zarisreblogs - Tumblr blog

zarisreblogs · 14 days ago

Text

120924 ✦ GET CLOSER (TO ME)

haikyuu 𝜗𝜚 tsukishima kei x reader

it’s not about meeting finals when you’ve aced it now, when he’s sure your friendship will slowly erode in the waves of time—it’s not about meeting expectations but meeting you in places where it’s still special. where there’s a world of only just you and him.

notes 𝜗𝜚 soft!kei makes me feel things. fluff. 2.6k wc. not proofread. i want to expand on this in the future.

it was only ever about meeting finals at the finish line with you. nothing more.

tutor turned (tentative) friend, tsukishima is sitting across from you in the back corner of a cafe you had suggested. one he sees in passing but isn’t intrigued enough to go inside.

similarly, that’s how he thinks of you. just a classmate catalogued in his brain for months. nameless. you’re “the person who laughs too loudly across the room” or “the one who greets everyone like they’re old friends.” but you never paid him much attention, so he didn’t pay you much, either.

but then finals season rolled around, and you—of all people—asked him for help. out of all your friends, who you’d waved off with polite but dismissive smiles, you came to him.

your tone had been formal, but it’s easy to conclude that you’re desperate still.

when he said no at first, out of pure instinct, you added, “i’ll treat you to whatever you like.”

he raised an eyebrow. “you sure about that?”

“yeah. i know a place,” you’d replied, flashing a smile that felt oddly personal.

and so, he winds up here. gets lost immediately as soon as you flood him with your rambling, something about a game. something about the stardusts collecting your eyes, entranced on how you can love something with all that you’ve held.

he snaps out of it, swatting at you with a rolled-up notebook. “if you don’t focus, you’re definitely failing.”

“hey!” you protest, rubbing your arm where the notebook hit. “do you think i’ll actually pass, though?”

you give him a look, your eyes wide with tentative hope, like you’re not sure if you should believe him.

he sighs, setting the notebook down. “only if you shut up and let me explain this part.”

the grin that makes way through your lips is one he must avoid. it’s sweet and it’s cute and he bites back the strange irritation bubbling up in his chest.

it’s kind of unsettling how this routine has woven itself into your schedules. after months of only scraping the edges of each other’s worlds, he’s somehow found himself standing at the front arch of your life, waiting for permission to step inside.

at first, it was just an hour on weekends. but after a week, it became two hours, then three. from calculus or japanese lit to you also teaching him english because apparently you ate a large encyclopedic dictionary when you were 10.

one day, he even treated you instead of the other way around, mumbling something about “returning the favor.” though he is still too stingy if his order gets too long and still too technical when he breaks the lessons down to the simplest of concepts.

“why’d you ask me to tutor you, anyway?” he asks out of the blue.

you freeze, caught mid-bite of your carrot cake. “oh.” you’d expected this question eventually, but not like this—casual, almost offhand, yet entirely without judgment.

“uhm, i guess…” hesitant, you set your fork down. “i wanted to get to know you better.”

you see it, the imperceptible furrow of his brows.

“but i do need your help,” you added quickly, your tone softening as you shifted in your seat, the amber light of the cafe easing itself on the comforts of your skin. “it wasn’t just some excuse, if that’s what you’re thinking. you’re smart, and i figured… if anyone could help me, it’d be you.”

you held his gaze steady, golden brown meeting at the center of where you both stood in both worlds. he is already inside. he is already in motion.

“and being friends is nice, too,” you added with a small, sheepish smile.

he let out a something that’s between a scoff and a short chuckle, shaking his head.

“unbelievable.”

