.

Hinata caught it mid-fall and raised it above his head like it was a trophy. "Safe!"

"Hinata," Yachi called from the sidelines, "please stop yelling ‘safe’ like we’re in a baseball anime!"

"We should be in a baseball anime!" Tanaka shouted from the floor, still halfway tangled in the net. "We’d be unstoppable!"

Daichi sighed, smiling despite himself. The gym buzzed with energy, too much energy, if he was honest, but it was the kind that made Karasuno feel alive. Loud, reckless, impossible to wrangle… but alive. He glanced toward the bench where his new phone was tucked into his bag, safe and sound.

ᨐ

In Tokyo, the gym was loud in a way that only joint practices could be.
Shoes squeaked. Balls thudded. Bokuto yelled at everything that moved, or didn’t move fast enough.

"ONE MORE!" he hollered from the back court. "I’M GETTING MY STRIKE ZONE BACK, BABY!"

"That’s what you said ten balls ago," Akaashi said calmly, not even looking up as he set the next toss with perfect form.

"I MEANT IT THEN TOO!"

On the opposite side, Kuroo leaned against the wall near the storage rack, water bottle in hand and absolutely not checking his phone every time it buzzed.
Nope. Totally focused on the court.
…Okay, maybe just a peek.
He tilted the phone in his hand and tapped the screen. Nothing. No new notifications. The chat with Daichi still sat at the top of his inbox.
No reply yet. Just the read receipt from earlier that morning.
He’d said he’d text, and he had. Kuroo had responded. That was it. That was plenty. Normal. Casual. No need to push.
Right?
Kuroo stared at the screen a second longer, thumb hovering just above the keyboard, then sighed and locked it again. He stuffed the phone back in his pocket like it had personally offended him again.

Kenma, perched on the bench with his switch open in his lap, didn’t even look up. "You could just text again, you know."

Kuroo frowned. "I just replied."

"Exactly," Kenma said, flicking through a menu. "That’s practically a decade in internet time."

"I don’t want to be that guy."

"What guy."

"The guy who texts again and again like some kind of needy captain gremlin."

Kenma shrugged. "Maybe he likes needy captain gremlins."

Kuroo gave him a deeply unimpressed look. "This is what I get for opening up to you."

"No, this is what you get for being dramatic." Kenma finally glanced up. "Just talk to him like a normal person. You’re overthinking."

"You say that like I know how not to overthink."

"You’re doing mental cartwheels right now, aren’t you."

Kuroo muttered something and picked up a ball from the rack, bouncing it against his palm like it owed him answers.
On court, Bokuto missed a spike by exactly two centimetres and collapsed theatrically to the floor.

"I HAVE FALLEN FROM GRACE."

"You’ll rise again in thirty seconds," Akaashi said flatly.

"YOU BELIEVE IN ME?"

"Unfortunately."

Kuroo smiled faintly despite himself. The noise, the rhythm of practice, the easy give-and-take between everyone, it helped keep his brain from spiralling too far down the rabbit hole.
Still.
That one message sat in his mind like a pebble in his shoe.
Should he reply again? Send something dumb? A meme? A volleyball pun? Would that be chill? Desperate? Endearing?
Ugh.

He ran a hand through his hair, then stepped back onto the court, calling out, "Alright, let’s reset the rotation! Lev, stop swinging like your arms are made of spaghetti!"

"Spaghetti can be powerful!" Lev shouted.

Kuroo ignored him.
He’d play a few more sets. Let the match energy soak in.
Then maybe… maybe he’d send something small.
Just to keep the conversation alive.
Just to remind Daichi that he was there.

Practice wound down slowly, like a car that had run out of gas but kept rolling on momentum alone.
The last few rallies were sloppier, the calls quieter, even Bokuto had stopped yelling every time he touched the ball. Which, for Bokuto, meant his volume was merely "mild earthquake."
Kuroo leaned on the wall near the corner of the gym, watching the last serve go up. It hit the net. Bokuto made a sound like a dying eagle.

Akaashi clapped politely. "Well done, everyone. Let’s cool down."

Kenma wandered over, tapping idly at his phone. "So," he said without looking up. "Gonna keep brooding, or are you gonna text him?"

Kuroo squinted. "Still undecided."

"You’ve looked at your messages five times in the last three minutes."

"That’s called reflection."

"It’s called spiralling."

Bokuto appeared like summoned lightning. "WHO’S SPIRALLING? CAN I HELP?!"

Kuroo blinked. "Bo. Quick question. Can I take a picture with you?"

Bokuto lit up like a Christmas tree. "YES. Always yes. Wait, let me fix my hair, no, wait, leave it, it looks wild, I look wild. That’s good energy."

Kuroo was already flipping his camera to front-facing. He leaned slightly to frame them both. "Okay, smile like you just won nationals."

"I WAS BORN FOR THIS."

Click.

The photo came out loud. Bokuto had one arm thrown around Kuroo’s shoulder, mouth wide in a victory yell, while Kuroo made an exasperated captain face at the lens, a perfect mix of long-suffering and lowkey amused. Kuroo stared at it a second. Debated.
Then tapped into his chat with Daichi.
He attached the photo.
Typed:

Bokuto says hi.

I tried to keep the chaos minimal today but failed spectacularly.

He hovered. Re-read it.
Was that too much? Too little? Did it sound casual? Was he pretending too hard to be casual? Was it obvious he was pretending to be casual..

"Send it," Kenma said from behind him, without even looking up.

Kuroo sighed and hit send.
The message disappeared. Gone. Irretrievable.

Bokuto was still preening. "Did you tag me?"

"It’s a text message."

"Still! I gotta stay on brand!"

Kuroo rubbed a hand over his face. "What does that even mean."

Kenma finally looked up, blank-faced. "It means your love life is now sponsored by volume 11 of Bokuto’s ego."

"SHOULDN’T IT BE A WHOLE SEASON?!" Bokuto beamed.

Kuroo groaned, tossing a towel at Bokuto.
But the truth was… he felt a little lighter.
A little closer.

ᨐ

The sky was already dark by the time Daichi stepped into the locker room. His jersey clung to his back with the last bit of sweat, and his hair was still damp from the quick rinse at the sink.
He dropped onto the bench and pulled his bag over, finally tugging out the phone. Just a glance before heading home.
One new message. From Kuroo. He tapped it open.
The image hit him first, Bokuto grinning like he’d just been crowned Emperor of Volleyball, arm slung across Kuroo’s shoulder like they were about to sell matching protein powder. And Kuroo, trying so hard to look done with it all… but his smirk gave him away.
Daichi stared for a beat too long.
Then snorted, reading the text that followed after the picture.
He pressed his knuckles to his mouth, trying not to let the laugh escape.
It didn’t work.

From the far side of the bench, Suga immediately perked up. "That was a laugh."

Daichi glanced over, trying for casual. "Was it?"

"Yup. That was the private-message-reading kind of laugh."

"Didn’t realise you were an expert in laugh classification."

"I’m a specialist." Suga dried his hair with a towel, eyeing him. "So…?"

"So what."

"So, who’s making our fearless captain giggle like he’s in a shoujo manga?"

"I’m not" Daichi blinked. "I wasn’t giggling."

"Definitely was. Little nose scrunch and everything."

Daichi groaned and flopped back against the locker. "It’s Kuroo."

"Ohhh. Kuroo." Suga sat down beside him, clearly delighted. "Let’s see it."

"No."

"Oh, come on. I showed you that cursed photo Nishinoya took of me mid-sneeze."

Daichi sighed but angled the phone so Suga could peek. Suga looked. And immediately burst out laughing.

"God, Bokuto looks like a hype beast with a volleyball addiction."

Daichi chuckled. "He probably is."

"And Kuroo, he’s trying to look cool, but he’s clearly enjoying himself."

"Yeah."

Suga nudged him. "You’re smiling again."

"I’m allowed to smile."

"You’re allowed to text back too, you know."

Daichi looked down at the screen again. The message just… sat there. Casual. Friendly. Familiar.

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a second.

I’d say that’s about average chaos for a Bokuto appearance.

Tell him I say hi back.

He paused. Then added:

You look like you were secretly enjoying it too.

He hit send before he could second guess it.

Suga leaned in again. "Did you just flirt?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"It’s friendly captain teasing."

"Mmhmm." Suga leaned back, smug. "Slow-burn teasing. Got it."

Daichi shook his head and shoved his phone back into his bag. Outside, the crickets were loud. The locker room light clicked off behind them.
And inside, Daichi was still smiling.

ᨐ

Kuroo was lying on his back on his bed, one arm flung over his face, phone resting on his chest like a slightly judgmental paperweight.
He and Kenma went home together, chilling out at Kuroo’s place now.

Kenma, across the room in a beanbag nest, finally glanced up from his switch. "If you stare at the ceiling any harder, you’ll summon ghosts."

Kuroo mumbled, "It’s called meditative stillness."

"It’s called waiting for a text."

Before Kuroo could reply, the phone buzzed.
He snatched it up with zero chill. (Kenma noticed.)
Kuroo made a sound that was half a laugh and half a helpless wheeze. He turned onto his side, thumbs already flying over the keyboard.

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

I am stoic and composed at all times.

…Except when Bokuto decides to shoulder-tackle me for a photo.

He paused. Then:

You’re lucky I didn’t send you the outtakes.

My hair did unspeakable things.

He hit send. A beat passed. Then another. Daichi’s reply came in quick.

[Sawamura Daichi]

I would love to see those.

In the name of team transparency, of course.

Kuroo grinned. It was late, he was tired, and now he had absolutely no impulse control left. He scrolled through his camera roll, picked the most chaotic one, Bokuto mid-blink, Kuroo looking startled and half-laughing, and sent it with no caption.

[Sawamura Daichi]

Your "stoic" expression is suffering in this one.

Looks like you’re being attacked by enthusiasm.

Kuroo smirked.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

I was. Bokuto’s enthusiasm is a full-contact sport.

Anyway. This entire message thread is 100% professional captain correspondence.

No ulterior motives. None.

Immediately, he regretted that last line.

Kenma looked up. "Did you just send something stupid?"

Kuroo stared at the screen. "Debatable."

Three dots appeared. Daichi was typing.

[Sawamura Daichi]

I’m glad we’re maintaining such professionalism.

I’d hate to think this was turning into something suspiciously flirty.

Kuroo sat bolt upright.

"Okay," he muttered. "I see how it is."

Kenma said nothing, but gave a thumbs-up without looking away from his game.

Kuroo typed:

[Kuroo Tetsurou]



Suspiciously flirty?

Never. I am a model of platonic captain-to-captain diplomacy.

And then:

…But I guess if you wanted to flirt, I wouldn’t report you.

He stared at it. Then added, before he could lose his nerve:

For morale purposes.

Sent.
He immediately tossed the phone onto his pillow and flopped back again, groaning.

Kenma gave a tiny snort. "So how’s that non-flirting going?"

Kuroo sighed. "We’re in a very complicated ceasefire."

ᨐ

Daichi was sprawled across his bed, arm under his head, phone in hand, staring at the screen like it had personally challenged him to a duel.
He blinked at the screen. Then blinked again.

"…What the hell am I supposed to do with that?" he muttered to himself.

He rubbed a hand over his face.
This was fine. He could respond. He’d just make a joke. Something clever. Something smooth. Something, anything that didn’t make him sound like a brick wall with thumbs.
He opened the keyboard. Paused. Typed.

I’m not sure morale would survive my attempts at flirting.

Nope. Too weird. Delete. Typed again.

You should consider yourself lucky I’m too dignified for that kind of behaviour.

…Too stiff. He was starting to sound like Tsukishima. Deleted it again. Tried.

What if I have been flirting this whole time?

Just… bad.
He stared at it. Cringed. Hard. Added:

Not that I am. Just. Hypothetically.

WHY was he like this. He groaned and smacked his forehead into the pillow.
Then, because he had zero impulse control and his brain had stopped functioning five minutes ago, he hit send.
He immediately threw the phone onto the blanket beside him and covered his face.
The silence was deafening.
This is fine, he thought, lying there in the darkness. This is perfectly fine. I am a respected team captain. I am calm. I am dignified. I am going to explode into dust.
 He braced for death by emoji.

A few minutes later, Daichi’s phone buzzed. He did not scream. Not out loud.
He just… slowly reached for it like it was a live grenade and opened the chat with the cautious reverence of a man about to get absolutely roasted.
There it was.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

Bold of you to assume you’ve been doing it badly.

Because if this is you failing, I’m honestly terrified to find out what succeeding looks like.

Daichi groaned softly into his pillow. Why did Kuroo have to be good at this? Was it something they taught at Nekoma? Advanced Captain Flirting: 101?
He stared at the screen for a solid minute. Then, slowly, began typing.

I wasn’t…

I mean it wasn’t..

You know what? Never mind.

Nope. Delete. Tried again.

You’re just being polite.

That’s probably in your Nekoma training manual or something.

That sounded semi-normal. Right? Right??

Kuroo responded instantly.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

It’s right between "Advanced Sarcasm" and "How to Smirk While Spiking."

Chapter 17: Teasing Other Captains for Sport.

Daichi chuckled helplessly, even as he curled tighter under the covers.

I’m not giving you material for your next course, by the way.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

Too late. I’ve already drafted the curriculum.

Daichi rolled onto his back, stared at the ceiling, and muttered, "He’s going to be insufferable about this forever." His phone buzzed again.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

But for the record…

Hypothetically…

You’ve got a pretty decent ‘flirting’ face.

Daichi blinked. Another buzz.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

Or maybe that’s just the captain aura. Can’t tell. Could be science.

Daichi smiled faintly, shaking his head. He started typing:

Science should probably stay out of this.

I’ll try to keep my ‘captain aura’ in check before it causes more trouble.

Sent.
He hesitated.
Then, because it felt natural, friendly, he added:

Get some rest, scientist.

Sent.
He set the phone down, stared at the ceiling again, and told himself that had been normal. Totally normal. Very responsible captain behaviour. Even if his face was still warm.

ᨐ

Chapter Text

On the next day, the volleyball team did a morning run for team bonding.
Shoes thudding on pavement. Breath coming in synchronised puffs. Tanaka shouting fake motivational quotes he claimed were from "ancient martial arts scrolls," which Suga assured everyone were actually just from anime. They made it halfway through the route, the sun shining golden across the rooftops..

"Oi, Kageyama," Hinata said between huffs, "I bet I can outrun you."

Kageyama shot him a glance mid-stride. "You couldn’t outrun a turtle."

"You wanna go?!"

"I’m already going."

And then they were gone.

Hinata burst forward like a launched missile, and Kageyama was on his heels a second later, the both of them tearing down the street at full sprint.

Daichi shouted after them. "You two! Don’t!"

They didn’t even look back.

Suga groaned. "They’re going to get lost again."

Nishinoya whooped. "I give ‘em five minutes before they run into traffic."

"They didn’t take their phones," Asahi muttered with growing horror.

Daichi sighed. "Of course they didn’t."

Tanaka shrugged. "Should we chase them?"

"Let them burn themselves out," Daichi said, turning back. "We’ll finish the run and circle back if they’re not back by the time we get to school."

"Sounds like a captain problem," Suga sang under his breath.

"Funny," Daichi muttered. "I was just thinking that."

Meanwhile, Hinata and Kageyama ran like the possessed. Blocks blurred. Roads twisted. They argued about turn directions mid-sprint and changed course more than once. And somehow, by sheer dumb luck and an unholy amount of energy, they found themselves in front of something… beautiful.

The Shiratorizawa volleyball team bus.

Hinata gasped, eyes sparkling like a child seeing a dragon for the first time. "Kageyama. Kageyama! It’s a bus! Their own bus!!"

Kageyama blinked at it. "We… ran to Shiratorizawa?"

Hinata was already doing a victory dance, Kageyama joining in like a complete idiot.

"This is fate! A sign! We’re meant to challenge them!"

Kageyama squinted at the school building. "Are we allowed to be here?"

Hinata was too busy pressing his face against one of the training hall’s high-set windows. "LOOK. IT’S THEM. THE GIANTS OF SHIRATORIZAWA."

Kageyama hesitated, then joined him. "That’s Kawanishi. And Tendou. Whoa, thats Ushijima."

"HE’S SO TALL."

They watched in awe for a full thirty seconds. Then the door opened behind them with a low click.

"Why are you here?"

Hinata turned slowly. Ushijima Wakatoshi stood on the steps, arms crossed, the human embodiment of a mountain.

Hinata beamed. "USHIWAKA!"

Kageyama elbowed him. "Don’t call him that to his face!"

"You’re…?“ Ushijima said slowly.

Hinata straightened like he was saluting. "Hinata Shouyo! Karasuno Highschool! First-year! Middle blocker! We’ve never played against you before, but we’re training super hard to beat teams like yours!"

Ushijima gave him a slow, unreadable blink. "That is… admirable."

"Do you wanna play a match?" Hinata asked instantly.

"Hinata!" Kageyama hissed.

"We’re fast! And loud! And we can totally challenge you!"

Ushijima blinked again. "Karasuno is not currently listed among our regular practice opponents."

"YET!" Hinata said, bouncing.

Just then, footsteps pounded from the other direction.
Daichi appeared, winded, face somewhere between exasperation and apology.

"I.." he wheezed, catching his breath. "I’m so sorry. They took off during our morning run and ended up… here."

Ushijima looked from Daichi to the two first-years still grinning at the window. "They are energetic."

"That’s one word for it."

Hinata turned toward Daichi. "Captain! We could ask for a practice match!"

"Hinata," Daichi said under his breath, "this is not how we ask schools for matches."

"I don’t mind," Ushijima said. "If your coach agrees, and you are prepared, we can schedule something. Tomorrow is available."

Daichi blinked. "Really?"

Ushijima nodded. "It may help determine whether Karasuno is a worthy training opponent."

Kageyama’s eyes lit up.

Hinata fist-pumped. "YES. I mean, yes, sir!"

Daichi bowed slightly. "Thank you. We’ll speak to our coach."

