Chapter Text
Tendou had it all planned.
He was going to sweep Ushijima Wakatoshi off his feet. Not literally—Tendou was still a gangly, emotionally unstable teenage boy with zero upper body strength—but spiritually. He was going to romance the shit out of him. He had it on good authority (read: Semi) that Trattoria Da Vicenzo was “pretty decent,” and he double-checked the showtimes for the movie theater across the street. The plan was foolproof.
Except.
Except Semi lied to his face.
“What’s the weird smell?” Tendou asked, squinting as they stepped into the dim, low-ceilinged restaurant. The lighting was greenish. Not moody-Italian green. More like dying hospital fish tank green.
“I think it’s the cheese,” Ushijima said.
Tendou glanced at him. He was holding a little bouquet. Actual flowers. Not like a cheap grocery store bundle either—there were freesias in there.
“Did you—wait—did you bring me flowers?”
“Yes,” Ushijima said, straightforward as ever. “I researched first date customs. This seemed appropriate.”
Tendou’s heart promptly fell out of his body and rolled under the wobbly hostess stand.
They got seated at a lopsided table near the back, and Tendou tried to ignore the sticky menu. And the fact that the only thing on it that wasn’t a “house specialty” seemed to be mozzarella sticks and something ominously labeled Chef’s Own Clam Pie.
Ushijima looked completely unfazed.
Tendou, meanwhile, was spiraling internally.
“Should we leave?” he asked, once the waiter wandered off to go find wine glasses for their sparkling water.
Ushijima tilted his head slightly. “Are you not enjoying it?”
“I mean,” Tendou said, laughing too loudly. “It’s got ambiance. In the way that, like, a graveyard has ambiance.”
Ushijima blinked slowly. “I like the flowers you’re holding.”
Tendou shut up.
They didn’t finish their food. The breadsticks were okay.
They made their escape and crossed the street to the movie theater. There were two movies playing. One Piece: Red (they’d both already seen it) and Robots on the Moon 5: Lunar Legacy. They picked the second one. Because it was cheaper. And luckily there was no one else in the back row.
It was so bad. It was horrific.
At some point, about thirty minutes in, Tendou leaned into Ushijima’s shoulder and whispered, “You know, we don’t have to watch this.”
And Ushijima turned his head, kissed him softly, and said, “Okay.”
They didn’t pay attention to the rest of the movie.
Tendou ended up half in Ushijima’s lap, hands in his hair, kissing him with the sort of desperate, reverent joy that made it feel like they were discovering a new planet. At one point, his hand slipped lower—fingers curling against Ushijima’s thigh, then drifting further, pressing lightly over his slight bulge.
Ushijima’s breath caught.
Tendou froze. “Too much?”
Ushijima shook his head. “It’s okay.”
Still, they didn’t go further. Not here. Not in the dark, sticky-back-row movie theater with maybe two other people somewhere in the front.
But Tendou stayed curled against him, holding his hand.
They walked back to the dorms after, quiet and glowing.
And if Tendou giggled the whole way like he was floating six feet off the ground—well, no one could blame him.
“So what do we do now?” Tendou asked, flopping dramatically onto Ushijima’s bed the next day like he wasn’t wearing his third outfit of the week specifically chosen to show off his slutty little collarbones.
Ushijima, who’d just set down his practice towel, looked up. “About what?”
“Our first date,” Tendou said. “It was an adorable disaster. We’re going to have to redo it or the boyfriend police will take me away.”
Ushijima blinked slowly. “There’s a boyfriend police?”
“Yes. They’ll knock on your door and say, ‘Excuse me sir, your emotionally damaged anime gremlin failed to romance you properly, hand him over.’”
“I see.”
Tendou rolled onto his stomach and grinned. “So I’ve decided we’re trying again.”
Ushijima nodded. “Okay.”
“And this time,” Tendou said, poking the mattress for emphasis, “I’m not asking Semi for help. That traitor tried to kill us via clam pie.”
“Good,” Ushijima said. “I didn’t enjoy the clam pie.”
