keep dragging my bones

“Kuroo?” Daichi raises an eyebrow, cocks his head. Tsukishima sees the crow-like nature of it.

“Nekoma’s captain Kuroo?”

Tsukishima nods curtly. His hands itch to grasp the hem of his shirt, but he resits.

Daichi’s eyes squint and Tsukishima swears he can see the beginnings of crows feet forming in the

corners, tiny crinkles far too deep for someone of Daichi’s age. “Why do you need his phone

number?”

“Tch.” Tsukishima clicks his tongue and turns on his heel to walk away, but he’s met by the face

of one Sugawara far too close for comfort.

The sickly sweet smile painted on Suga’s face is supposed to be placating, Tsukishima is sure, but

right now all it does is make the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “Kuroo-san? Does this

have something to do with that private training he gave you at the summer training camp?” The

way he emphasizes ‘private’ makes the little mark forever seared into Tsukishima’s collarbone

tingle.

He hates it.

“Forget it,” Tuskishima spits. He brushes past Sugawara, their shoulders bumping with more force

than necessary and for a second Tsukishima feels a little bad about disrespecting his senpai like

that — especially someone as genuine as Suga. But he’s had a hell of a day and wants nothing

more than to change out of his sweaty practice clothes and ignore Tadashi’s never ending chatter

on the walk home.

He hears Daichi growl out his name, no doubt readying for a lecture on how ‘that’s no way to treat

your vice captain,’ but Suga’s soft voice shushes him. His voice is so quiet that Tsukishima

struggles to decipher his words on the short trek to the locker room, but he does his best to appear

nonchalant.

“It’s my fault. I provoked him when he’s obviously in a mood.”

Mood doesn’t begin to describe it.

He wakes up to the sound of his phone buzzing once, twice, three times in a row. Groaning, he

rolls onto his side to check who could possibly be texting him — triple texting, no less — when the

sun has just started to creep above the horizon.

Tadashi, of course.

Sighing, Tsukishima clicks on the notification icon to open their conversation. Besides the three

new messages, two from the night before remain unread.

\[00:01\] \>\> Happy birthday!

\[00:03\] \>\> I know you’re asleep because you’re ~responsible~ but if you happened to have stayed

up to watch your mark appear… ::eyes::

\[05:15\] \>\> Good morning Tsukki! ::sun::

\[05:15\] \>\> Happy birthday Tsukki!!!

\[05:15\] \>\> Mark?

He sits up and runs a hand through his hair, reaching blindly for his glasses folded neatly atop his

nightstand. He types out a message once he can see again.

\[05:16\] << gm

\[05:16\] << how do you survive on 5 hours of sleep

Stretching his arms above his head, he stands and glances at the mirror leaning against the wall. He

tosses his phone on his bed, the thing already vibrating with more messages from Tadashi. The

mirror taunts him as he walks up to it.

There’s nothing visible on his arms, nothing on his legs that peek out from his ragged sleep shorts.

He lets out a breath of relief. Whatever this damned soulmark is, at least it’ll easily be hidden by

his regular clothing.

And his volleyball gear — a blessing beyond his wildest dreams.

This also means it’ll be harder for his soulmate to find him. No potential coffee shop meet cute, no

bumping into a stranger at a konbini who outwardly bares their proof of love, no embarrassing

outing in the middle of class.

Another blessing.

But now, staring at the reflection of himself in the mirror, Tsukishima isn’t sure he wants to know

where or what it is.

That heavy feeling like dropping a bowling ball fills his belly, just like it had that day in the

summer.

Summer.

The way ‘private’ sounded rolling off of Suga’s tongue, high and teasing, rings in Tsukishima’s

ears as he pulls open his bag with too much force. Unthinkingly, he tugs his shirt off over his head

and begins to untangle the spare he’d shoved into his bag this morning.

“Woah!” Hinata’s absurdly loud voice stalls Tsukishima’s distracted motions. “Tsukki’s got his

mark! Look, Bakageyama!”

Shit, he really didn’t think this through.

Before he can recover (i.e. put on his shirt), Kageyama is pushing his way past Hinata to stare

openly at Tsukishima’s chest. He lifts a finger to his chin as his eyes squint in concentration. He

hums contemplatively. “Summer? That’s… vague.”

Tsukishima brushes off any embarrassment threatening to crawl up his spine and nearly rips a new

arm hole in his shirt in his haste to pull it over his body. “It’s better than Hinata’s. His could be

anybody at Karasuno, past, present, or future.”

“Hey!” Hinata shouts defensively, his hand reflexively covering the word fly scrawled across his

kneecap. “They’ll show up someday! Yours is way worse. You’ve already lived through fifteensummers! It could be anybody you met during them — ”

“Sixteen summers, actually,” Tsukishima corrects, smirking.