Ushijima gave another firm nod. "We will be prepared."

And with that, he turned and walked calmly back inside, as if two stray high schoolers hadn’t just shown up panting on his doorstep.

Hinata bounced in place. "Did you see how calm he was? He’s like a volleyball monk!"

Kageyama nodded, awestruck.
Daichi just pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I swear to god," he muttered, "one of these days I’m going to lose all my hair because of you two." 

"Just as the vice principal?"

"HINATA!"

The walk back to Karasuno was long.
Long, and filled with Daichi’s captain voice at full throttle.
Hinata trudged beside him, shoulders hunched like a child who’d been caught finger-painting on the walls. Kageyama walked slightly behind, arms crossed, staring fixedly at the pavement, muttering every few seconds.

"..wasn’t even that far.."

"..knew where we were going the whole time.."

Daichi shot him a look. "You ran ten kilometres in the wrong direction, Kageyama."

"It’s not wrong if we ended up somewhere useful," Hinata piped up.

Daichi stopped walking. Slowly turned. Hinata stopped mid-step.

"What," Daichi said, voice dangerously level, "part of running off in the middle of practice without telling anyone, sprinting across half the city, crashing a nationally ranked school, and nearly giving your captain a cardiac event… feels useful to you?"

Hinata scratched the back of his head. "Ushijima said we could have a practice match?"

"After you harassed him for five minutes."

"I wasn’t harassing! I was admiring!"

"You were vibrating with admiration," Kageyama muttered.

Daichi groaned into his hands. "I should start carrying a leash. Or maybe a tranquilliser gun."

"I’d rather have a leash," Hinata offered helpfully.

Daichi stared at him.

"Okay," Hinata said quickly. "Forget I said that."

They walked the last few blocks in silence, Daichi rubbing his temples like he was physically holding his sanity in place. When they reached the school gates, the rest of the team was already gathered near the gym entrance, half-dressed in warmups, stretching and talking.

"Daichi-san!" Nishinoya called. "Did you find them or did they ascend to the spirit realm?"

"They ran to Shiratorizawa," Daichi said, deadpan.

The group collectively screeched.

"Wait, what?!"

"Seriously?!"

"No way!"

"They saw the bus," Daichi muttered.

"Oh man," Tanaka said, eyes wide. "The bus is cool though."

Suga trotted over, eyebrows raised. "So what now? Are we banned from Shiratorizawa forever?"

Daichi took a deep breath. "Actually… no."

ᨐ

Inside the gym, Coach Ukai leaned back against the wall, sipping from a water bottle. His brows rose slowly as Daichi recounted the entire ridiculous incident from beginning to end.
He didn’t interrupt. Just nodded occasionally. Looked at Hinata and Kageyama like he was already thinking about extra drills.

"…and then," Daichi finished, "Ushijima agreed to a practice match. If we’re interested."

Ukai whistled low. "Shiratorizawa, huh."

"We’ll understand if you say no," Daichi added. "I know it’s last minute, and they’re… well. Shiratorizawa."

Ukai’s expression was unreadable for a moment.
Then he smirked.

"Well," he said, pushing off the wall, "we’ve been itching for even stronger opponents, haven’t we?"

Hinata lit up instantly. "So we can go?!"

Ukai nodded. "You got us a match against one of the top schools in the prefecture. I’m not gonna turn that down."

Kageyama clenched his fists like someone had just handed him a sacred quest.

"BUT" Ukai raised a finger. "You two are on clean-up duty for the next week. That includes floors, windows, and Tanaka’s locker."

Tanaka gasped. "Not the locker!"

Hinata saluted. "Understood!"

"And Sawamura," Ukai added. "Nice work. This could be good for us."

Daichi rubbed the back of his neck, finally smiling. "Let’s hope we survive it."

Ukai turned toward the rest of the team, already raising his voice. "Alright, everyone! Change of plans! We’ve got a match to prep for!"

Cheers erupted.
And as the gym filled with noise and scrambling, Daichi let himself breathe again.
They’d be ready.
Even if it was thanks to pure, chaotic accident.

ᨐ

Back at home, Daichi stared at his screen for a while. Then opened his messages.
Looking at that chat. Daichi smirked faintly at it.
He hovered over the keyboard.
Was it weird to text again?
No. This was practical. Captain stuff. Informational. About volleyball. Definitely not just because he was wondering what Kuroo might say.

He typed:

[Sawamura Daichi]

Hey. Just a heads-up, we’ve got a practice match tomorrow. Against Shiratorizawa.

He barely had time to breathe before the typing bubble appeared.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

…You what.

How.

Daichi grinned.

[Sawamura Daichi]

Hinata and Kageyama ran there. Literally.

From the middle of our morning run.

Got excited. Pressed their faces to the training windows.

Ushijima came out and now we have a match.

Kuroo’s reply came in a burst.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

I genuinely don’t know if that’s the dumbest or the most effective scouting tactic I’ve ever heard.

Possibly both.

[Sawamura Daichi]

Definitely both.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

Classic Karasuno. Just raw energy and no adult supervision.

[Sawamura Daichi]

I was there. I supervised the hell out of it.


[Kuroo Tetsurou]

Sure, sure. Real chaperone energy.

So…

You ready to get wrecked by Shiratorizawa’s holy left arm?

Daichi snorted.

[Sawamura Daichi]

I’d like to try not getting wrecked, thanks.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

No shame in it. That guy spikes like he’s angry at the floor.

[Sawamura Daichi]

You’ve played them before?


[Kuroo Tetsurou]

Yeah, one practice match.

Lost, of course.

But we gave them hell.

Tendou kept cackling like a cryptid and throwing everyone off their rhythm.

I thought I was going to go bald.

He laughed under his breath.

[Sawamura Daichi]

Any advice?

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

Keep your blockers grounded. Ushijima doesn’t tip. Like, ever.

And tell your libero not to panic when the ball makes a crater.


[Sawamura Daichi]

Got it. I’ll warn Nishinoya.


[Kuroo Tetsurou]

…Also. Maybe warn them not to challenge Ushijima to a serve-off.

He might try. He has the look.

Daichi was still grinning as he typed:

[Sawamura Daichi]

Yeah. He does have the look.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

So do you, actually.

Dangerous Captain Energy.

He rolled his eyes, biting back a smile.

[Sawamura Daichi]

Is that another class in your curriculum?

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

It’s the final exam.

[Sawamura Daichi]

You pass it yet?

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

Still studying. Want to help me review?

Daichi hesitated. Smiled a little. Then ignored that part completely.

[Sawamura Daichi]

I’ll let you know how it goes.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

You’d better.

[Sawamura Daichi]

Goodnight, Kuroo.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

Night, Captain.

ᨐ

Chapter Text

Karasuno’s gym was electric.
Even though it was barely past seven in the morning, the first-years were already bouncing off the walls. Hinata was literally bouncing, doing high knees beside the gym doors like a spring-loaded cartoon bunny. Kageyama was warming up with his usual terrifying intensity, throwing pinpoint tosses at a speed that made Asahi flinch from across the court.

"Why are we here so early again?" Tanaka groaned, flopping across the benches with his jacket still halfway off. "The match’s not until ten."

"Coach wants us there with time to stretch, prep, and calm down," Daichi said, taping his fingers.

"I am perfectly calm," Hinata announced, mid bounce.

"You’re vibrating," Suga said, lifting an eyebrow while sipping canned coffee like a single dad who hadn’t slept. There was no way Hinata really was calm.

"Exactly. Calm vibrations."

Asahi rubbed the back of his neck. "I think I’m going to throw up."

"That’s the spirit," Nishinoya cheered.

Ukai arrived ten minutes later with a whistle around his neck and a slightly crushed convenience store sandwich in hand. "Everyone here?" he asked.

Tanaka waved vaguely. "Mentally? No."

Ukai took a bite and ignored him. "Good enough."

Once everyone was changed and loaded into the van, they were off.
The ride to Shiratorizawa wasn’t long, maybe twenty minutes, tops, but it was long enough for Nishinoya and Tanaka to invent a game that involved slapping the van roof every time they passed a vending machine. Hinata tried to join in, but Suga held him in place with a firm hand on his shoulder like an exasperated camp counsellor.

"Save your energy," he warned. "Or we’re leaving you at the first gas station."

Daichi sat in the passenger seat beside Ukai, watching the road blur past, thumb brushing his phone in his jacket pocket.

He hadn’t texted Kuroo again. He could have. He kind of wanted to. But he didn’t want to seem like he was fishing for advice, or worse, for compliments.
Still, he found himself wondering if Nekoma had ever played in Shiratorizawa’s gym before. Whether Kuroo had stood where he would be standing in a few hours.
Maybe he’d ask later.
The van crested a hill, and there it was: the sprawling gates of Shiratorizawa Academy, tall and pristine and intimidating even from a distance.

"Whoa," Hinata breathed. "It’s so purple."

"Focus," Ukai called back.

"You can’t expect us to focus when the bus is right there," Nishinoya whispered reverently.

Daichi laughed. He couldn’t help it.
And as they rolled up to the school entrance, hearts racing and sneakers tapping impatient rhythms on the floorboards, he looked over his shoulder at his team: grinning, stretching, buzzing with chaos and excitement.

ᨐ

The gym was massive.
As Karasuno stepped through the side doors into Shiratorizawa’s gleaming volleyball hall, the mood shifted immediately. The air was crisp, the ceiling high, and the floors practically sparkled. Everything screamed discipline. Structure. Excellence.

Tanaka whispered, "This place smells like rich people."

Nishinoya nodded solemnly. "Expensive sweat."

Coach Ukai led them in with steady steps, stopping near the edge of the court where a few Shiratorizawa players were already warming up. The sight of their towering middle blockers stretching in near-perfect silence made Karasuno’s second-years collectively tighten their shoulders.

Hinata, however, was already bouncing in place. "That’s him. That’s him!" he hissed, pointing to Ushijima like they were at a zoo.

"Don’t point," Daichi muttered, giving him a light smack on the arm. "Be respectful."

"Sorry," Hinata said, still very much pointing.

Kageyama elbowed him.

Ushijima Wakatoshi turned toward them at last, expression unreadable. His height was even more commanding up close,  and somehow, even his hair looked intimidating.
He walked over in long, steady strides.
Behind him, Tendu popped up beside one of the gym doors, grinning like he’d been summoned by Hinata’s excitement alone.

"You made it!" Tendou chirped.

Hinata nearly shot through the ceiling.
Daichi stepped forward to intercept whatever this was about to become.

"Thanks for hosting us," he said, bowing lightly. "And for agreeing to the match."

Ushijima returned the bow. "It was not a burden. I was curious."

"About us?"

Ushijima nodded. "Your first-years have unusual energy. The orange one talks a lot."

Behind Daichi, Hinata let out an excited squeak and started doing very small jumping squats.

"I… apologise for that," Daichi muttered.

"I do not mind," Ushijima replied simply. "Tendou finds it amusing."

Tendou waved enthusiastically in the background.

"You’re not wrong," Daichi said, watching his team stretch and chatter behind him. "We’re not the most conventional squad."

"Conventional teams are easier to read," Ushijima said. "This may be… interesting."

Daichi blinked. "That’s probably the nicest threat I’ve ever received."

"I do not threaten," Ushijima added, genuinely confused.

"Right," Daichi said, holding back a chuckle. "Of course."

Meanwhile, Hinata had wandered too close to Tendou, who had crouched beside him like a gargoyle and was whispering strange things with a grin on his face. Hinata’s facial expressions cycled through joy, horror, and confusion every three seconds.
Kageyama finally grabbed Hinata by the hoodie and dragged him back like a misbehaving cat.

"Stop listening to him," Kageyama hissed.

"But he said their libero is telepathic!"

"He’s not."

Ukai clapped his hands. "Alright, Karasuno, warm up! We’ve got a match to play!"

Daichi returned to his team, rolling his shoulders, trying to focus. But part of his brain was still chewing on the very strange energy Ushijima gave off,  like a well-built sentient stone statue.

"Daichi?" Suga said, sidling up beside him.

"Yeah?"

"You look like you just talked to a ghost."

"I might have," Daichi muttered.

"Welcome to Shiratorizawa," Suga said cheerfully.

They spread out across the court to start stretches and light drills. Shiratorizawa mirrored them on the other side with a precision that looked almost robotic. The contrast was immediate, Karasuno’s chatter, laughter, and bouncing limbs versus the controlled calm across the net.
And yet, as they passed balls back and forth, the rhythm came naturally.
They were ready.
Even if Tendou was still whispering things from the sidelines like a cheerful cult member.

ᨐ

The teams stood across from each other, mirroring lines.
Shiratorizawa looked like a row of statues, tall, broad, unshakeably calm. Their jerseys were deep purple, sharp against the polished floors, and every one of them had the posture of someone about to go to war.
Karasuno looked… smaller. But not lesser. More like a storm gathering in the distance.
Nishinoya bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, gaze sharp and unflinching as he stared across the net. Ushijima stared back.
There was no real animosity. No smirk or sneer. Just a simple, calm gaze, focused like a sniper sight.

Daichi clapped Nishinoya’s shoulder. "You good?"

"Never been better," Nishinoya grinned. "That guy thinks I’m going to flinch."

"Are you?"

"Not even if he destroys the floorboards."

Across the court, Shiratorizawa began their warm-up serves. Each spike was a cannon blast. Each serve hit the floor with an echo that made even Ukai grimace from the bench.

"Oh boy," Suga muttered.

"Don’t let it get in your heads," Ukai called. "You’ve trained for this. One ball at a time!"

Daichi turned to his team, rallying them into position. "We’ve got this. Communication, trust, and don’t panic."

"Panic is for later," Asahi muttered.

"Exactly."

The first whistle blew.
Karasuno served.
Kawanishi received it cleanly, a perfect pass up to Shirabu.
Daichi recognised the setup a heartbeat before it landed in place.

Back set.
Quick step.
And then..

Ushijima.

The ball cracked through the air with the force of a car crash. It slammed into the floor inches from the baseline, untouched.

1-0.

"Holy crap," Tanaka muttered. "Did the ball cry before it hit?"

Nishinoya was already slamming his fist into his palm. "I should’ve had that."

"You would’ve needed wings," Daichi muttered, eyes wide.

Shiratorizawa’s turn to serve. Karasuno caught it, Hinata with a quick return, Kageyama setting fast. They managed a point through pure unpredictability.

1-1.

But then…

Shiratorizawa unleashed.
Every rotation brought more precision. Ushijima hit with terrifying consistency, their blockers moved like stone walls, and Tendou, grinning like a fox, anticipated every other Karasuno feint with uncanny accuracy.
Kageyama set a beautiful toss.
Asahi went for a spike, dug with brutal efficiency, blocked.
Even Hinata’s speed wasn’t getting through the net cleanly.
The scoreboard climbed mercilessly.

7–2.

10–3.

13–4.

Karasuno scrambled to keep pace, the defence stretched to its limit. Nishinoya dove again and again, absorbing the full impact of Ushijima’s spikes with every ounce of his body weight. Once, the ball ricocheted off his arms into the ceiling rafters.

He laughed on the floor. "I felt that one in my teeth!"

Ukai called time-out at 14–5.

The team huddled on the sidelines, sweat already beading on their foreheads.

"They’re not invincible," Daichi said, panting. "But they’re clean. Efficient. And those spikes.." he shot Nishinoya a glance, "..you still alive?"

"Barely."

Ukai pulled out the whiteboard. "They’re reading your tempo. Kageyama, mix your rhythm. Sugawara, I might sub you in soon, I want some unpredictability. We don’t need a miracle. We need pressure. Get them rattled."

The court buzzed as Karasuno returned from their timeout.
They were still behind. By a lot. But the spark in their eyes had returned, a grim determination, not to win, but to fight. To prove they could claw their way through the onslaught, even if the odds were ridiculous.
Daichi clapped his hands together, steadying his team.

"Let’s go!"

Nishinoya bounced into position, grinning through gritted teeth.

"Bring it!"

Kageyama adjusted his elbow pad. Hinata shifted on the balls of his feet. Everyone found their mark. Shiratorizawa, unfazed, rotated smoothly into position. Calm. Collected.
The whistle blew. And then came Ushijima.
He didn’t hesitate.
There was no shift in his expression, no arrogance, no rage, just clean, focused execution. The serve came fast and clean, a brutal left-handed slam slicing down with a crack that echoed through the entire gym like a gunshot.
Daichi’s eyes widened as the ball tore through the air. Beside him, Nishinoya moved, so did Daichi. Too late, they realised they were both diving for the same ball.
Their shoulders collided mid-air.
Daichi’s arm twisted the wrong way. Nishinoya’s elbow struck his chest.
But none of it mattered, because the ball smashed directly into Daichi’s face.

A sharp thwack. Then silence.
Daichi hit the floor hard, arms sprawling out, body limp.
The ball bounced once, then rolled.

His teammates froze.

"DAICHI!"

Suga was the first to shout, already dropping to his knees beside him.

Nishinoya scrambled to his side. "Shit, Daichi-san! Oh no no no!"

Blood was trickling from Daichi’s nose, seeping into the floor beneath his head.
He didn’t move.

Across the net, Ushijima’s eyes were wide.
It hadn’t registered at first, not fully. His serve had hit. That was normal. He’d hit thousands of serves and spikes. He was trained to hit without hesitation. That was the point of power. To win. To crush defences.
But this wasn’t defence.
This was a human being, sprawled motionless on the court.
And for the first time in years, a jolt of uncertainty ran through him.
He stepped forward, then walked faster, breaking into a run.
The referee blew the whistle, and the gym erupted in scattered voices.

"Is he okay?!"

"Coach, he’s not moving!"

Ukai was rushing across the floor, kneeling beside Suga and Nishinoya.

"Sawamura!" Ukai called, voice loud and strained. "Can you hear me?"

A groan.
Daichi stirred. His fingers twitched. Slowly, he opened one eye, winced, and raised a hand to his bleeding nose.

"…ow."

