I haven't read a single fic for them, so I don't know how accurate the characterization is, but this prompt called out to me for some reason, so here I am, writing levyaku. I hope everything's alright ;v;
“Get your ass off the ground! Time to receive!”
He can talk, Lev’s brain supplies unhelpfully as he scrambles to his feet. He’s aching, his muscles screaming, his bones creaking with exhaustion. Still, he pulls himself up, wiping sweat off his forehead with the fabric of his shirt. It must be forty degrees in the gym, minimum. That’s a Tokyo summer for you, he guesses.
“Yaku-san, please give me a break,” he begs, “I just need five minutes and I’ll be receiving those spikes with ease!”
Yaku’s relentless. “You don’t get breaks during matches just because you’re tired. Grit your teeth and get to it!” he snaps, showing no signs of compassion whatsoever.
“Yaku-san, please,” Lev laments, dragging his feet across the floor.
“‘Please’ isn’t going to get you anywhere in life. If you don’t get to it right now, I’ll personally kick your ass.”
That certainly helps. Lev shudders, knowing just how much of a punch Yaku can pack if he’s angry, especially when it comes to disobeying underclassmen. Even though he’s never seen him boss around any of the other first years, so Yaku must hold a personal grudge against him. He wouldn’t say it hurts, but it does sting a little sometimes, and it’s not like he can ask for the reason—he’d just risk another bloody lip.
“One receive from the ace, coming right up,” Lev wheezes, assuming a comfortable stance that he hopes will allow him to lunge to either side if necessary.
Kenma sets the ball up in the air, Yamamoto hits it. It comes flying right at Lev, but it looks a little short so he steps in, gets ready to return it—
—and misses.
“Sorry!” he squeaks, readying himself for another of Yaku’s infamous curtain-lectures, but it doesn’t come. Not even a tiny insult, nothing. Calling this behavior unusual may be the understatement of the year. Hadn’t he been fuming only moments ago?
“Again! Keep your eyes on the ball, observe its course closely,” Yaku instructs. “You don’t want them to fake you out with dumps. Read the spiker’s movements.”
Perplexed by the lack of both verbal and physical violence directed at him, Lev gets back into position, but his concentration has lapsed into nothingness. His focus has shifted from the task at hand to Yaku’s way of handling him today. Is he sick? Lev wonders. Maybe he’s tired, too. Lev doesn’t dare to ask, and neither does he get a chance to. Yamamoto’s spikes make sure of it.
Lev’s initial miss is followed by many more, each more devastating than the next. It’s a hopeless endeavor, and he can feel Yaku’s eyes boring holes into his body. Soon, his movements become sluggish and laggy; he’s reached his limit. One more attempt at receiving and he’ll be done for, black out, collapse.
“That’s it for today, grab your shit and get changed,” comes Yaku’s voice, disappointment audible beneath a layer of something Lev can’t quite figure out. Whatever it is, he’ll take it. He acknowledges Yaku’s words with a curt nod before he hurries out of the gym for fear of Yaku changing his mind and exploding on him after all. That wouldn’t be a first by a long shot.
***
People file out of the gym slowly, some chatting, others enjoying the fresh air in quiet solitude. Lev’s got his sports bag slung over his shoulder as he makes his way towards the school gate, secretly glad he’s got this day over with despite his blatant failure. He can’t help but think that having Yaku scream at him would’ve been less scary than … whatever it was that occurred earlier. He’ll probably be back to his normal self soon enough.
He’s almost reached the gate when he catches sight of a short figure and dirty blonde, windblown hair, just a few steps ahead of him. Crap, maybe Yaku-san just saved his lecture for another moment. Maybe that moment is now.
“Yaku-san,” Lev greets, feeling stupid. He never feels stupid.
“Lev.”
“Yes?” Lev fumbles with the strap of his bag, the setting sun burning on his neck.
“You’ll start practicing receives first thing tomorrow morning, just so we’re clear,” Yaku says, “you’re terrible.”
“Hey!” Lev’s got an objection half formed on his tongue, but instead he says, “How come you didn’t get angry at me today?”
Yaku blinks at him in confusion, and then the corners of his mouth crinkle upwards. “What, did you want me to?” he laughs. He’s laughing. Lev can’t believe it. It’s a nice laugh, too, melodious and warm.
“Don’t you always go on about how terrible I am? I thought you hated—”
“I don’t hate you,” Yaku intercepts, smile still intact, “I want you to get better at what you do. You’re just a bit of a blockhead, is all. Calls for drastic measures to get through to you sometimes.”
“For someone so small you sure talk big,” Lev quips, inwardly glowing at Yaku’s admission of non-hatred. Sure enough, this warrants a kicked shin, and he yelps in pain, hopping up and down on his uninjured leg.
“Drop the comments about my height and we’re good,” Yaku says pointedly, delivering a softer punch to Lev’s bicep for good measure. “And now go home and get some sleep, I want you to be in top condition tomorrow. The Spring Tournament is right around the corner.”
“Yessir!” Lev bows quickly before they part for the second time that day. Except, he manages all of two steps before Yaku’s voice calls out to him again.
“Oh, and Lev?”
Lev turns around, blinded by the last rays of sunlight hitting his eyes. They seem to catch in Yaku’s hair, dying it golden. “Yeah?”
Yaku waves, his eyes smiling. “Goodnight.” And just like that he turns back around and continues on his way home.
Lev’s left staring after him for a long moment, trying to form words. When none come to mind, he closes his eyes, takes a breath. New motivation flows through his veins as he recalls the warmth of Yaku’s laugh, and he makes it his new goal to get him to do it again. Lev often skips while walking, but tonight there’s an extra spring to his step.
I don’t hate you could well be the first step to I like you, after all.