So Tendou planned a new date.
He didn’t even need to research. He already knew what Ushijima liked. There was that quiet little soba place near the station they’d been to after a tournament once—simple food, clean booths, and no weird smells. They went there.
Ushijima was impressed.
“You remembered this place.”
“Of course I did,” Tendou said, pretending to study the menu like he didn’t already know he was getting the cold soba with tempura shrimp. “You said the noodles were exceptionally satisfying—and that’s legit a full sentence from you, so I figured it was meaningful.”
Ushijima’s lips twitched in a way that, if you looked at it sideways, might be a smile.
Dinner went well.
They talked. Like, actually talked. About volleyball. About school. About where they wanted to go to college and what kind of place they might want to live in someday—“Like, not together, necessarily,” Tendou had said too quickly, then turned beet red. “I just meant, like… separately but adjacent.”
Ushijima had only said, “I’d live near you.”
Tendou had nearly dropped his soba.
The movie part got skipped entirely this time. Instead, they walked back through the park, past the river where cherry blossoms used to fall in April.
“I want to kiss you again,” Ushijima said.
“You can always kiss me again,” Tendou replied, way too fast.
And they did.
Right there under a streetlamp, like a scene in a movie with actual emotional payoff, Ushijima leaned in and kissed him. It was firmer this time. Not slow and tentative like the first time at the movies. This one had some pressure behind it. A little breathless sound escaped Tendou’s throat before he could help it.
When Ushijima pulled back, Tendou blinked up at him, dazed. “Okay. Yeah. That was—yeah. You want to… come back to my room?”
Ushijima hesitated. “If that’s what you want.”
“Oh, I definitely want,” Tendou said, grabbing his hand and dragging him toward the dorms like a man possessed.
They didn’t go any further than they had before, but once they were inside—once the door was shut and they were kissing on Tendou’s bed with the lights off and his music playing faintly from the cracked speaker on his desk—Tendou’s hands wandered again.
First over Ushijima’s shoulders. Then under the hem of his shirt. Then down to his waistband.
His fingers just barely brushed the bulge in Ushijima’s jeans, testing, slow, hungry.
Ushijima tensed.
Tendou paused. “Okay?”
Ushijima swallowed. “Yes.”
“You’d tell me if it wasn’t?”
“Yes.”
Tendou kissed his neck. “Cool. Because I really like touching you.”
Ushijima didn’t answer—just pulled him closer.
Tendou sighed happily and ripped his hands away from Ushijima's jeans, and ran his hands over the divots in his boyfriend's abs instead.
They felt more emotionally stimulating anyway.
Eventually, when they’d kissed themselves breathless and tired, Tendou curled up in bed next to him, hair mussed and chest still heaving slightly, and whispered, “Second date was a success.”
Ushijima nodded. “Yes. Much better than clam pie.”
Tendou snorted. “God, never again.”
Tendou woke up still wearing his shirt but missing his pants.
Ushijima was sitting on the edge of the bed, already fully dressed, quietly tying his shoes like they hadn’t just spent half the night making out like feral teenagers with no impulse control.
Tendou stretched and groaned. “You’re so rude for being up before me.”
“I have weights,” Ushijima said simply.
“Tell them you have a boyfriend now and can’t be expected to lift things ever again.”
Ushijima glanced over his shoulder. “I can’t do that.”
Tendou flopped dramatically onto his side. “What if I told you my love language is sleeping in and yours should be enabling me.”
Ushijima finished tying his shoe. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
“You’re lucky I think your biceps are hot.”
Ushijima nodded solemnly, then leaned down to press a kiss to Tendou’s hairline before heading out the door. Tendou waited until it clicked shut before letting out a muffled shriek into his pillow.
Okay. Okay. He had a boyfriend. A real boyfriend. Who kissed him and let him get handsy and said things like I’d live near you. A boyfriend who didn’t even mind that Tendou talked too much or got weird in public or forgot to finish his sentences sometimes when he got excited.