Suga let out a choked laugh that was almost a sob. "You absolute dumbass."

"You moved into my lane," Nishinoya said, trembling.

"I saw it first," Daichi muttered, trying to sit up, and immediately regretting it.

"Easy," Ukai said, holding his shoulders. "Don’t push it."

And then..

A shadow.

Ushijima stood beside them, eyes still wide, something like regret tightening the edges of his usually unreadable expression.

"I didn’t mean.." he began, quiet.

Ukai turned, surprised. "Ushijima?"

"I… I should not have hit that line," Ushijima said slowly. "Not with that force. I… misread the position."

Daichi blinked up at him, dazed.

"You don’t need to apologise," he mumbled. "It’s part of the game."

"I don’t usually injure people," Ushijima said. "I… I never have."

Silence.

"May I escort him to the infirmary?" he asked Ukai. "It was my action. I will take responsibility."

Ukai hesitated, but then nodded. "He’ll need help getting there anyway."

"I can go too," Suga offered, rising to his feet.

"No," Daichi said, swaying slightly. "Stay with the team. You’ve got the floor."

"But.."

"I’m fine," he insisted, though his voice was muffled by the towel Ukai handed him.

Ushijima knelt beside him, one hand on Daichi’s back as he helped him up, supporting him with an ease that suggested he was used to carrying heavy weight, just not like this.
The gym watched in stunned silence as the Karasuno captain limped out of the hall, flanked by Shiratorizawa’s ace.
And for the first time, the match felt different. Not just about strength.
But about what happened when strength went too far.

ᨐ

Chapter Text

The hallway outside Shiratorizawa’s gym was quiet.
Sterile white walls. Rows of lockers. A clock ticking far too loudly above the doorway.
Daichi walked slowly, one arm slung across Ushijima’s shoulders. His nose throbbed, packed with gauze, and the towel still pressed to his face was damp.

"I’m fine," he muttered again.

Ushijima didn’t reply.
He kept pace without complaint, guiding Daichi carefully down the corridor like he was carrying something fragile.
They reached the nurse’s office in silence. Ushijima knocked, said a few clipped words to the school nurse inside, then helped ease Daichi onto the exam bed.
The nurse immediately got to work, replacing the bloody towel with clean gauze, checking Daichi’s pupils, asking him a series of standard concussion questions.

"Name?"

"Sawamura Daichi."

"Date?"

Daichi rattled it off.

"Can you count backwards from one hundred by sevens?"

Daichi groaned. "I could, but I don’t want to."

"That’s fair," the nurse said, scribbling something down.

While she worked, Ushijima stood near the door, gaze low, expression oddly subdued.
When the nurse stepped away to grab an ice pack, Daichi glanced up at him.

"…Hey."

Ushijima looked up.

"You really don’t have to stay," Daichi said. "I’m not blaming you."

Ushijima hesitated. Then, after a moment: "I am."

Daichi blinked.

"I was trained to serve and spike with maximum force. Without hesitation," Ushijima said slowly. "That is how I learned. That power is good. That winning is strength. But… this felt wrong."

His eyes flicked toward the bloodied towel on the nearby tray.

Daichi exhaled slowly. "You’re not a bad player. You’re not even reckless. It just… happens sometimes."

"It shouldn’t," Ushijima said.

"You ever had someone run into another person mid-dive before?"

"No."

Daichi gave him a lopsided smile. "There’s a first for everything."

Ushijima paused. "…You are a good captain."

Daichi blinked again.

"…Thanks. But you're a good person too, Ushijima."

The nurse returned with the ice pack, gently tucking it beneath Daichi’s neck.

"You should stay here for a little while," she said. "But it looks like you’ll live."

Daichi let his head fall back. "Awesome."

Ushijima turned toward the door, paused, then looked over his shoulder.

"I hope your team is not shaken."

Daichi, eyes closed, said softly, "They’ve been through worse."

Then Ushijima was gone, a quiet shadow disappearing down the hall.

ᨐ

Back in the Gym, the atmosphere had shifted.
Karasuno gathered near the bench, processing Daichi’s absence in a cloud of stunned worry.
Suga stood at the edge of the group, arms crossed tightly.

"We can’t lose focus," Ukai said. "We adjust, we push forward."

"Do we have to?" Tanaka muttered. "Daichi just got flattened."

"Hinata and Kageyama will need to carry the pace," Suga said, voice suddenly sharp. "Asahi, can you handle the second lane?"

Asahi swallowed. "Y-yeah."

While the team moved to adjust, Hinata pulled out his phone.
He scrolled fast.

[Hinata]

Kenma!! Emergency!

[Kenma]

…what now

[Hinata]

Daichi-san just got SPIKED IN THE FACE

BY USHIJIMA

BLOOD and COLLISION

He’s ALIVE but he’s DOWN

[Kenma]

That sounds bad.

[Hinata]

It was

I’m scared

Before he could text more, Ukai blew the whistle.

"Back on the court! Let’s move!"

Hinata shoved his phone back into his pocket, eyes sharp.
If the captain couldn’t play… then they’d hold the line until he came back.

ᨐ

The infirmary was still.
The lights were dimmed slightly, not dark, but soft, easy on the eyes. A faint antiseptic scent lingered in the air, and the only sound was the quiet hum of the air conditioner near the window.
Daichi lay on the narrow cot, ice pack behind his head, fresh gauze taped across the bridge of his nose. The bleeding had stopped. The pain had dulled into a low, throbbing pressure that tugged behind his eyes. It wasn’t the worst he’d felt. But it wasn’t great either.
He blinked slowly at the ceiling. Thought about the match. His team. Hinata. Suga. Coach Ukai. The way everyone had looked, crowding around him. The panic. The blood.
Then the door creaked.
Not Ushijima this time. Just the nurse returning briefly to check his vitals. A nod. A clipboard. Then she stepped out again, leaving him in quiet.
And then…

bzzzz.

His phone buzzed once in his jacket, which hung on a nearby hook.
He slowly reached for it, every muscle stiff, and pulled it out with care.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

Ooii Sawamura

Are you alive?!

Kenma said you got hit. Hard.

Are you okay? Seriously

Before Daichi could respond, another message popped up.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

I don’t mean just okay-ish.

Are you actually okay? Conscious? Breathing? Broken?

Daichi blinked at the screen, a small warmth blooming in his chest.

He typed slowly:

[Sawamura Daichi]

Just a little more broken-looking.

Nose took the brunt of it. I’ll live.

A few seconds passed.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

Are you sure?

That sounds bad. You should get your head checked. Please tell me someone’s watching you right now

Daichi glanced at the nurse’s chair across the room, currently empty. Kuroo sounding so genuinely worried did funny things to his heart.

[Sawamura Daichi]

Nurse stepped out a second ago. But yeah. I’ll stay here until she gives the okay.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

Good.

That’s good.

Sorry, I… just freaked out a little. Kenma didn’t say much. Just "Daichi got benched. Facial drama."

Daichi snorted quietly.

[Sawamura Daichi]

That does sound like him.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

But I mean it. You really should take it easy. Head injuries aren’t something to shake off.

Even if you do have a concrete skull, apparently.

Daichi smiled again, more softly this time.

[Sawamura Daichi]

I promise I’ll be careful.

Thanks, Kuroo.

There was a pause. Then:

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

I hate this. Not being there.

Not seeing for myself that you’re alright

Daichi felt something gentle twist in his chest. He hesitated, then typed:

[Sawamura Daichi]

I’m okay.

Really.

But it means a lot. That you checked.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

Of course I did.

That’s what friends do. Right?

Daichi stared at the screen a moment longer, thumb hovering.

[Sawamura Daichi]

Right.

I’m lucky to have you.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

You better remember that.

Rest. And update me when the nurse clears you, alright?

[Sawamura Daichi]

Will do.

He set the phone gently on his chest and let his eyes close.
Outside, the gym echoed faintly with the distant sound of sneakers and whistles. The match was still going on.
But here, for a moment, it was enough to just… breathe.

ᨐ

Karasuno had fought hard.
Without their captain, they’d looked a little disoriented, a little wobbly on their feet, but they hadn’t given up.
Suga had stepped onto the court with a calm fire, directing rotations and shifting their strategy. Kageyama adjusted his tempo. Hinata, after recovering from the shock of Daichi’s injury, had gone feral trying to make up for it.
And in the brief absence of Shiratorizawa’s ace, Karasuno managed to claw some points back. It was messy, unorthodox, and frantic.
But they earned them. Still, the gap was too wide. Shiratorizawa played clean, tight volleyball, and once Ushijima returned, albeit a bit more subdued than usual, the outcome was inevitable.

Final score: 25–14.

A loss, but not a disgraceful one.
By the time Daichi rejoined them outside the gym (with a swollen nose and a suspiciously alert look that told everyone he hadn’t exactly rested like he was supposed to), the team had already packed up.
They surrounded him like ducklings. Hinata hovered. Tanaka paced. Noya apologised four times. Even Kageyama looked almost… sympathetic.

Coach Ukai ruffled Daichi’s hair and said, "You scared the hell out of us, you know that?"

ᨐ

Chapter Text

The next morning, Daichi was up early.
The swelling had gone down a bit, though his nose still hurt like hell, and there was a faint bruise forming just below his eye, a lovely dark hue that he was definitely going to remember the next time Nishinoya talked about sacrifice plays. School had been excused for the day, one perk of catching a volleyball to the face, and his mom insisted on packing him a snack, even though he was heading straight to Tokyo for a specialist appointment to double-check for any lingering head trauma.
The city was already humming when he boarded the train, the carriage half-full with students and commuters, soft chatter and the low hum of rails beneath his seat.
Daichi pulled out his phone. He stared at the screen.
The conversation with Kuroo from yesterday still sat open, glowing faintly in the morning light.
His fingers hovered.
Then, with what felt like remarkable poise and not at all like he was panicking internally, he typed.

[Sawamura Daichi]

Heading to Tokyo today.

Gotta get my head looked at, just to be sure.

He hesitated. That was normal. Friendly. Captain-like. Then he kept going.

If you’re not busy, wanna grab something to eat after?

Totally casual. If you’re around. No pressure.

SEND.

The moment the message went through, Daichi’s soul left his body.
He sat frozen for a solid ten seconds, phone still in hand, suddenly aware of every heartbeat in his ears.

"Why did I add ‘totally casual’?! Who says that?! I was doing so well!" he muttered under his breath.

A middle-aged woman a few seats away side-eyed him.
He pressed the phone to his forehead, groaning silently. His pulse spiked. His brain was already plotting backup texts. Should he add a "Just kidding"? Should he delete the whole thing and move to Hokkaido?
Nope. Too late.
The train rumbled forward, carrying him deeper into Tokyo and straight toward whatever was going to happen next.

ᨐ

Kuroo was mid-way through brushing his teeth when his phone buzzed.
He glanced at it lazily, expecting a group message from Yamamoto or maybe Kenma passive-aggressively reminding him to bring snacks to practice.
But instead, he found a text from Daichi.
Kuroo blinked.
Well, that made sense. Of course Daichi would come into the city for a specialist. And it was good he was getting checked, really good.
He hadn’t stopped thinking about Daichi’s nose since the moment Kenma told him what happened. Kuroo’s imagination had painted a dozen terrible versions of it, all of them unnecessarily dramatic and all of them very bloody.
So yeah. This was reassuring.
He rinsed, wiped his mouth, checked the message again. And then his phone buzzed again.
Kuroo stared at his screen.

Then again.

Then again.

"…What," he said aloud. His heart launched into a sprint.

Eat something. After.
Totally casual.
No pressure.

What the hell does that MEAN??

His thoughts flared instantly:

Is this a date?
No, obviously not, don’t be an idiot.
But also… maybe?
Wait, no. Definitely not.
He even said ‘totally casual.’ That’s so captain-coded.
Just a captain thing. Two captains catching up.
Friendly captain lunch. Maybe at a café. Where the lights are soft. And the music is romantic.

SHUT UP.

Kuroo flopped onto his bed dramatically, phone held above his face like it could answer for itself.

He’s literally doing exactly what I asked him to do. I told him, next time you’re in Tokyo, let me know. So he’s letting me know. That’s all.

It felt like a rational thought.
Until he remembered the part where it was just the two of them.
In Tokyo.
With Daichi texting first. About food. Voluntarily.

"Okay," he whispered to himself. "Act normal."

He sat up, fingers poised over the screen, trying to type something that didn’t sound like he was having a full mental breakdown. He stared at the blinking cursor and groaned.
Finally, he settled on:

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

Yeah, of course. Glad you’re getting checked out.

Just let me know where and when, I’ll come find you.

Simple. Chill. Reliable captain energy.
Then after a pause, he added:

And hey, thanks for texting me. You remembered

He threw his phone across the bed, flopped backward, and covered his face with both hands. "Totally casual," he mumbled. "Totally doomed."

ᨐ

The train hummed steadily beneath Daichi’s feet as he sat in his seat, trying not to stare at his phone. Which was buzzing again.
Daichi exhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing,  only for his heart to spike again when the next message came in.
He stared at the screen, pulse rising like a warning bell.

He did remember, didn’t he? Because Kuroo had asked.
Because they were friends. And captains. It was the normal thing to do.
Not weird. Not flirty. Not a date. Just considerate captain business.
Right?

Before he could even answer, another message pinged in.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

Send me the address of your appointment. I’ll meet you there and we can grab food nearby. Easy.

Daichi froze.
He wants to pick me up?
His thumb hovered over the keyboard, brain short-circuiting.

[Sawamura Daichi]

Sure. That’d be great.

I’ll be at Shinagawa General, outpatient wing.

Then he shoved his phone into his jacket like it was on fire and leaned back, trying to compose himself.
The outpatient wing was clean, bright, and filled with the low murmur of chatter and distant keyboard clacks. Daichi checked in at reception, then sat in a stiff-backed waiting chair, knees bouncing despite his best efforts.
His thoughts? Not helpful.

Kuroo’s coming here.
He’s picking me up.
Why does that feel like a bigger deal than it is? It’s literally just food.
Captains eat food. Everyone eats food. No one dies from eating food.

"Sawamura-san?"

He jolted.

A nurse smiled politely. "We’re ready for you."

The consultation room was quiet. A grey-walled space with a poster of brain anatomy and a faint smell of hand sanitiser.
The doctor, a calm man in his 50s with round glasses and a soft voice, scanned his chart, then glanced at Daichi.

"Alright, Sawamura-kun. Let’s go over your symptoms."

"Right," Daichi said, sitting up straighter. "Got hit in the face with a volleyball. Nose took it head-on. No nausea. Some dizziness. I… might’ve blacked out for a few seconds."

The doctor’s gaze sharpened slightly. "You lost consciousness?"

"Yeah. Just for a moment, I think. I don’t remember the exact impact."

The doctor nodded seriously. "Thank you for being honest. That changes things. We’ll do a more thorough examination."

"Okay."

"Any sensitivity to light or sound?"

"A little, yeah."

"Blurred vision?"

"Only briefly. Cleared up after the game."

"Headache?"

Daichi nodded. "Sort of a dull pressure. Behind the eyes."

"Sleeping alright?"

"Mostly."

"Any emotional changes? Anxiety, restlessness.."

"YES" Daichi snapped, then blinked. "I mean. Maybe. Sort of."

The doctor raised an eyebrow. "Anything triggering that?"

Daichi’s brain screamed A boy with black hair and a smug smile is picking me up after this appointment and I don’t know how to act like a normal person.. but he said:

"Just… general stress."

"Of course," the doctor said politely. "Let’s take a closer look."

He examined Daichi’s pupils, checked his motor responses, and asked a series of memory and balance questions. A few times, Daichi fumbled.

"You’re definitely showing signs of a concussion," the doctor said finally. "Nothing too severe, but you need to take it seriously."

Daichi winced. "So, rest?"

"Rest. No strenuous activity. No volleyball. No running. No diving across courts."

"That’s most of my personality."

The doctor chuckled. "Well, try cultivating a temporary new one. One with ice packs and quiet rooms."

He handed Daichi a small pack wrapped in cloth. "You’ll be fine, Sawamura-kun. But let’s not take chances. Monitor yourself. Any headaches get worse, or if you feel nauseated or confused again, come back immediately."

Daichi nodded, rising slowly. "Understood."

"And no phone scrolling for hours, either. I know how high schoolers are."

Daichi mumbled something about not being like that, then shuffled toward the door.

The doctor called after him, "And good luck with your… stress."

Daichi left the room red-faced, heart thudding, stomach doing the kind of flips he usually saved for warmups.

Because Kuroo was waiting.

Outside.

Right now.

ᨐ

When Daichi stepped out of the hospital’s glass doors, the sunlight hit him full in the face, warm, bright, and just soft enough not to make his head throb again.
He blinked a few times to adjust, then looked around.
And there he was.
Leaning against the wall like he was posing for a teen drama promo poster: black hair perfectly disheveled, sleeves rolled just a little too neatly, one foot crossed over the other, expression unreadable behind a pair of dark sunglasses that he definitely didn’t need.

Goddammit.

Kuroo straightened when he spotted him, sliding the sunglasses up into his hair with a flick of his fingers. His eyes scanned Daichi quickly, landing on the bruising around his nose and the puffiness still lingering from the impact.
Daichi watched the shift.
For a heartbeat, something soft flickered across Kuroo’s face. Worry. Real, quiet, chest-clenching worry. And something… else. Warmth? Relief?
But then, just as quickly, it was gone, swept aside like a curtain.

"Well," Kuroo said, smirking as he walked forward, "if it isn’t Tokyo’s most stylish delinquent."

Daichi raised a brow. "Stylish?"

"I mean, that bruise? That busted nose? You look like you got in a back alley fight defending someone’s honour."

"I was defending our team’s honour."

"Oh true, true. You’re even more terrifying than Ushiwaka now," Kuroo nodded solemnly. "He hits like a truck, and you just eat it and keep walking."

Daichi rolled his eyes, trying not to feel ridiculously pleased to see him.

