Chapter Text
No matter how long he’s spent so far living in his tiny apartment, running between the museum and Yamaguchi’s store, walking along the coast and through the small tourist areas with his hand firmly clasped within Yamaguchi’s- he still can’t quite grasp how close the small community seems. Every time Yamaguchi chirps a cheery greeting to strangers as they pass, the way he makes conversation with regular customers, the way he seems to know and care about everyone. Tsukishima’s used to walking down a busy concrete street with his headphones in and his eyes down. The constant friendliness and the closeness of living in a place with so few locals that you really do know everyone has yet to settle in with him- it might never settle in, really.
Even so, when Yamaguchi asks him to come to a local event, he goes. He doesn’t know anyone and he hates small talk and he can’t stand meaningless pleasantries, but... he goes. Because he does enjoy wrapping Yamaguchi’s fingers in his own, leaning against Yamaguchi’s side, the way Yamaguchi will randomly spin on his sandal clad heel to plant a kiss on Tsukishima’s face before turning to face forwards again, as if nothing had happened at all.
They haven’t really talked about it, whatever ‘it’ is. He doesn’t want to talk about it, really.
The air is pleasantly cool after the unflinching heat of the daytime sun, dark sky accented with the black silhouettes of birds as they fly across, miniature ink blots on the grand canvas of the night time horizon. Yamaguchi’s arm is linked in his where they stand, though he’s currently occupied making mild conversation with an elderly shop regular. The crowd is small but welcoming, all congregated along the small strip of beach not blanketed by the gentle lap of waves. There’s a stall shilling food and a small group of men further down the beach, all clad in high-vis jackets and moving methodically around a large box of fireworks.
Yamaguchi jostles his arm to wake him from his thoughts, the elderly woman having moved on to chat to someone else.
“Ah, Tsukki! I’m excited. The fireworks are always good.” He enthuses, digging around in his jacket’s pocket for a second before producing a small scrap of pink paper decorated in black printed text. He’s smiling as he hands it toward Tsukishima, albeit somewhat sheepishly.
“What’s this?” Tsukishima questions- although he accepts the piece of paper before Yamaguchi has a chance to answer anyway.
“Oh! It’s your ticket for the show. I have no idea if you’re sentimental about things like that, but uh, I am, so… here you go!”
Yamaguchi darkens slightly as Tsukishima scrutinises the paper for a mere second before carefully tucking it away in his pocket, nodding lightly.
“I’m not sentimental. Not usually. Maybe I’ll start, though.” He offers, alleviating the awkward blush on Yamaguchi’s face into an easier, lighter smile. It sounds strange, but it’s his way of saying thank you. He knows Yamaguchi understands that. That’s probably why he likes him so damn much.
There’s a comfortable silence as they both stand amongst the cooled air, arms linked, watching the workers dot around their station in preparation for the show like a colony of particularly diligent bees. Yamaguchi’s head comes to lie carefully against Tsukishima’s side, and the contact feels like a warming fire in the depths of winter. There’s a small vibration as Yamaguchi hums before sighing contently, looking up towards Tsukishima’s face.
“This part always drags on and on, I swear. Do they have firework shows in Sendai?” He asks, leaning his head back down, returning to his previous occupation of observing the workers as they arrange the box of fireworks carefully, clipboards in hand and torches held secure.
“Not ones like this. Only big crowded ones on New Year's Eve. I don’t go, never have. Too cold.”
“You’re so grouchy sometimes, Tsukki.” Yamaguchi laments, an amused scoff punctuating his words. Tsukishima can’t see his eyes, though it’s as if he can feel the eye roll.
“Maybe so. It’s all part of the charm, though.” He quips, lip quirking upwards at the responding snort of laughter from Yamaguchi at his side.
“Yeah, I guess it is. Maybe I just have bad taste, huh Tsukki?” Yamaguchi retorts, provoking a soft huff of mirth from Tsukishima as he repositions his glasses against his nose with his free hand.
“Yeah, you do. Works out for me though.”
As soon as he finishes speaking, there’s a sharp whistle piercing through the air, followed by a heightened volume of murmur from the crowd. Yamaguchi’s head perks instantaneously at the shrill sound, his arm coming to grip tighter around Tsukishima’s own with the excitement of the impending explosion of fireworks.
“Jeez, Tadashi. You’re like the world’s most freckled Boa Constrictor there.”
“Sorry, Tsukki!” He offers, grip loosening as he glances up with a mildly apologetic look and an allaying smile. Immediately as he pauses, the fireworks start with a single detonation, the first firework arcing gracefully into the sky with a long whistle. Yamaguchi watches intently for a single second, before his head snaps back to look at Tsukishima once more and he opens his mouth to speak.
“Wait. Did you just call me Tadashi?” He asks, shouting carefully in an attempt to make himself heard. Midway through his sentence however, the firework finally explodes with an impressed ‘Ooh’ from the crowd, lighting the sky in a simple golden glow for a flash before disintegrating into a million gilded cinders. Tsukishima hears and understands him perfectly- though he elects to pretend he doesn’t. He makes a silent decision to watch his tongue with extra care as Yamaguchi seemingly lets the question go, turning to focus on the sky.
