#written.hq

[tetsustation]

( PINK LEMONADE )

pairing :: iwaizumi hajime x f!reader

synopsis :: your roommate is a player—in fact he is the player. unfortunately for you and your sweltering crush, the walls are very thin. the heart can only take so many blows before everything bubbles over, but who’s to say that hajime’s flings aren’t all artificial? 

word count :: 5.2k

genre :: roommates to lovers, pining, university au

warnings :: swearing, implied nsfw, innuendos & explicit conversation

notes :: since my old blog is deactivated i decided to throw one of my more popular pieces up on here for the masses. for those who have been here for a while—you know the song (thank you sav for giving me a reason to repost <3).

You need new headphones, not that yours are broken or anything—they just aren’t doing an adequate job of keeping out the antics in which your roommate has now subjected you too. There are no established rules, however you assumed common courtesy was a given when two are sharing a space.

Iwaizumi Hajime was not the roommate you expected to have in your second year of college, but sometimes things don’t work as initially planned. This was the only apartment on campus that held a reasonable distance from your frequented lecture hall, your job, and the local grocery store. 

With all the roommates on the roster taken, desperate times called for desperate measures, and a friend of a friend led you here, sharing a room with one of the most infamous boys on campus. Don’t be fooled, Iwaizumi was a very kind roommate; he cleaned up after himself, gave you space, even made dinner on some nights. It was surprisingly easy to live with someone who you presumed to be your complete opposite. 

Yet, all those redeeming qualities seemed to fly out the window every time you heard the unfamiliar giggles of Iwaizumi’s guests, the opening and closing of doors, the hushed whispers in the late hours of the night, and of course, the sounds of the forbidden dance being performed in the room directly next to your own.

It erupted an anger within you that couldn’t be smothered by a pre-made cup of coffee the next morning and an apologetic smile—no matter how adorning it was to you. For this reason, you continued to abuse the keys of your laptop, in a desperate attempt to get the volume of your music to surpass whatever was happening about twenty feet or so away. 

You weren’t one to shame someone for their body count—oftentimes you found yourself cheering on your friends in their romantic and sexual endeavors. However, something about having to hear it first hand made you itch—but Iwaizumi was your roommate, and therefore out of your control.

It would’ve been easy to ask him to stop, but who wants to be a killjoy? 

In short, you’ve since settled on dealing with it—but if you kept hearing the mattress squeak you might have to accidentally drop a glass on the ground or something. Turning on your playlist, which contained music that couldn't possibly be good for your ears, and utilizing the already high frequency—you tuned out what you could.

You had an essay due in thirty minutes, and unfortunately you could still hear Iwaizumi’s voice in the back of your mind, telling you that you should’ve started earlier. Scoffing at the recollection in your head, you turned back to your keyboard.

-

The bags under your eyes were a dramatic contrast to the whites of his smile, which shone bright even in the early hours of the morning—it was utterly infuriating. “Good morning, sunshine,” He beamed, showcasing the world renowned sarcasm which you’ve fostered a love-hate relationship with. “How’d that essay go?” 

“It went,” you trudged into your shared kitchen, grabbing the coffee from your self-proclaimed mug—that of which contained an obscure ratio only Iwaizumi could make for you. Taking a sip of it only reminded you of the day ahead, but it did taste really good, another sip. “I got it done on time, if that’s what you're asking.” 

Feigning shock, he leaned against the counter with a steady forearm and allowed a toned bicep to flex due to the weight. You tried not to stare—and failed miserably. His eyes narrowed at your distracted state, and the swelling under your sockets stretching at your unprompted focus. Looking back up at him again, you saw a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips. 

You’ve been up for maybe five minutes, how did he already have a one up on you? “You also had quite a busy night...no?” Clearing his throat, he turned to face the counter in an attempt to tidy something that didn’t matter—embarrassed at the fact that you could hear him. It was almost endearing how flustered the mention made him, and you felt bad before remembering the loaded repetition in which Iwaizumi was known. 

As if on cue, the facilitator of aforementioned events slugged out of his room in what looked to be one of his hoodies, and skirt that could only be fitting for a nightclub—you assumed she was a souvenir from his night out and took another nonchalant ship from your coffee. She approached him, a bag slung over her shoulder, before placing a chaste kiss to his lips—you cringed. 

She whispered something you couldn’t quite hear, before giving you a wave and letting herself out. You searched through the makeshift name-face database in your head, trying to distinguish her familiarity, but to no avail. “She’s cute.” You spat quickly and even laced with spite, if you looked at it a certain way, but there was no room for Iwaizumi to pick it apart because you were already making a B-line to the bathroom, mirror still steamy from his own shower.

-

It wasn’t that you were angry at the fact that Iwaizumi had an active social life— friends and girls alike lining up to see him most every night, it was the fact that yours was dulled in comparison. You wanted to suspect when he got his schoolwork done, but you frequently watched him study in your shared living room whenever he wasn’t in class or going out—he had the balance of his life down to a T.

On the other hand, you did not—because as you were walking out of the library with your study papers in hand, you bumped into someone and the illusion of organization you had created dissipated into thin air, you were back to square one. It was your own fault for not paying attention, you mumbled an apology while scrambling down to pick up your papers.

The girl you had slammed into was kind enough to lean down and help, feeling the stress radiating off your body. She told you it was no problem, and that these things happened, but it wasn’t until you stood up (somewhat) tall, with your papers in hand, that you realized who the voice belonged to. 

You recognized her fluffed black strands—the frame of her face was very distinct and rather beautiful, yet you instantly categorized her as part of the statistic you were building in your head—where she belonged to the majority of female students on campus that Iwaizumi had been involved with. 

She didn’t find you familiar in the slightest, because she wasn’t the one who had to see the instagram photos over dinner a month ago, when Iwaizumi rambled on about how he was serious about this one (spoiler alert, he wasn’t). Giving her a polite smile and a sincere thank you, you quickly concluded the interaction—it wasn’t her fault Iwaizumi had the charm of a charis reincarnate. 

The order that you had established for your freshly printed papers was long gone, as you started towards the science building, effectively catching your roommate before an afternoon lecture like you did everyday. Living with Iwaizumi was nice—but the part you enjoyed most was simply being his friend, because that meant there was one less stranger you had to avoid eye contact with—it was the little things. 

He walked out of a class you forgot the name of, but you knew it ended in an -ology, definitely a major requirement of some sorts. Iwaizumi’s neck was cranned down at his phone, thumbs twiddling away at the small screen, before he noticed you and a smile quickly overtook his face. “Told you to stop waiting for me,” he accompanied this with a small ruffle to the top of your head. 

“I didn’t wait for you—,” you giggled, swatting his hand away, “—just didn’t want to walk to my next class alone, don’t flatter yourself!” Stepping to the side, before swearing back towards him, the two of you settled into a comfortable pace, “So I’m just arm candy then?” He teased, lightheartedly, however the comment created a fluttering in your chest that you’d rather keep pushed down with an iron first.

“Keep dreaming!” Refusing to let the silence settle, and eager to move past the warmth in your chest at his proximity, you kept the conversation going. “Speaking of you being arm candy, you won’t believe who I bumped into just now.” You name-dropped the girl he dated for all of two weeks, and teased him for his short term tendencies, he was quick to defend himself— almost embarrassed by the mere allusion—despite his shamelessly spellbinding reputation.

It almost made you feel lucky, to witness Iwaizumi so bashful, when really you were just his roommate who somehow managed to nuzzle your way into his hyperactive, sociable heart. He was always physically close yet you still managed to feel a substantial distance between the two of you, as if you were a piece outside of his life, as opposed to a part of it.  

“To be fair, that breakup was mutual,” he reasoned. 

“Oh yeah? And what about the ones that weren’t?” You began counting off the girls he had brought home off the top of your head, missing many names, as you saw them in passing as opposed to having actual introductions. By the time you filled the capacity of your counting fingers, the two of you had reached your building.

Stopping at the door, you began to tune out his stutters as he tried to justify his actions—you played it off as typical college boy antics, something you were observing from afar or reading in a book. Waving him off, you interrupted his tangent, “Whatever Iwa, see you later.” 

You opened the door only to turn back around, a question prompting a furrow in your brows, “Are you going to be home tonight?” He thought for a moment, looking around before checking the time on his phone out of habit, and finally returning your gaze when he had an answer. “Not today, tomorrow though. Going out with some friends from highschool.” 

A nonchalant nod was thrown his way, as you ignored the subtle pang of disappointment in your chest, “Lock the door when you get back.” And with that, you left him under the scolding summer sun. You tried to shift your headspace away from your roommate and onto the lecture you were about to enter—still your mind lingered. It wasn’t a feeling of missing out, but rather a feeling of missing him.

But he wasn’t yours to miss. 

-

The cat—or rather, the dog, rolled in half past three. You would’ve remained asleep, had he not knocked over the coat rack when he came in—muttering curses that you miracuously heard from your bedroom down the hall. You came to learn early on that drunk Iwaizumi had no sense of volume control. 

Then, almost as if it never happened, he was up with the sun and ready for the day before you even got the chance to steal a shower. It was honestly infuriating, his biological clock was some sort of enigma and you wouldn’t be surprised if scientists made note of him to study in the future. ‘Hangover’ was not a word that existed in Iwaizumi Hajime’s vocabulary, only tolerable nausea, apparently.

That day, you didn’t cross paths again until seven, an evening at home seemed fitting for the melancholy of a Thursday evening—not like you had many other options. You found refuge in the hand-me-down couch that your dad had lent to you when moving into this apartment, surprisingly taking a quick liking to Iwaizumi during the process. 