“yeah? you don’t mind though.” you shot back, grinning

he didn’t dignify that with a response, but the faint flush on his cheeks gave him away.

three weekends. two separate walks become one (two for tsukishima still, one to walk you home, one to retrace his steps back to his own). july saunters in and yamaguchi comes to adore you from the way you influenced him to try obscure games you’re always up to.

after practice, a shadow greets him near the gym’s exit—you, waiting. three joined walks divide unevenly when tsukishima follows your route instead of his. yamaguchi always gives you a weird smile in secret.

when you ace your finals, he convinces himself it’s over. your friendship will erode, fading into the waves of time now that your goal has been met. august quickly fades with you, your absence hits like an unexpected, quiet loss.

and on the start of second semester, somehow he does things that go against reason. he tries to finish his lunch with you, always sitting just close enough to grumble if you poke at him. he starts buying you water, a habit he brushes off with a clipped, "just don’t collapse on me." because you have the habit of forgetting to bring your own. he even calls you in the mornings, his voice drowsy but still sharp as he teases, "fix your sleep schedule already; the bags under your eyes are haunting—wake up, we have a physics quiz to refresh on.”

he still tutors you when he can, but the more he stays, the more unproductive things get. you’ve started asking about things unrelated to the lesson, distracting him with snippets of trivia or questions about his interests. at first, he’d snap back with his usual sarcasm, telling you to focus, but more often than not, he’d end up indulging you.

“how do you even know all this useless stuff?” he mutters one day, not unkindly.

“i told you,” you grin, “encyclopedic dictionary at age ten. it was delicious.”

he shakes his head, hiding the small twitch of his lips behind his hand. the next time you bring up some obscure fact, he doesn’t stop you.

and the worst part? he’s not even pissed about not getting a full score on that physics quiz.

he still walks you home, manages to picture you while you loyally admire the sunset (no, there is no camera with him, only in his eyes, he will picture you like this until it bleeds through his consciousness).

there are also those quick detours to the konbini. he treats you with cool nonchalance, like it’s breathing, and you don’t comment on how natural it’s become. he writes notes for you when you’re sick or when you miss class, the handwriting neater than usual as though he’s put more thought into it. he even visits you once, scolding you for not taking care of yourself properly but staying longer than yamaguchi or the freak duo, who’d spent most of their time bickering instead of talking with you.

he lets you sling your arm through his as you move through a crowded hallway, muttering something about “not wanting another problem in his life” if you get lost. it’s a weak excuse, but you’re careful not to tease him too much.

all these things are better left unnoticed, better left to not be questioned. still, it leaves you wondering. there is something comforting in the way he stays that it feels almost fragile to touch. one misstep might shatter whatever has been quietly building between you. so you don’t call him out. you don’t linger by the threshold and ask if you can be selfish. you know you can’t.

what you don’t tell him is this. while your phone is full of different kind of sunsets, your favourites are always on the moon. he’ll probably say something like, that’s so fucking cheesy and just dismiss it as another weird habit of yours for being poetic. but you do like the moon. always.

you do like it when he asks what you listen to as you share the half of your earbud, you do like it when he corrects your mistakes on worksheets, you do find his hair soft even just by glancing when yamaguchi eggs you on. you do like the things he does for you, more than you let on, actually.

so despite your efforts, you still find yourself reaching for him in places where it’s special. where it matters, moments of just you and him.

autumn feels like honey, hits your chest slow and achingly sweet. “why do you do all this?” you ask softly, your steps slowing until you’re almost at a standstill. “for me, i mean.”

he stops, turning to face you. the fading sunlight casts a warm glow on his face, and for a moment, he doesn’t answer.

with a slight shrug, he says, “does it matter?”

you frown, words pulling and pushing itself between your teeth. “it does to me.”

tsukishima kei is anything but direct. you’re so tempted to call him by his first name, thought of how it would sound like on your tongue. it’s making the autumn breeze feel more chilly, fingertips frigid and palm starts to sweat.

then, he mumbles, so infuriatingly quiet you almost didn’t hear it. “…i don’t want you passing by my life again.”

it’s a vague, almost evasive response, but there’s something in his tone that makes your head irrevocably altered. air suspended on your lungs. he resumes walking ahead, and you follow. soft crunches of leaves under your foot is the only thing filling the silence.

later that night, as you’re going over the notes he’d written for you, you find a small doodle in the corner of one of the pages. it’s simple, just a stick figure with glasses and a speech bubble saying, “don’t fail.” you laugh, faint and private and uncontrolled.

you wonder if he knows just how much this miniscule, unexpected act has already stitched its way into your heart. how much you admire the moon since the first day. how cheesy and hopeless you really are.

winter feels like lace and soft breaths. you feel it’s fragility in every flow of warmth, a little unstable, and far too beautiful to let go of.

the air bites at your skin, your breath fogging in short puffs as you wait outside the gym. you stomp your feet to keep the blood flowing, checking your phone for what feels like the hundredth time.

the doors finally creak open, and tsukishima steps out, slinging his bag over his shoulder. his hair is slightly damp from practice, and there’s a layer of frost in his glare when he sees you.

there’s also the pink flush in the tip of his ears. the ease in which he slides beside you as you walk together.

you admit that, wow, he really is beautiful.

he sighs, his breath misting in the air. “where’s your scarf? it’s freezing.”

