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So it starts like this: Yahaba was still wearing his sweaty practice jersey at work, and Datekou’s captain walked in wearing his school warm-up sweats. Yahaba eyed the “DATE TECH HIGH SCHOOL” emblazoned on the guy’s chest. Datekou’s captain glared at the “SEIJOU HIGH SCHOOL” written on Yahaba’s. A rush of humid summer heat pushed into the candy store briefly as the door shut, but dissipated quickly in the near Arctic temperatures of the heavily air-conditioned room. Yahaba was pretty sure, though, that it had nothing to do with the whirr of the aircon when it somehow got even colder, tension hanging thick in the air.
It was Datekou’s captain who first broke the silence. “Hey, too bad about losing to Karasuno,” he said, his tone implying anything but condolence.
Yahaba felt a twinge of annoyance, but by now he’d had years of dealing with combative classmates (Kyoutani) and insolent kouhai (Kunimi), so it was easy enough to plaster on a smile. “I’m sure you know a lot about losing,” his words like syrup, aimed to aggravate.
Annoyingly, his combatant didn’t look aggravated at all. If anything, his eyes gleamed in what seemed like challenge. “I didn’t see you on the court, though,” he said, “are you the ball boy?”
“Obviously not, ball boys don’t have jer– “
“Oh, the manager, then?”
Yahaba jabbed at his own chest with more violence than he meant to convey. “Captain,” he said, jabbing at it again and tracing the horizontal line underlining the number one. “I’m the captain.”
If the jersey was stiff and new, the plastic tag that he keeps forgetting to cut off itching the back of his neck uncomfortably, and the horizontal line he had just pointed out still making him feel self-conscious and inadequate and scared, well, Datekou’s captain didn’t have to know that.
“Oh!” Datekou’s captain clapped with apparent glee. “So am I! I’ve never seen Seijou’s future captain on the court though...”
“I’ve never seen you before, either,” Yahaba said, like a liar.
“Futakuchi Kenji? Most handsome member of the Iron Wall? Amazing, Undefeatable, Infatigable Ace of Datekou?”
“More like Insufferable,” Yahaba replied.
Futakuchi Kenji frowned at him. “I’ve been told that I’m very charming, actually.”
“Who would say that, ever?”
“Many, many members of my very large, very expansive fan club, actually,” Futakuchi sniffed. “It’s exhausting to have so many fans, but I’ve been plagued with good looks and natural charisma since birth, so... Not that you would know anything about that, of course.”
“I was confessed to last week, actually,” Yahaba said, resolutely ignoring the unfortunate facts that first, it was the only time he’s ever been confessed to; second, he suspected that it was only because he was just promoted to captain; and three, it was the singular most embarrassing encounter of his entire seventeen years of existence.
“Oh,” Futakuchi scoffed, “Ten girls asked for my number just today.”
Yahaba felt that it was adequate enough to give Futakuchi a single look of disbelief.
“Hm,” Futakuchi hummed innocently, and while Yahaba was still distracted trying to predict what he could possibly be planning, Futakuchi had already snitched his phone from where Yahaba had hidden it under some papers.
“Fu-ta-ku-chi Ken-ji,” he said, punching in the syllables of his name onto Yahaba’s phone before typing in his number, as well. “And your name is...?”
“Yahaba Shigeru,” he replied begrudgingly.
“Don’t worry, Yahaba-kun,” Futakuchi said consolingly, reaching over the counter to pat the top of Yahaba’s head. “I know you think that I won’t have time to reply to your messages, what with the hundreds of thousands of fan messages that I get, but don’t fret. I make time for all of my fans.”
Yahaba sighed. “I’m sorry, did you come here for anything besides annoying me?”