On the other hand, Iwaizumi, allowed himself to melt into the armchair that had the faintest scent of dust lingering in its cushions. Neither of you we're in a position to complain about the furniture, as nights at home we're few and far inbetween, yet there was an itch in his brain, and it refused to let him rest his shoulders as he hoped.

His glance flickered across from him, having to manually pull his eyes away as he quickly became distracted from the game highlights on his phone. Your pants, abnormally short—but that was just lounge attire—which he had no right to a second glance at. He never wanted to inhibit you, you were his roommate and the last thing he wanted was to make you feel as though you couldn’t be comfortable in your own home.

A pit in his stomach threw a wrench into his sense of control, and it wasn’t until you dramatically fell back with a groan that he realized the direction his brain was leading him into, he pulled himself back to reality.

“This sucks.” You grouched. Questioning with a hum, Iwaizumi suddenly became very interested in the ball flying around his phone screen, “Dating. All my friends are out with their partners and I haven’t gotten an ounce or action since freshman year.” You jumped back up to drop your head in your hands, “Pathetic.” 

“Yeah, you are.” He chuckled, seizing the opportunity. “But y’know, I have quite the network.” Iwaizumi began to stretch, the strain of his muscles thickening the rasp of his voice, “I could always set you up.” Turning to look at him, and waiting for his gaze to land on you, you tilted your head in confusion in hopes of prompting an explanation.

“I mean, I know a close friend of mine is looking for something new—that’s what you're looking for right? A relationship?” You were surprised to find he was actually engaged in this conversation, quick to help you solve your unprompted problem. It would've been heartwarming, if it didn’t feel like a set up from your grandma who was desperate to marry you off.

“Uh, yeah. I don’t do flings anymore.” You trailed off, praying that your words didn’t carry any unintentional weight. He looked up from his phone, gaze narrowingly slightly, as your face gave him hints that you were aware of the implications of your comment. Iwaizumi wondered what experience you had that made you swear off casual relationships, he concluded that it wasn’t his business.

“Right.” He dropped his eyes back to his phone, before typing something you couldn’t see, “I’m going—to reach out to a friend of mine, you’ll know him.” It would’ve been fruitless to sweep your brain for the possible friend he was talking about, between his ever changing circle of drinking buddies and revolving door of girls covering all fields of the list would never end. 

-

About a week later, you concluded that maybe you shouldn’t have put so much trust in Iwaizumi—because while you were only passively involved in his life you didn’t expect to be whisked away on a date with Oikawa Tooru. The man across from you was Iwaizumi’s lockscreen for God’s sake, were there really no other options? 

You could sense the tension in Oikawa’s shoulders, and a nervous hand flung up to his face to readjust his glasses. He was probably just as uncomfortable as you were, only an acquaintance, but one with a weirdly complex understanding of the common thread you two held, nonetheless. 

However, it wasn’t just Iwaizumi’s lingering presence that made the date awkward. No, it was the fact that the poor brunette across from you was trying so desperately to outrun the awkwardness that he just ended up tripping, falling flat on his face. You didn’t initially take Oikawa for a talker—or a sweater, but his nervousness was unnerving and obviously got the better of him. 

“I’m sorry—,” he said, after coming to realize that he had been talking about his flopping major for the past five minutes or so, “I’m not usually this nervous, I wasn’t expecting someone I already knew.” You nodded, your lips forming a straight line, as you reminded yourself to pour cold water on your roommate tomorrow. 

“It's alright,” you reassured, “I’m surprised you're still dating in all honestly—’thought someone would’ve picked up the handsome-student-athlete package by now.” It was silent for a moment, as he examined your features for any traces of mockery. You began to do the same when he suddenly fell into a fit of chuckles, which you couldn’t help but feel alienated by. 

Looking around, and apologizing to the passing waiters with your eyes, you waited for Oikawa to cease his attack. Wiping a hand across his tearline, he pointed a finger your way, “Since we’re being honest,” he began earnestly, “I thought you and Iwaizumi we're definitely fucking on the down-low.” 

You choked on the cola you were nursing, trying to hold back the flush that spread across your face and realizing how grateful you were for the dim lights scattered above you. This insinuation did not make any sense to you, was Oikawa familiar with Iwaizumi at all? It was impossible for him to be ignorant to the girls in which his best friend cycled through on a weekly basis.

Were you supposed to be offended by the fact that he thought you were one of them? You condemned yourself at the thought, trying not to judge either party for the fact that they were getting laid and you, unfortunately, we're not. Then again, did he think you were charming enough to be one of those girls?

Confliction ran rampant in your brain, and you soon became lost in your thoughts. Oikawa pulled you out when he noticed the look in your eyes getting farther and farther away, “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to be vulgar or assume anything its just—”

“It’s fine, really!” You were a little too eager to reassure this time, as you took another sip out of your drink in embarrassment, it was a shame that this would go down as one of the worst dates you’ve ever been on, because Oikawa truly was sweet. If only your instagiator of a roommate hadn’t put you both in this position, maybe you would've actually enjoyed yourself. 

You and Oikawa split the bill. 

-

Iwaizumi didn’t ask any questions that night when you came home and immediately crashed onto the couch, throwing your purse somewhere unidentifiable. He simply sipped his drink, before returning to his room to study, without getting his hopes up at either outcome—at this point he wasn’t entirely sure which one he preferred. 

The conversation didn’t come up until you were out grocery shopping a few days later, and you muttered something almost incomprehensible while examining a stem of scallions. “You’re paying this week.” He followed up your declaration with a hum before deciding the greens were good enough and tossing them to him. “You owe me repercussions for that trainwreck of a date.” 

You continued walking down the vegetable aisle, and Iwaizumi was quick to trail after you despite the rusted wheels of the cart—he was suddenly very intrigued by what you had to say. “What do you mean?” He wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved, “I would be careful what you say, thats my best friend yo—” 

“It wasn’t Oikawa himself,” you emphasized, “It was the fact that he’s like—your brother—shit was weird. Never again.” You huffed, dropping some oranges you most likely weren’t going to eat in front of him. “I thought you said you had a network—I see him like once a week at least.” 

Iwaizumi pondered your analysis, he did say he had a network didn’t he? Pursing his lips, he wanted to offer another friend, but realized that when you said never again, you probably meant never again. He put the conversation to rest until you reached the next aisle, “I still don’t understand why I have to pay repercussions, it was kind of a pain in ass to get you that date.” 

You rolled your eyes at the ever difficult boy to your left, “Right, because a phone call is so much damn work.” He furrowed his eyes, opening his mouth to reply only to be cut off by your stern tone once again, “Reach up and grab that box, the red one.” Even in his irritated state, he complied, grabbing the box and passing it to you before throwing out his hands.

“I’m not a damn matchmatcher. The least I could get is a thank you.” He felt the frustration rising up his throat, words flying your way like sharp daggers,  “Not many people are looking for a whole fucking relationship, I did my best.” 

Maybe it was your lack of gratitude, but other than that, he really had no reason to be getting so worked up—Iwaizumi was always selfless, why now was he so insistent on gaining recognition for his efforts? It seemed far too trivial, and you felt yourself getting just as worked up as he was, “Not everyone wants to sleep around like you do, Iwa!” 

The eyes of the other patrons in the aisle fell on the two of you, and the stares directed at your back practically suffocated you. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He whispered, shooting those around his apologetic glances as you practically cowered in embarrassment, the gesture on his end almost felt condescending. “What, you’re going to slut-shame me now?” 

The ghostly asphyxiation had a hold on your throat, as you stuttered, “I just—no of course not—why would I— forget it.” You trudged out the aisle, leaving Iwaizumi alone to stare at the boxes of cereal. He quickly turned around to gather the cart, still embarrassed by the lingering energy you two managed to leave behind. 

Neither one of you spoke to one another for the rest of the outing.

-

Fights we're not good for the longevity of a living space, so you and Iwaizumi avoided them at all costs. If there was a disagreement with the utility bill, or a miscommunication that left one, the other, or both parties angry—the two of you would actually sit down and talk about it. Your arrangement was  healthier than most relationships, and the two of you were only tenants by chance.

This is why you were so shocked to see Iwaizumi giving you the cold shoulder, quite literally, as he passed you a cup of cold coffee the next morning with not nearly enough creamer. He then would make some comment under his breath before leaving abruptly, and not returning until the late hours of the night.

He even went as far as making a ruckus whenever he brought a guest over—which mind you—was a frequent occurrence. It was the uncharacteristic pettiness that hinted at the fact that this time you may have crossed a line. The last thing you intended to do was shame him, you didn’t feel morally superior to him, but you’d be lying to yourself by saying that you weren’t at least trying to act so in the heat of the moment.

Obviously, it failed—and now your apartment always feels ten degrees colder in the mornings, and ten times louder in the night. Your headphones were deemed useless a few days into this grudge he insisted on holding. 

Even Oikawa noticed, he had rolled in sometime around eleven the following Friday to pick up Iwaizumi—and as your roommate left he noticed how you remained unmoving against the kitchen counter, not even sparing one another so much as a glance. “Aren’t you going to say goodbye?” 

Iwaizumi scowled at him, and he couldn’t help but feel scolded under the gaze of his best friend. “No.” He snapped, titling his head down, his tone somehow insinuating that it should’ve been obvious, “Assholes don’t get goodbyes.” He ducked out the door, leaving Oikawa to bore holes into the back of your head with confused eyes, you didn’t spare him a glance either. 