It was almost too much.
He stayed like that—face-down in pure gay agony—for about ten minutes before dragging himself up and texting Ushijima:
miss you :(
thinking abt your bicepts :(
answer me or i'll cry
The reply came a minute later.
Do not cry. I will return soon. What are bicepts?
Tendou clutched his phone to his chest like a Victorian maiden receiving a handwritten letter and sighed. “He’s perfect.”
By the time Ushijima came back, Tendou was wearing his ridiculous matching set of cherry blossom pajamas and had made two cups of instant coffee like the domestic menace he was.
“You really came back,” he said, fake teary-eyed as he handed Ushijima the mug.
Ushijima accepted it gravely. “I said I would.”
“God, you’re so good to me. Your boyfriend privilege is about to explode.”
Ushijima sipped the coffee. “Is that a threat?”
Tendou smirked. “Only if you want it to be.”
Later that day, Tendou dragged him on a walk to the bookstore—mostly because he needed more notebooks for his manga scribbles, but also because he liked the way Ushijima carried things. His broad hands. His unbothered strength. Tendou didn’t mean to stare. He just did.
They ended up sitting outside on a bench, splitting a konbini melonpan. Tendou tore a piece and popped it into Ushijima’s mouth.
“Like it?” he asked.
Ushijima chewed thoughtfully. “It’s sweet.”
“Like me.”
Ushijima didn’t respond to that one. Just stared at him for a second, expression unreadable, and then kissed his temple.
Right there. In public. No fanfare.
Tendou flushed.
“Stop,” he muttered. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“I don’t think so,” Ushijima said.
"I think so."
There was a pause.
"Satori, what are bicepts?"
Tendou rested his head on his shoulder and smiled like an idiot for the rest of the afternoon.
They didn’t have to say it out loud, but this was definitely Date #2.
Ushijima showed up at the dorm entrance in the same pressed button-down as the first attempt, holding a single tulip this time instead of a full bouquet. He offered it out with quiet pride—still stiff, still unsure—and watched Tendou’s face for a reaction.
“Oh, you’re gonna make me cry,” Tendou said dramatically, plucking the flower from his fingers like he was being handed the moon. “You trying to kill me with sweetness, Wakatoshi? It’s working.”
Ushijima didn’t say anything. Just looked at him like he liked that it was working.
This time, the restaurant wasn’t anything special—just a corner ramen bar they’d visited as a team once after practice. No formal tablecloths. No fusion mystery food. Just chashu and gyoza and miso bowls with exactly the right balance of salt and fat.
Ushijima liked it here. Tendou could tell by how fast he finished his first bowl.
“That's a good sign,” Tendou said, twirling his chopsticks. “I feel like I got bonus points for not asking Semi for suggestions.”
“You chose well,” Ushijima replied, tone sincere as ever.
“Of course I did,” Tendou said, grinning. “You think I don’t have perfect taste in everything?”
He bumped Ushijima’s foot under the table. Ushijima didn’t move away.
They walked side by side in the direction of the theater, but their pace slowed with every block. The ramen had settled in their stomachs, but warmth lingered in Tendou’s chest. Or maybe it was nerves. Or hope. Or all of the above.
“I checked the showtimes,” Tendou said, keeping his voice casual. “It’s not looking good, movie-wise. We’ve got a romcom that’s been out since last semester, a kids’ animated sequel, and some historical drama that’s like, four hours long.”
Ushijima considered that. “The romcom,” he said.
“Of course,” Tendou said, smirking. “We can pretend we’re watching it.”
They picked the seats farthest back, farthest left. Only four other people were in the theater.
Ten minutes in, the movie had already lost its grip on Tendou’s attention.
Ushijima shifted beside him, arm brushing his. Tendou bit the inside of his cheek, then leaned in.
“Wakatoshi,” he whispered.
Ushijima turned. The glow of the screen lit his eyes, soft and unfocused.
Tendou kissed him.