There’s a symphony of loud explosions and flashing colours, each one painting the sky’s canvas a new vibrant tone for a single second before the darkness settles back in. It’s like watching a living abstract art piece- hues of royal blue, deep pink, low vibrant green- each one ornamented with a few scattered golden fireworks of a smaller size. For such a small community display, even Tsukishima has to admit he’s impressed by the vast array of colours and firework types.
Yamaguchi oohs and aahs appropriately with the crowd, hand slowly sliding down Tsukishima’s arm to instead entwine their fingers together. The cold air seems to be nipping at him slightly as he crowds further into Tsukishima’s space, occasionally looking up with a hopeful look in his eye as if he needs to check that Tsukishima is enjoying himself. As if he really, truly wants Tsukishima to enjoy everything just as much as he does.
Even though he is impressed, he can’t quite seem to find the same eager excitement for fireworks that Yamaguchi can. Even so, he offers a real, genuine smile that sets off a glow of appeasement in Yamaguchi’s eyes, highlighted by the glassy reflection of the bursts of colour lighting up the sky. He might not be able to summon such earnest joy from a firework display, but the look Yamaguchi’s giving him certainly does the trick.
Yamaguchi leans up then, close to his ear so as to overpower the volume of the fireworks. Tsukishima leans to meet him (though it’s probably not strictly necessary to do so), tilting his head to align his ear with Yamaguchi’s mouth.
“What do you think?” Yamaguchi questions, a cacophony of explosions muddling into the background of his heightened volume as a particularly large blast of fiery red overtakes the sky. Tsukishima hums for a moment, turns his head carefully to respond. His lip brushes the side of Yamaguchi’s face for a mere second, and despite the many kisses between now and their first kiss back at the shop, this single scrap of accidental contact feels almost overwhelmingly tender.
“Yeah, it’s pretty impressive. Won’t all the debris fall into the sand or the sea though?” He responds, an eyebrow furrowing lightly as his eyes follow the motion of an ascending firework before flicking towards Yamaguchi to meet his stare. Yamaguchi just smiles with a soft head shake at that, a particularly affectionate look in his eye.
“You’re exactly the type of nerd to worry about that. It’s all biodegradable. We don’t litter like that. There’s a beach cleanup tomorrow morning, too.” He assures, hand leaning upwards to push Tsukishima’s glasses up where they’ve slipped slightly. His thumb catches Tsukishima’s cheek as he repositions the frame. It feels like slow motion- the warm brush of Yamaguchi’s thumb at his cheek, his freckled face lit up in varying shades of indigo with a smile. The moment is over all too fast, and Tsukishima almost feels disappointed to see Yamaguchi turn back to his fireworks.
“I’m free tomorrow. We could… help at the cleanup, I guess.” Tsukishima offers, hesitant pause lingering amongst his volume as he leans down to get close to Yamaguchi’s ear once more. There’s a quick turn of surprise from Yamaguchi, followed by a wide grin and a nod.
Tsukishima doesn’t get up bright and early for anyone except his professors- and yet, the following morning, he goes. Stood there at 8AM, at Yamaguchi’s side, collecting wax paper food wrappings and the occasional beer bottle into a large plastic bag. He almost dares to enjoy himself, even, Yamaguchi’s energetic banter punctuating the watery morning sun.
Well- if he’s being honest, he does enjoy himself. He always does when it comes to Yamaguchi.
---
Another month rolls by with ease, each day bleeding into the next with an orchestra of sherbet orange sunrises and soft, baby pink sunsets. The haze of heat is persistent throughout the day, though the nights are consistently cold in contrast.
Yamaguchi basically seems to live in his apartment now. After work, even after his days off- it’s Tsukishima’s white cotton pillows that he flops down onto. There’s long, dark hairs in his bed, two sets of cutlery and two ceramic plates stacked in the sink, Yamaguchi’s spare nametag tossed aside carelessly on the surface of his coffee table. The unfamiliar closeness of it all is something he’s surprised to find he actually likes having.
The apartment is temporary. Yamaguchi doesn’t really live there, technically neither does he and Tsukishima’s only in town for the remainder of the summer- but, despite all of it, despite the fact it’s not technically real.
He wishes it was.
Yamaguchi sits on his sofa, legs curled inwards to the side of him. He’s leaning against the arm, a half asleep look on his face, clad in shorts and a loose shirt with a glossy magazine hanging loosely from his hand. There’s a fan whirring quietly from its station next to the sofa, long cord snaking across the room to the plug outlet on the opposite wall. The boiling sound of their food in the pan mingled into the soft hum of the fan and the occasional flick of a page as Yamaguchi thumbs through his magazine all come together with an almost lullaby-esque quality.
“Yo, Kei!” Yamaguchi calls with a languid yawn, stretching lightly as he twists to look at Tsukishima who merely grunts in acknowledgement, shifting the pan lightly on the hob. “Come look at this.” He implores.