You presumed Iwaizumi was angry because you judged his lifestyle, dabbling in his life where you didn’t belong and this was your payback. He was most likely waiting for you to apologize, and say that you were thankful for his help even if you didn’t have to be, and reassure him that there was no room for judgment behind your eyes.

Something you came to learn was that Iwaizumi was ridiculously stubborn, but so were you. 

There was a reason you told him to forget it, you didn’t mean it, and no matter how illogical it seemed, you felt it was his fault for taking it the wrong way. There was no need to prolong this squabble, and have it escalate until a full blown fight—if he wanted to be childish and refuse to swallow that horrendous pride of his, so be it. 

However, there was a point when things boiled over, especially when neither of you were well-versed in the ins and outs of quarreling with the one person you needed to get along with. You had to give yourself quite the pep talk, before putting your ego aside and taking a step into his bedroom, where he was hunched over a wide desk.

“Can I charge my phone in here? The outlets in the kitchen and my room are loose.” Iwaizumi pulled a headphone away from his ear, before turning to you with a furrowed brow. He was well aware of the fact that sometimes the outlets around the apartment didn’t hold, but the last thing he expected was for you to come to him with a favor amidst what he assumed to be a deadlock. 

Then again, he also saw an opening to crack a joke that was most certainly uncalled for. “Loose? Is that another dig at my sex life?” He tsked, before standing up and approaching the door, which you stood right outside of, refusing to enter the threshold of his bedroom—lord knows how many ghosts were in those walls. 

You took a step back, a little taken by his comment and unable to think of a quip in counter. His smirk was subtle, as he rested two arms above his head, leaning forward and allowing his weight to rest against the doorframe. “So judgemental.” The warmth of his breath gently grazed the tops of your cheeks, making it difficult to remember that the two of you were supposed to be fighting. 

“Will you just shut the fuck up and take my phone?” His eyebrow remained raised at your rude comment, before he dropped his arms and tore the device from your hands, the small veins on his knuckles growing at the tight grip. You turned on a heel to return to your room, but before you could make the full trip some words popped in your head that you couldn’t seem to push down fast enough.

“And by the way, Iwa?” He stuck his head out the door, “I didn’t mean it like that and you know it. You're acting like an immature jackass.” You paused, a sudden wave of courage overtaking you, “Cut the victim complex, you’re the one who called me a fucking prude for not being the campus wide slut, alright?” 

His eyes widened at your name calling, and he stepped out into the hallway to eye you down, your stature remained unmoved, but if he looked closely he could see your pupils double in size as he stood at his full height. “Woah, try uncalled for? If you have a problem with me bringing people over then say it to my face and let that be the end of it.” He pointed to himself, as his voice became rougher. 

The stiff tone of his words sliced your eardrums causing you to cringe. Your bravery flushed and went as quickly as it came now that he was the one shouting. Desperate to redeem yourself, you managed to push out a stuttered response, “I don’t care if you bring people over!” 

Iwaizumi was, at this point, beside himself—both of you had forgotten the root of this argument, the root of your anger, and yet there was a hole in the pit of your stomach propelling you forward. The floodgates had been opened, and neither of you were going to stop until everything was up in the air—even if that led to a less than favorable predicament. 

“Then what is the problem!” Iwaizumi hated to yell, but his voice had reached uncharacteristic height as he attuned himself to your volume, the two of you were now going in a circle and the brakes were out of reach, “I don’t know Iwa, what is the fucking problem?!” 

“The problem is that I’ve fucked most every girl on this campus and all I can think about is you!” The veins in his neck popped as the words flew well over your head, hitting the wall behind you, before ricocheting and stabbing you right in back—gracing your heart and making it bubble with fiery warmth.

“For months all I can seem to think about is your stupid fucking face, no matter how many girls I go out with I always come back to you and its so goddamn annoying!” He took a deep breath, leveling out his chest before taking a step back to watch you process. Your mouth was hung agape, and he couldn’t help but mimic it—a desperate attempt to form some reaction, any reaction, to the detrimental confession he just made. 

Mind running wild, debating back and forth whether or not what was happening was good—was what you wanted—and it was. It really was, despite how much you loathed his nature. The way your heart raced whenever he was around, the way it was racing now—feet moving on instinct towards his large and inviting body. 

His hands immediately found their place on your cheeks, cupping your jaw with force and pulling you as close as he possibly could as your lips came together in ecstasy. You could feel the blood rush to your head, flushing your skin whilst adrenaline pulsed through your veins—the energy alive and lustful, all of the tension you’d been holding for Iwaizumi flooding out of your heart. 

You grasped his hair, strands between your fingertips, yanking his head back and moving your mouth down to pepper sparse kisses down his face, sucking on the skin of his neck and leaving purple and brown bruises in its wake. The sounds of his moans encouraged you further, driving the need in the pit of your stomach—bodies having ached for each other for so long. 

“Let me see you,” he groaned, breathing out as he grabbed you by the jawline, guiding your lips back to his. He nipped at your lower lip, deepening the kiss with a little smirk growing on his sly expression. “You taste even better than I thought.”

“Good to know you’d been thinking about me.” You smirked, speaking between collisions, arms slung behind his head—pulling him closer, bodies pressed together, never wanting to let go. It was at this moment in which he knew that you’d been what he’d needed. You were the person he’d wanted all this time. “Might’ve been thinking about you,” he rasped.

“In between all the fuck buddies, right?” You couldn’t help but joke with him, even now—the smirk playing on your lips was a playful rendition of his own, which now blossomed to a full smile, gracing his face and allowing you to see the whites of his teeth.

“Shut up.” He groaned, rolling his eyes and loosening his grip slightly. Once again finding your opening, you slid in with your best quip yet. 

“Make me,” and with that, he pulled you back in. 

After that, the door to Iwaizumi’s bedroom closed for good—only the two of you remaining behind it. 

✿ TETSUSTATION — 2022 ; do not repost, translate, share without permission, or recycle my writing & layouts. this blog does not hesitate to hardblock in that instance!

[tetsustation]

“i hate it here.”

you mutter, it’s off hand and bitter on the tip of your tongue. the sentiments you hold are rude and uncaring to a fault—the invitation was well received, appreciated, but this is not your venue.

college kids swarm in a basement that probably serves as a part-time condominium for hidden termites. you itch the side of your arm that’s holding a drink, now placid—the carbonation settling into a layer of surface tension as you put off finishing it.

suna is beside you, his leg propped up against the wall haphazardly—very “breakfast-club-esque,” you had told him when he arrived to pick you up a few hours ago. you yearn to go back to when your shirt wasn’t stuck to your skin, and your hair was still voluminous.

then moving a hand to cradle the opposite elbow, you give him a sideways glance. he’s the one who insisted on driving, if you had your own vehicle you could just leave right now and never look back. always the gentleman, he seems to be—the mere thought of that stubborn pride makes your eye twitch

somehow, in between the loud bass and the slew of people walking along the side of the wall your standing against, he hears you. nodding, he presses his lips together in thought, scanning the room for a reason to stay—lo and behold, he finds not a single one.

the drink that he’s holding is relatively fresher than that of your own, though he made a point of mixing in that bitter cherry syrup from the bar—making it far to sour for your own consumption. hastily, he turns around and places the cup on a foreign table, bidding it an improper farewell, before pivoting to you.

“okay.” he expands the width of his wide palm, and capsules your own with it, “let’s leave.”

he’s staring at you with a mischievous glint bouncing off his barely visible pupils—the lighting in here is absolute shit, you note. still, he’s so close you almost can’t miss it, as he leans into you, pulling on the interlock of your hands.

the raise of his eyebrows is accompanied by an innocent smirk, a mocking attempt at negotiation, as if he also wasn’t uncomfortable in this insufferable heat. you nod, he nods back, your conversation wordless for a moment, before he drags you out by your still joined hands.

never again would you agree to go to a houseparty in the middle of summer.

suna concurs.

✿ TETSUSTATION — 2021 ; do not repost, translate, share without permission, or recycle my writing & layouts. this blog does not hesitate to hardblock in that instance!

[tetsustation]

[ HANG THE STARS ]

pairing :: kuroo tetsurou x f!reader

synopsis :: the stars were always second best to him, and growing up you were nothing short of inseparable. however, after he was torn from you, you had no choice but to move on. upon entering graduate school for astronomy, you run into a familiar face from your past—and this time he’s determined to show you he’s changed—despite what happened before his parting.

word count :: 8.2k

genre :: early 20th century au, graduate school au, childhood friends to lovers, pining on crack, a little hurt/comfort, astronomer!reader, economist!kuroo

warnings :: swearing, smoking, jumps between past and present, mild sexism

notes :: hey......... none of my long fics are done but i do want to post a piece on this blog so this is the last thing i posted before i moved 

Frankly, from head to toe, you could only describe your current emotion as one of immense discomfort. The ground felt rough and unsteady under the curved heel of your shoe, and the underkeepings of your skirt were digging into the side of your thigh. With the wind zipping past without as much as a moment’s hesitation, you found it difficult to feel anything but. 

Looking around however, you came to the conclusion that you may not be the only one. Everyone was always a bit tense on the first day back—and while you were no school child swinging a leather swaddle of books—you were not immune to first day jitters either. Higher education of this rank was never a feat you saw yourself attempting to conquer, yet here you were. 

