Chapter Text
Tsukishima Kei can’t sleep. Or rather, every time he closes his eyes, he sees Yamaguchi’s startled, blushing face behind his eyelids. He turns over in bed, wishing desperately that Yamaguchi was here with him, if only so he could trace the other man’s freckles with a finger. He wants to trace constellations into his dark skin and watch his eyes grow big and his face flush and– Tsukishima turns over in bed again.
Tsukishima has never considered himself particularly emotional. As a child, he was a little more open than he is now, but even then emotional displays were never his forte. Emotional attachments aren’t his forte either; he has difficultly committing himself to things that could end in pain. Making friends, let alone keeping them, even his relationships with his family are a little strained though his family understands him much better than most.
And now here he is, heart in his throat and stomach twisting several hours after his first true encounter with Yamaguchi Tadashi. That spattering of freckles, the deep colour of his skin, the soft slope of his cheekbones, that mussed black hair. Tsukishima grumbles to himself, curling in on himself and clinging to his blanket. This is going to be difficult.
Around nine, Tsukishima sighs heavily and rolls out of bed. He untangles himself from his blankets and tosses it back onto the bed. Stumbling through his morning routine, Tsukishima finds himself still thinking about Yamaguchi and the sharp little gasp he made when Tsukishima had startled him.
Tsukishima spends the morning doing homework, or pretending to do homework while in reality messing around with an audio editing software Yachi had recommended. He does get most of his homework done, just, slowly and in bits and pieces. He has only one class today and he uses the morning to consider his next step.
Pushing the bass up on the audio in front of him absently, Tsukishima hums when the image of Yamaguchi’s flustered face intrudes into his thoughts. Biting his lip to ground himself away from the wanderings of his imaginations, Tsukishima starts the short track over and drums his fingers on his knee.
Yamaguchi was somehow exactly what he’d expected and not at all what he’d thought. He’d thought that the person submitting music requests would be, maybe a little more indie looking, given the music choices. But he’d been so normal looking. So average. He wasn’t some unbelievably attractive movie star, but… But the way that the dim, flickering light had played on his dark skin and how cute that dusting of freckles had been and the way he’d turned scarlet and-
“Tsukishima-kun? Are you okay?”
Tsukishima looks up at Yachi blankly, not understanding. Looking back at his computer, he sighs. His headphones are silent. He’s been staring at the computer screen for five minutes without doing anything. She’s probably been trying to get his attention.
“Yeah. I’m fine. I’m just working with that program you showed me.”
“Oh yeah? Do you like it?”
“Yeah,” he says, saving the full minute of track he’s managed despite having been experimenting with the program for two hours and closing his laptop. Biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from sighing and worrying Yachi, Tsukishima stands, tucking his laptop back into his laptop bag.
“Um, Tsukishima-kun?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you sure you’re okay? You look, kind of, um, kind of like you just got kicked in the stomach,” Yachi manages, stumbling over finding exactly what his expression is to her. Tsukishima frowns, trying to decide if he wants to explain to Yachi that he thinks he’s fallen in love with someone he’s just met.
Fallen in love.
Yachi looks terrified when Tsukishima’s face contorts into a sickly frown. She flails a little, touching his shoulders to steady him when he sways a little. He sits back down, feeling sick to his stomach.
“It’s fine,” Tsukishima mumbles, waving off Yachi’s nervous attentions. He props one elbow on his knee and buries his face in his hand, ignoring the way his glasses skew. What happened to emotions not being his forte? Or maybe that was why the thought made him sick.
“Tsukishima-kun, um, are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”
“How’d you start dating your girlfriend?” He asks, surprising both of them. Yachi squeaks and chews at her lip, tugs at the hem of her skirt and sweats. Finally, she rolls her shoulders and looks at him.
“She asked. I was too scared to approach her, but I guess she noticed me, um, watching her sometimes, and she talked to me. Kiyoko asked me to be her friend and then, after a while, she asked.”