“Obviously,” Futakuchi said, and turned away from the counter to start examining the boxes, filled with colorful candies, lining the walls of the store. Yahaba assumed that it marked the end of their conversation, but Futakuchi continued talking, his voice fading and strengthening as he walked around and around the store’s perimeter to examine each box of candy. Topics of Futakuchi’s one-sided conversation ranged from the history of sour gummy invention and refinement, appearance of sour gummy paraphernalia in media and pop culture, and the debatable preference of many consumers of red flavor sour gummy over blue. Yahaba wasn’t sure if Futakuchi just liked to talk a lot, or if he somehow knew that the constant chatter was slowly pissing Yahaba off, or both.
Finally, Futakuchi plopped a bag stuffed to the brim with sour gummies onto the scale. Yahaba read out the total, bid him goodbye, and hoped that today would be the last that he saw of Futakuchi Kenji.
It wasn’t.
Yahaba quickly learned that there are three things absolutely essential to Futakuchi Kenji’s existence: bothering people, gossiping, and sour gummies after volleyball practice. Unfortunately, as Yahaba also learned, his presence at the candy shop close to home sat directly at the intersection of all three.
Which meant that when Yahaba came in for work on Mondays and Thursdays after practice, so did Futakuchi to buy his twice weekly stash of sour gummies.
It quickly became a routine: Futakuchi would walk in with the jingle of the bells on the door and the rush of hot outside air, they would exchange a few jibes and snide comments on one of their choices in clothing and occasionally high school volleyball teams, Futakuchi would fill up his bag with exactly the same proportion of blue to red to yellow to green sour gummies while making sure Yahaba learned more about sour gummy properties and history than he ever needed to know, occasionally giving Yahaba pop quizzes like it was some fucking class. It was sad, but as the weeks floated by in the sour-sweet, blurry way that summers tended towards, Yahaba was actually getting used to Futakuchi’s constant chatter.
So on Monday afternoon around when Futakuchi usually came in, Yahaba had already prepared himself with some choice insults. Suddenly, the door burst open with the violent jingle of bells and pounding of sneakers on the concrete outside.
“Koganegawa, for god’s sake, slow down!”
Yahaba turned just in time to catch the infinitely amusing sight of Futakuchi being dragged into the store by an overly large and enthusiastic boy that Yahaba recognized as Datekou’s new first-year setter. Sweat was dripping off of Futakuchi’s forehead. “Oh my god,” he wheezed as his kouhai dropped his hand to scamper around the store and Futakuchi was able to lean on Yahaba’s counter in exhaustion, “I’m too old for this.”
Yahaba glanced to where Koganegawa was admiring the gummy sharks. “He seems sweet.”
“Yeah, say that again when he’s throwing a tantrum because he forgot to bring his after-practice bento and insists on following his senpai to the candy store.”
“Ah,” Yahaba replied knowingly.
“Yeah,” Futakuchi huffed, using his practice shirt to wipe sweat off his brow. “Every day that I’m captain I realize more and more how Moniwa was an absolute saint.”
“Same,” Yahaba agreed vehemently. “Did you know that last week Kunimi bribed some first years to cover the locker room floor with little cups of water? We had to cancel practice that day because it was taking so long to clear the space in front of everyone’s locker. I think that was his plan all along.”
“During training camp Koganegawa ate too much one night and threw it all up. On my futon. Took me ages to clean it, and it still smelled like vomit the whole night.”
“Ouch,” Yahaba winced, just as Koganegawa called from the other side of the store, “Are you guys talking about me?”
“No,” Futakuchi replied, and continued to gossip about his exhausting kouhai as Koganegawa ran around the store filling his bag with tiny scoops from each box of candy.
Finally, Koganegawa returned to the front counter to pay for his candy, plopping the bag onto the scale and digging around in his gym bag, which was, from what Yahaba could tell, more filled with candy wrappers and empty milk boxes than any sort of article of clothing. After a few minutes of digging, he slumped in distress. “I forgot my money,” he lamented, and Yahaba grinned as Futakuchi sighed, rubbed at his temples, and reached for his wallet.
