Dysfunctional [Tsukishima Kei x Reader]

Warning: Profanities.

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Dysfunctional

If you got a dollar every time you felt an overwhelming desire to punch Tsukishima Kei in face, you’d fuck up the economy.^[1] But, no, life doesn’t work like that. Instead, here you were, shooting the upsized douchebag a fake smile as you took his order.

“What’ll it be?” you asked for the sake of pissing him off, because he knew that you knew what he was about to order. It wasn’t like he actually ordered anything else other than strawberry shortcake. God, maybe that’s the solitary thing his minute, asshole heart is capable of loving.

“The usual,” he grunted out without taking as much as a glance at you.

“And what might that be, sir?” you chirped, taking note of how he winced in annoyance by the end of your question.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot that your brain’s incapable of basic recall,” he flouted, as he plastered a hubristic smirk across his face before he added sarcastically, “strawberry shortcake, please. ”

You vaguely wondered what expression he’d have on his face if you punched him right then and there. You won’t, though. You weren’t stupid enough to do that. Probably.

“Ah,” you made it a point to mirror the pejorative sweetness of his voice. “Sorry, it’s probably just because I allot very little space in my head for insufferable pricks.”

“[Name]!” your manager scolded from behind the counter, probably hearing your exchange with the blonde. In response, you sent her a reassuring smile and two thumbs up, which directly translated to: ‘Don’t worry, I won’t be murdering him inside your café. Or at least I promise not to get blood everywhere.’

“I heard you have a game coming up,” you began. You might as well wish the team luck. Sure, you weren’t Tsukishima Kei’s biggest fan, but you were in considerably good terms with the other freshmen members.

“You actually remembered something someone told you? Huh. See? You’re improving,” he condescended. Nope, you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t be nice to be nice to this jerk, and god knew you won’t try to be in at least a hundred years.

“I was gonna say ‘good luck,’ but now I just hope you trip and fall face-first the moment the match begins.” With that, you turned and walked away. Too bad you couldn’t keep walking away until you were out of Tsukishima’s general vicinity, and maybe jump into a plane that’d take you half-way across the world from where he is. That would’ve been perfect. Unfortunately for you, you had to continue breathing the same air as him up until your shift ends.

Fucking hell, it was going to be a long afternoon.

•••

No.

There was no goddamned way you forgot your umbrella. Yes, you could clearly conjure the memory of you chucking your umbrella inside your bag. Of course, all you needed to do was to look harder. Totally.

Oh god.

Who were you kidding? Of course you forgot your umbrella, like how you forget everything that just magically deems itself necessary at a later hour. There was no way your manager would lend you one, because she was a bitter old hag that hated everything that proved to be younger than her. Plus, the closest convenience store from here was around twenty blocks away. By the time you’d get there you would’ve been soaked from head to toe.

For a while, you just glared at the rain, whilst uttering all imaginable curses in your head. The only upside, it seemed, was how the downpour’s roars played over all else, it’s perpetual pitter-patter eating away every single sound that dared to obtrude in its domain. There was a distinct serenity to it.

It was Tsukishima Kei who pulled you out of your train of thought, his fetid presence and all. He, seeming to have registered your lack of an umbrella, smirked at you as he brandished his in front of you.

“Ahhh, too bad. It doesn’t look like the rain would let out any time soon,” he paused, probably waiting for your retort, but you opted to ignore him. That never failed to annoy him, and it won’t fail now.

“…”

“Looks like you have to wait here ‘til you’re stiff in the knees.”

“…”

“Unless, of course, you beg.”

“…”

“Tsk. C’mon it’s easy: ‘Tsukishima-kun, please let me share the umbrella with you,’” he comically raised his tone a few octaves higher as a pisspoor attempt of copying your own.

Finally, you turned to face him, whilst feigning innocence. “How about: Tsukishima-kun, please shove your umbrella up your ass.”  

Rolling his eyes, he opened the umbrella saying, “Whatever.”

