Chapter Text
In all honesty, Tendou Satori believed none of this was his fault.
Really, he’d never meant for it to happen, Tendou had even made a point to keep away from this particular power keg during the game, yet here he was.
In a bathroom stall with a sobbing Iwaizumi Hajime cursing at him while simultaneously holding on as he flooded the middle blocker’s team jersey with his tears. It was a tight fit with both of them being either bulky like Iwaizumi or freakishly tall like Tendou, but they managed, even if Tendou's tailbone was pressed against the hinges.
“Hey man, I’m sorry, I didn't mean-” tried Tendou as he had been for the past ten minutes. They had another game in a couple of hours, so no one should come looking for him. But his team were a bunch of nosy assholes so the middle blocker wouldn’t put it past one of them to some snooping, wondering what was taking Tendou so long.
“Fuck you,” cried Iwaizumi. “I hate you, I hate Oikawa, I hate his stupid girlfriend and-”
Harsh, winced Tendou, but deserved. Superior powers of perception should really come with enough morality to only use them for good. Tendou used them to trash-talk and rile up his opponents. But it wasn’t like you needed to be a behavioural expert to interpret the fondness and longing in Iwaizumi’s eyes when he looked at his captain.
And so what if he had made a few less than sensitive jokes about the whole thing? Tendou thought it built character, members of the opposing team would be stronger people after these games.
Tendou sighed and ran a hand through Iwaizumi’s spiky hair, it was deceptively soft, observed the redhead. “Alright, I know, I know. But you gotta calm down, mate.”
Iwaizumi only pressed his face further into the purple and white of Tendou’s Shiratorizawa uniform.
The middle blocker reigned in a groan of frustration and continued patting the other boy’s considerably muscled back. It was probably the least he could do and if he just left, his shitty conscience that only made an appearance when convenient would eat him alive. “Okay fine, sob your guts out,” muttered Tendou.
They sat in relative silence for the next few minutes, the quiet only interrupted by Iwaizumi’s harsh breaths that steadily slowed, until finally he stopped crying and pulled away. His eyes were red and tear tracks dominated his face but he still looked handsome. God Tendou hated pretty criers, even their low moments weren’t low.
Iwaizumi’s spiky (but apparently soft) brown hair seemed to drop a little along with his mood and his tanned skin was a touch paler than usual, the strong lines of his face that usually demanded attention were a little droopy and overall he looked like some pretty model having a minor breakdown but still looking good enough for a photo shoot then and there. It would sell too, Tendou had no doubt girls would go for Iwaizumi’s melancholy vibe.
“Feeling any better?” asked Tendou, he surprised himself with the genuineness in his tone. Tendou didn’t warm up to people this quickly, perhaps Iwaizumi’s love/crush induced sadness that he definitely did not sympathise with was a tad too charming.
“No,” sniffed Iwaizumi as he roughly brushed his face with the sleeve of his jersey. “I just broke down in front of a stranger. Why the fuck would I feel any better?”
“Aight, jeez, it was just a question,” defended Tendou, holding up his hands in exaggerated surrender.
Iwaizumi glared but didn’t move away, seeming content with his position on the ground with his side pressed against Tendou.
Tendou, who had a game in a couple of hours, was not. If he was sore or hurting during the match, Coach would kill him and Semi would laugh.
“Move it,” said Tendou, elbowing Iwaizumi out of the way. “I got places to be, Muscles.”
And okay so maybe he felt bad about just leaving Iwaizumi in the stall, but he couldn’t do anything about that right now. A thought struck Tendou and before he could talk himself out of it he was already rummaging through his pockets for a pen. Then he grabbed Iwaizumi’s forearm and before the other boy could pull away he scribbled his phone number in small messy writing on the spiker’s wrist.
“Call me, or text, if you ever need anything,” said Tendou.
The middle blocker was about to turn away when the arm he was holding grabbed his own wrist in turn. Iwaizumi’s dark eyes met his own and he saw his own pain reflected in those pupils. But looking at them meant acknowledging feelings that would never be returned and so Tendou looked away, his own gaze darting away from Iwaizumi’s knowing look.
“You know too, you’re like me,” whispered the spiker, so softly Tendou wouldn't have caught it if there wasn’t less than a couple of inches between the both of them, but the weight of the sentence rested heavily. Not in a bad way, not necessarily, but with a lot of implication. He didn’t appear to be judging Tendou for it and it was nice in a way, he spoke of it like it was a special club. Liking someone who would never like you back was something that elevated both of them to a higher status.
“Yeah,” murmured Tendou, returning his eyes to Iwaizumi. “I guess I am.”
An ear shattering ringtone sliced through the calm, severing whatever connection Tendou had made with the Seijoh player. The middle blocker instinctively grabbed the device in his pocket and accepted the call, already knowing who it was because he liked to set ringtones for people to warn himself.
The annoying high pitch squeal he used for this particular caller wasn’t something he would be telling the other player about. The other third-year was a force of nature whenever he was mad and that anger was more often than not aimed at Tenou.
“Hiya Semisemi,” greeted Tendou, false cheer in his tone that had Iwaizumi snickering.
“Where the fuck are you, Tendou,” hissed Semi.