Kageyama lifts his fingers and begins counting them down. Hinata looks in his direction, letting

the silence stretch on for a moment. When Kageyama nods solemnly, Hinata lifts his hands to his

head in exasperation. “Fine, sixteen! Whatever, I’m still right! You see so many people during the

summer. Plus, that’s my little sister’s name, so if it’s her I’m gonna punch you.”

Tsukishima delivers his best glare in the shorty’s direction as he replaces his glasses on the bridge

of his nose. “I highly doubt my soulmate is your six year old sister.”

Because it’s a 6’2” guy whose only obvious goal is to annoy me to death, goes unsaid.

In his periphery, Tsukishima sees Tadashi staring at their little gathering from where he changes

into his own regular, non sweat-stained clothes. Tsukishima doesn’t have to face him fully to feel

the grin stretched across his stupid, freckled face.

When Tsukishima finally manages to crawl into his futon, freshly showered and removed from the

day’s activities, he’s surprised to find Tadashi’s too-wide eyes focused on him. They’re barely

visible, merely more than glowing whites against stark irises, with what little moonlight seeps

through the high windows in the night’s makeshift sleeping quarters for the Karasuno volleyball

team

“What do you want,” Tuskishima whispers harshly, not a question. Beside him, Hinata lets out a

staccato snore and rolls over.

Tadashi is still looking at Tsukishima, but waits until Hinata stills once more to speak. “What

happened?”

“Extra practice.” He lays back, breaking eye contact and hoping the short answer is enough for

Tadashi to let it go, at least for now.

He should know better, all things considered.

“I saw those Fukurodani guys head back over an hour ago.” Tadashi’s voice is barely audible,

Tsukishima knows, but the accusation might as well be at 100 decibels.

He tugs his thin blanket up to his chin even though the chugging of the air conditioning unit tucked

into the window is no match for the muggy heat of a Tokyo summer. “So I took a long shower.”

A hand grabs his ankle and tugs. “I didn’t see that Nekoma guy with them.”

Tsukishima yanks his leg from Tadashi’s grasp. “So? I don’t keep track of other people. Now shut

up and go to sleep.”

“C’mon, you said he was hot, right? So your eyes are definitely on him!” Tadashi’s hand reaches

under the blanket and wraps around Tsukishima’s ankle.

Tsukishima shoots up in his futon to glare down at Tadashi. His friend’s hair is mussed from the

pillow, but his eyes seem alert like he was never actually asleep. “Shut up, Tadashi. The whole

team can hear you."

“Ugh, fine.” Tadashi lets go of Tsukishima’s leg with an exaggerated sigh.

Naively thinking this whole mess is over — for now, anyway; surely Tadashi will bring it up again

later — Tsukishima settles in his futon and shuts his eyes, willing away the tingling sensation of

phantom touches along his arms. Just as he enters the blissfully dark limbo between consciousness

and sleep, his phone vibrates from its hiding place under his pillow. Once, twice, three times, four.

It stops buzzing for a moment, long enough for him to almost push his brain back into a half-sleep

state, when it buzzes again. Five times.

Hinata groans from his spot next to Tsukishima. “Tsukki, ya gotta answer your phone,” he slurs

sleepily.

He wants to scold Hinata for using that god forsaken nickname, but before he can, the shorty is

back to snoring obnoxiously. Tsukishima reaches under his pillow and pulls out his phone, wincing

at the brightness of the screen as he unlocks it. The default messenger app happily informs him 9

new messages from Tadashi. It would be so easy to stick his leg out and kick Tadashi’s foot across

from his own, but the last thing he wants is for anyone else to wake up because his best friend is

too nosy for his own good.

\[23:45\] \>\> Tsukki

\[23:45\] \>\> Tsukkiiiii

\[23:45\] \>\> Tsukki answer me

\[23:46\] \>\> Something happened with that Nekoma guy didn’t it?

\[23:47\] \>\> Tsukki

\[23:47\] \>\> Tsukki

\[23:47\] \>\> Tsukki

\[23:48\] \>\> I saw you making eyes at him

\[23:48\] \>\> Tsukki did you \*\*\*\* Nekoma’s captain

Tsukishima swallows his own spit and somehow manages to keep the choking feeling in his throat

at bay.

\[23:50\] << it’s none of your business

\[23:50\] << now go to sleep, we have to wake up early

Before he can even hit the lock button, his phone is vibrating in his palm.

\[23:50\] \>\> !!!!

\[23:51\] \>\> So there is ~business~

Tsukishima curses his sleep-addled brain, heavy with the events of the day and jumbled with the

whirlwind of emotions he’d visited that evening, for saying anything remotely suspicious. It really

isn’t fair how easily Tadashi picks up on any slip-up Tsukishima makes.

\[23:53\] << if i say i’ll tell you tomorrow will you go to sleep

\[23:54\] \>\> You have to promise

\[23:54\] << i promise

\[23:55\] \>\> No, you have to say it all together.

\[23:56\] \>\> Say, “Tadashi, I promise to give you all the juicy details about my tryst with the hot

Nekoma captain tomorrow morning before our first game.