As he began to leave, though, you scooted next to him with full intention of extorting his scant piece of shade in spite of his approval. Characteristically, complains should have been leaving his mouth by now at a speed of a million per second, but no such thing happened. In actuality, the mere fact that he hasn’t kicked you out surprised you to no end.

Oh my god, maybe he does have a heart. What a groundbreaking discovery.

Halfway to the station, it was excruciatingly obvious that Tsukishima’s umbrella was not made to be shared. You could feel the rainwater seep through your right sleeve, and you were pretty sure the same thing was happening to him. As you dawned on that realization, you felt the desire to apologize, or at least thank him.

Holy shit, if someone had told you that you’d feel like genuinely thanking Tsukishima an hour earlier, you would’ve laughed right at their faces and maybe advise them to get their eyes checked.

But, now, you weren’t too sure.

“Ne, Tsukishima,” you began. Thank him, the more reasonable part of you said.

“Hn?”

But it just so happens that the part of you that can imagine the arrogance he'd display once you direct something aside from a derogatory statement towards him prevented you from doing so. Nonetheless, you continued with something different entirely, "So, which team will you be facing?"

He took a gander of your form before looking forward yet again, "Does it really matter?"

"Yes," you argued for the sole purpose of disagreeing, because if you didn't, Tsukishima would just shut down all your attempts of breaking the 100 foot thick ice that stood between the both of you. It was probably impossible, but, hey, at least you could say you tried. If you weren't gonna apologize, you might as well attempt to be friendly even though the receiving end is the most unfriendly piece of shit there is.

He rolled his eyes at you for the umpteenth time that day, but he answered anyway, "Shiratorizawa."

Sure, you might not have been the most well versed individual in terms of this prefecture’s highschool volleyball, but you'd be damned if you didn't know that Shiratorizawa the best team amongst all others. The fact that they now had the ultimate ace – Ushijima Wakatoshi – within their ranks.

"Damn."

Tsukishima scoffed in bitter amusement, in contrary to the boredom his expression oh-so brazenly showcased. What an awesome conversational partner. A++. 10/10. Will talk to again.

Not.

By the time you spoke to him again, the both of you had already situated yourselves on two of the many vacant seats within the freight train. Although there was an abundant number of empty spaces that were right next to each other, you opted to sit on the one directly in front of Tsukishima – not too close as to possibly provoke a wrestling match between the both of you, and not too far as for you to seem like a lunatic addressing the thin air whilst attempting to converse with him.

“In a scale of one to hell yes, what do you think are the chances of you blocking one of The Lefty’s ^[2] spikes?” You asked, half as an attempt to rile him up and half due to your own curiosity.

“Square root of negative three.”

“Irrational? Really? Aren’t you supposed to be a hot-shot blocker or something or have I been misled?” Although you didn’t know anything about Ushijima aside from the alleged claims of him being a volleyball god, you did know about Tsukishima. Hey, he might’ve been less motivated that all the others and his play might’ve been rough on the edges, but he had skill. In all honesty, it somewhat pissed you off that he refused to recognize that.

He clicked his tongue, finally letting your incitement get on his nerves. But then, he replied with the firmest tone you’ve ever heard him speak, “I’m pretty sure I’m no match to him, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try.”

Before you could register it, a broad grin ensconces itself across your face. For the briefest second, if you hadn’t know any better, you would’ve thought that the lightest shade of pink had dusted Tsukishima’s face. Not a second longer, an interesting idea popped into your head. You wasted no time in voicing out your proposal:

“How about we make a bet?”

“A bet?” That seems to have caught his attention. His signature smirk played across the crack of his lips as he stared at you with obvious intrigue.

“Yes, a bet. Are we gonna repeat the word ‘bet’ to each other the whole day like a bunch of retarded shitbags or should I expound?” you raised your brows at him, as you morphed the final vestige of your grin into a cross of a smile and a smirk.

“Try the latter.”