Peers of yours had nurtured their trades to build a steady career by now—yet here you were, a ripe mind ready for sculpting. It seemed iditoic to repress your vibrant curiosity for such staunt domestics. Still, halfway through your twenties, it was safe to say your family expected other things from a young lady such as yourself. 

Still, the conventional only enabled so much growth. 

At your side, you gripped your satchel with great fervor. Nothing of great importance was inside, really; a few pens, two or three binded notebooks, you even vaguely recalled tossing in an apple before you left. Yet, it was the only thing you were familiar with—the only thing to grab onto. You pressed your palms into the straps, grounding yourself to the best of your ability. 

The leaves crunched underneath your feet, as you walked along to your first hall—the class sizes were small and yet the campus was rather large. Each building flaunted a different array of faded brink that bordered wide windows. The glass was fogged from morning precipitation and still you could make out the people inside—the curve of their jaws and outline of their ears, at the very least. 

Approaching the building you circled on a crumpled map in your pocket, you glimpsed down in hopes of perfecting your step up. If anyone was paying attention, at least they’d know you weren’t clumsy. Though, insecurity is a nasty thing, because just when you thought you were in the clear, there was a shout in your general direction.

“Move it! Can’t a guy get a picture?” 

After steadying yourself inside of the roofed entrance to the building, you turned at the sharp sounds as they flew past your ear in an echo. A boy, who looked no older than yourself, was shouting at you from behind a contraption that's only partially metal. Your eyes flicked to the lens he was adjusting upon spotting your figure. 

“What?” was all you were able to stutter before backing into a figure you weren’t aware was approaching from behind. 

Your back hit a figure with a broader build than your own. Any tension that you had managed to fizzle away was washing over again, all at once—knots in your stomach twisted ten times over, a struggle you’d had to tackle after you were out of this predicament. 

The guy in front of you pouted as he maneuvered his camera at your disruption, the one behind you threw some halfhearted apologies in your direction, all of which settled right in the shell of your ear due to proximity. 

God, you could’ve died right then and there if a higher power allowed it. 

Momentarily, however, you were able to ignore the boy a few yards in front of you, tuning out the curses he began muttering to himself—because the voice behind you sounds so sincere, so familiar. Nostalgia swirled in your stomach the moment you turned around to offer a weak apology of your own. 

“Well, what do you know?” He chuckled.

A death wish, was what you had. 

There was a puff of sorts at the top of his head that never seemed to go away, it fell flap over the top of his face, and you followed the trail of inky black down to his cheeks. They looked cool to the touch, but you couldn’t tell through the tan complexion he donned. His smile was cheeky, a smirk that climbed alongside your confusion.

To say you recognized him would be an understatement, but you questioned yourself on the outcome of coming clean about that or walking right past him. In the time that you considered your choice in the matter, you learned that you really had none at all—because the camera boy was yelling once again.

“Are you guys gonna get the hell out of my shot, or am I gonna have to call the dean or somethin’?” 

A flush of heat settled under your cheekbones, and without a moment's notice you ducked under his arm and rushed for the door. Unaffected by your rush, the boy you bumped into, with the unkempt hair, trailed behind you in haste. You began to speed walk through the halls, but he simply trailed after you—offering up polite nods and smiles to anyone you two passed. 

He nearly bumped into you when you stopped abruptly, eyes fixed on the handle you were trying to budge open—the numbers matched the ones on your schedule, and you hoped your first class would be a good enough excuse to opt out of this reintroduction. Unfortunately though, like most things in your life, that dream was just out of reach.

As your hands pawed at the jammed handle, he placed a gentle hold on your shoulder, which left you no choice but to turn around and face him. He huffed slightly, trying to soothe the pattering in his chest from both the chase and the shock of seeing your face—you’d grown, but so had he. 

“I don’t get a hello?” Sheepishly, he asked. 

“Hello, Tetsurou.” It was meek, and you presumed it’d warrant enough for you to turn back around—it did not. 

He turned you around again, “That’s all I get?” 

There was no room in your frazzled body for his game of catch up, “For now? Yes, good day.” 

Finally, you were able to push the door open from behind, to which you slipped through before he could form a coherent sentence out of his stutters. Instead, you found a bundle of other students setting up for class, you followed suit in an attempt to mask the heat pooling around your face. 

On the other side, Kuroo had been brought to a standstill by your clear avoidance of him. With a pathetic hand outstretched to the now closed door, he adjusted his lapels before turning and making a brisk beeline out towards the door whence he came. 

When he saw the boy with the camera again on the way out, he flipped him off.

For the most part, classes came easy. You’d be concerned if they didn’t, considering you spent your summer reading the list of books assigned from back to back, a second time through each for annotations. Beyond prepared was what you were determined to be the moment you stepped onto campus, in a field such as astronomy, there was only so much you could do to set yourself apart from your male peers. 

No matter how they perceived you—know-it-all or ditz incarnate—they’d have a problem with you. However, if your marks were higher than theirs, at least they’d have the resignation to stay away. That’s how you survived your first week and a half or so. 

You made friends from the English department as well as the Biology department, neither of which were your pest from the first day. The thought of you and him attending the same school sent shivers down your spine. What were the odds? He’d always been intelligent—that of which on par with your own, but you hadn’t shared an educational space with him since your primary education years.

Why now?

The thought, productive or not, didn’t serve you much. Still, it was rather stimulating. To think that you blocked out so much of your childhood for the repercussions of one singular person. He was a nuisance—as most boys were. Maybe that's why you had such a matured vendetta against them, but your occupancy in academia certainly served as a nice scapegoat.  

The book hit the table and dust circumferenced the air like a cloud atop your heads. He coughed and waved a hand to sway away some of the particles, but you couldn’t care less—your head was already buried in the text.

It’s forbidden territory, your fathers office. And yet, you and Kuroo made a point of devising a plan to sneak inside while your parents were gone. It was dark, aside from the singular tall window that shone against the side of his mahogany work desk. Your mind was on the bookshelf, and Kuroo was your innocent accomplice—he leaned over your shoulder as you opened the page of interest. 

“There it is!” You beamed, pointing a dainty finger at the dots on the page. 

There were curved lines and labels identifying the longitude and latitude points, big and small dots as well as numbers served as a guide for your raw mind. You quickly connected some dots before turning to him, a smile wider than a ravene masking your face

“Phoenix.” 

He took a minute, and you stepped aside to give him space, his brain was a little slower than yours when it comes to these things—not well adept to things he couldn’t hold or see with raw eyes. Still, with the glint in your eyes, he couldn’t help but take your word for it—this thing was real.

“This’s the one you saw in the sky?” He questioned, glancing over his shoulder.

You nodded quickly, arms crossed in knowing contentedness. Identifying the constellation you saw in the sky made you feel as though you cracked one of the biggest secrets in the modern world—that you were an explorer and the Earth was your oyster. You could only conquer so much land with your tiny feet, but having Kuroo beside you to cheer you on made you feel a little taller. 

“No way.” A mutter to himself, as he turned back to the page, running his fingers down the thin pages. 

Kuroo noted the other constellations surrounding it on the page, they were cut off at the edges—the focus being on Phoenix and leaving space for facts on it in the margins. His eyes flicked back and forth as he committed the writing to near memory, if he could recall them later, perhaps he wouldn’t need to risk his hide to sneak you back in here later. 

The door clicked from the other room, and Kuroo snapped the book shut quicker than his small arms could process the action. You were quick to grab it out from under him, smearing some leftover dust bunnies. Stood on your tip-toes, you brought it back up to the shelf, and pushed it in with a few taps before running out the room—Kuroo close behind. 

That was only one of many secret endeavors in uncharted territory.

A tap on your shoulder caused you to rustle in place, the breeze did nothing to smooth over your momentary shock as you readjusted in your seat, marking the page in your book with a dog-ear. There was a scowl forming somewhere on your face, and there was nothing you could to stop it as you turned around, boots dug into the grass below as you did so.

“Can I help you?” You asked, to the abdomen of someone unfamiliar—until you looked up. 

Somehow, he had found you again. Today his blazer was gray, you noted, as he made his way around the bench to sit beside you. 

“Is this seat taken?” He asked, despite the fact that he was already seated. 

You rolled your eyes, he was always one for a jest, and it did nothing to soothe your growing irritation with him. Glared is what you did as he rubbed his palms against the thighs of his slacks, you cringed as the fabric rippled ever so slightly. He mumbled something about the precipitation—technically he was right, it did rain last night.

“Fancy seeing you here!” He reveled in your expression, scrunched dramatically as you feigned annoyance in his presence.

You were always one to put up a fight, but if he was anything it was stubborn, “I find it quite astounding really, I didn’t know they permitted women into the science department of this institution.” He remarked in a clear to get a rise out of you, you wouldn’t allow the satisfaction.

“Yes, actually. There’s a few of us, believe it or not.” You opened the page in your book again, ready to disregard his presence altogether—but he had other plans.

“I always knew you had a brain inside that pretty head of yours.” The crease in your face divotted, you glared at his smile as he looked at the damp trees—heavy with dew. 

“I would sure hope so,” You countered with an exaggerated sigh, “I was always the one tutoring you in our youth after all. Perhaps I’m the one to account for your acceptance here in the first place, no?” 

Kuroo chuckled deeply, and you were somewhat tempted to smile, “Surely you’ll keep that fact to yourself, won’t you?” He finally pivoted to face you entirely, “I’d be disgraced if it got out that an underclassman was responsible for my success!” 

“I don’t know, I quite like having something over your head,” You looked at him, meeting his sharp amber, “Tetsurou.” 

