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Kintsugi

Word Count: 11,370

Romance, Drama, Angst, Fluff, 5+1

Summary: Five times Kentarou's teammates hassled him about his crush on Hitoka Yachi, and the one time he listened.

Here’s the story I wrote for the Seijoh Big Bang! Enjoy some KyouYachi <3 Be sure to also go give some love to my partner @omilette1402′s beautiful art!

“You’re staring again.”

Kentarou’s cheeks immediately blazed bright pink. Though the accusation had already been voiced, he still snapped his gaze to the floor, as if that would change the fact that he had been staring. But he had been staring—quite intently, in fact. He couldn’t help it. Ever since he saw her standing on the sidelines, Kentarou couldn’t help but find his gaze drawn to Karasuno’s manager-in-training.

“Aw, does Mad Dog have a little crush?” Tooru cooed. The condescending lilt to his voice made Kentarou scrunch up his face in displeasure. Kentarou ripped the sweaty towel from around his shoulders and flung it at his captain, who ducked the projectile with a cackle. It collided with the leg of the nearby metal bench with a wet slap! Kentarou hid his burning red face behind a hand, but no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t escape the smug smirks of his teammates.

Crush was far too much a word to refer to what he was feeling. Kentarou Kyoutani, pining after some girl he’d spotted across the gym? Pfft. Absolutely preposterous. She was just attractive. That was all.

Yet when Shigeru elbowed him in the ribs and snickered, “Pretty cute, isn’t she?” he felt a white-hot streak of jealousy pulse through his veins. His head whipped around to fix a seething glare on the boy, but Shigeru just preened under the hostility. “Oh? Did I touch a nerve?”

“Ya better watch out,” Issei chortled, cracking an eye open to peer up from the floor; he was stretched out on his back with his hands tucked behind his head. Kentarou had thought he’d passed out for a short nap, in all honesty. “Shigeru’s got his eye on that cute little manager. Didn’t you see the way he threw that ball earlier to get her attention?”

“Guilty as charged,” Shigeru snickered with a self-satisfied head waggle. He was staring right at Kentarou with that stupid giddy grin; the bastard totally knew he was getting under Kentarou’s skin and was quite happy about doing it. He probably only thought of the girl as a passing fancy, but he was willing to act like it was more just to piss Kentarou off.

“Hey, do I count as a witness to murder if I didn’t actually see it?” Yūtarō frowned and made to turn around. Probably a good thing, too, because if looks could kill, the glare that Kentarou was giving Shigeru right now would have him in a puddle of blood on the floor.

“You’re all shitty,” Kentarou growled and looked away from Shigeru before his blood pressure rose too much and he actually did do something. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Oh? So you don’t have any problem if I go talk to her?” Shigeru said. As he went to stand up, Kentarou was already on his feet; he grabbed Shigeru’s shoulder and forced it down, making the boy fall back on his rump with a yelp.

Scowling thunderously, Kentarou marched across the gym before he even realized what he was doing.

The girl had her back turned and was chatting idly with Shouyou Hinata, when Kentarou approached. Shouyou saw Kentarou first, and he regarded him with an expression that was halfway between an awkward smile and a concerned grimace.

“Eh? Shouyou, what’s wrong?” the girl squeaked, not realizing that Kentarou was looming behind her. She looked over her shoulder, looked at Shouyou, and then did a double-take. Her face flushed bright pink, and the blush began to crawl slowly up Kentarou’s neck, because gosh was she cute.

“Is everything all right?” Shouyou asked with a suspicious raise of his eyebrow.

Kentarou didn’t appreciate the suspicious tone of his voice, but he couldn’t exactly blame him for being perturbed. Kentarou already had a resting bitch face, but his glowering got ten times worse when he was embarrassed. He tried to force his facial muscles not to pull into a frown.

“Everything’s fine,” Kentarou answered simply. He nodded with his chin to the girl, then said, “I just wanted to talk.”

There were a few hoots and hollers from across the gym. Kentarou discreetly looked over his shoulder to where his teammates were all huddled as close as they could get without being obvious. He didn’t know if they were close enough to actually hear the conversation or if they were just being assholes, but Kentarou’s ears still burned either way. He looked back to the two Karasuno members, and Shouyou was looking at the manager girl in earnest. Will you be okay? he was asking her silently. Kentarou felt bitterness stir in his stomach. Did he really look that scary?

“I’ll be fine, Shouyou,” the girl reassured him, and he nodded before obediently scampering off to go bother one of his other team members. She looked back at Kentarou with a sheepish smile, then said, “We haven’t been introduced yet, have we? I’m Hitoka Yachi. I’ll be taking over for Kiyoko- chan as manager next year.”

Cute cute cute cute cute was the only thing that Kentarou could seem to think at the moment. Hitoka stared at him expectantly, and her expression didn’t change despite the fact that it took far too long than was socially acceptable for him to reply.

“I’m Kentarou Kyoutani,” he said gruffly when his brain finally resumed working.

“Ah. You’re the one they call ‘Mad Dog,’” she realized, and he was a little mortified to see a flicker of uncertainty pass over her features. He looked down at his feet; if his ears were burning any hotter, they would burst into flames. Ugh, he should have known that his stupid grouchy and admittedly violent tendencies would get him into trouble. He didn’t think it would be with girls, but here he was.

She must have seen how hurt he was because she quickly ducked her head down to peer into his face, her smile apologetic.

“Oh, I’m sorry. That’s unfair of me. You were just so intense out there on the court! It’s just hard to turn that kind of impression off,” she laughed. Kentarou’s gaze slowly crawled back up, and when he met her eyes, he found them genuine. Ugh. She was so sweet that he was probably going to end up with a mouthful of cavities by the time this conversation was over.

She quirked her eyebrows a little when she cooed, “I’ll get a neck cramp, craning down like this… Won’t you lift your head to talk to me properly?”

Kentarou’s head snapped up immediately. Fuck, he’d rip the moon and the stars from the sky and lay them at her feet if she but asked.

Hitoka looked a little taken aback at how eagerly he complied, but her wide-eyed gape of surprise quickly morphed back into that saccharine smile that had Kentarou’s heart playing his ribs like bongo drums. She clasped her hands behind her back as she smiled up at him, doing this cute little thing where she slowly turned her shoulders back and forth.

“So, you wanted to talk to me?” Did she just flutter her eyelashes at him?

A cold flush of panic shot through Kentarou’s blood. Shit, he had said that, hadn’t he? How could he have been so stupid? He didn’t know what he wanted to talk about!

Kentarou just pressed his lips into a tight, thin line while he wracked his brain for a socially acceptable topic of conversation. This is why he didn’t talk to girls. He didn’t know what to talk about. Just as the silence had stretched to the limit of being suspect, his frantic brain finally managed to latch on to something useful.