“Don’t mind if I do. The bet: If you do as much as score a point from blocking Ushijima’s spike, then I’ll have to a huge favor for you, and if you don’t,” you faked a sweet tone, “you’ll have to do a huge favor for me.”

You half-expected him to point out how obviously rigged the said preposition was, but instead, he acceded. “You better not get cold feet when I knock that ball from the air.”

“As if.” It was now your turn to roll your eyes. Honestly though? You were a tad bit nervous.

Thenafter, the both of you shaked on it. The weird thing was, you thought, how you could’ve sworn your heart skipped a beat the moment the warmth of his skin coincided with your own.

•••

All of it happened in a scant span of a second.

The adrenalin that had been piling up overflowed from the dam of your mind’s filter before it consumed the barrier whole; the force, materializing itself as a loud cheer that intertwined itself with all the others – an explosion. Although a wide margin of the crowed still remained in silent surprise, you couldn’t help yourselves. After all, Tsukishima had done it.

He successfully blocked one of Ushijima’s spikes.

That was the first time, you realized, that you saw the flagpole of assholery smile. Strangely enough, your heart responded by doing a full revolution inside your chest, but you were too preoccupied with screaming your lungs out to bother about it. Only when he fired one of his cocky smirks towards your general direction did you make sense that: No. You should not, in fact, be happy because you lost the goddamned bet. But even then, you couldn’t wipe off the smile that was oh-so snugly sitting across your face.

You couldn’t tell if it was because of the immense distance between the both of you, or if it was because that’s how you wanted to see it, but in that moment, it seemed as though Tsukishima smiled right back at you.

•••

They lost.

After the excruciatingly grueling struggle, Shiratorizawa rose and proved to be the victor. The battle was close. Maybe that’s why it was so painful. It was strange – how each of Karasuno’s members’ pained expressions got to you. It weighed down your chest like a basket of pebbles, and all it seemed to do was get heavier. However, only when you saw the bitter smile painted across Tsukishima’s lips did your heart fall from your chest completely.

You didn’t know why.

Tagging along with Yachi and Kiyoko-san, the three of you headed towards the locker rooms. By the time you got there, however, the thick atmosphere of regret had already been placated by the captain’s speech. The rest of the team, in spite of the tears glistening in the eyes of most of them, agreed with Sawamura-san with an ignited vigor – all except Tsukishima. He kept quiet, while blankly staring at the monologue-ing captain. Any other person would’ve just dismissed it as yet another display of Tsukishima’s i-don’t-give-a-shit acts, but some part of you knew that something was off in spite not knowing what exactly.

So when Sawamura-san had finished encouraging the team, and when Tsukishima asked to be excused, you made sense to follow him. You had a feeling he wasn't gonna go back. As expected, he retreated to the nearest bathroom. You leaned against the wall parallel to the entrance, waiting for him to get changed.

There was this churning sensation in your gut that was telling you that Tsukishima cared a lot more the he let on. That also meant that in spite of the indifferent expression he liked to put on, he was probably hurting too. The strange thing was that you found the thought unbearable. Before you could realize it, you were already plenty ready to do everything it took to cheer him up.

"What're you doing here?" He practically hissed at you the moment he discovered your presence.

"Let's go. We're leaving," you muttered with a distinct finality.

"We are not going anywhere. I'm leaving. You go wherever the hell," he responded with a passive acridity.

"Shut up. I'm doing you a favor. Remember the bet?" You knew your reasoning was askew, but so was his.

"Who cares about the goddammed bet?" That was when he began to leave, deliberately cheating you with his long legs and long strides. Hell, you had to do a half jog just to keep up with him.

"I do. Now, let me take take you on a candlelight hate date," you burst out in fast intervals. That, however, made him stop all movement completely.

"A what?"

Figuring that that's the closest thing that you were gonna get as a 'yes' from him, you began to drag him by the sleeve. Unexpectedly though, he actually let you. He remained silent the whole time, even as you sat directly next to him in the train. The kind of quiet that enveloped the both of you, though, was a comfortable one. The solitary sound that played through the air was the distant thrum of the train as it sped into the distance.