With that, he hummed to himself, obviously satisfied with your answer. He turned to observe the pedestrians as they passed. Mild confusion set in, and you tried to match his line of sight, but it didn’t surmount too much. As you turned back to your book, you glanced at his face one more, there was a quaint smirk holding his mouth closed. For now, you figured his presence was enough. 

The table rattled as you threw down your tray, mildly exasperated, “I just think the program could broadcast to other demographics if they tried a little harder, is all!” 

Hinata jumped slightly, throwing his hands up as you sat down, “We’re already underfunded as it is, the student board is working on a new brochure for the science department but we’ve been having issues with the photographs.” 

You tensed at the mention, vaguely recalling your less than fortunate encounter with one of the aforementioned hires on your first day. It wasn’t fair for Hinata to be the sponge for your stand-off with the peer counsel, he was merely a freshman representative—not much influence in one say or the other. 

At least you had a friend from your branch of study, Hinata being one of the only boys in your core classes that you got along with. He was sweet, and shared a passion for the stars similar to your own—he had dreams to pursue astronauting. With his determination, there wasn’t a single doubt in your mind about his achieving it. 

Beside him sat Yachi, and across from her—on your right—was Kiyoko. The former studying English, and the latter Chemistry. A balance in which was carefully sculpted during your first month. Something about the group brought you comfort, they were your safety net from the pretentiousness of it all, the rocks that held you down to the recently cemented Earth. 

A nudge hit your side, and you quirked in annoyance, some of the food was knocked off your fork as a result. Kiyoko was eyeing something beyond you, something that was obtaining a clear shot at the back of your head. 

“I think that guy has his sights set on you,” She nodded in that direction, “He’s been staring since we sat down.” 

With how fast you turned your neck, you might’ve been at risk for dislocating something. The expression that followed was something of a mix between vexation and despondency. Kuroo Tetsurou, of all people, wiggled his eyebrows in your direction—his table was filled to the end seat, and yet he was fixed on you.

“Do you know him?” Hinata chirped, mildly intrigued by the silent interaction. 

You tilted your head to and fro, considering how to respond, “You could say that.” 

And almost on queue, he stood up. Your company almost gasped at his height, and you were tempted to roll your eyes as he stretched to accentuate it. Frankly, you didn’t care to take in his stroll to your table, didn’t want to indulge his antics. You turned back to your tray and before you knew it he was leaning over your shoulder, dangerously close to the shell of your ear.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?” Kuroo nearly whispered, you whipped around dramatically, to which he tumbled back. 

“Bold of you to assume you're entitled to such.” 

Sticking his hands into deep pockets, and pushing his lips together in a tight smile—he assumed this meant you were back to your icy composure. Still, who would he be to give up so quickly? Well aware that you harbored a sweet spot for him despite years of space, and nothing but, he pushed your buttons a bit further. 

“That’s no way to treat your dearest friend from childhood, now is it?” 

Tempted to snap something vile at him, you masked for the sake of your friends—it’d be embarrassing if you were to have an outburst in the middle of the cafe. He began to rock back and forth on the heels of his dress shoes—they were shined, and the black reflected the walls that surrounded the room. 

“Fine.” You spoke through gritted teeth, turning back to face the table—the energy behind your eyes was rather unnerving, but they played along nonetheless, “This is Kuroo Tetsurou.” 

“We grew up together.” You concluded, and before you knew it the devil was back over your shoulder again.

“We did a lot more than grow up together,” He added, matter-of-factly. You could see the shit-eating grin without so much as pivoting around. 

“Sure.” A hiss, “Satisfied?” 

“Very.” He hummed, “It was an absolute pleasure to meet your acquaintance! A goodday to you all.”

Tipping a non-existent hat, he retreated to his table, littered with other future economists—deliberating investment and whatnot. The bite you took of your bread was rather bellicose, and the group decided it was better not to press on the matter. Your fuming didn’t cease, and still his chipper attitude made you wonder if your reproach was ever really justified. 

The door was pushed open with all too much vigor, and the hinges sent it flying back against the wall adjacent to the frame. Kuroo winced, and the adrenaline that was coursing through his veins ran cold when he met the scorning eyes of your mother. 

“Watch the door Tetsurou, you know I hate when you two slam it.” He was quick to apologize, and subconsciously, his voice ran high.

The house was small, quaint—and yet it felt warmer than his ever had. Hence, why he spent every waking hour he could in your home, if not the field surrounding it. Chasing behind him, was your exhausted figure, heaving for the relief of rest as your muscles worked overtime to carry you to the door.

“I win!” He shouted, pride restored as you trudged in with a pout. 

“How cruel! It’s not fair your legs are longer than mine.” Your whine echoed off the wooden walls, nearly rattling the knick knacks that lined the wood panels.

The farm was your family’s primary source of income, and yet your bundle was well sustained, so much so that you’d practically taken the charming boy from a miles down under your welcoming wings. Things got boring, he’d recall, with just his father for company—who took trips into town all too often to call his presence a constant. 

Walking further into the kitchen as you withered at the open door, he watched your mother knead dough into a wood platform—brought out of the closet only for baking. Seeing his lanky frame approach, she wiped her hands on the fronts of her apron before sending one up to rest on his unkempt tufts. That of which she quickly removed when she felt the perspiration from your chase linger on the strands. 

 “I can’t say it’s fair either, you’re both getting so big I don’t even recognize you anymore.” She sighed, pained nostalgia dripping off her tongue. 

Kuroo’s growth was more obvious than yours, legs shooting him well over your height in just a year alone—but your own growth didn’t go unnoticed either. You were growing far more curious, so much so that it was dangerous, and your mother only hoped your tether to the ground would keep you steady in the years to come.

“Say, isn’t your birthday coming up Tetsurou?” His eyes flicked to you as you finally stood up again, coming over to the table to rest your arms on it—your dress was beyond dirtied, he noticed.

“Yes.” He started simply, “Twelve. Two weeks from yesterday.” 

Gasping dramatically, he watched your eyes glow with sudden anticipation, you turned to your mother, “We have to celebrate!” 

She giggled, “That we do. Make sure to let your father know I’ll handle dinner, just bring yourselves.” 

Nodding, he smiled upwards with gratitude. “Thank you. I’ll make sure to do so.” 

Up until a certain point, you recall Kuroo being nothing but sweet to you. He’d keep you on your toes, only to spot your back in case you fell over. On par with you intellectually, but still managed to keep your ego well fed. A shoulder to cry on, if not an open arm. Perhaps that's why you fell for him so quickly, hitting the ground the moment you discovered what the concept meant in your own, domestic context. 

Or perhaps, you were always in love with him, and decided it was best to keep it up tucked away with a lock and key. Out of sight, out of mind. The only problem was, he was always in sight—and most always in mind. So much for that plan. 

He entertained you, for a while he did. So much so that you believed perhaps you marched to the beat of the same drum, hands and arms intertwined. A childish dream, it must’ve been, however. Kuroo went away when he was fifteen, you fourteen—and in his wake, left shattered glass that’d you continue to step on for years to come. 

You’d’ve been able to see your anguish clear as day through the shards, and yet the pain it caused was mostly invisible—that is until you came into contact with it. Using books as bandages and stars as antiseptic, you had, for the most part, cleaned up the glass left behind. 

However, one shard had been left one—that of which was now a six foot giant.

A six foot giant that knocked on your door well beyond curfew. 

Really, you could’ve fallen out of your chair, it would’ve been comical but well warranted. Another knock, and you couldn’t believe the voice you picked up behind the door. The hands on the clock read somewhere around eleven. You pondered what ridiculous game he was playing at this time.  

Realising that if someone were to walk by, you’d both be in trouble, despite the fact that he was the one standing outside your door. Fear of the floor manager sent a shiver up your spine, and so you had no choice but to fling open the door and drag him in by the wrist. Beyond shocked, Kuroo fell back against the door—effectively closing it with a noise much too loud for the hour. 

Thank the lord you were decent. 

“What!? What could you possibly want at this hour!” You shouted in a hushed tone, his eyes widened at your outburst, he hadn’t seen you angry in quite a while. 

Sheepishly, he held up a book, and your eyes flicked back between the hardcover in his hand and the wobbly smile he sported in an attempt to justify the stunt he pulled. You were about to speak again, chew him out for a second time—it was certainly at the tip of your tongue. Shoving the book into your chest, he effectively shut you up.

“Just—just look at the bookmarked page.” 

Words, beyond words, was what you had for him. Still, you humor him—you often found it difficult not to. With a furrowed brow, you flipped through the pages, “You know if they found you in the women’s dormitory we’ll both be scandalized, and what’ll happen then, Tetsurou? What’ll happen when….” 

Trailing off, your fingers felt the creased edges of his worn bookmark. There was a coffee stain, but that wasn’t what you were focused on. Instead, your eyes traced the page behind the bookmark. It's familiar, so much so that you can practically feel the dust tickle your nostrils, despite the fact that this book was much newer than the one you uncovered all those years ago.

“Phoenix.”

Kuroo hummed, taking that it was okay to finally step away from the door, and relieving the tension in his shoulders. As he stepped towards you, he pointed at the dots you were so mesmerized with, your fingers were centimeters away from that of his own as your pads danced along the page. 

“I was studying late in the library and stumbled across it.” He remarks in sotto voce. “It’s our constellation.” 

That it was, and your heart ached lowly for the version of him that’d admire the stars with you and call them by name. The boy who’d read astronomy books just so he could recite facts to you in a hushed tone, and make you fall for him faster than a hurdling meteorite—you wondered where he went.