“I wanted to see if the other manager was okay,” he blurted. When Hitoka raised an eyebrow at him, he felt nervous sweat bloom across his skin in the wake of the blush beginning to spread out from his face and neck. He quickly elaborated, “She got hit by that spike…”

“Oh! Yes!” she cried in recognition. Maybe it was his imagination, but she seemed a little disappointed by him asking, for reasons he couldn’t fathom. Why would she be disappointed that someone was asking after her potentially injured friend?

Hitoka glanced over her shoulder to where the black-haired girl—Kiyoko, he recalled dimly—was calmly assessing the bruise on her arm while two of the Karasuno members fawned nervously over her.

“It hurt, but she’ll be all right!” she chirped and looked back at him with a smile. “It was nice of you to come over here and ask. Are you all wondering about her? Is that why your team is all clustered over there?”

She pointed past him, and Kentarou looked over his shoulder to see that his gaggle of teammates had crept closer. Tooru even had the audacity to wave and throw him a wink. As his blood pressure surged to nearly volcanic intensity, making all the veins in his neck and forehead bulge, his face contorted into an exasperated scowl. If they even came a millimeter closer, he was going to snap and beat the ever-living shit out of all of them, starting with his prissy-ass captain.

It took a lot of mental fortitude, but Kentarou pulled his expression into something less frightening before looking back at Hitoka.

“Sure, something like that,” he grumbled. Despite how annoying they were with their eavesdropping antics, at least their presence was someone useful. It was a much better reason for approaching Hitoka than simply being infatuated.

Hitoka just let out a pleased hum, and Kentarou sensed that the conversation was coming to its natural close. He wasn’t going to try to prolong it; he would end up embarrassing himself after all if he tried. But he didn’t want to leave it with this awkward silence. So, right as she opened her mouth to probably bid him farewell, he quickly muttered, “‘M glad it wasn’t you. That got hit, I mean.”

Hitoka snapped her mouth shut, her eyes widening and her cheeks pinkening. She blinked as she processed his quiet admission; then, she beamed happily.

“You’re sweet.”

Sweet? She, the epitome of angelic purity, was calling him “sweet”? It was almost audacious.

Poor Kentarou’s brain simply couldn’t process the statement, so he just stared at her in stunned silence. If Hitoka noticed the fact that she had short-circuited him with a mere two words, she didn’t act like it. And it didn’t really matter if she had, for in the next moment, Kiyoko was calling out to her to inform her that the team was leaving.

“Ah! Okay, I’m coming!” Hitoka shouted to her, then turned back around to give Kentarou one last smile. “It was nice to meet you. I guess I’ll see you around?” She gave him a little wave with her fingers and then she was gone, flitting away like a fairy. It was a full five seconds before the connection between his brain and his body reconnected.

And it was only to utter a breathy, “See you around…”

“Aw, why so glum, Ken-chan?” Tooru cooed as he slung his arm around Kentarou’s shoulders, hooking his elbow around his neck so he could tug him close.

Kentarou scowled at the gesture and tried to escape the grip, but Tooru Oikawa was stronger than he looked; he easily resisted Kentarou’s attempts to wiggle free while he stooped down to peer into his face. He had that smirk on his face that always made Kentarou want to punch it in—eyes lidded, lips slightly curled, oozing pretentiousness. Finally, Kentarou managed to grab Tooru’s forearm and wrench it off his neck, allowing him to duck out from underneath Tooru’s arm.

He hopped a few steps backward, quite intent on getting as far away from his captain as possible, only to be met with Hajime’s imposing figure.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the dark-haired young man huffed, muscles on his forearms bulging as he crossed his arms over his chest. Kentarou growled in response, literally hunching over with the weight of his disappointment and annoyance with the situation. His eyes skipped in every direction, but each time, he was met with the smug smirks of his teammates. He was surrounded.

Why was Kentarou “glum”? Because he was forced to socialize with his dumbass teammates, that’s why.

The team had finally gotten sick of Kentarou’s attitude. With the Spring Interhigh National Tournament Miyagi Prefecture Qualifying Rounds swiftly approaching, teamwork had been more of an emphasis than ever. Well, teamwork didn’t exactly jive with Kentarou’s showboating tendencies; after he’d gone and stolen yet another set from Yūtarō at practice this afternoon, Tooru had decided that enough was enough. After giving him the fiercest scolding yet (which, both of them knew didn’t do jack shit), Tooru had requested for the coach to end practice early so they could go out into town for a “team bonding exercise.”

“Look, the sooner you just resign yourself to the situation, the sooner we can get this over with,” Issei hummed, holding up his index finger in a matter-of-fact gesture. Kentarou responded in kind by using both his middle fingers to flip him off.

“So vulgar,” Takahiro tutted and clicked his tongue in distaste. “How do you ever expect to get a girlfriend, acting like that?”

“And speaking of girlfriend…” Shigeru chortled before Kentarou’s cheeks could even finish turning red. “Look who it is!”

They all turned in the direction he was pointing to see Hitoka Yachi walking out of a nearby shop with several of the Karasuno first-years.

Kentarou’s heart slammed to a halt in his chest. He hadn’t seen her since the end of June when their teams had faced off at the Interhigh Preliminaries. He definitely hadn’t forgotten her, though. Actually, he’d thought about her far more than was normal after such a brief encounter—every time Karasuno was brought up in conversation, in fact. Just as he’d made an impression on her with his fierce aura, she’d made one on him thanks to her overwhelming sweetness. Kentarou had a feeling that her impression of him wasn’t quite as lasting, though.

That’s why he cringed when Tooru cupped a hand to his mouth to shamelessly shout down the street, “ Yoohoo ~! Karasunooooooooo!”

“I’ll kill you,” he hissed in warning to Tooru, who looked entirely unrepentant. It was too late for any of Kentarou’s threats, however.

Kentarou cringed again when he heard Shouyou call back in greeting, followed by the unmistakable sound of approaching footsteps. He couldn’t bring himself to turn around; instead, he tried to activate some remote part of his brain that would allow him to phase through the ground and let it swallow him whole just so he didn’t have to be in this situation.

Try as he might, Kentarou was not meant to unlock superhuman abilities today. In fact, the only innate power he seemed to possess was that of sensing the space Hitoka occupied. It made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, like he could literally feel the air warping to accommodate her petite frame. He could feel the ripples of her sweet voice vibrating the molecules as she cheerfully informed Tooru that they were out for their weekly karaoke night and had stopped at a convenience store for some snacks. When it thrummed Kentarou’s eardrums, it was like a siren song, calling out to him oh-so-sweetly. Like a black hole was created where she moved, Kentarou found himself utterly compelled to look, as if his eyes were being pulled by an impossibly strong magnet. His body moved of its own accord, turning slowly, a slave to Hitoka’s gravity.

And when his eyes finally landed upon her, his breath lodged like a stray asteroid in his throat. She wasn’t listening to Tooru’s droning prattle. She was looking— smiling —at Kentarou.

“Yep, we’ve taken on the nigh-impossible task of domesticating our Mad Dog.” Tooru was suddenly at Kentarou’s side, throwing his arm around his shoulders and ruffling his close-cropped hair.