"You’re really going for that badboy captain aesthetic," Kuroo added, falling into step beside him. "Next time I expect you to show up in a leather jacket."

"Next time," Daichi said dryly, "I’d prefer to show up without mild brain trauma."

"Mm. Fair." Kuroo glanced over again, this time more seriously. "How bad was it?"

"Concussion. They said I should take it easy for a few days."

Kuroo’s smirk dropped. "No more matches for a bit, huh?"

"Doctor’s orders."

"Good," Kuroo said, and this time it wasn’t sarcastic. "Not that I’m glad you’re benched, but.." he shrugged "..head injuries are no joke."

Daichi nodded. "I know."

There was a pause as the noise of the street picked up, car horns, a passing train in the distance, a few students laughing as they walked by.
And in the quiet between those sounds, Daichi risked a glance sideways.
Kuroo wasn’t looking at him, not directly, but his hands were shoved in his pockets, and his lips were twitching like he was trying not to say something too real.
So Daichi cleared his throat.

"Thanks for coming."

Kuroo’s head tilted. "What, you thought I’d let you wander around Tokyo alone with a concussion and your tragic badboy nose?"

"I’m a very capable tragic badboy, thank you."

Kuroo snorted. "You’re welcome."

Another pause.

"…You hungry?" Daichi asked, adjusting the strap of his bag.

Kuroo grinned like he’d been waiting all day for that line. "Always."

ᨐ

They ended up at a tucked-away little curry place just a few streets from the hospital, low ceilings, a warm smell of spice in the air, and a quiet corner booth that looked like it hadn’t seen a high school student in decades. Kuroo held the door open.

Daichi raised an eyebrow. "Chivalry?"

"Captain’s honour," Kuroo replied smoothly, stepping in after him. "And also I’m hungry, and your pace is suspiciously slow. Didn’t want to lose you to another dramatic sidewalk injury."

"I’ll take that as concern."

"Take it however you like, Sawamura."

They settled into the booth, menus already laminated and slightly curled at the edges.

"I’ve been here with Kenma before," Kuroo said, flipping his over lazily. "He likes the curry udon because he says it makes people leave him alone. Apparently no one wants to bother you when you’re slurping soup aggressively."

Daichi chuckled, trying to keep his eyes on the menu instead of on Kuroo’s face, which looked too good in this lighting. Warm gold from the window. Shadows on the curve of his cheekbone.
Captain things, he reminded himself sternly.

"Do you eat curry before matches?" he asked instead, pulling himself back to reality.

"Nah, too heavy," Kuroo replied. "But after? Nothing better. It’s a victory meal. Or a therapy meal. Depends."

Daichi nodded. "We usually do ramen. Nishinoya insists on gyoza, though. Says it helps his spiritual balance."

"Your libero’s idea of spiritual balance is definitely deep-fried."

"Exactly."

Their food arrived faster than expected, hot plates steaming in front of them, the smell making both their stomachs rumble in unison.

Kuroo raised an eyebrow. "Sympathetic appetite. Impressive."

"I’m just glad I still have one," Daichi muttered, carefully poking at the rice with his spoon. "Wasn’t sure what my head was going to allow today."

Kuroo didn’t say anything for a moment.  "I’m glad you’re okay." He then said, softer than expected.

Daichi paused. The air between them thickened for a beat. Not uncomfortable, just… heavier than before. Weighted.

"I’ll be fine," he said eventually. "Couple days of rest. No diving saves or reckless blocks."

"Tragic."

They dug into their food, and for a while, the only sounds were clinks of spoons and the quiet music from the restaurant speakers. But the silence was easy.
Surprisingly easy.
At some point, Kuroo leaned back with a satisfied sigh, stretching his arms until his knuckles brushed the edge of the booth.

"I forgot how nice it is to sit down and eat without being mobbed by my entire team," he said. "Yaku eats like he’s in a food competition. Yamamoto talks with his mouth full. And Kenma just judges us all."

Daichi grinned. "Sounds like a team captain’s dream."

"You get it," Kuroo said with a lopsided smile, nudging his foot lightly against Daichi’s under the table.

It could’ve been an accident.
It wasn’t.
Daichi didn’t move away.

"So," Kuroo went on, tone light but eyes sharp, "have you started plotting revenge on Shiratorizawa yet?"

"Not officially," Daichi said. "But Hinata’s been mumbling something about a rematch since the bus ride home."

"That sounds about right."

They talked about training schedules. Player dynamics. Practice match rumours. Who was getting better at what. What it was like watching their first-years grow into real threats.
But beneath the conversation, there was a thread of something else, unspoken but unmistakable
A warmth. An ease. A little flicker of want neither of them was acknowledging.
And when they finally stood to leave, Kuroo reached out to take Daichi’s tray without being asked.

Daichi let him.

ᨐ

Chapter Text

The streets had gotten quieter as they wandered farther from the station, the crowd thinning into soft conversations, bicycles passing by, and the sound of wind nudging dry leaves down the sidewalk.
Kuroo walked with his hands shoved deep into his pockets again, shoulders loose, pace unhurried. Daichi didn’t know why he kept noticing that.
But he was noticing it, the way Kuroo’s sleeves bunched at his wrists, the way his fingers occasionally curled in his jacket pocket like he was resisting the urge to gesture, the way the lazy swing of his walk made it impossible not to glance sideways now and then.
He was too casual. Too confident. It should’ve been annoying.
But it wasn’t.

"Hey," Kuroo said suddenly, glancing toward him. "You spacing out on me?"

"Just thinking," Daichi answered. "About the cat under the vending machine. Wondering if it owns property around here."

Kuroo snorted. "Yeah, that guy’s a local legend. Pretty sure Kenma leaves offerings sometimes."

They passed a wall covered in faded old concert posters. Kuroo slowed to glance at them.

"Yaku once told me I should start a band. Just because of my hair."

Daichi raised an eyebrow. "And your response?"

"I said only if he’s willing to be the lead vocalist. We didn’t speak for three days after that."

Daichi laughed, watching as Kuroo’s eyes scanned the posters like he was actually searching for something, maybe a memory. Maybe just a joke.

"You ever thought about it?" Kuroo asked, turning to him again. "Not the band thing. Just… what you want after all this?"

Daichi hesitated. "You mean after high school?"

"After volleyball."

That hit a little different.

He shrugged. "Not really. Haven’t had time."

"You strike me as the plan-ahead type."

"Yeah, well." Daichi rubbed the back of his neck. "Feels weird planning past something I’m still fully inside of, y’know?"

Kuroo gave a thoughtful little hum, then nodded. "Yeah. I get that."

They crossed at a narrow intersection, a single car rumbling by. Kuroo’s shoulder brushed Daichi’s again, casual and natural, and Daichi didn’t move away.
They reached a low stone wall along a park fence. Kuroo stopped beside it, leaning his back against the stone. Hands still in his pockets.
That posture again.

And damn if it wasn’t doing something to Daichi’s composure.
Kuroo looked up at the sky like it had just occurred to him they were running out of daylight. "Hey… I should probably head back soon."

Daichi blinked, pulling himself out of whatever headspace he’d drifted into. "Oh, right. Practice?"

"Yeah." Kuroo turned to him again. "We’ve got drills this evening. I left Kenma with Yamamoto, which was probably a war crime."

Daichi chuckled. "Need backup?"

"I need Kenma to not combust," Kuroo replied, and then, more slowly: "Actually… you should come with me."

Daichi raised a brow. "To practice?"

"You’re not playing, obviously," Kuroo said quickly. "No diving, no running, no heroic blocks. But just… hang out. Watch. Yaku would definitely scold you for getting injured, but he’d also probably light up like a tree seeing you walk in."

Daichi tilted his head. "I thought this was a private Nekoma thing?"

Kuroo shrugged. "Honestly? The guys would be glad to see you. I’d be glad, too."

The last part slipped out too naturally, too easily.

Kuroo caught himself a second later, cleared his throat. "I mean, you know. For the morale."

Daichi didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, a small smile. "Well, if it’s for morale."

Kuroo bumped his shoulder again. "For morale."

They started walking again, side by side, the street stretching out in front of them.

ᨐ

They walked the familiar back route to Nekoma, quiet alleys, old brick walls, vending machines Kuroo had been kicking since middle school. He knew this path like the back of his hand.
What he didn’t know was how to stop thinking about the way Daichi looked beside him.
It wasn’t like Daichi was doing anything special, he was just walking. Just listening. Just quietly watching the city go by like he was soaking it in, cataloguing everything.
But his posture was so straight. His shoulders so broad. The sunlight caught on his hair every few steps, and his expression was unreadable in a way that made Kuroo want to read it harder.
And then it hit him.

How good Daichi would look in a Nekoma jacket.
All red. Fitted sleeves. Maybe the collar turned up.
Kuroo’s brain short-circuited for a second.
He swallowed.

Not that it meant anything, obviously. He wasn’t trying to recruit him. And they were in rival schools, so it was a completely useless mental image.

…but it looked so right in his mind.

"You good?" Daichi asked, glancing sideways.

"Yeah," Kuroo said, too fast. "Just.. thinking about drills."

Drills. Sure.
By the time they reached the front of the school, the gym lights were already glowing faintly behind the side building. Kuroo turned to Daichi with a crooked smile.

"Well, well, Sawamura," he said, voice low and teasing. "You sure this is the right school? I hear delinquents with bruises like that usually hang out behind the gym, not walk into it."

Daichi gave him a flat look. "Keep talking and I’ll haunt your practices."

"Oh no," Kuroo grinned. "Not that. Anything but my tragic, hauntingly handsome volleyball ghost."

Daichi shoved his shoulder lightly. "Open the door."

Kuroo did, and motioned him in with a low, dramatic bow. "After you, Captain."

ᨐ

He barely took two steps into the Nekoma gym before a familiar voice rang out like a bullet.

"You’re kidding."

Daichi turned just in time to catch Yaku storming over, arms crossed and face already halfway between exasperation and something like relief.

"You got your face smashed in and now you’re just walking around Tokyo like nothing happened?!"

"Hello to you, too," Daichi said, offering a sheepish smile. "I’m fine, really."

"You’re not fine," Yaku snapped, standing on his toes to squint at him like a suspicious grandparent. "You have gauze on your nose and your aura is at least 10% more fragile than usual."

"I’m under strict non-diving orders," Daichi assured. "Promise."

"Good." Yaku finally huffed. "Because I will tackle you if you try to be heroic in here."

Kuroo passed by them with a cheerful, "Hey, that’s my job."

Kenma looked up from the corner with his usual unreadable expression, game console in hand and a lollipop half-out of his mouth.

"…You brought him here?" he asked Kuroo.

"I invited him."

Kenma stared at Daichi for a full five seconds. "He doesn’t look contagious."

"That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me," Daichi deadpanned.

Kenma shrugged. "He’s better than Yamamoto."

"Hey!" came a distant voice from the other side of the gym.

Shibayama and Lev came jogging over next, both lighting up in surprise when they saw Daichi.

"Whoa! Captain Sawamura!"

"Did you transfer?!"

"No," Daichi laughed. "Just visiting. Got doctor’s orders not to play, so I figured I’d annoy someone else’s team for a change."

Lev looked starstruck. "Even with a busted nose you look cool."

Yaku whacked him lightly in the back of the head. "Don’t encourage that."

Kuroo tossed Daichi a Nekoma towel from the side bench and motioned toward a corner seat. "Welcome to the observation deck. No blocking balls with your face allowed."

Daichi caught it with ease, a grin pulling at his lips. "I’ll try my best."

He sat down as the team moved into warm-ups, a little chaos, a lot of energy. Kuroo was already shouting instructions. Kenma was begrudgingly pulling off his jacket. Yaku was herding Lev like a feral cat.
And from where Daichi sat, towel draped over his knee, it felt strange and warm and oddly right.
Like he fit here, even just for a moment.
And maybe, just maybe, like he was a little closer to Kuroo than either of them wanted to say.

ᨐ

From his seat at the edge of Nekoma’s gym, Daichi sat with perfect posture, eyes focused, hands folded over the towel Kuroo had tossed him.
This was strictly an observational mission. A strategic move. Nothing else.
He was here to study.
To memorise rotations. Analyse team dynamics. Note how Nekoma flowed across the court like one collective body, anchored by Kenma’s cool precision and powered by Kuroo’s sharp commands.

That’s all.

Nothing to do with the way Kuroo’s voice cut through the noise with practiced authority, low and confident, not yelling, not barking, but leading, each word carrying weight and rhythm.
Nothing to do with the way Kuroo’s laugh echoed across the court when Lev tripped over his own feet, or how that laugh settled somewhere warm in Daichi’s chest like it belonged there.
Strictly observational.
And definitely nothing to do with the way Kuroo moved.
The way he blocked, tall and loose-limbed, then suddenly sharp and explosive at the net. The cocky, smug grin he wore while doing it, like he was daring the spiker to try again, like he knew he was reading the court better than anyone else. It was infuriating. And impressive. And something Daichi couldn’t stop watching. He stared a little longer than necessary.
He could admit it, internally.
He was very good at analysing captains. That was all this was. Pattern recognition.
And then Kuroo called a drill, stepped aside, glanced toward the bench..

..and looked right at him.

Daichi didn’t even have time to look away. Kuroo held the stare for one second too long. Then..

winked.

A lazy, crooked, utterly devastating wink.
Daichi nearly choked on air.
He sat straighter instantly, schooling his face into perfect neutrality. He was a captain. He was mature. He was not, absolutely not, reacting to a stupid wink like some middle schooler.
But his ears were burning. And his heart had jumped sideways.
He stared hard at Kenma instead, watching the setter lob a perfect toss to Lev with surgical disinterest, trying to un-feel everything in his ribcage.

Focus. Volleyball. Strategy. Movement.

And still, from the corner of his eye, he could feel that grin across the court. Could practically hear the smug self-satisfaction radiating off Kuroo’s very bones.
Daichi closed his eyes for a moment.
He’d walked willingly into enemy territory. With a concussion. And zero defence mechanisms.
Big mistake.
Huge.
And still…

He couldn’t quite stop the ghost of a smile pulling at his lips.

ᨐ

The echo of shoes on the court had softened, drills winding down into casual chatter and water breaks. Practice was officially over, but Daichi still sat rooted to his spot.
He hadn’t moved much, doctor’s orders, but somehow he felt like he’d just run laps.
Because that wink was still hovering in his brain like a glitch in a video file. Every time he tried to replay a play or analyse a strategy, there it was again, Kuroo’s stupid grin and the subtle twitch of one eyelid that had, inexplicably, short-circuited his entire nervous system. He’d managed to keep his face neutral the whole time.
Mostly.
Probably.

Daichi folded the towel neatly on his lap and exhaled, finally willing himself to get up. Time to re-enter the world of normal captains and leave behind the utterly deranged cartoon realm where winks were weapons and cocky blockers made your heart stutter.
He adjusted his jacket and turned to grab his bag..

"Knew you’d fold it," said a familiar voice beside him.

Daichi turned, startled. Kuroo was standing far too close, one brow raised, his hair slightly damp from sweat and that smug curl still lurking at the corner of his mouth.

"Fold what?" Daichi asked, momentarily forgetting how to hold a water bottle.

"The towel." Kuroo gestured lazily. "You folded it like you were filing taxes. So responsible."

"Some of us are raised with manners."

Kuroo chuckled. "And concussions, apparently."

"Too soon."

"Fair."

They stood there for a moment, the gym buzzing in the background with post-practice energy. Kenma was already sitting again, headphones back in. Yaku was corralling Lev toward cool-down stretches. Everyone else was caught in their own end-of-day routines. Daichi felt the muscles in his shoulders finally beginning to loosen, the lingering effects of the wink fading, reality setting in. He was almost back to being normal. Grounded. Calm.
And then..

"I’ll walk you back to the station," Kuroo said casually, as if he’d just offered him a second helping of rice.

Daichi blinked.

"…What?"

"You’re going back to Miyagi, right? Gotta make sure Tokyo doesn’t lose you to a wrong transfer. Or another concussion."

Daichi opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"Kuroo."

"Yeah?"

"Is this some kind of… anime plot?"

Kuroo tilted his head. "If it is, we’re at the part with the sparkly lighting and the internal monologue."

Daichi stared at him.

Kuroo grinned. "You’re thinking something like, ‘What the hell, why is he doing this? I’m just a normal volleyball captain..’"

"Stop."

"’..I can’t let my heart beat like this, it’s just a train station..’"

Daichi shoved him. "Stop."

Kuroo laughed and started walking toward the door. "C’mon, Captain. You’re not getting rid of me that easily."

Daichi exhaled hard through his nose, slung his bag over his shoulder, and followed.
His heart was beating annoyingly loud in his ears.
Because apparently… yes. It was some stupid romance anime.
And Kuroo was directing it.

ᨐ

The sun was bleeding its last gold across the pavement as they left Nekoma’s gates, the sky shifting to soft violets and washed-out blues. Tokyo at this hour always felt a little surreal, like the whole city took a breath before night truly fell. Kuroo kept his hands in his pockets, falling into step beside Daichi, who walked quietly beside him, bag slung over one shoulder. It should’ve been an ordinary walk.
But it wasn’t.
Kuroo was too aware of it. Too aware of the way their arms swung just barely out of sync. Too aware of the little bits of hair falling against Daichi’s temple. Too aware of every moment Daichi looked forward instead of at him. He hadn’t expected to feel this way.
Hadn’t expected to like it this much, having Daichi at Nekoma, even if it was just on the bench. Even if he wasn’t playing. He had fit into the space so easily it almost ached.
And yeah, maybe that old dumb fantasy was coming back to haunt him again.
Daichi. In a Nekoma jacket.
Tall, solid, reliable. Red. The sleeves rolled just slightly, the collar turned up against the wind. Standing there like he belonged on Kuroo’s court. On his team.
He’d imagined it before, during joint practices and training camp. But today? He’d tested it.

The towel.