In that span of time, you thought of the place where you wanted to bring him. The beach. It wasn't anything special, really. It was just that, in this time of year, the shoreline was practically deserted; thus entailing it with a cathartic tranquility.

It was last year, you thought, when you discovered that utopia. You especially loved to scream against the billowing gale, as the waves crashed and cascaded against the soles of your feet. That was the only place where you could truly let go.

As if on cue, the train comes into a halt, as a mechanical voice played through the freight. This was your stop. From there, it was only a ten minute trek to the beach. Upon your arrival, you sucked in the salty fragrance that lied thickly in the blowing wind.

"You finally get to take me out on a “date,” and you take me to the beach? In the middle of November??" He tried to speak over the gust, of which you responded by giving him the middle finger.

"Now go take of your shoes," you told him as you kicked off your own from your feet.

Never did you truly have a conversation with Tsukishima where he failed to roll his eyes - something you were pretty sure he was doing in this very moment in spite of having your back turned to him. Nonetheless, you heard him throw his shoes into the sand a moment later. Then, you were pulling him again. This time, you did so by the hand.

It was a good thing, you told yourself, that you were facing away from Tsukishima, because you were certain that a violent red had invaded the otherwise [skin color] tone of your skin. Not a moment later, you walked into the shallow shores, feeling the biting cold of the water. But it wasn't unbearable, in fact, it proved to be the opposite.

"What do you do here?" You heard him call from behind. That was when you stopped to face him, with a smile plastered across your face.

"You feel the wind blow through your hair, thread through your body, and you scream." as if to make a point, a mottled string of curses fled from your lips. You turned towards the wind, and raised your hands over your head. Yet another battalion of profanity left your mouth.

In the respite of your conniption, you noticed him staring at you from the side of your eye. The moment you acknowledged this, butterflies materialized in your gut, while the gust left by their wings sent your mind waddling in the wind. You returned his stare, and in that moment, it was proven that in spite of having none of his teasing and insults get through your head, all it took for you to come apart was the intensity of his gaze.

In that brief span of time, the sun glowed red as it retreated beneath the horizon. However, you saw none of this. You only saw its light illuminate the contours of his face. Even when he allowed a gargantuan "FUCK THIS WORLD" ripple from his throat, and into the endless expanse that is the sea.

Only when the sun completely disappeared from view, and when the moon rose to stand in its place, delivering the night's cold with it, did the both of you head to shore. Wordlessly, you let yourself free-fall into the sand.

"What the hell are you doing now?" Despite the teasing tone of his voice, there was a small smile that adorned the features of his face.

"Come join me," you cooed in an all too shitty rendition of a seductive voice. He did, though. The both of you laid there in complete serenity, watching the blanket of constellations that was ensconced across the pre-winter night sky.

At one point, you'd asked Tsukishima about the stars. He groggily pointed out the dipper and the North Star, not failing to add an insult or two by the end of his sentence. God, he was such a bitch.

Then, you turned to face him, just watching him as he watched the sky. You half did it to annoy him, and half because a huge part of you was dying to do so. Sure enough, his head snapped to you, "What?"

"It's okay, you know." You began. "To care about things."

You've come to realize that the reason why Tsukishima perpetually wore a coat of apathy was because he was afraid of having something important to him. That game was important to him. It was probably the first thing he ever cared about in a very long time. That was why losing hurt him so much. You wanted to convey to him that it was perfectly okay to care - that it was okay for him to invest a part of himself in something important to him.

Nevertheless, he denied it. "I don't know what you’re talking about."

"You do. You just don't want to. There's a difference."

He hesitated, "It hurts." He was close enough for the breath of his words to graze your face.

"It doesn't always have to. It's a part of what makes us human," you whispered.

"Tsk," propping himself on an elbow, he hovered over you. You could hear him breathe of over the rapid beating of your heart, as he leaned into you. Not a second later, your lips met his.

And then you were flying.

[END]