Slow at first—just a press of lips, tender, patient. Ushijima’s mouth was warm, still flavored faintly like broth and ginger. He didn’t push forward, but he kissed back. Firmly. Then again.
It was just kissing until it wasn’t.
Tendou’s hand found Ushijima’s thigh. He palmed it slowly, deliberately, as their mouths moved together more hungrily. Ushijima stiffened for a second—just a second—but didn’t stop him.
Their kiss deepened. Tongue, teeth, breath.
Tendou’s palm edged upward. Not high enough to cross a line, but high enough to suggest one. The heat in his body sparked into a low, molten ache.
He whispered against Ushijima’s mouth, “Tell me if I need to stop.”
Ushijima shook his head. “I will. If I need to.”
God, that voice. Even in a whisper, it was grounding.
Tendou let his hand rest where it was, just over the seam of Ushijima’s jeans, pressure steady but noninvasive. Not pushing. Just… there.
It was enough to make Ushijima breathe differently. He exhaled through his nose, steady but heavier than usual.
Tendou smiled into the kiss. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die right here in this theater, and it’ll be worth it.
The air’s cool enough to make their fingers feel extra warm where they’re laced together. The theater’s neon sign hums behind them; the sidewalk’s mostly empty, just the hiss of a passing bike and the distant bark of a dog somewhere across campus.
Tendou is humming again—quiet this time, smug and content. Ushijima doesn’t comment. He just listens. Counts the beats. Matches his stride to Tendou’s even though his own legs are longer.
Halfway down the block, Ushijima says, “I need to tell you something.”
Tendou immediately trips over absolutely nothing. “Oh no. That tone. That was a serious tone. Are you breaking up with me? Did I accidentally cyberbully you? Did you discover an allergy to ramen?”
“No,” Ushijima says. “It’s… about dreams.”
Tendou blinks. “Like, aspirations? Because I do aspire to kiss you against every flat surface on campus—”
“Dreams when I’m asleep.”
Tendou goes silent. Then: “…Oh.”
They keep walking. Ushijima’s gaze stays straight ahead.
“Before,” he says slowly, “before I understood what I felt for you, I was having dreams. I didn’t remember the details. Only how I woke up. Fast heartbeat. Sweating. And…” He swallows. “Aroused.”
Tendou makes a tiny noise that might be a squeak.
“I thought I was sick,” Ushijima continues, steady as ever. “Or stressed. Or that something was wrong with me. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I only woke like that when I had seen you the day before. Or when you’d touched me. Or when we’d played together and I watched you spike and…” He exhales, controlled. “It kept happening.”
Tendou covers his mouth with his free hand. “Oh my god.”
“I didn’t understand,” Ushijima says. “And I didn’t want to tell you then. It felt… private. Shameful.” The word tastes strange. “I don’t feel ashamed now. I just thought you should know. Especially because—” His voice dips. “Because lately, when you touch me… it happens again. Not at night. During. I feel it before I’m ready. And I don’t want to surprise you. Or make you uncomfortable.”
Tendou stops dead.
Ushijima turns, hand still held in Tendou’s, and finds him staring up with eyes wide and glossy, the corners of his mouth twitching like he can’t decide between laughing or combusting.
“Waka,” he whispers, voice scandalized and delighted all at once, “you’re telling me you had wet dreams about me and thought it was a medical condition?”
“Yes,” Ushijima answers honestly.
Tendou doubles over, laughing into his own sleeve to keep from waking the entire dorm block. Then, almost immediately, he straightens and grabs Ushijima’s face with both hands, thumbs warm against his cheeks.
“Thank you,” he says, suddenly soft. “For telling me. That’s—God, that’s so vulnerable, you absolute tank.”
“I didn’t want you to think I was hiding it,” Ushijima says. “I want you to know what happens to me. So you can decide what you want.”
“Oh, I want, trust me,” Tendou says, eyes gone dark and bright at the same time. “But I also want you to feel safe. So… parameters. Boundaries. We can talk about those.”
Ushijima nods, relieved. “Yes. Please.”