Away. Your brain chimed, utterly unprompted. That’s where he went. 

Frankly, you weren’t sure your brain could sustain a third version of Kuroo Tetsurou. There was your beloved childhood best friend, the adolescent brute who shattered your heart, and the one standing before you now—the cheeky bastard with a knack for breaking into your personal space at every opening.

Still, this very well might’ve been his attempt at extending an olive branch. 

With that thought, he leaned over slightly, ghosting the shell of your ear, “I miss you.” 

Well, whatever he was doing, was working. 

The night was young, but for a child such as yourself it was well past the point of beginnings. There was a worry fluttering behind your eyes like a ragged butterfly, with wings that graced the most peculiar parts of your growing brain, trying to formulate logical conclusions—but to no avail. Continuing to antagonize sleep did you no good either—so instead you sat up, utterly defeated. 

Outside, wind whistled along the panes of your window, you could make out the sounds of settling cicadas, restless birds as they circle in the night sky—supposedly black but deciding to lay over the land below in hues of dark blue instead. The world was quiet, however, it was not asleep. That was enough to justify your staying up, and the moonshine was there to keep you company. 

With your head in an adventure book (one which your father had brought home as a gift), your subconscious began to wander farther and farther from home, as you internalized the ink on the page. There was a patter that you missed against your window. It was nothing, a drop of misguided rain or perhaps a nut from the nearby tree. Then you heard it again, a little more aggressive than its predecessor. 

Only when you heard it for a third time did you drop to your knees, crawling across the dishealved mattress to examine the racket on the other side. You struggled immensely to turn the rusty handle that clasped the frame in place, with a muted squeak, it was finally opened—to which you stuck your head out.

Below, Kuroo stood with his hands behind his back, hair more unruly than it typically was and lines of threatened red encasing his eyes. As if someone had heard you twiddling your thumbs in concern, the cause of the butterfly in your head was brought to your window—yet, he was anything but cheery. 

There were only so many times you had seen your friend genuinely upset. Though, you were certain that this moment earned a spot on that list, because as you lifted his figure up into your room with some unseen force, he began mumbling about his trek there—one whole mile, in the dark. 

The moment he was comfortable on your bed, scraped knees and all, you pestered. 

“My father was very cross with me today.” There was a crack in his voice as he spoke—a sign of his heightening maturity, you couldn’t help but cringe. “Said that I shouldn’t keep wasting time.” 

“...Wasting time?” You parroted. 

He inhaled—long and deep, “He gave me an ultimatum. Either I pick a trade and pursue it, or I get sent away to a boarding school to further my education.”

Vaguely, was the extent to which you knew the word ‘ultimatum,’ but his tone gave way to the fact that this wasn’t celebratory. Boarding school wasn’t all that bad, from what you’ve heard—however, you were not prepared to send your best friend miles and miles away. Still, you knew deep down he never wanted to go to a trade school, because he was like you.

“Tetsurou… we were supposed to go to university together.” You recalled the plan the two of you had made a few years back, “We were going to study for entrance exams with those big books they have down at the shop and leave funny notes in the margins and—,” 

“I know.” 

You snapped your jaw shut and gave him leeway to speak, “But you see… I didn’t have a choice, really. He said I have to choose before I turn fifteen, and that's only a few months away.”

In his eyes, you saw that he had already made this decision himself. Now, he was nothing more but a bearer of bad news, “What did you pick?” 

A beat, “Boarding school, of course.” 

The cap on the lens came off with ease. In fact, if you were feeling like a show-off, you could spin it off like a cheap beer top. However, it was dark, and you didn’t quite feel like having a piece of your telescope roll off the roof of the building. Instead, you shoved it into your pocket, and adjusted the stand. 

Behind you, Kuroo was nursing a cigarette. You hadn’t seen him pull it out, nor did you see him light it. Yet, somehow, it was in between his lips. Smoke dissipated into the night sky as he took a lengthy drag and the wind carried it elsewhere, all the while readjusting the fabric of his loose dress shirt.

“Since when do you smoke?” You inquired, while you partially leaned on the cement to get a good look at the bottom of the contraption. 

He thought for a few moments, looking beyond the ledge of the building and to the stifled pine beyond, “Eighteen. I picked it up during my schooling.” 

You scrunched your nose, returning to your work, “Nasty habit, that is. You ought to quit.” 

A chuckle escaped him, “If it was you that asked, I probably would.” 

To say you were friends might’ve been pushing it. Certainly, at this point you weren’t strangers. However, the bond that you shared was worth not a cent compared to once was. In another life, is what it felt like. The force that tied you to him was one that transcended time and space, the history was there—the physicality of it all was not. 

“Pass me your handkerchief.” You asked, whipping your head around, “Please.” 

He complied, taking the free hand out of his pocket and allowing the small piece of plush fabric to trail after—that of which being stuck between his middle and ring fingers. For the sole purpose of making things easier (and to keep the wafted smoke away from your telescope), you met him halfway, pinching it out of his grasp with your own fingertips. 

Capturing the flow of wind, you flapped it in the air a few times to ensure its cleanliness, before you brought it to the exposed lens, circling it clean until it reflected the glowing marble up above. Once satisfied, you turned to him—hands resting on your hips as you kicked a loose pebble in his direction with the tip of your boot.

“Put it out,” you snapped, both verbally and with the tips of your fingers. 

Kuroo promptly dropped the wrapped nicotine to the ground, smushing it with his dress shoe—they’ve become dirtied as of late, a layer of grime painted around the edges. He wiped his hands along the sides of his pant legs, before walking towards you. A hunch formed in your spine while you leaned over to peer into the eyepiece, and you kept a steady hand on the focus knob. 

Fascinated with the way your fingers danced along the metal, manipulating it to get the clearest view of the foreign sky above, he watched in awe. After adjusting the placement of the counterweight and whatnot, gasped quietly—catching the weight of the sight you were looking for all along. 

“Now it’s not Phoenix,” you began, “But I think it’s quite miraculous.”

Stepping back, you made space for him—he used that clever brain of his to collect the memo, and replicate your stature, standing where you once were and dropping his height to accommodate. It was difficult, frankly—considering the fact that his height was certainly not meant for a telescope such as this. Still, he made it work.

“Tell me, what am I looking at?” 

“Volans.” You claimed, matter of factly, “Found in the southern sky, it translates in most languages to ‘The Flying Fish.’” 

He hummed, “And what else?” 

“If you must know, it neighbors Carina and Dorado.”

“Fascinating.” He noted. It would’ve been condescending, had his hands not been gripping the telescope delicately in intrigue. You felt satisfied, knowing that you made a grown man bend over for a couple of stars, you even entertained the thought a little further—bringing yourself to a modest giggle.  

Luckily, he didn’t notice. If he did, he didn’t show any indicators, “Care to show me another?” 

The platform is relatively quiet, considering it was Friday morning—perhaps the morning rush had ended, but it didn’t seem quite so yet. Whatever the case, you couldn’t care less. The smile on your face wavered, and despite your best efforts, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep it steady. 

In front of you, he stood with a hat in hand (it was much too small to push down the askew hairs on his head). This might’ve been the first time you’ve seen him in a suit, all dressed with linens bought from the best shops in town—it had cost a pretty penny, and his father made sure to remind him of such during the automobile ride there.

Luckily, he had permitted you to tag along, Kuroo’s father was not a mean man by any means—however, he was a stout traditionalist who held discipline as the highest of virtues. Momentarily, he had left you alone to go discuss the train’s course with the conductor, and perhaps purchase a map so that his son could navigate the train stations he’d encounter in the big city.

Or wherever that fated school of his was.

With the upcoming train, you felt the bittersweet of his departure manifesting as a lump in your throat. He had a wonky smile of his own, one that was almost apologetic, disquieted by what possible thoughts clouded your vision. You certainly plagued his mind, like the ending days of a run-in with hay fever—a flow of uninhibited air after irritable congestion.

It was when you placed your hands on his tall shoulders, brushing off nonexistent dust, that reality hit him. Kuroo, despite the weeks leading up to this moment—he had no idea how to say goodbye to you, to the one constant in his life. Would it be cruel just to walk away? Perhaps a proclamation would be suitable, or would that open pandora’s box? His perceptive skills ran fuzzy. 

“You're ridiculous.” You started, “Leaving me like this, I ought to slap you, Tetsurou.”

A crick in his jaw became noticeable when it fell at your veiled threat, you continued despite, “Still I won’t. Those boys would patronize you, surely, if you arrived with an aching bruise on your cheek.” 

You giggled to yourself, “From a younger girl, nonetheless.” 

Dewy-eyed, he resisted the urge to stay planted in place, as it resonated under the soles of his shoes. He felt obligated to say something, what though—he was unsure of. 

“I’ll be back,” Impulsively, he proclaimed. 

“No. I don’t think you will.” As your hands glided off his shoulders, they hit your sides limply, “You’ll go away and make a gaggle of friends—one’s of your own age and physical capability. Perhaps you’ll return for holidays, but they’ll be far too scarce to justify a rekindling with the likes of me.”

He wanted to cut you off, tell you that that was far from the truth, you continued without a beat, “You’ll finish your schooling, go off to university and possibly even graduate school. Then you’ll find an office job that makes enough for you to sustain your father in his old age. You’ll find a pretty woman to call your wife, and bear your children—and you’ll live a fulfilling life, fulfilling enough, that is.”

Silence, and then you smiled, “And I’ll be far away, studying the stars with some of the greatest minds out there.” 