Kuroo had tossed it to him on purpose. One of the ones with the team name stitched in the corner. Just to see how it would look in Daichi’s lap.
And holy hell, it looked good. Kuroo bit the inside of his cheek.
He wasn’t an idiot. He knew how to separate fantasy from reality. Daichi was Karasuno’s captain through and through, steady, composed, serious about his people. Kuroo respected that. Really, he did.
But there had been something in the air today. Because Daichi had stared.
Kuroo had felt it, the weight of those eyes tracking him during practice. Watching the drills. Watching him. And when he’d winked..
God. Daichi looked like he’d been hit by a truck and didn’t know how to file the insurance.
stonefaced, sure. But his ears?

They’d definitely gone a little red.

Kuroo let himself smile at the memory.
He wanted to see that again.
He wanted to see Daichi flustered. Really flustered. Blushing and awkward and tripping over words. He wondered if he’d have to actually start flirting for real to make that happen, if he’d have to cross that line instead of dancing around it like a coward.
But not tonight.
Tonight he was just walking him to the station. Just being a captain escorting another captain.
Still.

He tilted his head and smirked sideways. "You sure you didn’t take a wrong turn earlier?"

Daichi blinked. "What?"

Kuroo nodded down the street, as if that explained it. "You walked into Nekoma like you owned the place. Had me worried we were going to have to fight your school for custody."

Daichi snorted. "Keep dreaming."

"Oh, I am." Kuroo grinned. "And I gotta say, your performance as a mysterious, rugged guest coach was top tier. You really sold the role."

"‘Rugged’?" Daichi echoed, flat.

"Well, you do have the bandages. Very tough, very ‘I got into a street brawl but I’m fine, babe’ energy."

Daichi gave him a look. "Did you just ‘babe’ me?"

Kuroo held up both hands, palms out. "Objectively. Not romantically."

"Right."

They walked a few more steps in silence.
Daichi shifted his bag on his shoulder, like he felt the end of something coming. Kuroo kept his eyes forward, but the grin didn’t fade.
Because maybe it was nothing. Just a wink. Just a towel. Just a train station walk between rivals.

Or maybe… He’d planted a seed. And he really, really wanted to see if it grew.

They passed a row of shuttered shops, the breeze kicking at an empty soda can and ruffling the edge of Daichi’s collar.
Their conversation had drifted to random trivia,  how Lev once kicked a volleyball clean out of the gym, how Nekoma’s gym floor always squeaked weirdly near the south corner and so on.
Kuroo watched him out of the corner of his eye.
He liked this version of Daichi. The one who let his voice relax. Who smiled like he wasn’t a captain with the weight of his team on his shoulders. Who let Kuroo shoulder a bit of it, even if just for a walk.

The platform sign peeked into view, blinking softly above the stairs.
Kuroo shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.
He didn’t want this to end yet.
But.

He had a mission.

And the first step was not being a coward about it.
As they stopped just before the gates, Daichi adjusted the strap of his bag and glanced toward the schedule board.

Kuroo tilted his head. "You’ll make it?"

"Yeah," Daichi said, pulling his ticket out. "Still a few minutes."

Kuroo nodded. "Good. I was worried you might get lost again. You’ve got a real talent for ending up in rival gyms."

Daichi sighed with mock patience. "One time."

Kuroo smirked. "I’m just saying. It’s starting to feel suspicious."

A pause. The crowd around them shifted, commuters moving past, students chatting, the hum of the city low in the background.

Daichi turned to face him, brows raised slightly. "Thanks for walking me."

"Anytime," Kuroo said, and then leaned just a little closer. Just enough to tilt the air between them. "But next time… maybe don’t wear our school colours so loud. People might start thinking you’re cheating on your team."

Daichi blinked.

Kuroo grinned, subtle and low. "You did look good with our towel."

And then, before Daichi could reply, before he could recover, or make a joke, or punch him in the arm, Kuroo raised a hand in a lazy wave and stepped backward.

"Get home safe, Captain."

He turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd without waiting for an answer, heart thudding, grin spreading wide.

Mission: initiated.

ᨐ

The train rolled smoothly out of the station, but Daichi was stuck somewhere else entirely.
Not physically, no, physically he was on a quiet seat by the window, bag at his feet, hoodie bunched at the elbows, staring out at the blur of Tokyo suburbs.
But mentally?
He hadn’t left that station yet.
Kuroo’s words had replayed at least seven times already. Probably more. Daichi had lost count after the fifth run.

"You did look good with our towel."

Daichi pressed his forehead gently against the window, as if cool glass could neutralise whatever the hell that was.
It wasn’t flirting.
Couldn’t be.
Kuroo flirted with everyone. That was just how he was. He joked and teased and dropped one-liners like it was a sport. He’d probably told Kenma he looked good in a hoodie at some point and meant it platonically.
Probably.
Maybe.

…God, had he?

Daichi shifted in his seat, folding his arms and squeezing them tighter than necessary. He could still feel the subtle edge in Kuroo’s tone, like the words had been tossed with practiced ease, but there was something else under it. Something warmer.
And the way he left afterward?
No time to respond. No time to deflect. Just a wave, a look, and gone. Left Daichi standing there like he’d just been thrown a puzzle with no corner pieces.
He exhaled slowly. Not spiralling. Just thinking. Strategically. Like a captain.
And it was normal to analyse conversations. To consider tone. Word choice. Distance between bodies. The slight lean. The stupid towel line.
Daichi groaned and dropped his head back against the seat, his reflection in the window looked unimpressed with his entire existence.

"…Not spiralling," he muttered to it.

The reflection didn’t buy it either.

ᨐ

Chapter Text

Karasuno’s gym buzzed with early morning energy,  sneakers squeaking, volleyballs bouncing and Hinata already doing sprint drills even though practice hadn’t officially started.
Daichi stepped inside, greeted instantly by the sharp echo of "Daichis’s here!" courtesy of Tanaka and Nishinoya yelling in unison.
Heads turned. Suga waved from across the court. Ukai gave a nod from the sidelines, already deep in clipboard notes. Daichi smiled, a little shy despite himself, and raised a hand.

"Morning."

He was swarmed in an instant.

"How’s your head, Daichi-san?!" Nishinoya asked, eyes wide. "You look way less dead than before!"

"I told them you’d survive," Tanaka added, not sounding entirely convinced.

Hinata skidded to a stop mid-sprint, bouncing on his toes. "Are you allowed to play today? Will you be okay?! Do you need another phone?!"

Daichi laughed. "No phone needed. And no, I’m just watching for the next few days. Doctor said to rest, no diving or blocking or anything."

Suga approached, cool and calm as always.

"Well, at least you’re here. That’s something."

"Yeah," Daichi agreed, then hesitated for a second too long.

"…What?" Suga asked, catching it immediately.

Daichi scratched the back of his neck. "I… also stopped by Nekoma after the appointment."

That did it.

Hinata gasped so hard it sounded painful. "You WHAT?! Did you see Kenma?! Did you talk to him?! Did you see Kuroo?! What did they say?! What did you do?! What was their practice like?! Was Lev there?! Did he trip?! Did you get to watch them practice?! Did.."

"Hinata." Daichi raised both hands in surrender. "Yes. I saw them. Yes, I talked to them. No, I didn’t get recruited."

"Damn it," Nishinoya muttered.

"Kuroo did give me a towel," Daichi added before he could stop himself.

Hinata’s jaw dropped. "Did it have their name on it?! Was it red?! Did it smell like Tokyo?!"

"What does that even mean?" Daichi asked, already regretting the entire conversation.

Suga watched with narrowed eyes. Not suspicious exactly. Just… interested.

He stepped closer, voice low. "You visited Nekoma?"

"Yeah," Daichi said casually. Too casually. " Just to say hi. They were mid-practice."

Suga’s gaze dropped to Daichi’s gym bag.

"To say hi, huh?" he said. "Not like… you stayed to watch the whole practice or anything?"

Daichi’s stomach did a small, traitorous flip.

"What?" he asked, too fast.

Suga raised both brows, then just smiled.

"No reason."

The look lingered for a second too long.

Hinata resumed his interrogation, bouncing with renewed energy. "Tell me everything! Was Kenma playing a game?! Did you sit on the bench?! Were you on the court?! Did you get a Nekoma jacket?!"

Daichi sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It was going to be a long practice.
And from the other side of the gym, Suga was still watching. Still smiling.
Like he knew exactly what Daichi wasn’t saying.

Daichi sat at the bench, water bottle in hand, and a growing look of despair etched across his face. Chaos had unfolded approximately two minutes after warm-ups.
To his left, Tanaka and Nishinoya were locked in a screaming match over who could do a cooler jump receive, neither of them, it turned out, were right. To his right, Kageyama and Hinata had invented an entirely new kind of argument where every sentence started with "Don’t tell me what to do!" and ended with a spike attempt launched into the ceiling.
Asahi looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.
Yamaguchi had stopped trying to be helpful and was now just whispering encouraging words to the volleyball in his hands.
Tsukishima was pointedly doing exactly what Ukai told him, but in a way that made it feel like he was proving a point.
Daichi watched it all unfold with the distant, quiet energy of someone who had just accepted that this was his life now. He reached up, out of habit, to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Ow, shit" he muttered, immediately recoiling and blinking at the sting that bloomed behind his eyes.

Ukai glanced over. "You alright?"

Daichi nodded, clutching his face with exaggerated care. "Just forgot I’m a fragile old man now."

"Not old," Ukai said, tapping his clipboard. "Just slightly broken."

"Comforting," Daichi deadpanned.

Back on the court, Hinata attempted a one-legged spike off a ball Kageyama hadn’t actually set for him. It ended with him colliding into Tanaka, who was diving for the same ball. The crash sounded like a small car wreck. A volleyball rolled ominously to a stop in front of the bench.
Daichi stared at it. Then at his team. Then let out the slowest, deepest sigh in all of Miyagi.

"You know," Suga said suddenly, appearing next to him like a well-meaning ghost, "I think they’re acting out because you’re not out there yelling at them."

Daichi muttered something under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said," Daichi repeated, louder this time, "this is why I have forehead lines."

Suga patted his shoulder solemnly. "They’re very dignified."

Hinata sprinted by again, flailing his arms. "DAICHI-SAN LOOK, I’M PRACTICING MY AIR TIME!"

"STOP TALKING AND WATCH THE BALL!" Kageyama bellowed behind him.

"I am watching! I’m just not listening!"

"That doesn’t even make sense!"

"I’m evolving!!"

Daichi let his forehead fall against his hand, gingerly this time,  and exhaled through his nose.

Suga leaned in conspiratorially. "You sure you don’t want to borrow a whistle?"

"I want to borrow your ability to detach emotionally."

Suga laughed. "You’re the captain. You’re supposed to suffer."

"Remind me to quit," Daichi said flatly.

"You’d be bored in two hours and miss all of this." Suga gestured grandly at the disaster currently unfolding. Hinata was now trying to climb on Asahi’s back to spike a ball from higher. Asahi looked frozen in place, mid-existential crisis. Daichi stared. Suga smiled.

"I give it ten more minutes before Ukai breaks."

"I give it five," Daichi replied.

The ball hit the ceiling with a resounding thud. Ukai groaned audibly. Suga looked smug.
And Daichi, despite everything, couldn’t quite stop the small, fond smile from tugging at the corner of his mouth.

ᨐ

Practice finally wrapped after an extended thirty minutes of wild serves, off-target tosses, and at least two broken brooms (Nishinoya was trying to demonstrate a "sick recovery dive," and one got involved by accident).

Ukai called it with a "That’s enough chaos for one day," and everyone slumped to the floor like marionettes with their strings cut.

Except Daichi, who was already on the bench, watching the wreckage with a towel tucked under his chin like a patient grandfather on a porch.
Suga flopped beside him, handing him a half-warm water bottle.

"You look like you aged ten years in an hour."

"Feels accurate," Daichi muttered.

The others were sprawled around the gym like tired puppies. Hinata lay flat on the hardwood, arms stretched overhead. Kageyama sat cross-legged beside him, silently rehydrating like a warrior. Tanaka and Nishinoya were play-fighting over whose shirt was more soaked with "honourable sweat."
Yamaguchi was helping Asahi with putting away the net, both of them moving like post-battle survivors. Tsukishima dragged his feet past them with the mop in hand, muttering about "disorganised idiots."

"Captain." Hinata’s voice broke the warm, tired silence. He lifted his head, cheeks flushed. "I don’t like it when you’re not playing."

"Yeah!" Noya joined in, still in a headlock from Tanaka. "It’s too weird without you yelling at us."

"I don’t yell," Daichi said, mildly scandalised.

"You glare, though," Tanaka added helpfully. "And that’s even worse somehow."

"But it keeps us alive!" Nishinoya declared. "It’s part of the energy!"

Suga was smirking beside him.

Daichi scratched the back of his head. "You guys seem to do fine without me."

"Define fine," Kageyama mumbled.

"Tsukki almost killed us with a serve that bounced off the basketball hoop," Yamaguchi added.

"It was intentional," Tsukishima called back from the corner. "Teamwork drill. You wouldn’t get it."

"I almost tripped on your teamwork," Hinata muttered into the floor.

Asahi wandered closer, sweat-drenched and gentle-eyed. "We’re glad you’re okay," he said quietly. "It was scary. Seeing you fall like that."

Daichi paused.

It wasn’t often Asahi said something straight like that, without blushing or stammering. But the weight in his voice landed, quiet and warm.

Daichi offered him a grateful nod. "I’m fine. Just a few days off. Nothing dramatic."

"No one is used to not having you on the court," Yamaguchi said. "It’s like… the net’s still there, but we’re missing a part of the floor, you know?"

"Oh my god," Nishinoya said dramatically. "That was so poetic. Say it again."

Yamaguchi flushed. "Shut up, I didn’t mean to.."

"No no no, it’s beautiful," Suga said, patting his head.

Hinata had rolled onto his stomach by now. "Captain? Will you still do the cool clap thing?"

Daichi blinked. "You mean the normal three-clap cheer?"

"Yeah! But it’s cooler when you do it!"

Kageyama nodded reluctantly. "It gets us in sync."

Daichi looked around. At his chaotic, loud, overcommitted, absolutely unhinged team. Still flushed from practice, still bubbling with energy even in their exhaustion.

He smiled.

"I’ll be there," he said. "And I’ll clap. But only if you guys promise not to make Ukai cry."

Tanaka held up two fingers solemnly. "No promises."

Laughter broke out around the gym.
The lights flickered slightly as they started to power down, the morning sun painting stripes across the floor.

ᨐ

By the time Daichi got home, the sun had disappeared behind the ridgeline, casting the streets in a quiet orange glow. He unlocked the front door, nudged it open with his shoulder, and let out a long breath. It had been a good day. Loud, ridiculous, exhausting, but good.
The house was quiet. For once, the entire house belonged to him and his thoughts.
Which, frankly, was a bit dangerous.
He made his way to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, then sat at the table and stared into the middle distance for a solid minute.
His nose still twinged if he touched it wrong. His legs ached even though he hadn’t moved much during practice. His heart, though, that was quieter now. Steady.
He pulled out his phone to check the time.
And there it was.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

How are the animals. Still running wild without you?

Daichi huffed out a laugh through his nose.

[Sawamura Daichi]

Chaotic. I don’t even do anything and they still act like I’m the one holding the entire gym together.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

You are, though. Your glare is half the team’s spine.

[Sawamura Daichi]

That sounds unhealthy.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

Entirely.

There was a pause.. just a few seconds.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

Just wanted to check in. You okay? For real, I mean.

[Sawamura Daichi]

Yeah. Bit sore. Bit annoyed I can’t play. But I’m alright.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

That’s good.

Another pause.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

You looked good that day.

Daichi’s stomach did a thing. He blinked down at the text. Read it again.
Then stared at his reflection in the dark window.
There was a follow-up.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

The Nekoma colours suit you. Just sayin.

Daichi set the phone down like it had bitten him.
He stood up, walked to the sink, rinsed his glass. Came back. Picked the phone back up.
Still there.
He considered saying something clever.
He settled for safe.
Mostly.

[Sawamura Daichi]

You can tell me as often as you want

Still not planning to switch teams anytime soon.

But… good to know I wouldn’t look out of place.

Daichi didn’t send another message after that.
Instead, he leaned back against the cushions and stared up at the ceiling with a silent, helpless grin tugging at his lips.
The house was quiet.
But something in him was very, very loud.

ᨐ

Chapter Text

"Alright, listen up!"

Coach Ukai clapped his hands once, clipboard tucked under his arm, hair wind-blown from propping the gym doors open.
The team quieted, eventually. Hinata was still bouncing slightly on his toes.

"We’ve been training hard," Ukai said, squinting into the gym’s fluorescent lights like he was already regretting this. "We’ve had practice matches, drills, laps, injuries…" He gave Daichi a pointed look. Daichi raised a hand in mock-surrender.

"…and I’m not saying you don’t still need discipline," Ukai added, shooting a narrow-eyed glance at the general zone where Tanaka, Nishinoya, and Hinata were standing.

"But," he said, with a long sigh, "you also need rest. Which is why I’ve decided,  with a little encouragement from Takeda-sensei, that we’re taking this weekend off."

Pause.

Hinata blinked. "Wait, like off off?"

"Like off," Ukai repeated. "We’re going camping. By the beach. As a team."

"YESSSSS!"

Hinata’s yell bounced off the gym walls. He grabbed Kageyama’s shoulders and shook him with wild joy. "BEACH, KAGEYAMA!! We’re going to the BEACH!!"

Kageyama frowned. "You know there’s sand there, right?"

"SAND IS POWER!" Hinata declared.

"Sand gets in your shoes," Tsukishima muttered.

"Sand is annoying," Kageyama added.

"Sand is a training opportunity," Ukai cut in, already regretting giving them this information. "You’ll all be expected to stay active, but it’s a lighter schedule. Focus is bonding and recovery."

Tanaka and Nishinoya were high-fiving like madmen.

"Wait, waitwaitwait," Hinata suddenly gasped. "Did you say Nekoma is coming too?"

