"I Hate Sports" ~ (A Tsukishima Kei X Reader) (COMPLETED)

Chapter Six

    On Saturday morning, you headed to the gym. You were meeting Tsukishima at the library in a few hours, so you had time to get a workout in. The gym wasn't much; there were a few treadmills and stationary bikes, but other than that it was just weight racks. There were a few college students there, but they paid you no attention.

    In a small, secluded room in the back of the store, there were a few punching bags. You pulled your headphones out of your bag and jogged towards the area.

    Your hands brushed the knob of the door, but you stopped when you heard footsteps in the other room. There was the faint sound of music, and every half second the sound of fists slamming into a punch bag filled your ears.

    Careful not to let the door creak, you poked your head in.

    It took a second to recognize Tsukishima; he was moving so fast he was almost a blur. The punching bag flew around wildly, slamming into the other bags. Like usual, he was wearing his headphones. A melody floated out of them, but it was unrecognizable. After another thirty seconds of pummelling the bag, he dropped to his knees.

    Sweat trickled down his face, and he was gasping for breath. He took off his glasses and started rubbing at his eyes.You noticed he was crying. He was murmuring something, the tears coming harder. They poured down his face, mixing with the sweat until the two were indistinguishable.

    You were so taken aback by Tsukishima's show of emotion (you had been considering the possibility that he was a robot) that you stepped back. Of course, this led to you slamming against the wall before stumbling into the room.

    Tsukishima looked up at you, horror and anger coloring his features. You decided to pretend you hadn't noticed him. Instead, you walked over to another punching bag and unslung your bag from your shoulder.

    The big, bulky headphones fit snugly against your head. You put on a song, and started beating the living daylights out of the punching bag.

    Tsukishima stood up, adjusted his headphones, and started doing the same.

    You don't know how long you two were there; it felt like both an eternity and no time at all. Your fists went numb a few minutes in, but you kept going, fueled by sweat and pent-up feelings.

    Eventually, you collapsed onto your knees. A few seconds later, Tsukishima did the same. Opening your bag, you fumbled for your water bottle, only to find that it wasn't there. You must have left it at home.

    Without a word, Tsukishima handed you his.

    Surprised at the gesture, you took a small sip. Once you had determined that it wasn't poison, you took a bigger gulp. You felt the cold water slide down your throat.

    As you passed the bottle back to Tsukishima, your eyes met. In that moment, something passed between you two. You might not be besties, but you understood each other. And who knew, maybe one day you could even be friends.

    The next few weeks blurred together. Between volleyball practices, keeping up with school, studying volleyball with Tsukishima, and writing your articles to Eiko, you barely had time to sleep. You still kept coming to the gym on Saturday mornings, though. Every time, Tsukishima would be there with an extra water bottle. Once, out of the corner of your eye, you had even caught him smiling.

    Unfortunately, the lack of down time was starting to get to you.

    You were sitting in the library with Tsukishima, snacking on meat buns.

    Tsukishima was reviewing the positions again, but you couldn't focus. Your eyelids felt like they were weighted with cannonballs. Laying your head down on the table, you felt yourself start to nod off...

    "Y/N? Are you even listening to me?" Tsukishima's hand waved in front of your face.

    You snapped up, your meat bun falling onto the table with a small thump. "Huh?!"

    He folded his arms. "Did you hear a word I've been saying?"

    Too tired to make up an excuse, you shook your head. "No..."

    "Why the @$#% not?"

    Rubbing your eyes, you said, "Sorry. I've just been kind of overwhelmed lately... I haven't had much time for sleep..."

    "That's stupid," Tsukishima said. "You need rest. You journalist-types are supposed to be smart, right? So you should know that sleep is not-optional. Stupid."

    You glanced up at him, startled by his reaction. "Huh?"

    "Look... give me your phone."

    You fumbled for it, dropping it into his outstretched hand. He quickly typed something into it, then handed it back to you.

    "What did you do?" you asked.

    "I set an ongoing timer for nine thirty. It will remind you to go to bed. I use the same trick, and it works well."

    "Why are you even helping me with this?" you asked, picking at a meat bun with your finger.

    The gentle yellow of his eyes turned hard and cold in an instant. "If I'm going to be putting all of this effort into helping you, then you should at least pay attention."

    "How do we even know if it's paying off?" you grumbled. "I can still barely remember a thing about volleyball..."

    "I've read your articles," Tsukishima said evenly, "and they have gotten better. They're still not great, but they are definitely better."

    "That's reassuring."

    "Urusai. Now, tell me what happens if the ball is hit by a player on a team before it goes out on their side."

    "It's a point for the other team," you answered immediately.

    "Right. What position hits the balls to the spikers."

    "Setters."

    "Correct. Could you have told me that a few weeks ago?"

    You shook your head. "Probably not."

    "Then don't ever say that my teaching is useless again."

    He sounded personally offended; heck, maybe he was. You didn't know.