Without noticing, his eyes did a subtle roll—certainly, you were ever the optimistic. Still, the waver in your voice didn’t go unnoticed by him, you were scared. Fear was an unfamiliar color on you, but it painted streaks in insecurity and impending loneliness across your features. If that's really how you thought his life was going to play out, did you plan to say goodbye all this time?

Certainly not, it had to be a fib—one that’d make this a little easier.

However, if letting go was what you needed to fly, he wouldn’t dare let himself hold you back. He took a singular step back on the platform, standing tall, “I’ll make you proud.” 

“You better,” You challenged him. “And one more thing.” 

He hummed, steeling himself due to the intensity of your tone. The gloss in your eyes became a lot more visible, and as you looked down he could see them wobble on your tearline, “I am madly in love with you, if you’d believe it.

With your eyes on the ground, you waited for his answer. Perhaps this would be a tragic way to end your story, but you’d be damned before you left your truth go unsaid. He had to have felt the same way, or why else would he be looking at you so tenderly? Why else were you the only one besides his own blood coming to see him off?  

It’d give you the closure you desperately needed to feel whole. If your physical half was gone, the least he could give you was his heart, on his sleeve. Surely, he wouldn’t leave you without a single memento behind for you to cling onto—you were only human after all. 

Where the miscommunication occurred, you’d never know—but as his jaw gaped he pondered the honest answer, or the one that’d make you the happiest in the long run. The world loved to test his compass every single day, and he’d be a fool to assume today, of all days, would be any different. With great hesitation, he finally spoke. 

“I’m afraid I can’t reciprocate those feelings, but thank you kindly.”

A step onto the tracks seemed rather pleasant, but before you could sprint forward—the squeal of the wheels told you it had arrived—marvelous timing. Fixed on the ground, your eyes didn’t even bother to meet his. Anger was a justified emotion, and yet you felt embarrassed to let it shine through—instead opting for a mutter ‘okay.’

And then his father was back, and handing him a wad of paper—telling him to ‘take it easy,’ and to ‘behave.’ And then he was stepping onto the train, leaving you with the full extension of that apologetic smile. And then he was gone, and you were back in his father’s automobile, returning home—a home littered with memories of him. 

In Kuroo’s mind, he believed he did the right thing. Yet, you were right in predicting that after that point your friendship never really was the same. Letters were scarce, holidays scarcer. You had fully matured, and yet your heart remained juvenile, permanently stunted after it's a exertion on the station platform.

What a shame. 

“Tell me something, how was boarding school?”

Something about throwing your time to the wind with him alongside you, on the roof of the science building, made you rather reminiscent. Up to this point, you had wasted a handful of hours in each other’s company—studying among other things. Yet, you never twisted his sleeve on the matter. 

He adjusted his pace to be on beat with that of your own, an old habit he seemingly hadn’t parted with yet, “Why, it was quite enjoyable. I was the epitome of work hard, play harder.” 

Right. However, you couldn’t help but note the fact that he had become more self-assured. There was an extra skip in his step, and he no longer slouched his shoulders when he talked to people—you wish you’d changed just as much, but frankly you can’t say that you had. 

“I’d expect nothing less.”

That should’ve been the end of the conversation, it was beyond dark, and the trees rusted with the wind. A shiver climbed up your spine, which you repressed by rolling your shoulders. Kuroo had insisted on carrying your telescope gear under his arm, as he accompanied you back to your dormitory—all the while conversation remained small, flitting by with ease, until it didn’t.

“And I thought about you the entire time.” 

You’d curse his name if you could for saying something heartfelt, and effectively throwing a boulder in the lake of casualty you had turned into a healthy ecosystem, “Please don’t fib, Tetsurou. We’re not children, remember?” 

He looked at you, or rather your head, “Who said I was fibbing?” 

Momentarily, you had stopped walking, rutting your feet into the cracked path beneath you, “So help me you’d best bite your tongue.” There was a pout that quietly crept onto your face. 

He tittered, throwing his free hand out, “I’m not! Truly!” He’d even gone as far as to follow up the statement with a weak salut, ensuring his honor to you. 

Suddenly, your face dropped— no longer resounding with the ingenuity that leaked from his words, “Then why did you say what you did that day?” 

“At the train station, you mean,” He affirmed. 

“Precisely.” 

Looking around, he allowed his eyes to graze the landscape as he fathomed your accusation—perhaps you did have some standing in terms of your curiosity (or was it insecurity?). Still, he felt scolded under your watch, and wondered why he was being reprimanded for words he uttered nearly nine years ago.

“Are fifteen year old boys not allowed to tell the occasional white lie?” There was an underlying whine somewhere in his tone if you listened close enough.  

You sent a weak kick to his calf, “Not about something of that nature!” 

A brief silence suspended the words in thin air, as your heads scrambled to wrap around them. If someone were to pass by, they’d most likely assume the two of you were engaged in some sort of staring contest—trying to read the other person like a soggy book, pages dripping with what the crisp paper once said.

Finally, he spoke up diffidently, “Perhaps it was better that way. The last thing I wanted was your heart to follow me where it wasn’t permitted to go.” 

Scoffing wholeheartedly, you crossed your arms, “I have full control over where my heart does and does not go, thank you very much.”

Then, you picked up walking again, only to have him scurry behind you—the rattling of your telescope against his side. There was something on the tip of his tongue, and it slid off with great difficulty, “However, we're not kids anymore. Now, I’d like to be given the opportunity to tell the truth.” 

In hesitation, you stopped once again, only pivoting slightly to face him, “Do what you must.”

In a huff, he has returned to your side, forcing you to adjust your gaze. Expectantingly, you stared him down. There was a devil on your shoulder telling you to cross your arms, but you felt as though that’d be teetering on condescension. He took another deep breath, and let his lips settle in an awkward opening as he threw the statement around in his head before uttering it. 

“I always reciprocated your feelings. I don’t recall a time in my life when I didn’t.”

And there it was, the stray puzzle piece. You can’t say it had fit perfectly, but it looked about right, and maybe if you twisted it a couple of ways, repositioned it perhaps—it’d finally fit. All you knew was that the anger you harbored felt strangely childish. Grudges were never productive, they said—but it kept you sane.

With him here though, standing in front of you so vulnerably, you figured your sanity could sustain itself for now. 

Hands on your hips, you spoke up, “Well, what d’ya know?” 

Earnestly, he smiled at you. 

The quintessence of spring brought flower petals to the cobblestone you walked upon, and there was a faint twinge of guilt that erupted in your chest each time you stepped on one. Still, you had a destination and sigh, and only had condolences to offer to the flora as you raced by in anticipation. 

Spring break hadn’t brought you back home like most, instead you stayed behind in the city—you had an internship at the nearest lab, it wasn’t your preferred field but it was a pipeline, that much you could respect. Still, you couldn’t help but feel giddy to be back on campus, your legs carrying you to the spot you so desperately yearned to reach.

Your scarf had fallen to your shoulder, but you were there—so frankly, it didn’t really matter. The curved cement enclosed the entrance to the science building, and despite the beautiful weather you couldn’t wait to be shadowed away by the comforting echo. At the steps you stood, and waited for him to notice you, he was fiddling with the buttons of his coat. 

“Going to keep me waiting, are we?” 

He looked up with widening sockets, his pupils followed suit—running up and down your figure. It had only been two weeks, but it appeared to be two weeks too long. Credulously, you hopped up the steps, without bothering to look down, only to loop your arms tight around his neck. Noticing the gasp that escaped him, you recognized that you had effectively knocked the breath from his lungs.

With a giggle, you stepped down, “I missed you.” 

Moving stray hairs out of your face, he marveled in the expression he was met with—that youthful glint had never left your eyes, and it made him feel one with the elderly. 

“I could say the same,” He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, “You look ravishing.”

Scoffing, you turned your head to the side, “You are insufferably saccharine, has anyone ever told you that?” 

He must’ve not been satisfied with the response, because you found a gentle hand guiding your chin back up to face him. Just as you were about to quip once more, brought his lips down to close the space. They were warm, and tasted like unsweetened coffee, the words melted off your tongue as you fell into the cushion of his arms. 

It was gentle, so much so that the pedestrian breeze could flow in between you, establishing a sort of counter circulation to the warmth radiating off your meshed figures. Missing the curve of his jaw under the morning light, you pulled away. There’s a smirk inching onto the part of his you were connected to, and it doesn’t quell your urge to pick fun. 

“Sweet talker.” 

He hummed, “But I didn’t say anything.” 

Caught in your tracks, there was nothing to do but laugh—and with how warm he felt beside you, he couldn’t help but harmonize. Together, you built a symphony of giggles, and all the passerbyers could do was stare and revel at the deranged couple—snickering away at near nothing. 

And yet, it was nothing short of the stars. 

“You know, we're not nearly the same people we we're all those years ago.”

“Maybe not...but whoever we are now, I’m glad we're those people together.”

✿ TETSUSTATION — 2021 ; do not repost, translate, share without permission, or recycle my writing & layouts. this blog does not hesitate to hardblock in that instance!