Kentarou barely noticed; he was too busy being entranced by the way that Hitoka’s lips moved as she talked, the way her shiny blonde hair bounced as she nodded, the way her cheeks rosied as her mouth pulled into a bright smile. He was vaguely aware that she and Tooru were conversing eagerly about something, and if he had been paying even a lick of attention, the fact that everyone’s eyebrows were slowly beginning to raise would have sent alarm bells blaring in his head.

“So, Kyoutani-san,” she was addressing him suddenly, her bright brown eyes glittering excitedly— at him. “Do you want to?”

Kentarou nodded instantly. He had no idea what he was supposedly wanting to do, but he righteously didn’t care. Disagreeing with Hitoka was simply out of the question.

At his affirmation, Hitoka cried out in joy and clapped her hands together.

“Oh, this is going to be so much fun! All of us doing karaoke together!”

Wait. What?

And that’s how he found himself trapped in a private karaoke room with half of his team and half of the Karasuno team, squeezed into a leather booth between Shigeru and Shinji. He shifted uncomfortably as Shigeru flopped into him while cracking up at Yūtarō’s stammery rendition of a shoujo anime’s title theme. Every brush of Shigeru’s jumping shoulder against his made Kentarou’s blood pressure rise a little more, until his face was a bright red and the veins were bulging on his forehead. He gritted his teeth and forced the anger down, though he longed to just explode and flip this stupid table so he could go home. He didn’t dare make a scene.

Not when Hitoka seemed to be enjoying herself so much.

She sat across from him between Kei Tsukishima and Tadashi Yamaguchi. She was clapping along to the beat of the upbeat pop song, her eyes scrunched up and her smile wide with mirth. The lowlights of the room were just bright enough to illuminate the pink dust of happy blush glowing on her cheeks. When Yūtarō finally finished the last verse and scurried off the small stage to try and hide himself in the booth, she patted his arm reassuringly as he passed, chirping that he did a wonderful job. Just looking at her, so friendly and carefree, made Kentarou’s anger bubble away.

If she could acclimate so easily to being around a bunch of intimidating rival volleyball players, did that mean Kentarou actually stood a chance?

“Okay, Ken-chan, you’re up!”

Kentarou squawked in alarm as Issei and Takahiro popped up on the backside of the booth and grabbed him underneath his armpits, unceremoniously hauling him to his feet. Kentarou growled at them—prompting Kei to scoff under his breath, “My, he really is like a dog.”—and slapped their hands away. Both of them pranced away laughing, leaving Kentarou bristling and on edge again.

As if they hadn’t embarrassed him enough already by making him do this, Hajime decided to channel his rare mischievous streak; he cupped a hand to his mouth and called out, “Why don’t you sing a duet with the lady?”

“Eh?” Kentarou and Hitoka cried at the same time, their heads whipping around to look at Hajime with wide, owlish eyes. They immediately snapped their heads back to gawk at one another, and it made Kentarou feel a little better to see that the shade of red spreading over her face probably matched the one on his. Oh, part of Kentarou relished the opportunity, but part of him wanted to go on a murderous rampage…

“Hey, if he doesn’t want to, I’ll sing a duet with you, Yacchan,” Shigeru suddenly crooned, leaning across the table to bat his eyes at the girl.

That was all the motivation Kentarou needed; rather than attempt to climb over Shinji, he just stepped onto the table, stooping to keep his head from hitting the low ceiling. Hitoka’s mouth was already gaping in shock, but it dropped even more when he extended his hand for her with a grunt. She looked to her left, at the three boys blocking her way out of the booth, and then back to the proffered hand. She gulped, then shakily slipped her hand into Kentarou’s.

When he wrapped his fingers around hers, it struck him how small she was compared to him; if he squeezed too hard, he would probably shatter her dainty little fingers like porcelain. Yet she trusted him with his own strength, looking up at him with a coy expression as he gripped her hand tight—but not too tight—to help her climb up onto the table. She straightened up with a shy smile; she was so much shorter than him, the crown of her head resting just underneath his chin under normal conditions. With him stooping, she could peer up into his face, which was tantalizingly close thanks to the little space the table offered to stand upon. If she moved a certain way, her lips could quite easily brush across the line of his jaw.

The image sent steam billowing out of Kentarou’s ears. He hastily grabbed her by the shoulders, spun her around, and marched her down the length of the table. The wood groaned under their steps but held as they picked their way around half-empty glasses and discarded plates of food. When they reached the end, he moved around her to step down, then wordlessly held out his hand for her again. This time, he didn’t look at her, because he didn’t know what he would do if he did. It was already a half-vision in his mind, she a princess and he a knight helping her down from a gilded carriage…

The soft thomp of her feet hitting the tatami mat floor banished the image from his mind before it could fully materialize; Kentarou wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or grateful for that.

“Thank you, Kyoutani-san,” she murmured with a shy smile.

“S’nothing,” he mumbled while turning away from her to hide the blush creeping across his cheeks. “Was easier than having everyone move…” He could feel his ears burning, and he stiffly walked away from her before she could catch a glimpse of them turning red. He walked up to the karaoke station and awkwardly picked up the microphone, grimacing.

“Have you ever done karaoke before?” Hitoka asked when she appeared at his side, taking another microphone in her hand.

“No.” Of course he hadn’t. Did this really seem to her like something Kentarou would do? When he glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes, she had a little grin on her face that screamed, “I knew it! This’ll be fun!”

“Okay. I’ll try and pick something really popular,” she said and took the small remote to the karaoke display so she could begin scrolling through the options.

“You mean something even I would know?” he chuckled. It was cute, the way she tried to say things in such a way as not to offend him.

She blushed and smiled wryly at his comment, then gave a half-hearted little shrug.

“I just want you to enjoy it,” she murmured, her voice so small that Kentarou barely heard it over the sudden outburst from the tables behind them. Someone had cracked a joked while Shouyou was taking a sip of his drink, and he’d erupted into laughter, prompting soda to shoot out of his nose; he was now doubled over hacking his poor lungs out while the rest of the guys were busting their guts with maniacal laughter.

But Kentarou did hear her, and he was so warmed by her consideration that he didn’t even realize he’d said his response out loud.

“I’ll enjoy anything as long as it’s with you.”

As soon as he realized he’d uttered the thought aloud, he wished he could suck it right back into his mouth. In the next instant, he prayed that she hadn’t heard it over the other guys howling in the background. He couldn’t really tell; it looked like she froze for a split second, but with all the commotion and the lights dancing above their head, it was hard to tell. If she did, she pretended she hadn’t, throwing a sunny smile on her face and resuming her scroll through the song list.

She settled on a classic rock song—something Kentarou did know, given that they still played it to death on the radio even a decade later—and then turned to him.

“Ready?”

I’ll never be, Kentarou thought, but what came out of his mouth was a soft, “Yeah.”

The music started to play, and they raised the microphones to their mouths, and then they started to sing. And as the smile began to tug at the corners of Kentarou’s lips, he thought that maybe a little team bonding wasn’t so bad after all.

