dovecaro1ine

[dovecaro1ine]

blue spring — caving in

prev: spaces inbetween | masterlist | next: remember to be patient!

when he gets to her apartment, he feels like an intruder.

he stands outside the front door, an iced coffee in hand (specially made by kuroo) and an apology in his head, carefully scripted out during his trip. soft pitter patters of slippers against old wood draw closer, and he recognizes it as her. she pauses for a second before welcoming him in. something is off.

they continue as usual. he sits across from her on the carpet, listening intently while she draws out guides to illustrate each concept for him. she's focused -- more than usual -- and he assumes it's because of how close the end is nearing.

he wonders if they'll continue this schedule when the semester ends. he hopes that, by fate, they end up in another class together, and they'll continue to meet up every thursday to talk about their friends and their bad professors and their upcoming tests. when he looks around her room, then at her, he realizes how out of reach that idea is.

she pauses for a minute so he can finish his notes, taking slow, tantalizing sips of the coffee. it's the same flavor he got her the first time, laced with lavender and cinnamon.

deep inside, there's a flicker of hope that she mentions it. that, once the studying is over, they'll have a calm and composed conversation about what happened last wednesday.

but she never does, at least not for a while. she sits in silence, her distance -- both physical and emotional -- evident in the way she looks away and doesn't say a word. the apology he crafted minutes before he arrived returns to his head, and he's about to gift it to her, heartfelt words and all, until she says something first.

"you didn't ruin anything, if that's what you're thinking." her voice wafts throughout the room and pulls him out of his thoughts. he recalls the punch he threw and the red imprint blossoming on her stepfather's jaw, the image burned into his retinas for an eternity. he still feels bad for it, but with the way she reacted to his appearance, he isn't sure if he should feel any guilt for the man. "i'm sorry if i made you uncomfortable, though."

"you didn't. not at all," he rushes. a dusting of pink coats the tips of his ears, and she finds it amusing. memories of the hallway slowly seep in. he remembers his palms on her skin and their foreheads ghosting against one another. he remembers the call from tsukishima, his concern piercing through the phone's speaker. he remembers sitting on the edge of her bathtub, an ice pack held to his face while she tended to his torn knuckles in silence, and he questions what it meant to her.

the physical space between them seems to grow the more the quietude drags on. she can't find it in herself to look at him any longer, in fear of making another impulsive decision.

her life has been thrown off balance, she realizes. no longer is there solely an overwhelming drive for success, so much so that it renders her entire being secure and alone. another factor has been implemented into her daily life. she doesn't know how to handle it.

she thinks of the years spent devoted to her studies, consisting of late nights in libraries and incoherent notes that only made sense to her. she thinks of her passion for art that had been slowly sharpened and refined until it was no longer a skill, but a weapon against herself and her well-being. she thinks of the dreams of the little girl trapped within the confines of her heart, who yearned every day to separate from what she had grown into and become something more. she wonders where he would fit into that, should she allow him to, and if he'd willingly bear the burden of her being.

the gentle thump of her heart against her chest escalates when she looks up to find him staring back. there's something resolute in his eyes as if he's come to a conclusion. a moment of rationality slips through -- she needs to catch up. she needs to restore her former fervor and pick up the pieces she'd left behind, even if it means spending hours upon hours dedicated to work once more. but kageyama tobio has proven to be the strongest opposition to the rules she had crafted for herself since her youth.

so she caves in.

the call of his name from her lips shifts the air around them. her coffee is long forgotten, the condensation wetting the fluff of her carpet. there's another pause before she asks him why he wouldn't mind, although she knows the answer already. she just wants to hear it from him. just to make sure.

"because i like you. a lot."

a small crack of a smile forms on her face, and he finds it much too infectious. he doesn't know why he's so drawn to her. he doesn't know why his hands gravitate towards her waist, allowing him to lean forward and kiss her again, without a bloodied nose and marred knuckles. he doesn't know why he can't break away from her, even with her hands loosely hanging on his shoulders.

it's still instinctual. but this time, she doesn't mind it as much.

𝜗𝜚 yn was genuinely so upset at herself for the whole week of no contact because she's not used to being so vulnerable for one person. she was trying to convince herself that it was wrong this whole time (bc she had goals, both artistic and academic) but clearly she can only put up a fight for so long bc kageyama was so insistent on disrupting the routine she had grown so accustomed to

𝜗𝜚 bokuto genuinely does believe they had sex in the hallway (it's his way of showing support)

𝜗𝜚 yachi and yamaguchi debriefed the entire situation in tsukishima's room (he complained outwardly, but he's rlly invested) and they're so happy but also so shocked bc of how much kags was willing to do for her despite how off-putting yn was at times LOL

𝜗𝜚 post makeout yn revealed that she had not in fact kissed anyone before bc of her grudge against herself (swearing off romance in exchange for her success yada yada) and kags genuinely was so shocked

𝜗𝜚 he did go home afterwards bc he felt bad for staying so long

𝜗𝜚 yn definitely wanted to ask him to stay the night (because it felt right, but in all honesty she's very clueless when it comes to situations like these) but she decided not to because it was just so out of character for her

𝜗𝜚 kageyama will never stop thinking about this tutoring session like ever he is so smitten with yn and he definitely feels very achieved. all he wants is for her to be happy </3

taglist: @mfcherry @eggyrocks @scxrcherr @yuminako @girlkissersco @diorzs @causenessus @kyo-kyo1 @k0z3me @shironagi @lovingvi @bunninio @hisfuture @lilchubbyyy @gsyche @ghostreader0307 @fiannee @minimarkive