When Shirabu returned to his room after his shower, his phone flashed with a text message, which was strange for multiple reasons, but mostly because he really only had two running message conversations: one with Watari, and the other of the Seijou volleyball team as a whole, both of which were generally pretty quiet on the Friday nights after a long practice match.
Toweling off the droplets hanging on the ends of his hair, Yahaba looked at the message.
Group Message (Ennoshita Chikara, Yahaba Shigeru, Futakuchi Kenji, Shirabu Kenjirou)
[20:15] Ennoshita Chikara: hey guys! i'm reviewing a movie this weekend for my blog, and was wondering if you guys want to come over this weekend to watch it with me? i would appreciate the other viewpoints, and also thought it might be a good idea for us new captains to get to know each other a little better :)
[20:21] Shirabu Kenjirou: I would be happy to.
Yahaba frowned at his phone screen. On one hand, he liked and respected Ennoshita, and didn’t want to snub a generous invitation, making himself and his team look bad. On the other hand, Shirabu Kenjirou frequently rubbed him the wrong way, especially his attitude on the setter’s role in the team. Plus, Yahaba didn’t do great in social situations where he didn’t know the people that well. Unlike Oikawa, who bloomed with coaches and captains and teammates that he didn’t even know, Yahaba just felt awkward.
In this case, the person he would know best there would be... Futakuchi.
Yahaba frowned harder. Sighed. Slowly tapped on Futakuchi’s contact name.
Text Message (Yahaba Shigeru, Futakuchi Kenji)
[20:29] Yahaba Shigeru: Hey are you going to the thing at Ennoshita’s
His phone buzzed immediately.
[20:29] Futakuchi Kenji: idk are you? (・_・ヾ
[20:30] Futakuchi Kenji: feel like its gonna be a little awkward lol (￢_￢;)
[20:30] Yahaba Shigeru: RIGHT???
[20:31] Yahaba Shigeru: I’ll go if u go
[20:32] Futakuchi Kenji: (⊙_⊙) yahaba shigeru needing me????? awwwwww so sweet.. poor lil yahaba
[20:34] Yahaba Shigeru: Say that again and all of ur sour gummies will “mysteriously” disappear from the store on Monday
[20:35] Futakuchi Kenji: (シ_ _)シ
[20:36] Futakuchi Kenji: guess we’re both going then?
[20:36] Yahaba Shigeru: Ok yeah sounds good.
[20:38] Yahaba Shigeru: Quit the kaomojis while ur at it
[20:39] Futakuchi Kenji: (;;;*_*)
It was strange to see Futakuchi interact with new people; Futakuchi’s specific brand of bothering had long worn off on Yahaba, and he had instead been relegated to the person Futakuchi tested and refined his new insults on. So when he and Futakuchi happened to meet Shirabu in the train station on the way to Ennoshita’s house, and Futakuchi gleefully launched his assault on the unsuspecting Shirabu, Yahaba watched in interest as one particular jibe and he and Futakuchi had come up with together made Shirabu’s face turn red with indignation. And walking from the station to Ennoshita’s house, Futakuchi made sure to fill the silence with the meaningless candy trivia that Yahaba heard too many times to count. By the time that they reached Ennoshita’s house, Yahaba could tell Shirabu was ready to burst. To be honest, Yahaba was surprised he was able to last so long under Futakuchi’s endless barrage.
Yahaba rang the doorbell just as Futakuchi reached the climax of his critical analysis of Shirabu’s outfit. How Futakuchi managed to talk so much about a plain white shirt and blue athletic shorts, Yahaba would never know, but he watched Shirabu's composure begin to crack as Futakuchi enumerated the many ways his socks weren’t fashion forward.
The corner of Shirabu's mouth twitched as Futakuchi commented on the length of them.
A vein jumped at the rating of their particular shade of white (how many shades of white could there be, Yahaba wondered).