"I didn’t," Ukai said, flipping his clipboard. "But yes."

"YESSSSSS!!" Tanaka’s joy reignited. "Yamamoto, my man! Beach bros reunion!!"

Nishinoya threw both hands in the air. "I get to see Yaku again!!"

"Who will absolutely strangle you if you cannonball near him," Tsukishima muttered.

"Worth it!"

Suga, who’d been watching Daichi out of the corner of his eye, leaned in closer. Daichi was… composed. Mostly.
But there was a slight shift to his mouth. The kind of shift Suga knew. The kind of shift that screamed someone tall, smug, and cat-like is going to be shirtless this weekend.

"So," Suga said softly, leaning his elbow on Daichi’s shoulder, "looking forward to seeing Kuroo again?"

Daichi gave him a flat look. "It’s a team-building trip."

"Uh-huh."

"It’s not about that."

Suga smiled sweetly. "Of course not."

Daichi opened his mouth, closed it again.
From across the gym, Hinata launched into his third attempt at making Asahi excited.

"THINK ABOUT IT, ASAHI-SAN! SUNSHINE! SWIM TRUNKS! BONFIRES!!"

"I, uh, bonfires sound dangerous?"

"Only if you’re not brave enough!!"

Ukai blew his whistle before Asahi could faint.

"All of you, pack light, bring sunscreen, no volleyballs on the tents this time"

"That was ONE time!" Noya shouted.

"ONE TIME TOO MANY," Ukai roared.

Suga leaned a little closer to Daichi again. "So. You gonna pack a Nekoma towel?"

Daichi elbowed him.

Suga beamed.

ᨐ

Friday afternoon at Karasuno looked like the opening scene to some kind of camping-themed disaster movie. Backpacks were everywhere.

So were volleyballs. Daichi stood next to the open luggage compartment of the bus with a checklist and a steadily growing headache.

"HINATA," he barked over the din, "your sleeping bag goes in the bag, not tied on top of it like some kind of flapping emergency flag!"

"I need it ready in case we break down and freeze in the woods!" Hinata yelled back with the logic of a feral squirrel.

"We’re going to the beach!" Tsukishima muttered, rolling his eyes.

Nishinoya attempted to juggle three rolled-up mats at once. One bounced off his head. Tanaka caught it midair with a yell of triumph. "Team KARASUNO, baby!"

"Team chaos," Suga murmured under his breath.

Eventually, somehow, all the bags were loaded. Ukai honked once, and the team scrambled aboard in a wave of noise, snacks, and half-formed arguments about tent-pitching strategies.
Daichi boarded last, checking off the final names, then stood at the front of the aisle as the bus began to rumble down the road.

"Alright!" he called, raising his voice above the din. "Tent assignments!"

"Ohhh!" Hinata leaned over the seat, eyes gleaming. "Let’s gooooo!"

"Kageyama and Hinata," Daichi began.

"Why me?" Kageyama immediately grumbled.

"I can’t sleep with you," Hinata shot back. "You snore like a dying cow!"

"I do not!"

"Next," Daichi interrupted, flipping the page on his clipboard before someone got punched, "Tanaka and Nishinoya."

The two gave each other a fist bump that might’ve caused permanent wrist damage.

"Yes! Maximum energy tent!" Nishinoya shouted.

"Try to sleep at some point," Ukai muttered from the front.

"Suga and Asahi," Daichi went on. Asahi sighed in visible relief. Suga smiled in a way that promised absolutely zero peace.

"Tsukishima and Yamaguchi."

Yamaguchi nodded, already resigned to Tsukki’s eye-rolls and muttered sarcasm.

"And finally…" Daichi paused, just for effect. "I’ll be in a tent on my own."

Suga’s head snapped around.

"What?"

Daichi shrugged, trying to sound neutral. "The tents we borrowed only sleep two comfortably. Yours isn’t big enough for three."

"But" Suga started.

"It’s fine," Daichi cut in smoothly. "I’ll be close to the rest of you. It’s not like I’m disappearing into the wilderness."

"You say that now," Yamaguchi muttered, "but I’ve seen horror movies."

Suga narrowed his eyes but said nothing. Yet. Daichi pretended not to notice.
He stared out the window as the bus wound its way toward the coast, trying not to think about why, exactly, he’d been fine with the tent arrangements.
And especially trying not to think about who might be in a tent nearby… just across a campfire… or walking along the shoreline at night…
Nope. Not thinking about it at all.

Ten minutes into the drive, the Karasuno team bus sounded less like a vehicle of athletes and more like a rolling kindergarten with an espresso machine strapped to the roof.
Hinata had unzipped every snack bag he brought. Kageyama was yelling about crumbs on the seat.
Tanaka and Nisninoya were trying to balance a bottle of water on the windowsill using only their noses.
And Tsukishima had headphones in and the coldest deadpan expression possible, which somehow made everything louder.
At the centre of this storm sat Suga. Arms crossed. Eyebrow twitching. Soul leaving body.

"Hinata," Suga snapped. "If I see one more potato chip launched across the aisle, I will confiscate your entire snack supply."

"It was Kageyama’s fault!" Hinata shouted with his mouth full.

"I’M LITERALLY NOT EVEN EATING!" Kageyama barked back.

"Tanaka, Noya,  what did I say about water balancing?!"

"Uhh… that we’re doing great?" Nishinoya offered.

Suga’s death glare could’ve powered the bus without fuel.
Meanwhile, in the front seat…
Daichi was blissfully ignoring all of it.
He had his phone in hand, thumb hovering, face lit by the soft glow of the screen and the way the corners of his mouth might have been twitching upward, just a little.

[Sawamura Daichi]

On the road. We’re bringing tents and chaos. Be warned.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

I’m quaking already.

Is this your captainly way of saying "save me a spot by the fire"?

[Sawamura Daichi]

You have to earn your fire privileges.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

Do I get extra points if I bring marshmallows?

Daichi snorted quietly and shook his head.

"Daichi."

Suga had appeared.
Daichi blinked up at him, caught like a teenager sneaking sweets.

"I leave you alone for five minutes and the back half of the bus is reenacting a Lord of the Flies scene."

Daichi sighed, pocketing his phone. "You’re doing great, Mom."

Suga narrowed his eyes. "I’m filing for parental leave."

Tanaka shrieked from somewhere near the emergency exit, "WE GOT A TENT MOM AND DAD!"

"SHUT UP, TANAKA!" Daichi and Suga yelled in unison.

Daichi rubbed a hand over his face.
A few minutes later, when things settled down enough for someone to uncap a water bottle without incident, Daichi checked his phone again.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

Can’t wait to see you, by the way.

Just sayin’.

Daichi paused.
Looked up at the ceiling of the bus.
Back down again.

[Sawamura Daichi]

Likewise.

Just… don’t get sand in my sleeping bag.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

Noted.

(Wait. Are we sharing a tent?)

[Sawamura Daichi]

Absolutely not.

You probably snore. And I value my life.

[Kuroo Tetsurou]

Lies and slander.

Daichi just smirked and looked out the window, the sea beginning to glimmer in the distance.

ᨐ

The second the bus doors swung open, the team exploded out of it.
There wasn’t even time to unload bags properly, Hinata flung himself face-first into the sand like he’d just discovered a new species of terrain, yelling, "WE’RE HERE!!!"
Kageyama followed, if only to tackle him for knocking over the cooler.
Tanaka and Nishinoya threw their shirts in the air, screaming about beach energy.
Tsukishima muttered something about natural selection and sat on a log.
Daichi was trying, valiantly, impressively, to stay calm as he stepped down from the bus, clipboard in hand and brows already pinching.

Behind him, Suga stretched luxuriously in the sun, turned to Asahi and said, "I give it five minutes before Daichi yells."

He was off by two.

"WE ARE NOT STARTING LIKE THIS!" Daichi barked, marching into the whirlwind of teenagers with captain fury. "Tents first! We unload first, then we build the tents! That’s not optional!"

No one listened. Someone was already halfway to the water. There was a flying shoe.
Daichi sighed like a man who knew peace was a distant myth.

And then..

"Karasuno!" came a familiar voice from behind him.
Daichi turned just in time to see the second bus pulling up.
The door swung open.
Nekoma tumbled out like a calmer, cooler, cat-themed mirror image of Karasuno.
Kuroo stepped off the bus last.
Daichi saw him instantly. That stupid, smooth walk. His duffel slung casually over one shoulder, wind ruffling his already-unruly hair.
And then the smile.

Of course he was grinning.
Of course he headed straight for Daichi like he didn’t even see the others.

"Looks like the wild animals beat us here," Kuroo said cheerfully, eyes flicking across the volleyball storm as Nishinoya attempted to start a sand fight with Tanaka and Yaku.

"We’re supposed to be building tents," Daichi muttered darkly.

"Yeah," Kuroo said, clearly amused, "I can see how well that’s going."

Daichi pinched the bridge of his nose. Winced. Remembered the nose injury. Pinched the air beside it instead.

Kuroo laughed. "You alright there, Captain?"

"I was," Daichi muttered. "Until I remembered what kind of decisions led me to be here."

Kuroo leaned in, low voice practically humming near Daichi’s ear. "Maybe it’s a sign."

Daichi blinked. "A sign of what?"

Kuroo tilted his head, smile all lazy confidence. "That you can’t control everything, Sawamura."

He let the name sit there, soft and smug in his mouth. And then, in the same low voice, only for Daichi:

"Lucky for you, I happen to like chaos."

Daichi opened his mouth. Closed it again. Why was it suddenly very hot out?
Right. The sun. Definitely the sun.
Suga passed by with a bundle of tent poles, took one glance at Daichi’s face, and didn’t say a word. Just raised a single eyebrow and kept walking.
Daichi wanted to throw himself into the ocean.

Instead, he yelled, "START WITH THE TENTS!"

Nekoma ignored him, too. Yaku was already smacking Nishinoya with a rolled-up tarp.
Kuroo? Still smiling. Still next to him.
And Daichi?
Daichi was so doomed.

It took fifteen minutes for Daichi to realise that yelling "build the tents" wasn’t going to magically transform anyone into an outdoorsman.
In fact, it seemed to do the opposite.
Hinata was dragging a pole across the sand like a sword.
Tanaka had somehow already broken a zipper on a bag.
Tsukishima sat five feet from the nearest tent, arms crossed, saying things like, "I’m supervising."
Suga had teamed up with Kai. Together they’d formed the only functioning tent-assembling pair, working with measured efficiency and only a few passive-aggressive mutters about the wrong instructions being printed on the inside of the bag.
Daichi, meanwhile, found himself face-to-face with an open pile of tent parts, Kuroo crouched beside him with a frown.

"So…" Kuroo said slowly, poking the bag with a stick. "I’ve determined these are metal poles."

"Excellent work," Daichi deadpanned. "I think you might actually be a genius."

"I know," Kuroo said, smug. "Now. Which pole goes where?"

"Good question," Daichi muttered, kneeling and pulling a folded sheet of instructions out of the kit. "I think this one’s, no, wait, that can’t be right. It’s upside down."

"That’s not upside down," Kuroo said. "You’re holding it sideways."

They stared at the paper. The diagram looked like a cursed spider.

Daichi sighed. "We’re not letting anyone see this. Our teams will mutiny."

Kuroo grinned. "Then we’ll build it fast and flawless. Like real men."

Daichi raised a brow. "Real men who can’t assemble a two-person tent?"

"Don’t ruin the fantasy."

He handed Daichi a pole.
Daichi attached it to what he thought was a corner piece. Kuroo pulled the fabric taut.
Somehow, the structure collapsed like an angry origami frog.
They stared.

"…I think it’s getting worse," Daichi muttered.

"I think it attacked me," Kuroo said, shaking out a sleeve tangled in rope. "That was personal."

Asahi, walking by with his own tent bag slung over his shoulder, paused mid-step. "Do you guys need help?"

"No," they said in unison.

"…Yes," Daichi added a beat later.

Asahi crouched and started anchoring the base like he’d been born in the woods.
A moment later, Yaku wandered over, eyes scanning the mangled structure.
He didn’t say anything. He just picked up a pole. And started building.

"Thank god," Kuroo muttered. "The adults are here."

Yaku snapped a connector into place with surgical precision. "You’re a third year too, Kuroo. Try acting like it."

Daichi stepped back and watched the tent slowly become… a tent.
The fabric tightened. The poles clicked. The tarp stretched smooth.
Ten more minutes, and it stood proudly in the sand like it hadn’t just been a sea monster in its previous life.

Kuroo gave it an approving nod. "Well. I think we contributed nicely."

Daichi glanced at Asahi and Yaku, who were both now organising pegs with silent, tired judgment.

"…Absolutely," Daichi said. "Great teamwork."

Kuroo grinned. "We’re unstoppable."

"You tied the corners to the wrong loops."

"You enabled me."

Daichi rolled his eyes and looked toward the water, where more chaos was unfolding, and sighed. "Let’s just hope we survive the weekend."

Next to him, Kuroo hummed. Then he leaned in, voice lower again, just for Daichi.

"Oh, I intend to."

ᨐ

There was no warning. No countdown. No logic.
Just four idiots simultaneously ripping off their shirts and charging full-speed toward the ocean.

"WAIT FOR ME!" Hinata screeched, flying past Tsukishima like a human firecracker, arms flailing, sandals abandoned somewhere behind him.

Tanaka, Nishinoya, and Yamamoto followed close behind, a blur of sunburns and uncontained energy, bellowing as if they were going to war.

Suga sighed loudly. "Children."

Then he peeled off his own shirt and sprinted after them.

"Asahi!" he called over his shoulder. "Come on!"

Asahi, halfway through setting down his water bottle, froze. "Do I, do I have to?"

"YES!" Suga yelled, then tackled him into the water moments later.

Inuoka and Kai exchanged one look and wordlessly followed, Inuoka already laughing, Kai shaking his head with quiet fondness.

Even Yaku, somehow, gave in, grumbling something about babysitting and dignity as he stalked toward the waves.

Tsukishima rolled his eyes and dropped onto a towel beside Yamaguchi. "Idiots."

"Yeah," Yamaguchi said, opening a bag of chips. "Kinda impressive, though."

Further up the beach, Daichi stood like a stone pillar of responsibility, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold.
Kuroo watched him.
It was unfair, really.

The sunlight hit Daichi like a spotlight, glinting off his collarbones, tracing gold across his shoulders, highlighting the neat lines of muscle down his back and arms.
Kuroo had seen Daichi in a jersey. In volleyball shorts. In practice gear and the occasional hoodie.
He had not seen him like this.
Tank top already abandoned in the heat, skin dusted with a faint tan, hair slightly damp from the humidity. Chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Jaw tense, like he was focusing too hard on not watching the others throw themselves into the ocean.

Kuroo bit the inside of his cheek.
Nope. Not allowed to stare. Not allowed to think about that line of his spine or the way his shoulders looked even broader without a shirt on.
This was a joint team trip. This was about relaxation. Teambuilding. Sportsmanship.
Kuroo took a deep breath and wandered over, casually.

"So." He stood just beside Daichi. "You’re not going in?"

Daichi shook his head, amused. "Someone’s got to be the responsible one."

Kuroo clicked his tongue. "Come on. Even Yaku went in. You’re running out of excuses."

"I’m supervising," Daichi said.

"You’re being a buzzkill."

"I’m protecting my sanity."

Kuroo bumped his shoulder lightly. "Live a little, Sawamura."

Daichi raised an eyebrow. "You just want to drag me into the water so I’ll suffer with the rest of you."

Kuroo smirked. "Maybe. Or maybe I just think you’d look good out there."

Daichi turned to look at him, eyes narrowing slightly.

Kuroo held the gaze for a beat too long, then clicked his tongue and grinned. "For strategic scouting purposes, of course. Got to know how the opposing captain swims. Could be crucial intel."

"You’re ridiculous," Daichi said, but his voice had gone just the tiniest bit dry.

Kuroo leaned in, eyes glinting. "I take pride in my work."

Daichi rolled his eyes. But his hand twitched at his side, as if debating.

Kuroo watched it. "Come on. I’ll race you to the water. Loser has to help Tanaka with the grill later."

Daichi sighed.

"You better lose," he said.

Kuroo blinked. Then recovered. "In your dreams."

He got rid of his own shirt.
And then they were sprinting, sand flying behind them, laughter bubbling out of Kuroo’s throat before he could stop it.

Oh yeah.

This weekend was going to be very interesting.

ᨐ

Chapter Text

The first splash hit Nishinoya square in the back.
He spun with wide eyes, soaked hair dripping into his mouth. "WHO"

Hinata stood ten feet away with a double handful of seawater and the most suspiciously innocent smile Daichi had ever seen.
Nishinoya roared like a jungle beast and launched himself forward, kicking up a spray so wide it soaked not just Hinata but also Tanaka and Yamamoto nearby. All three screamed, then retaliated. It was instant chaos.
A second later, Suga joined the fray with a war cry that could’ve split mountains. Asahi blinked in horror and barely managed to duck a wave of seawater aimed directly at his face.
Inuoka took a hit and yelled something gleeful, turning to charge after Kai, who simply raised his arms and accepted the incoming splash with the resigned patience of a man who had seen this coming for twenty-four hours straight. Yaku, waist-deep already and scowling, began wading toward Hinata with lethal intent.

"This is treason," he muttered. "I will end him."

Hinata shrieked and ran. "I WASN’T EVEN AIMING FOR YOU!"

Up on the sand, Tsukishima leaned back on his elbows and arched a brow. "This is what happens when people don’t read weather reports. Saltwater does not count as hydration."

Yamaguchi tossed a chip in his mouth. "Suga’s got a solid arm, though."

Meanwhile, in the shallows, Daichi tried, tried, to keep his dignity intact. But the moment Kuroo appeared behind him, eyes glinting with mischief and a handful of seawater ready for deployment, he knew it was over.

"You don’t want to do this," Daichi warned, hands half-raised in surrender.