FILL: Team Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei; G
I haven't read a single fic for them, so I don't know how accurate the characterization is, but this prompt called out to me for some reason, so here I am, writing levyaku. I hope everything's alright ;v;
“Get your ass off the ground! Time to receive!”
He can talk, Lev’s brain supplies unhelpfully as he scrambles to his feet. He’s aching, his muscles screaming, his bones creaking with exhaustion. Still, he pulls himself up, wiping sweat off his forehead with the fabric of his shirt. It must be forty degrees in the gym, minimum. That’s a Tokyo summer for you, he guesses.
“Yaku-san, please give me a break,” he begs, “I just need five minutes and I’ll be receiving those spikes with ease!”
Yaku’s relentless. “You don’t get breaks during matches just because you’re tired. Grit your teeth and get to it!” he snaps, showing no signs of compassion whatsoever.
“Yaku-san, please,” Lev laments, dragging his feet across the floor.
“‘Please’ isn’t going to get you anywhere in life. If you don’t get to it right now, I’ll personally kick your ass.”
That certainly helps. Lev shudders, knowing just how much of a punch Yaku can pack if he’s angry, especially when it comes to disobeying underclassmen. Even though he’s never seen him boss around any of the other first years, so Yaku must hold a personal grudge against him. He wouldn’t say it hurts, but it does sting a little sometimes, and it’s not like he can ask for the reason—he’d just risk another bloody lip.
“One receive from the ace, coming right up,” Lev wheezes, assuming a comfortable stance that he hopes will allow him to lunge to either side if necessary.
Kenma sets the ball up in the air, Yamamoto hits it. It comes flying right at Lev, but it looks a little short so he steps in, gets ready to return it—
—and misses.
“Sorry!” he squeaks, readying himself for another of Yaku’s infamous curtain-lectures, but it doesn’t come. Not even a tiny insult, nothing. Calling this behavior unusual may be the understatement of the year. Hadn’t he been fuming only moments ago?
“Again! Keep your eyes on the ball, observe its course closely,” Yaku instructs. “You don’t want them to fake you out with dumps. Read the spiker’s movements.”
Perplexed by the lack of both verbal and physical violence directed at him, Lev gets back into position, but his concentration has lapsed into nothingness. His focus has shifted from the task at hand to Yaku’s way of handling him today. Is he sick? Lev wonders. Maybe he’s tired, too. Lev doesn’t dare to ask, and neither does he get a chance to. Yamamoto’s spikes make sure of it.
Lev’s initial miss is followed by many more, each more devastating than the next. It’s a hopeless endeavor, and he can feel Yaku’s eyes boring holes into his body. Soon, his movements become sluggish and laggy; he’s reached his limit. One more attempt at receiving and he’ll be done for, black out, collapse.
“That’s it for today, grab your shit and get changed,” comes Yaku’s voice, disappointment audible beneath a layer of something Lev can’t quite figure out. Whatever it is, he’ll take it. He acknowledges Yaku’s words with a curt nod before he hurries out of the gym for fear of Yaku changing his mind and exploding on him after all. That wouldn’t be a first by a long shot.
People file out of the gym slowly, some chatting, others enjoying the fresh air in quiet solitude.
Lev’s got his sports bag slung over his shoulder as he makes his way towards the school gate, secretly glad he’s got this day over with despite his blatant failure. He can’t help but think that having Yaku scream at him would’ve been less scary than … whatever it was that occurred earlier. He’ll probably be back to his normal self soon enough.
He’s almost reached the gate when he catches sight of a short figure and dirty blonde, windblown hair, just a few steps ahead of him. Crap, maybe Yaku-san just saved his lecture for another moment. Maybe that moment is now.
“Yaku-san,” Lev greets, feeling stupid. He never feels stupid.
“Lev.”
“Yes?” Lev fumbles with the strap of his bag, the setting sun burning on his neck.
“You’ll start practicing receives first thing tomorrow morning, just so we’re clear,” Yaku says, “you’re terrible.”
“Hey!” Lev’s got an objection half formed on his tongue, but instead he says, “How come you didn’t get angry at me today?”
Yaku blinks at him in confusion, and then the corners of his mouth crinkle upwards. “What, did you want me to?” he laughs. He’s laughing. Lev can’t believe it. It’s a nice laugh, too, melodious and warm.
“Don’t you always go on about how terrible I am? I thought you hated—”
“I don’t hate you,” Yaku intercepts, smile still intact, “I want you to get better at what you do. You’re just a bit of a blockhead, is all. Calls for drastic measures to get through to you sometimes.”
“For someone so small you sure talk big,” Lev quips, inwardly glowing at Yaku’s admission of non-hatred. Sure enough, this warrants a kicked shin, and he yelps in pain, hopping up and down on his uninjured leg.
“Drop the comments about my height and we’re good,” Yaku says pointedly, delivering a softer punch to Lev’s bicep for good measure. “And now go home and get some sleep, I want you to be in top condition tomorrow. The Spring Tournament is right around the corner.”
“Yessir!” Lev bows quickly before they part for the second time that day. Except, he manages all of two steps before Yaku’s voice calls out to him again.
“Oh, and Lev?”
Lev turns around, blinded by the last rays of sunlight hitting his eyes. They seem to catch in Yaku’s hair, dying it golden. “Yeah?”
Yaku waves, his eyes smiling. “Goodnight.”
And just like that he turns back around and continues on his way home.
Lev’s left staring after him for a long moment, trying to form words. When none come to mind, he closes his eyes, takes a breath. New motivation flows through his veins as he recalls the warmth of Yaku’s laugh, and he makes it his new goal to get him to do it again. Lev often skips while walking, but tonight there’s an extra spring to his step.
I don’t hate you could well be the first step to I like you, after all.