[dovecaro1ine]

blue spring — spaces inbetween

prev: wonder | masterlist | next: caving in

the scene is familiar to him, although it's a bit more crowded. he's already drifted apart from his group to avoid whatever antics they might pull off tonight, and he's beyond glad he did so early, because he doesn't want to imagine traversing through the museum without the peace he's obtained now.

each room is lined with different works, all of which from artists he doesn't quite recognize. there's an installation with different fruits, and he wonders if she's into that kind of artwork. eventually, he reaches the end of the building, and is met with an arrangement of all the canvases he carried twenty four hours ago.

she meets him at the entrance rather than the end of the hall this time with her hands clasped at her back, a sign of her anxiety. "i'm glad you came tonight," she murmurs, and it's barely audible over the hundreds of voices floating around them.

"i'm glad, too."

without question, she guides him throughout her exhibit. her explanation of each piece flows out naturally, and he's caught by surprise every time she explains the meaning of every image, the gruesome scenes and strong lines finally making sense. when they arrive at his favorite piece, she's silent, as if reminiscing over the memories she'd imbued within the paint. he doesn't pry for any explanation. all he can tell her is that he always preferred it over her other works. that, no matter how often he was exposed to her skill and talent, he always thought back to her two-headed lambs. when she cracks a smile at his remark, a sense of accomplishment washes over him. he can't fight the upturn of his own lips in response.

the moment is gentle, and as the seconds pass by slowly, he can't tear his eyes away from her, nor can she look away from him. he wonders if he would be here if she wasn't tutoring him, and as soon as the thought crosses his mind, he dispels it.

the call of her name from the other side of the room pulls her out of her trance. his eyes follow hers, and together, they see a man kageyama is unfamiliar with approaching them with an unsteady amount of haste. seemingly, his presence shakes her, given by the tension that seeps into her muscles and her twitching hand.

"you haven't been answering my calls," is the first thing the man says. she doesn't respond. "i don't see why you try so hard to leave me out of your life. there's no need for that attitude."

"please leave," she quips back sternly, her voice just barely wavering. her stare is harsh — harsher than he's ever seen — but it doesn't do much to mask the fear riddled in her bones. the guy inches closer to the pair, and on instinct, kageyama's fist meets his jaw, the impact smooth and clean. her head whips around to face him, her mouth agape in shock. it's an odd scene — her stepfather, who she had desperately tried not to see, hunched over in the middle of her exhibit, and the boy she'd grown a little too attached to standing beside her with red knuckles. there's a pause in the air before kageyama is the one keeling over, and while she doesn't quite see what happened, she can tell by the drops of crimson falling onto the concrete beneath him that it isn't good. before the staff can rush in, she finds herself dragging him away into whatever hallway she can find first, her grip on his wrist tight and her footsteps heavy.

she doesn't know what to say. she isn't sure if she's supposed to be upset at him, or glad he stuck up for her, but all she can focus on is the blood spilling out of his nostrils. endless apologies fall from his mouth while she struggles to find something to clog up his nose, and in a panicked haze, she slots her lips against his in an attempt to diminish his qualms. it's violent, and messy, and far from what she's used to doing. small, warm droplets fall onto her cheek, and she can't really find it in herself to be disgusted at the sensation.

"i'm sorry," she whispers when she pulls away. "i just needed you to calm down."

he doesn't know what to say, and neither does she. the ache in his chest rises again, and the dizziness returns to his head. when the bleeding finally stops (before she can find anything to seal it), he finds himself going in for another one, this time with his blistered palms holding onto her face and with more intent.

for the final time, she tells herself it isn't right for her to be attached. but when he kisses her again, all the rules she had constructed for herself dissolve, and maybe, she decides, she can be attached to him.

taglist: @mfcherry @eggyrocks @scxrcherr @yuminako @girlkissersco @diorzs @causenessus @kyo-kyo1 @k0z3me @shironagi @lovingvi @bunninio @hisfuture @lilchubbyyy @gsyche @ghostreader0307

[dovecaro1ine]

The most frustrating experience as a writer is having a clear vision in your mind of the story you want to tell but being too afraid to put pen to paper for fear of failing to do the story justice. I’m so scared that my actual execution will fail to meet my expectations that I’m paralysed to even start.

[dovecaro1ine]

“Maybe all that happened to me was a slow and great dissolution? And that this is my struggle against that disintegration: trying now to give it a form? A form shapes the chaos, a form gives construction to the amorphous substance — the vision of an infinite piece of meat is the vision of the mad, but if I cut that meat into pieces and parcel them out over days and over hungers — then it would no longer be perdition and madness: it would once again be humanized life.”

— Clarice Lispector, The Passion According to G. H.

[dovecaro1ine]

I grew up in a house where there was yelling

There was anger

There was rage

There was never an apology

"I love you" was supposed to patch up the pain

Instead of actual love

There was just an assumption that life could go on as it was

And it always did

But I never felt the same afterwards

I never was the same.

I hope one day the worst thing I fight about with you

Is where to go for dinner

I hope that when we argue we don't shout or talk

Instead we listen

Instead we love

And I hope that I never say words like the ones that were said to me

Because I could never bear to do to you what's been done to me

- breaking the cycle

[dovecaro1ine]

𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦

[dovecaro1ine]

୨⎯ "私が経験したことはすべて夢のようなものです" ⎯୧

- ͙۪۪̥˚┊❛my eyes will forever be sparkling❜┊˚ ͙۪۪̥◌