“yes i know i will freeze to death. yes we are wasting time. yes and let’s go."

he shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before unwinding the scarf from around his neck. before you can protest, he steps close, wrapping it around you. his fingers brush against your skin as he adjusts it, the warmth of the scarf—and his touch—makes you freeze for a different reason.

“there,” he says gruffly. “now you won’t whine about how cold it is.”

you blink up at him, stunned. “what about you?”

“i’ll live,” he says, avoiding your gaze. “come on.”

the walk home is quiet at first, the snow crunching underfoot. you’re hyperaware of his presence beside you, the warmth of the scarf around your neck, the faint scent of him clinging to the fabric.

the snow continues to fall, catching in your hair and on your lashes. you glance at tsukishima again—he’s quiet, well, he’s always been (when you’re not letting him pick you apart), but there’s a thought that’s sandwiched between the spaces when he drifts off from afar. something that’s hard not to ask what he’s thinking.

the scarf around your neck feels too warm now, your pulse thudding every time you catch the faint scent of him clinging to it. you’re not sure if it’s the cold or the weight of his presence, but something’s making you dizzy.

“stop staring,” he mutters, not even looking at you.

you flinch, heat rushing to your cheeks. “i wasn’t.”

his gaze slides to you, skeptical. “sure.”

you bite your lip, trying to suppress your embarrassment. but then he stops walking, and you almost stumble in the sudden stillness.

“what?” you ask, your breath misting in short puffs.

he doesn’t answer right away, just turns to face you fully. his hands are still stuffed in his pockets, but there’s an uncharacteristic hesitation in his expression, like he’s teetering on the edge of something.

“you’ve got snow,” he says finally, gesturing vaguely to your hair.

“oh.” you reach up, brushing at it awkwardly. “did i get it?”

“no.” he steps closer, the world narrowing to the space between you. his hand emerges from his pocket, brushing lightly over your hair, fingertips cold but delicate against your skin.

you freeze, your breath hitching, the scarf suddenly feeling too tight around your neck.

“there,” he says softly, his hand lingering for just a second too long before dropping back to his side. but he doesn’t step back.

instead, his eyes dart down to your lips, then away, his throat bobbing as he swallows. you see it—how his fingers twitch like he wants to move, but he’s hesitating, unsure.

“tsukishi—”

“i’m gonna do something stupid,” he blurts, cutting you off.

before you can ask, he leans in, awkward and hesitant, like he’s not entirely sure of himself. his lips brush yours—soft, tentative, and just a little clumsy. it’s not perfect; you can feel the nervous edge to it, the way his nose bumps yours slightly, but it’s him, the moon favorite in many sun soaked worlds, the paragon of adoration and heartaches. and it’s enough to make your heart stutter.

he pulls back almost immediately, his face beet-red, his eyes darting anywhere but you. “that was—whatever. forget it.”

but you’re staring at him, breathless, the warmth of his lips lingering like a brand. “kei,” you say, veins buzzing and head exploding.

“don’t,” he warns, his voice uneven, he can’t even fully register that you called him by his first name. “don’t say anything.”

but you just smile, giggling as you tug gently at the scarf he gave you. “you’re so bad at this.”

“shut up,” he mutters, but there’s no bite in his voice, only the faintest hint of a smile ghosting over his lips.

when all’s been said and done. you can only look at him. he can only look at you. the silence between you feels full, brimming with all the things neither of you says, yet understands. winter may feel fragile, but as he cups your face on both his hands, chastely kisses your forehead in finality. you realize some things are worth the risk of breaking.

and this? this is one of them.

"...you called me kei."

"late reaction, kei."

"i'm going to kiss you again."

"okay, kei."

297 notes · View notes