Finally, he snapped.
“Oh my god, shut the fuck up,” Shirabu hissed, at the exact moment Ennoshita opened the door to let them in.
They all froze. Shirabu looked mortified, color climbing up from under his shirt collar.
“O-Oh, hello, Ennoshita,” Shirabu said, bright red, bowing deeply as Futakuchi snickered behind him in delight.
“Ennoshita is pretty seriously against using bad words, Shirabu. I don’t know if he’ll let you stay,” Futakuchi grinned, before Ennoshita flicked Futakuchi’s forehead to shut him up and told Shirabu, “Don’t listen to him. Come the fuck in.”
“Uh, okay...” Shirabu replied quietly, and trailed after Ennoshita and Futakuchi into the house, seeming dazed.
Yahaba followed him and sat on the couch with Futakuchi and Shirabu as Ennoshita fiddled with cords and his laptop to get ready for the movie. For once, Futakuchi didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with his own chatter, and they sat in relative peace as Ennoshita explained the premise of the movie and some background on the director as he set up the fancy speakers that he insisted enhanced the movie experience.
“I'm thirsty,” Shirabu said in a lull in the conversation.
Futakuchi turned to frown at him. “This is Ennoshita’s house, dude, get some water yourself.”
“Pitcher’s in the kitchen,” Ennoshita called from behind the TV. "Turn right at the end of the hallway."
“Win a couple of Interhighs and you think you’re the king, huh,” Futakuchi said, shaking his head at Yahaba as if to say, poor thing. He turned back to Shirabu and gave him a piteous look. “You guys lost, remember?”
“Fuck you, I just didn’t know where the kitchen was,” Shirabu said.
“You were usurped! By Ennoshita, no less,” Futakuchi said gleefully. “You should be getting Ennoshita some water instead, huh, Yahaba?”
Shirabu sputtered and Ennoshita laughed from the TV. Yahaba carefully schooled his expression and replied, “I think it was an innocent misunderstanding and we should refrain from making comments that could hurt each other’s feelings.” He stood up, making sure no amusement leaked through his expression. “I’ll go get you some water, Shirabu.”
“Thank you, Yahaba-kun,” Shirabu said pointedly, glaring at Futakuchi. “I am relieved that some of us still are courteous and considerate of others.”
As Yahaba turned and walked towards the kitchen, he grinned as he heard Futakuchi squawk in surprised betrayal, but kept his expression level returning with four cups for all of them, just to emphasize his magnanimous nature.
As Yahaba set the last glass down, his phone vibrated angrily. He looked at Futakuchi to see him furiously typing, sighed, and sat down next to him on the couch.
Text Message (Yahaba Shigeru, Futakuchi Kenji)
[14:10] Futakuchi Kenji: OH
[14:10] Futakuchi Kenji: MY
[14:10] Futakuchi Kenji: GODDDD
[14:10] Futakuchi Kenji: DDDDDDDDDDD
[14:11] Futakuchi Kenji: CANT BELIEVE U WOULD DO THIS TO ME
[14:11] Yahaba Shigeru: ? Do what?
[14:12] Futakuchi Kenji: PRETEND TO BE A GOOD BOY WHEN WE BOTH KNOW THATS NOT TRUE
[14:13] Futakuchi Kenji: JUST BECAUSE U WEAR GOOD BOY POLOS DONT THINK ILL EVER BE FOOLED
[14:14] Yahaba Shigeru: I’m an angel ?
[14:15] Futakuchi Kenji: OK OK SO YOU WANNA PLAY IT THAT WAY
[14:15] Futakuchi Kenji: OH ITS ON
Yahaba looked up from his phone to see Futakuchi glaring a direct challenge. He narrowed his eyes in response before looking up innocently at Ennoshita, who was returning to the couch after having set up the movie.
The opening credits started, and Futakuchi began his relentless attack on Yahaba’s sanity.