"Oh, I think I really do," Kuroo said, already tossing the water straight at his chest.

Daichi flinched, sputtered, then lunged.
Kuroo yelped and dodged, but Daichi caught him with a splash to the side, triggering another war cry. It was game on.
Water flew. Bodies clashed. Alliances formed and crumbled in seconds.
At one point, Nishinoya and Tanaka tried to charge Asahi together, only for him to lift both of them, at once, and drop them in the water like sacks of flour.
Suga nearly drowned laughing.

Kenma, feet only barely dipped in the surf and a waterproof pouch around his neck like a lifeline, looked up from his handheld console just long enough to say, "They’re all going to be sick tomorrow."

"Kuroo especially," muttered Yaku, glowering as Kuroo launched himself into a dive worthy of an Olympic medal, trying (and failing) to dodge a sneak attack from Daichi.

When Daichi stood over Kuroo’s crumpled form in the water, smug and victorious, Kuroo shielded his eyes from the sun and grinned up at him.

"You’re terrifying," he said, coughing seawater.

"And you’re very bad at picking your battles," Daichi said.

Kuroo cackled. "Worth it."

The sun sank slowly toward the horizon, painting everything in a lazy golden haze. Laughter echoed up and down the beach, the air thick with salt and summer.
Eventually, drenched and exhausted, the chaos began to settle. Someone suggested food. Someone else screamed about wet socks. Someone tripped over a sandal and fell into a towel.
Daichi pushed his hair out of his face, chest still rising and falling with the rush of adrenaline.

Kuroo walked up beside him again. "Captain," he said with mock formality, "I concede this round. But only because your water-throwing form is impeccable."

Daichi smiled sideways. "Years of practice."

"I can tell," Kuroo said. Then, quieter, "I’ll get you next time."

Daichi huffed a laugh and turned toward the tents. "Come on. If Tanaka burns the food, I’m blaming you."

Kuroo followed with a smirk. "I accept my fate."

ᨐ

Kuroo was not staring.

Absolutely not.

He was not watching Daichi tie a towel around his waist, droplets of seawater still sliding down the curve of his shoulder blades. He was not cataloguing the way the late afternoon sun lit the muscles in his back like a goddamn Renaissance sculpture.
Nope. He was not doing any of that.
He was… slicing tomatoes. Vigorously.
With very sharp focus.
And totally not glancing up every ten seconds like a teenage idiot with a crush the size of a prefecture.

"You’re about to dice your own hand off," said Yaku, appearing beside him with the eerie suddenness of a small but deadly forest spirit.

Kuroo startled. "Wha- no, I’m.."

"You’re not even cutting them evenly," Yaku continued, plucking a knife out of his hand. "God, you’re worse than Kenma with kitchen duties."

"I am not worse than Kenma," Kuroo hissed. "He put beetroot in a curry once."

"And you just tried to slice tomatoes with the back of the blade."

"…Shut up."

Yaku rolled his eyes and handed over a stack of paper plates. "Go do something else. You’re banned from sharp things."

Kuroo muttered something deeply unflattering under his breath and turned to survey the chaos unfolding around the beach kitchen setup.
Tanaka and Yamamoto were locked in an argument over charcoal technique. Nishinoya had somehow managed to open a bag of chips using only his teeth. Hinata was trying to balance four corn cobs on a single flimsy skewer and Kageyama stood nearby, arms crossed, muttering the word "inefficient" like a curse.
Kai looked like he was five minutes from quitting society altogether.

And Daichi…

Daichi was crouched by the cooler, shirt still missing, towel riding low on his hips as he handed drinks out to a cluster of sweaty, grateful second-years. His voice was calm. Assured. Captainly. As if he didn’t realise he was slowly destroying Kuroo’s entire emotional equilibrium one forearm flex at a time.

Kuroo turned back to Yaku with a strangled sound. "I hate you."

"I haven’t said anything in a full minute."

"You radiate judgment. It’s oppressive."

"I should judge you," Yaku muttered. "You’re twenty minutes into grill prep and you’ve sliced exactly one tomato and had five full-body crises."

Kuroo shoved a stack of plates at him. "I’m going to help Daichi with the drinks."

Yaku snorted. "Of course you are."

"Need a hand?" Kuroo asked, crouching beside Daichi, who was halfway through fishing out a water bottle from the depths of an overpacked cooler.
Daichi looked up, just a glance, and Kuroo got another eyeful of damp lashes and sun-warmed skin.

"Sure," Daichi said, offering him a sports drink and a nod of thanks. "Did you recover from the water fight yet?"

"Barely," Kuroo said, cracking the drink open. "Yaku says I can’t be trusted with knives anymore."

"That seems fair," Daichi said. "I saw you try to cut a tomato with the wrong side of the blade."

Kuroo scowled. "Snitches."

Daichi smirked, but it faded quickly, replaced by a sharp intake of breath and a quick wince.

Kuroo immediately shifted. "You okay?"

Daichi waved a hand. "Yeah, just… muscle twinge. It’ll pass."

Kuroo frowned, but nodded. "You should be taking it easy, you know. Concussions don’t mix well with water fights."

"I didn’t get hit in the head today."

"Still. Should’ve made you sit under an umbrella. Wrapped in bubble wrap."

Daichi chuckled. "You trying to be protective?"

Kuroo shrugged, casually tossing a bottle into the cooler again. "Maybe. Strategic captain solidarity, you know? Gotta keep you in one piece."

Daichi gave him a look.

Kuroo grinned back. "Also you look like a hot mess. Shirtless, bruised, halfway melted, it’s a lot to take in."

Daichi threw a water bottle at his chest. "Go slice more tomatoes."

Kuroo caught it one-handed. "I’m banned from sharp objects, remember?"

"Good. Society is safer."

But Daichi was smiling. And that was… yeah. That was the good stuff.

ᨐ

It began with a single hiss of flame and a triumphant yell from Tanaka.

"The fire lives!" he declared, thrusting his tongs into the air like a victorious gladiator. "We are men of the grill!"

"No, you are children with lighter fluid," Suga corrected, smacking the can out of Tanaka’s hand. "Back away from the flame."

Tanaka pouted, retreating to a safe distance. Which, for Tanaka, meant about two feet.
The grill sputtered, smoke coiling into the dusk air. Suga fanned it expertly while Kai arranged the meat like a general organising troops.
Across the camp, players lounged on towels, chatted in small groups, or pretended not to hover suspiciously close to the cooking zone. Hunger shimmered in the air like heat off asphalt.

"Nobody touches anything until it’s done!" Kai barked, turning skewers with mechanical precision.

"We’re starving!" Hinata wailed. "I haven’t eaten since lunch!"

"That wasn’t that long ago, " Yaku muttered.

"Three hours of fighting the ocean!"

"Back. Up." Suga pointed a spatula at him.

Hinata scuttled back, directly into Kageyama, who shoved him forward again, resulting in a brief but intense tangle of limbs and yelling until Daichi barked, "Both of you sit down."

They sat.

Kuroo, meanwhile, had taken on the role of Casual Supervising Captain™. Which meant leaning against a log with a bottle of water and looking smugly useless.

Daichi joined him a moment later, eyes following the swirl of grill chaos. "Feels like we’re feeding a pack of wolves," he said.

"They smell meat," Kuroo agreed. "The hunger’s kicked in. There’s no reasoning with them now."

They watched as Nishinoya tried to sneak a piece of chicken off the edge of the grill and got his hand slapped by Kai with ninja-like speed.

"You know," Kuroo said, "this is oddly soothing."

"Watching teenagers suffer?"

"Watching other people do the hard part."

Daichi huffed a laugh. "Should’ve made you grill."

"I would’ve burned down the beach," Kuroo said cheerfully. "Or myself. Or both."

Another yell erupted, Tanaka had tried to flip a skewer with his hands. Yaku physically dragged him away by the collar.

"You’d think we never feed them," Daichi muttered.

"They’re athletes. They metabolise ramen in thirty seconds."

The first finished skewers were finally handed out, and chaos exploded anew. Voices shouting over each other, arms stretching, hands snatching.

"LINE UP OR STARVE!" Suga screamed.

"YOU CAN’T JUST GRAB FOUR AT ONCE!" Yaku bellowed, chasing after Inuoka like a war dog.

Kuroo turned to Daichi with a smirk. "This trip is educational."

"Mm. Teaching you how not to be a camp counsellor?"

"Teaching me that you handle chaos weirdly well."

Daichi arched a brow. "Is that a compliment?"

"Observation," Kuroo said. "But if you want a compliment.." he paused, leaned in slightly, "..you look good in firelight."

Daichi blinked.
Kuroo grinned and walked away toward the grill before he could reply.
Across the clearing, someone tripped over a cooler. A skewer went flying. Hinata caught it in midair, screamed like a superhero, and immediately dropped it on the sand.
The night was young. The food was halfway edible.
And the captains were definitely not flirting.
Just… supervising.

ᨐ

The fire had burned down to a steady glow by the time everyone flopped down around it, full-bellied and sun-weary.
Blankets were thrown over laps. Hoodies pulled over damp hair. Yamaguchi passed out some marshmallows. Yaku threatened to stab anyone who roasted theirs improperly.
In the flickering light, Daichi sat cross-legged near the edge of the circle, watching Hinata try to cram three marshmallows into his mouth at once.

"Chew," Daichi warned.

Hinata gave a thumbs-up with sticky fingers, then turned to whisper something to Nishinoya, who immediately slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from cackling too loud.

Kuroo wandered back from tossing more driftwood on the fire, settling beside Daichi with a soft thump. Then Kai’s voice cut through the chatter.

"Story time."

All heads turned.
Kai had that calm, steady tone that made everything sound serious. Even ghost stories.

Suga grinned. "Oh no. You’ve awoken the ancient tradition."

Kai lifted a marshmallow like a solemn offering. "We honour the campfire gods with fear."

Asahi, already pulling his hoodie tighter, let out a tiny groan. "Can’t we just… not?"

"Not scaring Azumane would violate the core tenets of beach camping," Kuroo whispered to Daichi.

"Poor guy," Daichi murmured back, not without sympathy, but with the edge of a grin.

The first story was fairly tame. Some urban legend about a girl with hair that grew after she died.
The second was weirder courtesy of Inuoka and involved a volleyball that bounced by itself.
And then, of course, it began.
The real horror.

"The time… Asahi died," Nishinoya intoned, eyes wide and shining.

"I didn’t die," Asahi muttered.

Suga nodded gravely. "You did, actually. Your soul left your body for a full three seconds."

Hinata clutched Kageyama’s arm. "He really died?!"

Kageyama tried to pry him off. "He didn’t die, you dumbass, ow, stop clinging!"

"It was the inter-high qualifiers," Tanaka said, voice dramatic. "We were down two sets. The opponent’s server had murder in their eyes"

"He tripped," Yaku deadpanned.

"Violently," Noya emphasised. "He tripped on the edge of the net and fell to the floor"

"So fast," Suga added. "We didn’t even see it."

"Like a sack of flour."

Asahi hid his face in his hands.

Hinata gasped. "And then what?"

Silence.

Everyone turned to Daichi.

He blinked. "Why are you all looking at me?"

"You’re the one who pronounced him," Kuroo said solemnly.

Daichi sighed. "I checked if he was breathing. He was. I told him to stop being dramatic."

"Captainly compassion," Kuroo muttered. "Heartwarming."

"It was the light," Nishinoya whispered suddenly. "The gym light flickered as he fell. I swear it did."

Everyone stared at him.

"I’m not saying it was a ghost," Nishinoya went on, voice hushed. "But it was definitely a ghost."

"I hate all of you," Asahi mumbled from behind his hands.

Hinata was now in Kageyama’s lap. Kageyama looked like he was contemplating murder.
Yaku roasted a marshmallow with surgical precision, unbothered by the chaos.

Daichi leaned slightly toward Kuroo. "How long does this usually last?"

Kuroo smirked. "Until someone gets dared to go to the woods."

"Please tell me that’s a joke."

"Wouldn’t dream of it."

ᨐ

"Kenma and Hinata," Yaku said with a wicked glint in his eye, "you’re up next."

Hinata froze mid-giggle. "Wait, what?"

Kenma looked up from his phone and blinked. "I didn’t even do anything."

"You’re the scariest one here because you haven’t flinched all night," Suga said. "That makes you suspicious. Now go into the woods and come back with proof that you were at the old shrine."

"There’s an old shrine?!" Hinata yelped.

"No," Daichi and Kai said in unison.

"Yes," Yaku said at the same time.

Kenma sighed deeply and stood. "Fine."

"Wait, what?" Hinata jumped up. "You’re going?!"

Kenma shrugged. "I want this over with."

"But, wait! Kenmaaaa!"

Groaning and muttering, Hinata chased after him, vanishing into the dark tree line with a flashlight that immediately flickered like every horror cliché ever written.
The group fell quiet. One minute passed. Two.

"Okay, it’s been a while," Asahi said, glancing around. "Shouldn’t they be back by now?"

"Inuoka," Kai said calmly, "how long do these dares usually take?"

Inuoka tilted his head. "Like… five minutes?"

Suga’s brow furrowed. "It’s been ten."

Tsukishima clicked his tongue. "Those idiots probably got lost."

"Or got eaten," Nishinoya added helpfully.

"I swear to god," Daichi muttered, standing up.

Kuroo stood too, brushing sand off his shorts. "I’ll come with you."

"Good," Daichi said. "You’re the one who told me this was a good idea."

"I said it was character-building. Totally different."

The others handed them the last working flashlight and several mosquito warnings. The night was warm but full of chirping crickets, rustling leaves, and way too much eerie silence.

Daichi aimed the flashlight toward the trail. "Hinata?" he called. "Kenma?!"

No answer.

Kuroo shoved his hands in his pockets. "What do we do if they were eaten?"

"We tell the others they moved to Canada."

Kuroo chuckled. "Good cover story."

They walked deeper, flashlights sweeping over gnarled roots and low-hanging branches. The moon peeked through here and there, silvering the forest in patches.

"They really haven’t been gone that long," Kuroo said eventually, breaking the silence. "Kenma probably just sat down halfway through. Hinata sat with him. Now they’re arguing about snacks."

Daichi sighed. "Or Hinata saw a bug, screamed, ran, and Kenma refused to follow."

"Also possible."

Another rustle. Both of them turned sharply.

"…That was a squirrel, right?" Kuroo asked.

Daichi didn’t answer. The trees got thicker. Their voices lowered. Still no sign of either of them.

Daichi swung the light in a wide arc. "Hinata! Kenma! I’m going to murder both of you if this is a prank"

"…Sawamura."

Kuroo’s voice had gone still. He was staring at something near the base of a tree, something pale, half-buried under pine needles.
Daichi stepped closer..
And nearly jumped out of his skin.
It was Hinata’s hoodie.
Just the hoodie.

Kuroo crouched beside it. "No blood. That’s good."

"You’re saying that like it’s normal."

"I’m saying that like we haven’t ruled out abduction yet."

Daichi let out a breath and raked a hand through his hair. "We’ll keep going. They’ve got to be nearby."

And then. Somewhere in the distance..

A very clear, very annoyed voice called out: "We’re fine!"

"Was that..?"

"Kenma," Kuroo said. "Yup. Definitely Kenma."

They both turned toward the sound, crashing through a final patch of underbrush and arriving in a small clearing just in time to see Kenma sitting on a log, flashlight in his lap.
Hinata was standing behind him on the log. Like a squirrel. Also holding a stick.

"There’s no shrine," Kenma said flatly.

"BUT I HEARD A GHOST," Hinata shrieked.

"…It was an owl," Kenma deadpanned.

Daichi pinched the bridge of his nose. "You dropped your hoodie halfway back."

"Oh. Oops."

Kuroo narrowed his eyes. "Did you ditch the hoodie to make us think you were dead?"

"No?" Hinata said, which, of course, was not a denial.

Kenma stood with a long sigh. "Can we go now?"

"Yes," Daichi and Kuroo said in unison.

And as they made their way back, flashlight beam bouncing and Hinata humming a very off-key horror tune, Kuroo bumped Daichi’s arm lightly and said, "Next time someone suggests ghost stories, we fake stomach cramps."

Daichi chuckled under his breath. "Deal."

ᨐ

Chapter Text

The campfire crackled quietly, embers floating like fireflies into the navy sky. The ocean hummed in the distance, calm now, unlike the chaos that had unfolded only hours before.
Daichi sat cross-legged on a blanket, arms loosely draped over his knees, the warm orange glow of the flames flickering across his face. He watched the others laugh and stretch, basking in that late-evening haze that only arrived after full stomachs and too much fresh air.
Hinata was barely upright anymore, slumped against Kageyama and mumbling something about ghosts and beach crabs. Kageyama was stone-faced, pretending not to notice Hinata’s weight slowly sliding onto his shoulder. Asahi had long since retreated to the tent he shared with Suga, mumbling something about peace and quiet and ten straight hours of unconsciousness.
The sky above was full of stars. Too many to count. Too far to reach.

Daichi smiled softly, then stood, brushing sand off his pants. "Alright," he said, voice warm and a little worn, "that’s enough parenting for today. Good night, everyone."

Several "’Night, Cap"s followed as he made his way toward his lonely tent, the fabric glowing faintly from the last bit of firelight.

He ducked inside, pulled the flap shut, and dropped down onto the mat with a groan. Exhaustion hit instantly, the good kind. The kind that spread through his limbs like gravity, pulled him down, down, and then…
Darkness.

Outside, the others lingered a little longer.
Tsukishima yawned but didn’t move. Yaku poked the fire with a stick. Tanaka and Yamamoto were whispering urgently about something behind their hands.
And then, with a mischievous grin, Yamamoto pulled out a small plastic bag.
Inside: cans.

"Stolen goods," he whispered dramatically.

"No way," Tanaka breathed, eyes wide.

"Where’d you even get that?" Yaku asked, immediately suspicious.

"Kai," Yamamoto said, grinning. "Left his bag open. Rookie mistake."