It stung. Not just the cold wind on Kentarou’s face as he walked out of the Sendai City Gymnasium—though the chilly October breeze was particularly biting today—but also the sharp thorn of disappointment piercing his heart. Soon his eyes were stinging, too, welling up with tears of frustration, followed by his bottom lip as he dug his teeth down into it nearly hard enough to draw blood. With each passing second, Kentarou stung more and more, until it felt like his entire body was being attacked by a horde of angry hornets.

Utterly restless, he’d fled the post-game huddle almost immediately. His emotions were hard to manage on a good day; with adrenaline still singing in his blood and self-loathing bubbling up within him like a geyser ready to burst, Kentarou didn’t trust himself to be around anyone right now. One wrong word, even one with good intentions, could set him off the deep end.

He didn’t need to take his anger out on his teammates. It wasn’t anybody’s fault that they lost to Karasuno in the semifinals of the Spring Interhigh Qualifiers. That just made it a harder pill to swallow—the fact that they did all they could, yet it still hadn’t amounted to enough.

Kentarou balled his fists up tightly as he itched with the urge to punch something, anything. He knew that hitting something—possibly something that could break his fingers—wouldn’t change the outcome. But he’d always struggled to cope when his emotions were this strong, simmering right underneath the surface of his skin; it made him feel like an exposed wire, raw and sparking, that had to discharge the electricity or risk catching fire. With the stinging in his skin, he already felt like he was burning. He didn’t need more.

But, he caught himself right in the middle of stomping up to a wall and yanking his arm back to strike it. He stopped midway, and for a second, his curled and trembling fist just hovered in the air. Then, slowly, he extended his arm and uncurled his fingers to press his hand against the cool stone. His fingers ached from how hard he’d been clenching them, and the coolness of the rock felt good against it. Like it spread through his blood somehow, the soothing chill traveled up his arm and into his chest, slowly propagating to chase that awful stinging sensation away.

Kentarou didn’t know if it was an improvement, really. Now, he just felt hollow.

He should probably go back inside. His coach had mentioned something about a ramen shop, but… Kentarou really didn’t feel like going. He should grab his things and bounce. He didn’t really feel like going home, but he didn’t feel like staying here, either. Kentarou knew that he wasn’t the only one being eaten alive by their defeat, but “comfort” wasn’t exactly in his dictionary. He’d probably just make things worse by saying something stupid, letting the frustration get the better of him and lash out. Before, he didn’t much care. But it seemed the wily members of his team had tamed the beast in him after all, at least a little bit, for he cared now.

Just as he was about finished psyching himself up to walk back into the building, the double doors swung back open, and someone scurried out.

“Ahh! It’s so cold!” Hitoka squealed, stopping in her tracks to pull her sunny yellow jacket from around her waist and wiggle into it. She managed to get one sleeve on fine, but the other danced just out of reach. “Oh, come on! Why can’t I—?”

Kentarou had to laugh at the way she spun around in circles, trying to chase the jacket sleeve that seemed to be mischievously evading her. She was so distracted by her inability to put on her jacket that she didn’t notice him approach. He deftly caught her by the elbow, making her come to a halt with a surprised gasp; his other hand grabbed the flapping side of her jacket and held it up so he could guide her arm through the sleeve.

“Ah! Kyoutani-san, thank you!” she cried, looking both grateful and mortified.

Kentarou just chuckled while folding down the collar of her sweater down.

“So giddy that you can’t even put your jacket on right? That’s a new one,” he teased. She was giddy; he could tell just by looking at her. Hoka glowed with happiness, like she’d soaked up the aura of victory from her teammates and taken it all on herself. Kentarou would have thought it would have made him bitter, but it didn’t. Seeing her so beside herself with glee over her team’s triumph… It made him a little happy, too.

“Heh, it’s a good thing that I ran into you out here, or I might have been stuck here all night!” she giggled as she turned to him. “I probably would have frozen to death; it’s freezing!”

Even with the woolen sweater, she was clearly still cold; she pulled the flaps of it tight across her chest, then folded her arms to tuck her hands underneath her armpits with a soft shiver. It wasn’t hard to imagine why. She was such a tiny thing; she barely had any meat on her to insulate her from the brisk autumn chill. With a soft smile, Kentarou adjusted his stance to try and use his larger frame to shield her from the wind. He’d meant to do it on the sly, but Hitoka must have noticed, for she smiled appreciatively up at him.

“So… What are you doing out here all by yourself?”

She really did have such a nice way of saying things, he mused with a small smirk. So careful to word things so as not to accidentally insult anyone. And she was so quick to extend the offer of comfort to someone she’d only met a handful of times; she easily could have just bid him farewell and resumed going about her business. But instead, she noticed that Kentarou was out here all alone and probably upset about what had just happened, and she couldn’t bring herself to just walk away. That level of consideration was hard to come by—at least, it was in Kentarou’s experience.

She really was a good person. Way too good for the likes of Kentarou. She didn’t need to get involved with the likes of him, an emotionally volatile asshole who couldn’t let anyone in anymore. Because every time he tried, he ended up breaking them. He was simply too rough, too unpolished, too intense. He’d learned that it was better to keep them all at arm’s length. They didn’t get hurt, and in turn, neither did he.

Close enough to stand at the edge, but far enough away that she couldn’t cut herself on the jagged shards of broken glass that was Kentarou’s heart—that was where Hitoka Yachi needed to stay. It was already too close for comfort, to be honest. One bad move on his part, and she’d tumble right on in.

He should have never let those stupid bastards goad him into talking to her. He should have known better. It wouldn’t end well, this unspoken thing they had going on.

It stung. It stung, the realization that Kentarou couldn’t, shouldn’t have her—and far worse than losing the match. But Kentarou was glad to bear it, if only Hitoka didn’t have to.

“I just needed to step outside for a minute,” he answered evasively, averting his gaze back to the gymnasium. “Clear my head.”

“Oh. I see.” She was disappointed at his refusal to open up. He could hear it in her voice. But he refused the urge to look at her; he clenched his teeth and balled up his hands into his fists and just continued to let his own disillusionment sting him all over. He could feel her gaze burning into the side of his head, though. She was still so magnetic to him, even now, and he couldn’t help but let his gaze slip back to her.

She opened her mouth to say something. Kentarou never found out what.

“There you are, Ken-chan! We’ve been looking for youuuuuu~!”

Kentarou bristled as Tooru appeared behind him to throw his arms around his neck in a loose hug. While Kentarou’s head steamed like an egg, Tooru practically radiated sunshine and rainbows, giddily propping his head against Kentarou’s and shooting Hitoka a wink.

“Well, hello, Yachi- san. I hope our mongrel mutt here hasn’t been giving you any trouble,” Tooru cooed with a pat to the top of Kentarou’s head. Kentarou didn’t try to shake him off; he just took it. For once, he was grateful for Tooru’s incorrigible need to meddle. He didn’t know if he would have been able to keep up the strong front had the conversation proceeded for much longer.