”\[23:57\] << don’t ever say the word tryst again

Tsukishima powers his phone off and shoves it under his pillow.

Summer.

Of fucking course.

The word summer scrawled in a deep maroon sits at the tip of his collarbone, not quite at his

shoulder but easily covered by the collar of any t-shirt he owns.

He doesn’t know what he expected — not that he’d expected anything, really. While his first year

classmates constantly clamor about their soul mark, what they want it to look like, who they hope

they’re bonded with for eternity, I can’t wait until I’m sixteen so I can finally find out , Tsukishima

hadn’t given it much thought.

Frankly, he didn’t care if he ended up with one or not.

But of course, of fucking course, this is the soul mark he ended up with.

He doesn’t have to guess the meaning, doesn’t have to wonder when he’ll run into someone with a

matching mark.

He’s already met them.

Already met him.

“I haven’t met them yet, if you’re wondering.”

That damn smirk that followed burns the back of his eyeballs as he stares at himself in the mirror.

“Kei?”

Tsukishima turns to face the doorway, hoping his facial features don’t betray the constricting

feeling in his chest.

His mother gasps as her eyes trail down his face and neck to land on the newly imprinted mark.

“Oh, Kei, it’s lovely.” She smiles and leans against the door frame. “Happy birthday, honey.

Breakfast is ready for you downstairs.”

Swallowing the lump quickly forming in his throat, Tsukishima says, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

She gives him one last soft smile and thankfully shuts the door behind her as she walks away.

Tsukishima grabs his phone from the bed and snaps a quick picture to send to Tadashi. He doesn’t

write an accompanying message. By the time he’s changed into his uniform, there’s a response.

[5:30] >> Oh shit.

Oh, shit indeed.

He doesn’t know how he ended up here, not really.Physically, yeah, he knows he walked from the gym into the practice building and then opened the

door to this dingy supply closet.

But as to how Kuroo’s lips found his, how Kuroo’s callused hands ended up tangled in his sweaty

hair, how Kuroo’s leg ended up between his thighs, well.

He vaguely remembers reading about how exercise releases endorphins that can cause people to

become, uh, in the mood, but it has never happened to him, not even with the ridiculous amount of

workouts he’s been through lately with the killer Krasuno practice schedule.

Kuroo’s tongue swipes against the seam of Tsukishima’s lips and derails his whole train of

thought. The feeling is so strange the only thing he can do in response is gasp. Kuroo seems to take

this as an invitation because the next thing Tsukishima registers is the foreign feeling of another

person’s tongue sliding against his.

It should be gross — really, really gross since he learned in biology that the human mouth is

basically a big wet petri dish — but Tsukishima feels the blood leave his brain and flood south at

the slick sensation.

The sound that spills from Kuroo’s mouth and into Tsukishima’s is positively the most sinful thing

Tsukishima has ever heard.

Hands. His hands. What does he do with his hands? Kuroo’s are still gripping onto the short strands

of Tsukishima’s hair. Is this a clue? Does Kuroo want him to do the same thing? But there are too

many elbows too close together if he does that. Should he rest his hands on Kuroo’s waist? Would

that make Kuroo feel, like, emasculated?

“I can hear you overthinking this.” Kuroo’s voice is a husky whisper as he speaks against

Tsukishima’s lips.

It’s really hot in this closet.

Kuroo pulls away slightly, but is still close enough that his breath ghosts over Tsukishima’s

cheeks. “If you wanna stop, just say the word.”

Tsukishima grips Kuroo’s hips in his fingers, squeezing firmly. “I wouldn’t be here unless I wanted

to ‘have some fun,’ as you put it.”

The chuckle that bubbles up Kuroo’s throat is gruff, deep, and Tsukishima sort of feels like he

wants to drown in it. Kuroo grins and plants another solid kiss, no tongue, to Tsukishima’s mouth.

“Then let’s continue, shall we?” The way the corners of his lips stretch impossibly wider is

absolutely devilish.

A hand slides up Tsukishima’s shirt as Kuroo’s lips find a sensitive spot at the junction between his

ear and neck. Kuroo kisses down the column of his neck, letting his teeth graze Tsukishima’s

sensitive skin every so often. He sucks when he reaches the hollow of Tsukishima’s throat.

“Don’t leave a mark, idiot,” Tsukishima manages to growl between pleasured gasps.

Kuroo chuckles against his clavicle, kisses the reddening skin in apology. “Your wish is my

command, Tsukki-sama.”

Tsukishima groans lowly and pushes his hips against Kuroo’s, relishing in momentary friction.

“Take off your shirt.”