“Look, it’s Yahaba,” Futakuchi said, pointing to the trash can in the background of the opening scene. Throughout the movie, he said the same for a box of tissues, the stray dog that made the main leads fall in love with each other, a candy wrapper, and the underwear discarded in the respectably steamy PG-13 sex scene.
“Ooh, Yahaba would make that mistake,” Futakuchi commented as the male lead accidentally insulted his sister, causing her to furiously storm off.
When the little girl asked the rhetorical question if anyone out there could help her with her problems, Futakuchi replied, “Not Yahaba, that’s for sure.”
They watched as the male lead presented his love interest with cheap convenience store chocolates, still in their plastic packaging. If Futakuchi says something now... Yahaba eyed Futakuchi suspiciously, watched in horror and disbelief as Futakuchi's mouth twitched into a smile and opened, felt the anger build up inside him.
“Classic Yahaba,” Futakuchi said, shaking his head, and Yahaba stood up, slamming his hands on the coffee table.
“I’VE HAD ENOUGH,” he yelled, over the movie and through the stinging of his palms. The other three all turned to look at him, two of them pitying, one of them gleefully victorious. “I’ve put up with it now, but I WORK in a candy store, you fucker, and i have TEN THOUSAND YEARS WORTH OF KNOWLEDGE on the history of MULTIPLE types of confectionary creations thanks to a CERTAIN SOMEONE, so,” Yahaba paused to take a shuddering breath. “If you think that I can’t at least do better than convenience store chocolates,” he said, hissing the phrase, “then boy, you’ve got another thing coming.”
A few beats passed. Three faces gaped back at him, speechless. On the TV, the main female lead threw the chocolates in the guy's face and drove off in his car. Yahaba took a couple of deep breaths.
“...Wow,” Ennoshita finally said.
Futakuchi, for once, was silent, except for an insufferably smug expression on his face that spoke volumes.
“You guys are pretty good friends, huh,” Shirabu said.
“Huh?” Yahaba said, a little taken off guard. “Uh, I guess,” he finally replied, even though it was the first time he’s even realized himself how good friends he and Futakuchi actually were.
Yahaba made a rude gesture at Futakuchi before he could get too smug about it, though.
♡♡♡
There were many things that Futakuchi was very particular about– the temperature of his milk tea, which couldn’t be too hot nor too cold; the fit of his volleyball shoes, insisting that too-wide soles impacted his jumping; the exact shade that his hair was dyed (unlike Yahaba, whose hair color seemed to fluctuate strangely between brown and gray even though he used the same box dye every time)– but of all the things he was particular about, sour gummies was the most important. By now he must have gotten the proportion of his sour gummy mix down to a science, measuring his scoops to the individual worm every time he came to the store. Now Yahaba squatted by the box of red sour gummies, trying to remember if it was 32 or 33 that Futakuchi preferred, because, not that Yahaba would have ever expected it, but Futakuchi’s stupidly specific preferences were important this time.
After a few minutes of squatting and feeling ridiculous transferring a single worm back and forth between the box and his cellophane bag in his indecision, Yahaba huffed and guessed 33.
Quickly, he moved on to the box of blue, then green, then yellow sour gummies– Futakuchi would be here soon so that they could walk together to Ennoshita’s house, and they would talk and complain to each other about their days and their classes and their exhausting kouhai, and then Yahaba would. Give him the sour gummies. And then. Confess that he liked him.
Yahaba clenched his fist anxiously at the thought, the cellophane crinkling loudly in his hand.
He checked his watch again. Futakuchi was habitually punctual unless he wanted to be annoying, but he’s given up on that tactic with Yahaba already, so he would probably arrive any second now. Tying the bag with a bit of store ribbon, Yahaba tried to wait calmly. He checked his phone. Skimmed through an article. Stood up. Sat back down. Popped a few jellybeans. Drummed his fingers on the counter.