“No, no trouble!” Hitoka reassured him with a shake of her head. She side-eyed Kentarou as she said, “We were just talking.”

“Just talking, huh?” Hajime smirked as he came up to Kentarou’s side, his hands in his pockets. “I had no idea our Mad Dog was such a chatterbox.”

“We came to see if he was okay, and lo and behold, we find him out here flirting! Nothing keeps you down for long, eh?” Takahiro snickered at Kentarou’s other side, jabbing him in the ribs with his elbow as he jumped his eyebrows up and down.

“I wasn’t flirting,” Kentarou growled defensively. He could feel his face heating up, and he tried to tug the collar of his jumpsuit jacket up to hide his growing blush. He was also keenly aware of the bright shade of pink that Hitoka’s face had turned, though he was once again avoiding looking directly at her. “You can’t just go around sayin’ shit like that. People will get the wrong idea.”

“Hmm, is that so, Ken- chan ?” Tooru hummed. His eyes glinted mischievously as he looked at Hitoka. “Come, come, now. You can’t tell us that some part of you doesn’t want to snatch cute little Yacchan up before someone else does. You seem so fond of her, after all.”

Hitoka released a quiet little gasp.

And Kentarou snapped.

“Shut the fuck up!” Kentarou roared, whirling on his heel and flinging his arm up to roughly shove Tooru away. “I’ve fucking had it with your bullshit! Why the fuck can’t you all just leave me alone? ”

The older boy’s eyes blew wide as he stumbled back, and he threw an arm up in an instinctive means of protecting himself. Hajime quickly stepped between them, scowling sternly at Kentarou. But Kentarou made no move to go after Tooru any further; he was actually already a few yards across the parking lot. Away, he needed to get away—away from their meddling, their ignorant attempts to “help” him, their stupid grinning faces spouting shit they didn’t fucking know jack shit about.

Away from her. Before he did something he would undoubtedly regret. Because she was too close, way too close, and Kentarou would shove her away if he had to just to spare her the hurt too many others had experienced before.

She was calling his name, telling him to come back. But Kentarou didn’t. And it stung.

“Ahhhh! Nothing like a cold drink after a hard day’s practice, eh, Shinji?” Shigeru sighed while nudging his fellow second-year with his elbow as he walked with him out of the boba tea café, with a brooding Kentarou trudging behind. As they approached the outdoor café table where Yūtarō and Akira were already waiting, Shigeru slurped loudly at his mango boba tea, a sound that made Kentarou bristle. He knew that socializing with his teammates was important and shit, but this was probably the fastest he’d come to regret a decision to do so in a good long while.

He’d been dragged along yet again on an after-practice misadventure, and he couldn’t really refuse since the boba tea joint was on his way home. He really didn’t feel one way or another about the drinks, either, which made it even more difficult to take a rain check. Shigeru’s impossibly annoying antics, however, were an entirely different story. Shigeru knew damn well what he was doing, and he was probably doing it with the express intention of irritating Kentarou in particular.

Kentarou’s hunch was proven correct when Shigeru glanced over at him, a mischievous gleam in his eyes and an impish smirk on his face.

“I’m surprised you came with us,” he remarked, hopping up onto the nearby retaining wall. He began kicking his legs to thump his heels against the stone, which made Kentarou’s eyes twitch. The little bastard took way too much delight in prodding a sleeping dragon. Kentarou was so busy sucking down his coffee milk tea in an effort to combat his worsening noise sensitivity—or rather, irritating little shit sensitivity—that he almost missed Shigeru add, “You’ve been grumpier than ever this last month—since you gave poor Yacchan the cold shoulder, that is.”

Kentarou froze. His grip tightened around his drink, bending the plastic until the ice within started to crunch and the vacuum-sealed plastic lid bulged with the force of the liquid pushing up against it. Everybody knew what had happened, naturally, thanks to Tooru and his big fucking mouth. But they’d all known better than to bring it up—until now, that is. Apparently, Shigeru just couldn’t contain himself anymore.

“Oi, don’t antagonize him!” Yūtarō whined, pulling his face away from his watermelon tea to pout at Shigeru. “You’re gonna get your ass kicked one of these days, and I ain’t gonna save ya—especially not from him, ‘cuz you’ll deserve it!” he scolded with a firm point at Kentarou.

“I’m not scared of him,” Shigeru shrugged indifferently. He continued to smirk at Kentarou, his eyes shining brighter now that he’d realized he’d successfully gotten a rise out of him. “I’m just saying what we’ve all been thinking, right?” When the rest of them just awkwardly averted their gazes, Shigeru took that as a sign to continue. “It was pretty damn cruel, what you did. I didn’t think you had it in ya to be so mean to a cute little girl, but I guess I was wrong.”

“Shut up. You don’t know a damn thing about me,” Kentarou muttered. He shoved his free hand deep into his jacket pocket and turned his back, but he didn’t make to leave. It had been cruel, what he’d done to Hitoka. So, he would accept his scolding—and his divine punishment, which was apparently hearing it from Shigeru of all people.

“Seriously, Shigeru, don’t—” Shinji started, but Shigeru cut him off.

“Tch, am I really the only one with the balls to tell him like it is?” he snapped, and Kentarou was surprised at how truly angry he sounded. He discreetly peered over his shoulder to see Shigeru scowling exasperatedly at his turned back. “He had no reason to lash out at her like that, after she went out of her way to try and make him feel better! He can’t just go around hurting people’s feelings just because he can’t control his own!”

“You’re right,” Kentarou said suddenly, and Shigeru gasped before falling silent. Kentarou stared sadly down at the plastic cup in his hands; though he’d relaxed his grip now, it was still bent and crinkled beyond repair. That’s just what he did to things—to people. “I can’t control my anger, which is why she needs to stay as far away from me as fucking possible.”

He whirled on his feet and slammed the cup down on the café table, right in the middle where they could all see how warped and damaged it had become in Kentarou’s hands. They knew exactly what he meant by it, too, based on their suddenly guilty expressions. Shigeru looked the guiltiest of them all, curling into himself while he stared down at his shoes. But Kentarou didn’t feel vindicated by that; no, it just hurt. Ha. Imagine that—opening up to his team for once, and it just made him feel even shittier because he made them feel like they were the assholes here. Even if Shigeru’s approach had been less than friendly, it was still with the intent of trying to make Kentarou get his act together.

He was willing to admit that he’d changed a lot thanks to joining Aoba Johsei’s volleyball team. Changed enough to recognize that his teammates were trying to help him, not hurt him, and changed enough not to storm off but instead share the burden that had long been on his shoulders—but changed enough to think himself worthy of somebody like Hitoka? Not even close. Someone like him—irritable, defiant, troublesome—could never be.

“This is what I do,” he breathed as he stared miserably at the cup. He was stinging all over, just like that cold October day—his eyes most of all, as he fought against the tears of frustration. “I break things. And I can’t break her.”

“Kentarou, I had no idea…” Shigeru said softly and lifted his head to give him an apologetic and sympathetic frown. “I’m sorry…”

Kentarou buried both his hands into his jacket pockets and turned to the side so he could avert his gaze to the street.