[tetsustation]

[reel around the fountain]

:: kuroo tetsurou x gn!reader

:: hurt/comfort + 0.8k

:: i just wanted to write something for this song, it definitely was not supposed to be this sad 

there’s a pebble he’s hiding under the sole of his shoe, the sediment is loose and if he were to press down hard enough, it’d shatter into pieces. the crunch would be enough to act as a an alert, and give away his whereabouts.

he doesn’t step on it yet. 

kuroo holds himself to a relatively high moral standard. he makes a point of holding the door for late-comers, shares his class notes with those who are struggling, and takes leadership positions where he can (among other things). still, he can’t help but cut himself on the figurative shards of his shortcomings, when he sees you leaned over on the pavement. 

there’s an array of colored pens, some glittery and other matte, as well as a multitude of sturdy mechanical pencils designated for test taking. he vaguely recalls borrowing one from you once, maybe a couple months ago. internally, he can’t help but scoff at himself—you only shown him kindness, and this is how he repays you?  

he didn’t mean to laugh—when some of the other boys took your bag and held it above you head, before tossing it to the ground. 

turning to take a sip of his water, he chuckled from the sidelines as one of his distant friends nudged him, as if to say, look at what we did, isn’t that funny? in a weak attempt to justify himself, he could argue that it would’ve been out of place for him not to laugh along. still, the grit of you teeth, and the exhausted etched in your face, makes him think twice.

and then they left, someone had shouted that they’d see him later—but honestly, he hopes it’s an empty sentiment. now, all he could do is watch you search for your scattered belongings, and cringe when a gust of wind would blow your papers a little farther from reach. 

he crunches the pebble.

and momentarily, your shoulders jump. class is over, campus should be close to empty—and yet, theres an unwieldy pole staring down at you. kuroo tucks his hands into his pockets sheepishly, the slack material creasing as he pushes down on it. you give him a once over, before reaching for a stray eraser. 

frankly, kuroo has no clue what to say to you. high school boys were just like that—but that’s not much of a consolation, is it? wordlessly, he crouches down and grabs a stack of papers, straightening them out by tapping the bottom on the ground below. there’s a folder underneath him that he tucks them back into. 

“i’m sorry,” it’s sour on his tongue, “i could’ve easily told them to stop—i didn’t.” 

providing him with nothing more but a side glance, you chuckle bitterly, “yeah, you didn’t.” kuroo feels his face warm up in embarrassment as you continue, “but who wants to be a buzzkill?” 

the laugh he lets out is juvenile, there’s a crack trailing on the end as it pipes through his throat. he goes back to helping you in silence, the sound of paper and supply casing against the wind is the only shared noise from the two of you, as the gusts pick up with the incoming evening. 

kuroo stares at your hands as you pry your bag open for him, the miscellaneous collection of daily necessities slipping out of his hands and into the abyss. his knuckles grace your fingertips, and he can feel the cold against them—it’s spring, but the remnants of winter make itself known in the most peculiar ways. 

then you stand up, and he follows suit, wiping down the front of his pants. you’re throwing your bag over your shoulder, and the dust on the strap leaves the faintest of marks on your white uniform. he watches the way your hands dance along the curve of your arm, before landing at your side.

it’s awkward, but you’re nice to look at, so kuroo stays put. 

the other day, he heard someone call you a pushover, more or less. it was across the room, and it only danced along the shell of his ear momentarily while he worked. he didn’t think he’d retain it—but looking at you now, the memory plays behind his eyes like a faded video tape. 

the emotion that he feels is not synonymous to pity, but rather—comprehension. it would be a lie to say he knows whats going on behind your distant eyes, but perhaps it’s a lesson he can stand to learn from.

not everything has to be a battle of wits, or pride—there are some issues that deserved to be pressed, and others that don’t. he’d like to think that high school falls in the latter category, and wonders if you share the same sentiment. 

you do.

“can i walk you home?” you stare at him, a little dumbfounded. “it’s the least i could do.” 

he puts his hand forward, and you’re not sure if it’s a signal or an invitation, you look at it and then back up to him, “are you sure? it’s fifteen minutes the other way.” 

there’s a smile that tugs his lips, and it’s eerily charming, “of course.” 

because how could he pass up fifteen minutes with you?

✿ TETSUSTATION — 2021 ; do not repost, translate, share without permission, or recycle my writing & layouts. this blog does not hesitate to hardblock in that instance!

[tetsustation]

[that’s where your wrong]

:: kuroo tetsurou x gn!reader

:: comfort + 1.0k 

life is a fickle thing. a lot of it is meticulous, tolling. some days feel like weeks, others pass like a chopped collection minutes—either way, it sucks. frankly, you never cracked down on what you were here for, or what you should be doing.

the feat is heavy to hold in your hands, brought you to your knees in an attempt to shoulder the weight. often times, it’s easier to brush away the traces of existentially in favor of taking things one step at a time.

however, that’s easier said than done. especially when the steps are increasing tenfold by the day. still, when your boyfriend texts you out of the blue on a rather warm afternoon, asking if you wanted to get out for a bit, your fingers couldn’t type out a ‘yes’ fast enough. the world could wait for a while. 

“what are you thinkin’ about?” 

from beside you, kuroo flicks his glance sideways for no more than a few seconds, shifting the gear as the light turns green. you adjust to the pressure of halted inertia before processing what he said. a lot, is what you wanted to respond with, but that response didn’t sit right on your tongue. 

“its kinda hot, no?” is what you settled on. 

kuroo snickers, its airy in his nose—you note that his allergies have cleared up. the fact that he can breathe smoothly without the oppression of pollen brings you close to a smile. the blinker clicks and he turns down another road, carrying your drive with no destination.

“you can crack a window,” he notes, “child locks are off.” 

now it was your turn to laugh a bit, a full fledged grin finding its way onto your face. “lucky me,” you mutter as you roll down the window. 

throwing an arm up on distressed leather, you let your hand stick out and bounce along with the wind that rushes by. the weight of your palm seems to carry itself as you pass street signs, pedestrians, and stores you’ve familiarized yourself with over the course of just a few years. 

“cherry blossoms are out.” is all you can bring yourself to say, as the two of you pass a rather large tree—pink hues dancing around the branches like trained ballerinas. it almost makes you wish you stuck with ballet all those years ago, with any luck you’d be able to look just as pretty one day. 

due to his height, kuroo has to duck a bit from his seat to look above him, through the windshield. his mouth is slightly agape as he glances at the sight you’re awing at—all the while, trying to keep the car steady.

“that they are.” he grins, before focusing back on the road.

it’s silent again, of course the radio is traversing up and down the three rows, but other than that it’s static. the people outside provide an ambiance, and internally, you thank them. you didn’t really feel like holding up conversation anyways, not that kuroo would let you if he had any grasp at all on your current mood. 

after a few more minutes of captivation towards the open window, you glance across the middle console. while driving, kuroo looks candidly relaxed, the effect of innovation and effortless travel settling nicely on his reclined shoulders. at least one of you feels calm.

he notices you staring, and your quick to turn away. he nods off at a passing car, “talk to me, kitten.”

snorting at the borderline condescension, you cross your arms, “is it that obvious?” 

he shrugs, and your face goes warm. unfortunately, he read you like a children’s book, with letters set at a font size of twenty-five. its embarrassing, yet the weight of the world is only getting heavier, and you can tell he’s prepping some pennies in exchange for your thoughts. 

“i think time’s got it out for me.” you laugh it off, but instead his face contorts at your hesitancy—there’s a little bit of fear laced into your joke. when he once again pulls up to a red light, he takes his hand off the wheel. it laces with your own, and you stare at the interlock instead of him.

"i have no clue what i’m doing,” you think aloud.

a beat, and you look up to find him ogling you like a complex stoich problem. only when the car behind him beeps lightly does he jump back, glaring through the mirror. 

“you’re not the only one,” he says after a while. 

it almost seems dismissive, but you know it isn’t. kuroo touches your heart with empathy, you know that much by now. you know what he’s trying to say, but its not all that helpful. perhaps if you reason with him,

“it just seems like a lot of work for nothing.” and your hands fall into your lap, defeated and deflating.

“i think,” he starts ambivalently, “you should do what makes you happy.”

so maybe an eighteen year old boy isn’t all that helpful in a quarter-life crisis. still, you give him the benefit of the doubt and try to smile. he wants what’s best for you, that gesture alone is enough. presumably, he’s done—ready to let you revel in the silence for a bit longer, but he’s not. 

“no one’s expecting you to be the best, it’s overrated anyways.” the last part makes your shoulder hop in entertainment, there’s a genuine upturn of your lips. 

“right,” and you mean it, because he is right. mediocrity might not be too bad if it feels like this. if you have to sacrifice a score or two to feel the warm air on your face, and a firm hand in yours every once in a while—maybe it’s worth it.

things should always be this simple, and they can be—you just forget sometimes. 

✿ TETSUSTATION — 2021 ; do not repost, translate, share without permission, or recycle my writing & layouts. this blog does not hesitate to hardblock in that instance!

[tetsustation]

( HAIKYU MASTERLIST )

sugawara koushi (karasuno)

false alarm :: 1.1k, fluff

kuroo tetsurou (nekoma)

hang the stars :: 8.2k, period piece

that’s where your wrong :: 1.0k, comfort

reel around the fountain :: 0.8k, comfort

iwaizumi hajime (aoba johsai) 

pink lemonade :: 5.2k, rm2l

suna rintarou (inarizaki)

houseparty :: 0.4k, fluff

✿ TETSUSTATION — 2021 ; do not repost, translate, share without permission, or recycle my writing & layouts. this blog does not hesitate to hardblock in that instance!

[tetsustation]

haikyu boys that would find immense pleasure in attempting to hang miscellaneous items from your pierced ears while you worked

⤿ nishinoya, sugawara, bokuto, fukunaga, kuroo, lev, tendou, hanamaki, goshiki, atsumu, suna, hoshiumu