The bells on the door jingled, and Futakuchi walked in with the fresh autumn breeze.
Yahaba stood up. “Hey,” he said, or rather tried to, because what came out was squeaky and half-there, barely a word.
“Hey,” said Futakuchi, casual and unsuspecting and unfairly handsome. “I–"
“I– " Yahaba started at the same time, reddened, stopped. “Never mind.”
“No, what is it?” Futakuchi asked, and of course he chose this of all times to be willing to stop talking, not when they all shushed him at the movie theater or that time he kept Yahaba up nearly the whole night ranting to him about the moral transgressions of certain candy manufacturers.
Instead of responding, because he was pretty sure his vocal chords weren’t able to function at this point, Yahaba pulled out the bag of sour gummies, putting it on the counter between them.
“Hey, is this for me?” Futakuchi asked, picking up the bag and examining the contents. “This is exactly how I like my bag of gummies! Thanks!”
Yahaba cleared his throat, inspecting the speckled countertop. “It’s– It’s better than convenience store chocolates, right?”
A few beats of silence passed. Yahaba clenched his fists, pursed his mouth. Gathered the courage to glance up at Futakuchi.
Who was munching on a blue gummy worm, completely oblivious. “Huh?” Futakuchi said around the worm. “Oh, yeah, definitely. Thanks for the treat!”
Sometimes Futakuchi was really perceptive, like when he was analyzing a spiker’s path or when he targeted someone's biggest pet peeves or when he noticed when Yahaba was having a shitty day. But sometimes, he was really, really, dumb.
“You idiot, I’m trying to– I’m trying to confess to you ,” Yahaba said, the declaration starting loud but fading to a whisper by the end.
Futakuchi opened his mouth. Yahaba could see bits of blue candy still inside. “Oh,” he said, stupidly. “Ohhh. OHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!”
“Forget it,” Yahaba said, mortified.
“No, no, wait,” Futakuchi started, but Yahaba was already turning around to get his bag and make his escape.
Sugary fingers reached, held onto the sides of cheeks before Yahaba could do so, and then lips, rough with sour crystals clinging to their surface, pressed against his own. It felt strange but good, warm and sweet. Their lips parted briefly and met again, parted and met, like serendipitous friends finding each other somehow again and again, or like it was a sweet courtship, their lips pressing together for only a few brief moments at a time, as if only to taste.
Futakuchi pulled back, eyes gleaming. Yahaba closed his mouth and tried not to stare. "Yahaba, that was so romantic. You remember how I like my sour gummies and you remember that movie with the convenience store chocolates when we first started flirting– that was flirting, right– and oh my god, we just kissed, and also you are really, really, really cu–"
"I get it, I get it," Yahaba muttered, his lips still tingling from the kiss and his cheeks beginning to tingle from embarrassment, too.
"I like you, too," Futakuchi said, before leaning in close once again. Their sweet, candied breaths mingled. Yahaba closed his eyes and leaned forward into the kiss, reaching out his hand to entangle his fingers with Futakuchi's on the countertop, cool against his heated skin. Futakuchi tasted like blue flavored sour gummies, the flavor of which Futakuchi himself has ranted about multiple times because what’s a blue raspberry, anyway, so isn't that false advertising?
And then Futakuchi’s clever tongue licked against his, and Yahaba didn’t think about blue raspberries or questionable marketing anymore, only the curious texture of Futakuchi’s lips pressing against his, and Futakuchi’s sour, sweet mouth moving warmly, and Futakuchi, Futakuchi, Futakuchi.
After sweet kisses stolen as Yahaba closed up the store, and a long walk in which their hands bumped together too often to be coincidence, Yahaba’s feet skipping giddily along with his heartbeat, they arrived at Ennoshita's house. Shirabu opened the door, took one look at them, and sighed. “You fuckers cost me 2000 yen,” he muttered darkly. From somewhere inside, Ennoshita whooped victoriously.