“Don’t be. I brought it upon myself. I always do.”

For over a minute, the only noise was that of the city in the evening—car engines and foot traffic and hum of distant conversation. Abruptly, Kentarou heard Yūtarō hesitantly pipe up, “With all due respect, senpai…”

Kentarou glanced back to see the first-year gently pick up Kentarou’s boba tea and start pushing the plastic back into place. As he watched with a blank expression, Yūtarō smiled sheepishly at him.

“You’re being a little unfair to yourself,” he said, gaze flicking back down to the cup in his hands. “Everybody hurts people they care about. It’s just a part of being human.” He pushed another bit of the bent plastic back out, leaving just a small scar at the line of force. “Sure, you may feel things more strongly than others do and struggle to deal with that—but if you don’t try, how are you ever going to learn?”

After one last purposeful press of his fingers, the cup was returned to its normal shape. He set it down in front of Kentarou, who just stared at it—at the lines blemishing its surface, the relics of his inability to manage his anger.

“It might not be the same, but it’s not broken, either,” Akira pointed out, prompting Kentarou to look at him with raised eyebrows. “Because, whether you realize it or not, you held yourself back.”

“I did?” Kentarou murmured and looked back at the cup in amazement. Now that he thought about it, only a short few months ago, he probably would have squeezed it until the top burst and the plastic crumpled completely in his hands—and probably thrown it at Shigeru, to boot. Had he really come such a long way in such a short time?

Was Kentarou really capable of smoothing out his edges, at least enough to finally let people get close?

“Damn! This sure turned out to be a pretty depressing outing, didn’t it?” Shigeru suddenly declared, and as Kentarou looked up, the brunet hopped down from the retaining wall. He stretched his arms above his head and scrunched up his face, and when he swung his arms back down, he cracked one eye open and smiled at Kentarou.

“All jokes aside, none of us were worried about you and Yacchan.”

“You weren’t?” Kentarou blinked. He’d figured that, despite all the teasing, his teammates would quickly try and stop him if he ever actually decided to do anything about his crush. After all, one couldn’t exactly call them compatible just by looking at them.

“Not at all,” Shinji said. “It’s hard to explain,” he added with an abashed laugh and scratched at the side of his head when Kentarou’s eyes widened. “You’re just… With her, it’s like you’re…” After a few seconds of stumbling over his words, he cried out frustratedly, “Help me out here, guys!”

“Softer,” Akira, Shigeru, and Yūtarō chimed in unison.

Kentarou’s face enflamed like a flash fire, bright red and fiercely hot. He quickly turned away with his hand pressed over his mouth, but it wasn’t to hide his blush; no, it was to hide the stupid smile stretching over his lips. Him? Soft? It was really a ludicrous notion, yet…

With the way they were all smiling at him, Kentarou could maybe believe it.

“Merry Christmas. Thanks for donating!” Tooru cried gratefully as a well-dressed woman dropped a few rumpled yen bills into the red plastic bucket in his hands. He swiftly bowed, to which the woman crooned about his wonderful manners and fished through her purse to find more. As she did so, she glanced behind Tooru, probably to say something to the rest of the team.

She didn’t end up saying anything, however, because she locked eyes with Kentarou—who looked absolutely murderous at the moment. And why did he look murderous? The answer was simple. It was the stupid get-up he’d been made to wear as part of this charity event.

Kentarou didn’t have a problem with collecting money for needy children or whatever. But fuck, did he really have to wear this atrociously gaudy woolen sweater with snowflakes and goofy-ass little cartoony reindeer plastered all over it? And if that wasn’t enough, Takahiro had added insult to injury by slapping a headband with floppy reindeer ears and horns on him. The ignominy of it all made him boil—and that wasn’t exactly conducive to enticing good Samaritans to donate to the public collection.

“Aha, that seems to be all I have… Good luck with the charity fundraiser. Bye-bye now!” The woman was almost cartoonish in her retreat, practically leaving a dust cloud in her wake as she sped away on churning legs. She certainly wasn’t the first; Kentarou’s thunderous scowl had been chasing away prospective donators all day. Which is probably why Tooru released a petulant whine of exasperation before whirling around to pout petulantly at Kentarou.

“Damn it, Ken-chan! I can’t work under these conditions!” the captain huffed and stamped his foot. As he did so, the loose change in his bucket rattled. “I don’t care how you do it; stop scowling and get merry, damn it! Think of the children!”

“I’m too busy thinkin’ about how fuckin’ stupid I look in these goddamn ears!” Kentarou retorted hotly, pointing with both hands at the felt ears as they flopped wildly on his head. “I can stand the stupid sweater, but this is where I draw the line! I wanna take ‘em off!” he declared, then flopped down in the fold-out chair behind him and crossed his arms.

“No can do, mutt,” Issei sighed, propping his elbow on Kentarou’s shoulder no sooner than he’d sat down. “We gotta have somethin’ to soften up that mean mug of yours.”

“I think the headband makes the mean mug worse,” Yūtarō frowned. It was true and everyone knew it, but the four third-years gleaned too much delight from Kentarou’s suffering to really worry about dissuading potential do-gooders. Despite all Kentarou’s protests, they’d glue the damn headband to him before allowing him to take it off.

That didn’t mean that he was going to take the humiliation quietly. Desperate to make his opposition quite clear, Kentarou tossed his head back over the chair and released a long, drawn-out sound that was a mixture between a doggish whine and a beastly growl. Oh, what he wouldn’t give for at least a moment’s reprieve from their incessant games—

“Look alive, fellas. I think we’re about to witness a Christmas miracle!”

Kentarou had no intentions of looking at whatever had suddenly captured the other boys’ attention; it must have been something, because the atmosphere around him immediately electrified. He only did so when Hajime grabbed him by the back of his skull and forced his head up. The angry protest hissing on his tongue immediately fizzled out the moment he clapped eyes on what they were all excited about.

“Long time, no see, everyone,” Hitoka smiled shyly as she dropped a five thousand yen bill into one of the donation buckets. She said everyone, but the only one she was looking at when she did was Kentarou. Her eyes softened when they locked with Kentarou’s wide ones, and she added with an awkward little smile, “Hey, Kyoutani- san …”

“Hey.” Thank God Kentarou’s brain chose to respond on reflex, because it wasn’t good for much of anything else right now. It was too busy trying to recover from his train of thought totally derailing and spilling its compartments all over the damn place. His conversation with the others only took place a few days ago, and he still hadn’t quite figured out how to go about mending his strained relationship with Hitoka; it kind of was a Christmas miracle, her turning up out of the blue in their neck of the woods.

Every encounter with her was a miracle to Kentarou, really, because she worked wonders on him without even trying.

“What brings you all the way out here, Yachi-san?” Tooru asked while swinging his bucket side-to-side on his wrist.