“Okay.” Tendou takes a breath, organizing his usually-chaotic brain like it’s suddenly a checklist. “So: I like touching you. Like, a lot. You’ve probably noticed because I have hands and poor impulse control. But I also never want to push you. So any time it feels like too much, say ‘stop’ or ‘pause’ or ‘hey Satori your hand is on my dick and I’m not mentally prepared for that,’ and I’ll move. No questions asked. Okay?”
“Yes,” Ushijima says. “And for me… if I’m quiet, that doesn’t mean I don’t like it. But if I go still, or say your name, or move your hand away—”
“I bail,” Tendou finishes. “Immediately.”
“Yes,” Ushijima says again.
“Cool. Great. Ground rules acquired.” Tendou grins, feral and fond. “Also, for the record, I’m very honored to be the star of your involuntary gay puberty.”
Ushijima tilts his head. “Is that what it was?”
“Absolutely,” Tendou says solemnly. “You were going through the hottest delayed adolescence of all time.”
They start walking again. The dorms rise up ahead, warm-lit squares in the distance. Tendou squeezes their hands together.
“Hey,” he says softly, the night soaking into his voice, making it gentler. “What were they like? The dreams.”
Ushijima considers. “I never saw your face clearly. Just… pieces. Your hands. Your mouth. The way your jersey rides up when you jump. Your back when you stretch. It was never—explicit. Just… wanting. A lot of wanting. Waking up and not knowing where to put it.”
Tendou swallows hard. “That’s the most romantic, devastating thing I’ve ever heard.”
“It didn’t feel romantic then,” Ushijima admits. “It felt frightening.”
“And now?”
They step into the pool of light under the dorm awning. Ushijima stops. Looks at him straight-on.
“Now I want to learn how to want you without fear.”
Tendou’s breath catches. For a second, he looks like he might actually cry. Instead, he surges up onto his toes and kisses him—slow and careful and grateful.
When they part, he rests their foreheads together and whispers, “We can go as slow as you want. I like slow. Slow is evil and delicious.”
“I like slow,” Ushijima echoes, barely audible.
“Good.” Tendou smiles. “Because I’m going to touch you a lot—but I’m going to ask every single time.”
“Okay.”
“And sometimes I won’t ask, and I’ll just look, and you’ll know exactly what I want, and you’ll have to deal with it.”
Ushijima’s mouth curves. “I can deal with it.”
“God, marry me,” Tendou blurts, then immediately claps a hand over his mouth. “Nope! Nope. Ignore that. Delete. Pretend I didn’t—”
“I won’t delete it,” Ushijima says. “I’ll remember it.”
Tendou makes a strangled noise. “I’m going to die.”
“You won’t,” Ushijima says, guiding them toward the door. “You promised not to before.”
“Right. Sorry. Forgot I’m immortal now,” Tendou murmurs, dazed with happiness as they step into the stairwell.
They climb in companionable silence, the kind that only exists when both of you finally know the other is going to stay. At Tendou’s floor, they stop again, reluctant to break contact.
Tendou squeezes his hand one more time. “Text me when you get to your room.”
“I’m two floors up,” Ushijima says.
“Text me when you get to your room,” Tendou repeats, stern.
“Yes,” Ushijima says, perfectly obedient, and Tendou beams like the sun.
They kiss once more—quick, soft, a promise pressed to lips—and then separate, steps echoing in opposite directions down the concrete halls.
Tendou’s phone buzzes before he’s even unlocked his door.
I am at my room. Goodnight.
Tendou leans his forehead against the wood, smiling so hard it aches.
night night, wakatoshi. maybe you should dream about me on purpose this time
Three dots appear. Stop. Appear again.
I will try my best.
Tendou slides down the door to the floor, clutching the phone to his chest, laughing quietly into the empty hallway because everything, everything is finally, finally real.
And upstairs, Ushijima stares at the words on his screen, heart steady and warm, and thinks: I’m not afraid of this anymore.
Not when he’s choosing it.
Not when it’s with Tendou.