Tsukishima rubs his eyes and sighs, standing. Yachi takes a couple steps back and he smooths his expression relatively. “Was that too personal? Sorry. I have to go,” he mumbles and turns to leave in an uncomfortable hurry. Yachi catches him by the sleeve then let’s go as if it’d burned her when he glares.
“If,” she stumbles and swallows. “If you like someone, you should say something. It’ll just hurt in the end if you don’t.”
Tsukishima grunts and walks away. He isn’t sure where he’s going until he walks past the art room. Glancing in, he stops in the hallway, entranced.
Yamaguchi looks good covered in paint. His face is screwed up with intense focus and his hands are steady. Sunlight filters through the windows and strikes highlights in his hair, sparkles off his eyes.
Tsukishima sighs at his fanciful imaginings and, after a moment of hesitation, walks into the room. Yamaguchi does not seem to notice him, so intent is he on his painting. Tsukishima circles around to look at the painting. Something abstract in blacks and golds and reds. He hums quietly and leans against the wall beside Yamaguchi.
Finally, the artist looks up and starts in surprise, stumbling back a couple steps. Yamaguchi mumbles a greeting and seems to attempt to simultaneously rub dried paint off his cheek and put his paintbrush down.
“Been a while,” Tsukishima says. He tries to smile, to be soothing. Not his strong suit, but it seems to work a little.
“Um, yeah, Hello again,” Yamaguchi mumbles, stuttering a little. Tsukishima is suddenly astounded by how stunning Yamaguchi is, from his mussed hair and paint stains all the way to his wiry muscles and perfect freckles. Not movie star attractive indeed!
“I’ve been thinking,” Tsukishima says, pushing away from the wall to step closer to Yamaguchi, who steps back. Not to be disheartened by his intimidating stature, Tsukishima stops but continues speaking. “Why don’t you go out with me Saturday? There’s a new café opening and it looks really nice.”
Yamaguchi opens and closes his mouth. Tsukishima freezes when Yamaguchi reaches out, curling paint stained fingers into his jacket. He raises an eyebrow at the strained, nervous expression on Yamaguchi’s face. Just say yes or no already, it’s not that hard. Yamaguchi snatches his hand back, seeming to have misunderstood his expression.
“I, um, sure,” Yamaguchi manages, hands fluttering at his sides nervously. Tsukishima imagines he can hear Yamaguchi’s heart beating and he’s flushed darkly. It’s quiet pretty. His own heart is racing and he bites the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his own face from flushing. It’s going to suck to eat after all this. Yamaguchi swallows, seeming to get enough control over himself to say, “I’d like that,” though he finishes in a whisper.
The urge to kiss Yamaguchi has increased more and more with every word and Tsukishima realises that he’s leaned down. He smells like acrid acrylic paint and what he thinks a faint undertone of the very distinctive scent of pine. From the easels perhaps? Yamaguchi seems aware of how close he is, pressed back against the wall and looking up at him calmly, despite the blushing. Tsukishima almost kisses him right then and there but Yamaguchi suddenly blushes even deeper and pushes at Tsukishima’s shoulders until he steps back.
“I’d like that,” Yamaguchi repeats, stumbling a little over the words. Tsukishima swallows a sigh, watching Yamaguchi take the brush and pallet to the sink. His hands, so steady before, tremble in the water. Tsukishima takes a moment to ground himself, his own hands trembling, before Yamaguchi turns to take the painting off the easel. Impulsively, Tsukishima reaches out and stops him with a hand to his chest. The feeling of Yamaguchi’s heartrate, stuttering and heavy under his hand, makes his own heart beat speed up.
“Saturday, remember. Meet me in the quad around noon?” Tsukishima suggests, dropping his hand. He has the feeling if he left it there any longer his heart would explode. Yamaguchi nods, smiling weakly. Tsukishima leaves, heart thundering in his ears. He stops outside the building, leaning against the brick wall and trying to calm himself. He has a reputation of aloofness, after all, he can’t go walking around looking like a love-sick puppy.