“Christmas shopping!” Hitoka answered, holding up her arms to display the myriad of bags she had hung on her elbows. When Kentarou’s brain finally registered the command stand up, he realized that she also had a large stuffed penguin in a Santa hat sitting on the concrete next to her. “There are a few gifts I wanted to buy that are only sold in department stores out here. I didn’t imagine I would be running into you guys! Is your charity event going well?”

“It would be going better if damn Ken-chan knew how to control his face,” Tooru sniffed in disdain and cast a rueful look at Kentarou over his shoulder. Kentarou was too busy trying to keep his knees from giving out as Hitoka giggled.

“Well, I wish you luck!” she said cheerily. Her expression then turned bashful, and she tilted her head to the side as she scratched at her cheek. “I’d love to stay and catch up, but I’d better start heading home. It’s quite a ways, and it’ll be getting dark soon,” she chuckled nervously as she looked down the street. Her gaze slid to Kentarou, and her expression warped into something complicated and unsure.

Kentarou cringed a little. There went his hopes of making up with her; clearly, she didn’t even want to be in the same city as him.

“That’s as clear an invitation as ever, dumbass,” Hajime growled behind him, and next thing Kentarou knew, he had been shoved in the back.

He stumbled forward with a small yelp, and thanks to the way their little donation spot was set up, he crashed right into the corner of the table. He grabbed onto it on instinct, making the various items on it rattle—but that didn’t save him from colliding with the hard plastic. He sucked in a breath as the sharp corner dug into the flesh just under his ribs and his knee slammed against the metal leg, both collisions bringing white-hot pain with it. Over the ringing in his ears, he heard Hitoka release a small “Eep!”, several of his team members suck air through their teeth, and Shigeru whistle followed by a loud “Daaaaayum! That shit gotta hurt!”

“Are you okay, Kyoutani-san?” Hitoka cried, hastily dropping her bags to rush to his side. She grabbed onto his bicep while she leaned over slightly, inspecting the place where the table still dug into his abdomen. When she realized she was touching him, she flushed pink and hurriedly jumped back. Out of the corners of his slightly watery eyes, Kentarou saw Hajime and Issei exchange a discreet high-five. That fucker shoved him into the table on purpose!

Just as Kentarou threatened to give in to the indignance burning inside of him, Hitoka timidly rested her hand on his arm again and meekly asked, “Kyoutani-san…?”

And just like that, all the rage washed away. There were more pressing matters to deal with than his shithead teammates.

“‘M fine,” he grunted. He slowly straightened up, wincing as his likely bruised abdomen twinged in protest. Hajime had shoved him pretty damn hard. While he raked one hand over his hair (careful not to dislodge the headband because he could feel Issei’s gaze burning into him), he planted his other on the table, using it as leverage to support himself as he leaned into his aching side. “That’s just his asshole way of telling me to make better use of myself and walk you home,” he added with a small sigh.

“Eh?” she blinked, momentarily stunned. When her brain caught up with her ears, she blushed and started frantically waving her hands. “N-no, no, no, that’s not what I—Please, don’t trouble yourself over me!”

“Save it.” The pain had subsided now, at least the physical kind. The pain in his heart? Not so much. But as much as he didn’t want to make Hitoka uncomfortable with his presence, the idea of her walking all the way home by herself when night was fast approaching was simply out of the question.

None of them would forgive themselves if something happened to her, Kentarou least of all.

Kentarou pushed himself off of the table and leaned down to scoop up Hitoka’s bags and the goofy-looking penguin stuffed animal. He tucked it under his arm, then straightened up to huff at her, “I’m goin’ with you, and that’s final.”

Hitoka looked like she wanted to object, but she also knew it was useless with Kentarou. She just nodded obediently. Kentarou started walking, and after pausing to bid the rest of the team farewell, Hitoka scurried to catch up and fall in step with him. He made sure to slow his walking pace so his longer strides didn’t exhaust her in trying to keep up. It was hard, mostly because his mind was whirling on how to broach the topic of apologizing and whether to even bother given that he’d probably fucked this up beyond repair, and he had a tendency to walk faster when he was agitated.

After several minutes of just walking in silence, it was Hitoka that spoke first.

“I’m glad…” When Kentarou looked at her with a raised eyebrow, she blushed slightly and clarified, “To see you getting along better with them, I mean.”

Right. The last time you saw me, I was a total jackass and almost got in a fight with ‘em, he thought bitterly. He knew his own self-loathing would make him frown, so he quickly averted his gaze so Hitoka wouldn’t think he was mad at her for bringing it up.

“Yeah. They’re still kind of a pain in the ass, but…” A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he imagined them now, probably all excitedly chattering about what the two could be doing. Buncha damn gossip queens and pranksters, but Kentarou still found himself hanging out with them. “They’ve grown on me.”

“They’ve ‘tamed’ you, you mean?” Hitoka giggled.

“Tch. You remember that?”

“Of course I do,” Hitoka smiled, looking fondly out at the cityscape before them like she was looking into the memory instead. “It was a really fun night…”

“Yeah. It was.” He wondered how fond the memory was to her now, or if it had been poisoned into something painful thanks to Kentarou’s fuck-up. Her wistful expression was just that; he couldn’t tell one way or the other.

Come on, just rip the bandage off.

“Hey…” He stopped walking, and Hitoka did too, her eyes widening as she craned her head up to look at him. Something about it broke his heart—the innocence in her expression. Did she not know what was coming? Was the idea of him apologizing so beyond her? Maybe it was, and it was no less than Kentarou deserved—but he was going to apologize, all the same.

“I’m sorry—about what happened after the Qualifiers. I scared you, didn’t I?” Because of course he did. Why wouldn’t Hitoka be afraid of him, seeing him snap and fly into a rage at the drop of a hat? Any girl would be, should be.

“Scared?” Hitoka blinked owlishly. “No, I wasn’t scared.”

It was Kentarou’s turn to look all wide-eyed and confused. What the hell did she mean, she wasn’t scared of him? If that wasn’t the explanation for her shifty behavior, then what was?

“I was just worried about you, Kyoutani-san,” she said, her bewilderment giving way to the soft kindness that Kentarou loved so damn much about her. He could only stand there, choking on the emotions that he just couldn’t ever process, as she reached out and gently pinched the sleeve of his sweater—like she wanted to take his hand, but didn’t want to overstep, because she never did. “You looked like you were in so much pain… You always do.” When she looked up at him, he could see in her eyes what she failed to say: You still do.

And fuck, Kentarou was in pain, in torment, in agony. Words could never come close to describing it, the feeling of going to war with himself all the damn time. The loneliness gouged him to his very core to leave a raw and gaping wound that constantly bled, while the old scars of bad experiences burned just as fresh as the day those wounds were ripped into him. Battling on two fronts, was it any wonder that Kentarou thrashed like a wild beast? He was chained, and he could no longer tell which ones were those forced upon him and those he made himself.