"Wait, Kai brought it?"

"No," Kuroo’s voice slurred from somewhere behind the group, "I brought it. He just.. had a cooler."

"Oh, this’ll end great," Yaku muttered.

"Just one," Kuroo said, holding up a can and flopping onto the sand. "One and done. I’m…hydrating."

"Sure you are."

Laughter continued, low and warm, stretching out into the night.

ᨐ

Later.
Much later.
Daichi stirred.

Something was wrong.
He blinked blearily, still halfway in a dream.
There’d been footsteps outside. A quiet rustle. The faint whisper of fabric being unzipped.
And now..

A warm weight dropped down heavily beside him with all the grace of a sack of bricks.
Daichi jerked upright.

"What the?!"

Kuroo.

Kuroo, shirtless, half on the mat, half in the sleeping bag, face already pressed to the fabric with a little sigh.
His hair was a mess, flattened awkwardly on one side. His arms sprawled out like he was melting.
Daichi stared.

"…Kuroo?"

No response.

He reached over and gently shook his shoulder. "Kuroo, this isn’t.." Daichi let out a sigh. "..This is my tent."

Kuroo groaned. "M’tent."

"No. No, your tent is with Kenma."

"Mhm," Kuroo said, very unconvincingly.

Then he shifted, dragged half of the sleeping bag over his side, and instantly resumed sleeping. Daichi blinked at him. That guy. Dead asleep. Not even a twitch.

"…You’ve got to be kidding me."

He sat there for a second, processing the image of a very shirtless, very unconscious Kuroo Tetsurou, now lightly snoring next to him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Daichi rubbed his eyes. This was a prank, right? Karma? Fate?
He sighed again. Long and slow.
Then, muttering to himself, he unzipped the sleeping bag all the way, draped it over both of them, and lowered himself back down with a groan.
The mat wasn’t exactly spacious. And Kuroo was warm. And still somehow managed to smell faintly like bonfire and pine needles.
Daichi stared at the roof of the tent.

"This is fine," he mumbled, eyes slowly slipping shut.

Just two captains. Sharing a tent.
Totally normal. Nothing to see here. Nothing at all.

ᨐ

The world was quiet when Daichi woke. No yelling. No ocean breeze. No birds. Just stillness.
And warmth. A lot of warmth.
Specifically, body heat. Pressed against his side. Arm grazing his. A thigh touching his leg. Breath soft against his skin

He blinked.

And then very, very slowly turned his head.

Kuroo.

Kuroo was right there.

Not just there. He was close.

His forehead practically resting against Daichi’s shoulder. His entire body twisted toward Daichi like a very sleepy, very clingy heat-seeking missile. And somehow, somewhere in the night, the sleeping bag had become a vague suggestion of coverage, one corner tangled around Kuroo’s waist, the rest a loose puddle of fabric between them.
Daichi’s brain did a quick backflip and then shut off entirely.
What even was this position?!

Kuroo, for his part, looked peaceful. And slightly frozen. His nose was cold. His fingers curled faintly where they rested against the edge of Daichi’s shirt.
Daichi inhaled.
Right. Okay. This could still be salvaged.
Nothing had happened. Obviously. They were just… accidentally cozy. In a very public, team-filled camping trip, where nothing would ever..
Kuroo stirred.
Daichi froze.

"Mmh…" Kuroo’s eyes cracked open, bleary. "Wh’time’sit…"

"It’s… early," Daichi said carefully. "Sun’s just coming up."

Kuroo blinked. Focused. Then blinked again.

"Oh," he said. Then paused. Then froze completely.

There was a full second of shared, paralysed awareness.

"You’re not Kenma," Kuroo muttered.

Daichi gave him a flat look. "Perceptive."

Kuroo didn’t move. "I got into the wrong tent."

"Sure did."

"…I’m shirtless."

"Sure are."

Another long pause.

"…Did we.."

"No," Daichi said firmly.

Kuroo exhaled, clearly relieved. "Right. Good. Great."

Then he buried his face in his hands and groaned. "Oh my god."

"You were very drunk," Daichi added helpfully.

"I knew that second can was a mistake."

A muffled laugh slipped out of Daichi.

And then.. realization.

"The others are gonna wake up soon."

Kuroo sat up like he’d been electrocuted. "Shit. Shit."

Daichi also scrambled upright, brushing sand off his arms, dragging the blanket back into something resembling decency.

"We cannot walk out of this tent, like, at the same time, with me being half naked," Kuroo said. "We cannot."

Daichi deadpanned, "Wow, really? That hadn’t occurred to me."

"Okay. Okay. Think." Kuroo rubbed his temples. "You leave first. Like, now. I’ll wait, like, five minutes. Then casually stroll out. Totally normal. Totally unrelated."

Daichi raised an eyebrow. "And if someone’s standing outside?"

"…Then I’m sunbathing."

"At dawn?"

"I run hot."

Daichi shook his head, already crawling toward the tent flap. "This is so stupid."

Kuroo grinned faintly. "But memorable."

Daichi paused halfway out and turned back. "Try not to snore next time."

"I do not snore."

"You absolutely do."

Kuroo put a hand to his chest, scandalized. Daichi rolled his eyes and slipped out into the morning.
The beach was still mostly quiet. A few tents rustled. The fire pit was long dead.
No witnesses. He exhaled in relief.

And then, five minutes later, while sipping water and trying very hard to look normal..
Kuroo emerged.
Yawning. Stretching. Shirtless. Daichi choked a little.
Kuroo smirked and flopped onto a towel.
Daichi turned away before his ears gave him away entirely.
Totally normal. Nothing happened. Everything was fine.

ᨐ

A little later, the sun rose lazily over the campsite, casting a golden haze across the sand. The sea was calm, the breeze gentle, and, somehow, there were already eggs sizzling over the campfire.
Kai was at the grill, flipping them with military precision. Yaku stood beside him, tossing sliced vegetables into a pan. Tanaka and Nishinoya were attempting to toast bread by holding it directly over the flames on sticks. Suga had confiscated the sticks three times already.
Daichi sat cross-legged near the edge of the camp, half-awake but helping organize plates and utensils. A few feet away, Kuroo was dramatically fanning the fire with a cutting board, wearing yesterday’s shorts and the most smug expression possible for someone who nearly got caught sneaking out of the wrong tent.
No one commented. No one seemed suspicious.

Except maybe Suga. Who hadn’t said anything yet this morning, but had made direct eye contact with Daichi for a little too long when he’d first appeared.
Just long enough to say everything without saying a word. Daichi had looked away.
Now, as Hinata bounded over with three bananas and zero chill, things were beginning to feel like a normal morning again.

"Kageyama!" he yelled. "We’re having EGGS."

"I know," Kageyama replied, equally loud, walking over with a plate already stacked with them.

Kenma was curled under a towel like a sleepy shrimp, poking at his breakfast with one hand while playing on his phone with the other. Inuoka tried to bring him juice.
Kenma blinked once, accepted it, and went back to his game. All was right in the world.

Ukai-sensei, holding a mug of coffee and looking like he hadn’t slept at all, eventually clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention.

"Alright," he said. "Listen up. After breakfast, we’ve got a surprise activity."

Instant chaos.

"What is it?"

"Are we going to run more?"

"If it’s a team-building circle I swear.."

"I CAN SWIM AGAIN!!"

Ukai waited until the noise quieted again.

"Nekomata and I rented a sailboat," he said. "Big enough for the whole group. We’re heading out after clean-up."

A beat of stunned silence.
Then..

"YOOOOOOO!" Tanaka cheered. "We’re going sailing?!"

"We’re gonna be pirates!" Nishinoya yelled.

"Don’t fall off," Yaku muttered.

Inuoka actually howled, bouncing on his heels.

Even Tsukishima looked vaguely interested.

Daichi blinked. "Wait, like, all of us? On the same boat?"

Ukai sipped his coffee. "Unless you’d rather stay on the beach and be on trash duty."

Daichi made a face. "No, I’m good."

Kuroo leaned in, elbow on Daichi’s knee. "Come on, Captain. Scared of a little ocean breeze?"

Daichi didn’t look at him. "Scared of getting trapped on a boat with you."

Kuroo grinned. "Oh? Because you can’t escape my devastating wit?"

"No," Daichi said flatly. "Because I know you’re going to fall off and drag me with you."

Kuroo held up a finger. "Statistically, I only fall off boats when intoxicated. Which I will not be. Today."

Suga, from across the fire, watched the exchange with an unreadable look and took a slow bite of toast. Daichi caught it. Ignored it. Focused on his eggs.
Breakfast moved on in a blur of sunscreen, orange juice, and chaotic packing. Kenma was eventually peeled from his blanket. Nishinoya and Hinata began plotting pirate names. Kai assigned cleaning duty with deadly efficiency.

And Kuroo?
Kuroo just grinned, watching Daichi out of the corner of his eye.
Sailing, huh?
Well. That sounded like the perfect setting for more trouble.
He was very much looking forward to it.

ᨐ

The sun was higher now, casting sharp reflections across the water as the two teams made their way down the winding dock. Wood creaked under their weight, sandals slapped against sun-warmed planks, and someone had already dropped a bottle of sunscreen into the sea.
The sailboat waited at the end like a movie prop, sleek, white, swaying gently with the tide. The group ahead was loud, full of laughter and scrambling. Hinata practically danced down the dock. Tsukishima looked like he was already tired of the entire concept of "joy."
Daichi walked toward the back of the group, alongside Kuroo. They weren’t saying much. Just walking, side by side, in a narrow sliver of calm.
Until Kuroo bumped him lightly with a shoulder.

"So," he said, voice lazy, "you’re not going to throw me overboard, right?"

Daichi arched a brow. "No promises."

Kuroo clutched his chest. "Ow. That hurts, Sawamura."

"Good," Daichi said. "Then you can feel something for once."

"Oh, I feel plenty. Like betrayal. And the heatstroke forming from all this sun."

"Maybe you should’ve put a shirt on this morning."

"It was a symbolic move," Kuroo said with dignity. "Of freedom."

"You’re an idiot."

"And you’re the only one who can’t stop looking at me."

Daichi stopped mid-step, barely. "Excuse me?"

Kuroo smirked. "I saw that glance."

"I was checking if you were about to trip over your own shoelace."

"Aw," Kuroo said, resting his elbows on the railing, grinning sideways. "You care."

Daichi didn’t answer. He kept walking. But he was absolutely not hiding the faint twitch of his mouth or the subtle pink reaching the tips of his ears.
Kuroo followed, still grinning, hands tucked casually in his pockets.
Their teammates had already started clambering aboard, with varying degrees of grace. Yaku was giving someone instructions. Kenma looked like he might lie down and nap on the deck immediately. Kai had already claimed a spot near the sail, calmly taking charge.
Daichi stopped at the bottom of the small ramp, glancing up at the boat.

"Can’t believe they’re letting all of us on this thing," he muttered. "It’s like asking for a disaster."

Kuroo stepped up beside him. "It’ll be fine. You’ll keep them alive."

"I’m off-duty," Daichi said. "They’ll have to parent themselves."

Kuroo leaned closer. "So if I jump off the side for fun, you’re not stopping me?"

Daichi looked at him. Deadpan. "I’m pushing you."

"Hot," Kuroo said under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing."

They stepped aboard.
And the boat rocked gently beneath them, swaying like the first warning of chaos to come.

Kuroo whistled low. "Well, Captain," he said, offering Daichi a hand for balance, completely unnecessary, but held out anyway. "Ready to sail into certain doom?"

Daichi didn’t take the hand. But he did smirk.

"Let’s just try not to kill anyone."

ᨐ

"You’re all doing it wrong!"

Coach Ukai’s voice was a full octave above its usual register, hands waving in an attempt to wrangle the bundle of chaotic volleyball boys aboard a single, swaying sailboat.

Nekomata, sitting calmly near the helm, squinted at the horizon like he’d already accepted his fate. "Let the ocean take us," he muttered.

The boys were trying. In the loosest sense of the word.
Yaku was yelling at Inuoka for tugging on the wrong rope. Tanaka and Yamoto had somehow managed to tangle themselves together in a pulley line. Tsukishima, standing well out of the splash zone, offered sarcastic commentary while Yamaguchi at least tried to understand the physics of sails.

Suga had commandeered the front line, directing people with calm death-threats. "Pull this one. No, Hinata, that’s not a rope, that’s Kenma’s charger cable, put it down."

Daichi, steady as ever, was bracing one foot against the side of the deck, helping raise the main sail with practiced ease. He barely flinched when the boom swung.
Kuroo, though, noticed.
He noticed a lot.

The way Daichi’s arms flexed when tugging on the rope. The set of his jaw. The way his shirt (mercifully back on for now, though still loose) clung slightly to his back from the humidity.
Daichi was, unfortunately, still unfairly attractive while doing manual labor.
Kuroo cleared his throat. He could contribute. He was helpful.
He could definitely teach Daichi something normal and functional without coming off as an absolute mess.

"Hey," Kuroo said, sidling up casually. "You know how to tie a cleat hitch?"

Daichi paused, turning to look at him. "A what?"

Kuroo smiled. "Rope knot. For boats. Very useful. Very professional. Very cool."

Daichi raised an eyebrow. "You just made that last one up."

"Would I lie to you?" Kuroo said, holding up both hands, one of which still held a coil of rope. "Come on. I’ll show you."

He motioned to one of the cleats on the side rail. "It’s all in the twist and tuck. Very symbolic. Like the knot of fate. Or responsibility. Or… something sailor-y."

Daichi gave him a deeply unimpressed look. But stepped closer.

"Okay," Kuroo said, wrapping the rope. "First, you pull a loop around the base like this.."

Daichi leaned in, eyes tracking the movement. He smelled like sunscreen and the sea. Not helping.

"..then you cross it back over, and kind of… snake it under itself. Like this."

He finished the knot and gave it a slight tug. It held firm.

Daichi looked at it, then back at Kuroo.

"Impressive," he said, dry. "You’ve officially graduated from Tent Disaster Class."

"Thank you, thank you," Kuroo said with a bow. "Now you try."

Daichi took the rope. Kuroo did not watch his hands too intently.
Just… observed. Supervisory. Like a coach. Or a concerned shipmate.
Daichi’s first knot was a mess.

"That looks like a very distressed pretzel," Kuroo said.

Daichi huffed and redid it. Second attempt? Less pretzel, more confused shoelace.

"Don’t laugh," Daichi warned.

"I’m not laughing," Kuroo said, absolutely laughing.

"Help me then."

"Oh? Now you want my help?"

Daichi gave him a look that could bend steel.

Kuroo stepped closer, hands moving gently over Daichi’s to adjust the rope’s angle. "Here," he said, voice lower now, more focused. "Let it fold naturally. Then slide under. Like this."

Daichi followed. The knot held. Kuroo stepped back. Daichi tested it. It didn’t budge.

"…Thanks," he muttered, glancing up.

Kuroo tilted his head. "You’re welcome, sailor."

That earned him an eye roll, but also, just for a second, the ghost of a smile.
Mission: mildly flirt through knot education?

Success.

About fifteen minutes later, the boat had finally, finally settled.

Most of the boys had crashed in various corners of the deck, Hinata and Inuoka flopped like starfish near the bow, Kenma curled into the shade of the sail and Tsukishima was pretending to sleep, headphones in, sunglasses on, very visibly not interacting with anyone.
A soft breeze carried the salty tang of the sea across the deck, the water sparkling under the afternoon sun like the ocean was trying to show off.
Daichi stood near the stern rail, arms folded loosely, eyes fixed on the endless horizon.
It was quieter back here. The shouting had died down, the chaos dulled by fresh air and food-induced sluggishness. All that was left was the steady lull of the waves and the creak of the boat gently shifting under their feet.
He exhaled slowly. His shoulders eased. The ocean looked… infinite. Calm. Deep. Blue in a way that made your chest ache a little.
He didn’t hear Kuroo approach.

He felt him.

Sudden warmth at his back, long arms wrapping around his chest from behind, Kuroo’s chin nearly brushing the curve of his shoulder, that voice slithering into his ear.

"Wanna do the Titanic pose, Sawamura?"

Daichi flinched.

"What?"

Kuroo leaned in a little more, grin audible in his tone. "You know, I hold you like this, you raise your arms dramatically, we both pretend to fly and then emotionally process things."

Daichi choked on something that was almost a laugh. "You’re an idiot," he muttered, shifting to untangle himself, starting to turn himself around. But Kuroo didn’t move.
And then the boat swayed.
Hard.

The sail caught a gust too sharp and too sudden, and the entire ship tilted just enough to send a few water bottles skidding across the deck.
Daichi lost his footing. He pitched forward with a startled grunt, straight into Kuroo’s chest, face-first.
Kuroo caught him in a heartbeat.
One arm tightened around Daichi’s shoulders, the other slipping up to curl around his waist.
Daichi froze, breath caught in his throat.
Kuroo dipped his head.

And in a voice lower than the wind, smooth as a knife and warm at the edge, he murmured:

"Oi, Sawamura~"

"You liked it that much?"

Daichi’s brain short-circuited.
His ears flushed in record speed. A bright, unmistakable pink bloomed across his cheeks, crawling toward his neck like fire spreading through dry brush.
His mouth opened, then closed again. No words. Just air.
Just wide eyes and an expression of someone who’d been hit by both a volleyball and a metaphorical problem in human form.

Kuroo leaned back slightly to catch the full impact of Daichi’s expression.

Oh, that blush.

Mission: Complete.

He smirked, absolutely insufferable, then slowly loosened his hold, gentle, but lingering just a little longer than necessary.
Daichi stepped back at last, blinking furiously, eyes not quite meeting Kuroo’s.

"…The boat moved," he said flatly.

"It sure did," Kuroo agreed, biting back a laugh.

Daichi cleared his throat and turned toward the rail again, fists clenched lightly at his sides, trying to recover any remaining dignity.
Kuroo just stood there behind him, watching the waves (and also Daichi).
And maybe, just maybe, already planning his next move.

ᨐ