But did tormented beasts like that have any hope of redemption? Kentarou didn’t know, and that’s why he hesitated so much in letting people try to break them. They always ended up hurt; they either cut themselves on those saw-toothed shackles and found themselves too unwilling to brave the pain for Kentarou’s sake, or the fear that they would made Kentarou feral, and he sank his teeth into them before they could just become another scar on his already ragged soul.

Kentarou hadn’t realized that he’d started crying until Hitoka’s hand was on his cheek, her fingers catching the hot tears streaming down his cold face. Seeing him so agonized, Hitoka had begun to cry, too—tears pouring over her lashes, her expression twisted with so much sorrow that you’d think she felt his pain like it was her own. Fuck, knowing her? She did. And that made her feel even more like an angel that his tainted hands shouldn’t dare touch.

But, call him a sinner, he couldn’t fucking help himself. Squeezing his eyes shut, he turned his face into her hand, relishing her soft skin against his face—and then his hand was covering hers, squeezing it hard enough to break her bones, probably, but she didn’t so much as whimper. He’d dropped all the bags and the dumb penguin to the ground at some point, he didn’t know when; they lay forgotten at their feet, pushed aside as Kentarou said to hell with it and collapsed against her to pull her into a crushing hug.

“Fuck,” he gasped out in a broken sob, burying his face into her small shoulder. Despite the fact that she had to push herself up onto her tip-toes to do it, she still wrapped her arms around her back and squeezed him tight. “I—I don’t know what the hell it is about you. I barely know you, and yet—since the first time we met, I can’t get you out of my fucking head. All I could things about was ways to see you again—and you just kept turning up. But I—I couldn’t—” As he gritted his teeth, he pushed himself further against her, until she was bent backward slightly from how forcefully he was bearing his weight on her. “Fuck, Hitoka, I’ve never been more afraid of hurting someone than I have you .”

“Kentarou,” Hitoka sniffed, and he felt her tears smear against his scalp as she pressed her face into the side of his head. “You’re so kind. I knew that from the first time we talked. Beneath all that tough exterior, you’re kind … and you’re scared.”

I’m not just scared! he wanted to scream. I’m terrified! He was petrified, and so his tongue was frozen in his mouth, and he was unable to say a word. But he didn’t need words anymore.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry that someone hurt you like this,” she sniffed. “It must hurt so much—lashing out because you can’t trust anybody, but so kind that it hurts you every time you do.” She tried to hold him tighter, but she could barely link her fingers behind his broad back. “Maybe it’s crazy, maybe they’re too strong, but I don’t care! I know my feelings, and I’m not afraid of them!” she shouted; she didn’t care that they were in the middle of the sidewalk, and neither did he. “I want to help you, Kentarou! I don’t want to see you hurt anymore. I don’t know how much I can do, but, I still want to try! Please let me in!”

A switch inside him flipped. All the tension in Kentarou’s body relaxed; he slumped against her, causing Hitoka to wobble on her heels. But she was a tenacious little thing, planting her feet and refusing to let him fall.

“Idiot,” he sighed, his hand coming to the small of her back to brace her when she wobbled unsteadily again. He could only laugh into her shoulder, into the fabric of her coat that was damp with his tears. He could feel the thick wool against his lips as he smiled. “How can I let you in when you’ve blown the goddamn door off its hinges?”

Hitoka fell back onto the flats of her feet with a soft laugh, her back filling more of Kentarou’s large palm. So small, she was so small and seemed so easy to break—but she was an angel of iron, and Kentarou couldn’t so much as dent her steel will even if he tried to on purpose. If this had proven anything, it was that Kentarou was the fragile one—fractured glass that had finally succumbed to its burdens and spilled its shards all over.

But Hitoka Yachi was Kentarou Kyoutani’s miracle, and she could piece him back together. Even if she sliced herself on the slivers, she wasn’t afraid of pain. The price of cherishing imperfect things was sometimes catching yourself on their rough edges, and that was okay. There was just as much beauty in sandpaper as there was silk.

Kentarou was always going to be rough around the edges, no matter how much he tried to smooth them. But where he had crooked jags and sharp points, Hitoka had gentle curves that could yield, he finally saw. And so there was nothing stopping Kentarou now; all he had but to do was fall.

And so he fell.

They’d long since scrubbed the tears from their faces by the time they reached Hitoka’s house, though their eyes retained just a hint of redness and puffing. The yellow glow of the porch light washed over them as Kentarou escorted her down the ice-slicked sidewalk to the small porch; he’d been holding her hand for some time now, their shared heat trapped between the cloth of their mittens, and he didn’t want to let go until he absolutely had to. He only did when they reached the steps leading up to the porch. Kentarou piled her bags on the stoop, while Hitoka hugged the penguin plush and watched him with a warm smile.

“Thanks for walking me home,” she said when Kentarou straightened up. Even with her standing on the second step leading up to her house, Kentarou was still an inch or so taller than her. God, she really was too damn cute, especially like this—smiling bashfully as she hugged that goofy little penguin plush and slowly swung her shoulders from side-to-side.

“Heh. Thanks for helping me through my mid-life crisis,” Kentarou joked. She giggled, that sweet little sound that had Kentarou melting like butter, and smiled so bright that her eyes scrunched up.

“Is it really a mid-life crisis if you’re only in high school?” she teased back, craning her head as Kentarou stepped onto the stair in front of her. Kentarou really didn’t give a fuck about semantics, especially not now; now, he was too enchanted by the way the porch light bathed her in gold, like she really was an angel sent from on high surrounded by ethereal light.

“Kentarou…” she murmured as he gently grazed his knuckle over her cheek. He didn’t answer, just gazed down at her in warm adoration. Soft, everything about her was so soft—her hair like down feathers, her skin like velvet, her body like cotton. Soft, but with a spirit of steel beneath all the gentle covering. Fuck, if he thought about it too much, he might fool himself into thinking they were made for each other.

“I mean it,” he whispered finally, his gaze flicking up to meet hers. “Thank you.”

“You have nothing to thank me for,” she smiled earnestly and shook her head. “I just did what my heart was telling me to do.”

Kentarou quirked his brow at that, to which Hitoka blinked and asked, “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” He stepped a little closer to her, a wolfish grin growing on his lips. “My heart’s telling me a little something… And I’m wondering if I should listen.” His eyes dropped down to her slightly parted lips. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was alluding to.

Hitoka’s face flushed pink, and the cheek still held by his hand grew so hot that he could feel it through the thick fabric of his gloves. She pressed her lips shut, then slightly pursed them as she shyly mumbled, “I mean… ‘S up to you…”

“That’s as clear an invitation as any,” Hajime’s voice echoed in his head. Well, don’t mind if Kentarou did.

Kentarou was rough around the edges, but he’d learned that he had soft parts of him, too. And he was nothing but as he gently took Hitoka’s face and tilted it so he could press his lips to hers. And as their mouths smoothed together like two puzzle pieces slotting into place, Kentarou found that it didn’t matter—whether it was the result of a miracle, fate, luck, divine intervention, or just plain human meddling, Kentarou was damn grateful that his teammates were such annoying bastards.

Because annoying as they were, they were also damn good wingmen.

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