As Tsukishima spins on his heel and approaches, Yamaguchi holds the magazine out with ease, pointing at an image splayed across a double page. It’s printed in crisp, vivid ink and garnished with a lengthy interview along the bottom of the page. The orange hair and sickening grin is unmistakable.
“Is that… Hinata?” He asks with disbelief tinting his voice, though he already knows that (somehow) it is.
“Yeah! He’s been doing really well with his volleyball lately.. I can’t believe he only started trying seriously in June and now he’s already wormed his way onto a team. It’s only August!” Yamaguchi remarks, the pride he holds in his friend evident by the way he beams. All Tsukishima can do is grimace, flopping the magazine back down next to Yamaguchi with disdain.
“It’s only a small team, barely scraping third division.” He retorts. “I thought you said he was a full time waiter at Ukai’s, anyway?”
“I really don’t understand why you hate him so much. Before you even think of responding- ‘too sunny’ is not a valid reason. We’ve been over this.” Yamaguchi chastises, though he does so with a quiet laugh and a soft eye roll. Tsukishima’s heart thumps quietly at the gentle huff of Yamaguchi’s laughter, the way his hair falls in his eyes as he stretches an arm out to retrieve the magazine and give it another look.
“Well, that’s the reason I have.” Tsukishima responds curtly. He’s not good at hiding how he feels around Yamaguchi anymore, so he barely even tries. His words are overflowing with the soft, soothing kind of affection that Yamaguchi’s presence almost suffocates him under. His stride is quick as he returns to the kitchenette, carefully giving the contents of the pan a stir before taking it off the heat so as not to burn. He moves quickly as he plates up. He doesn’t really care about cooking, always thought cooking ‘with love’ was just a stupid tagline to sell cookbooks. Plating up for Tadashi though, he thinks he might be on the verge of understanding it.
“Still, I’m curious now. How’d he go from waitstaff to volleyball pro?” He asks, carefully passing a steaming bowl down to Yamaguchi before slotting himself down next to him. Yamaguchi’s legs are unfolded now as they come across to tangle lightly with Tsukishima’s atop the coffee table, warm skin pressed tight against Tsukishima’s thick joggers. He presses the power button on the small plastic remote carefully, the TV coming to life with a flicker of mild background noise.
“I honestly don’t even know. He’s been obsessed with volleyball since we were in high school. He always said he wanted to go pro, but when we graduated he kind of just...settled, I suppose? He was a part timer at Ukai’s anyway, he just went full time. Not that he ever shut up about volleyball. Guess he got tired of just talking about it.” Comes Yamaguchi’s response, eyes fixed on the TV.
Tsukishima is ready to let the conversation resolve there. He has minimal interest in Hinata’s affairs, after all, and he’s not the type to eat and speak at the same time. Yamaguchi continues though, swallowing his mouthful before turning to Tsukishima with a bittersweet look.
“I’m kind of jealous, to be honest. Like he just… went out there and did it, somehow. I could never do that.” He mumbles, tone conflicted between pride for a friend and envy for something unattainable. Tsukishima frowns at the expression on his face, nudges him lightly before lifting his hand to pinch at his cheek lightly.
“You could, Tadashi. If you don’t want to stay here with the shop forever, your mother will understand. Eventually.” He assures, concern lacing through his frown. At this, Yamaguchi’s face shifts into a small, unconvincing smile with a shake of his head.
“She’d understand, yeah. I know she would want me to do whatever I want to do. But she’d still be heartbroken. She really loves that place, she doesn’t have anyone else to pass it onto. I… I don’t really want this, if I’m being honest. But I really am telling the truth when I say I don’t hate it. It’s really just ...meh to me. I could do a lot worse.”
“Tadashi-”
“Can we… Can we talk about something else? I just don’t see the point. We’re not going to agree, so we might as well talk about something fun instead. This food is good.” Yamaguchi interrupts, meek tone pressing down against Tsukishima’s heartstrings as he pointedly avoids making eye contact. All he can do is sigh, press his leg further up against Yamaguchi’s and nod.
“Sure. Whatever you want. I just want you to know you could do a lot more. You’re capable- and capable is not a word I use to describe many people.” Tsukishima states, making sure Yamaguchi is looking at him whether he wants to or not as he speaks. It brings a sad kind of smile across Yamaguchi’s face, this affirmation of what he could do.
“I know you don’t, Tsukki. You’re a meanie.” He jokes, his expression taking on a more genuine, bright lilt with the responding eye roll.
“Not to you, though.”
“No, that’s true. Not to me.”
---
They’re sprawled against white cotton sheets, limbs entangled with Yamaguchi’s face pressed into the back of his neck. The morning sunlight streaks across them with a gilded shimmer through his open window, the gentle current of a breeze fluttering against the bunched curtains. It’s serene, in this insulated existence, almost as if the only thing that matters is the mouth nestled against the nape of his neck and the hand curled around his abdomen.
“Tadashi.” He mutters lightly, hesitant to crack the tranquillity that comes with the comfortable silence established between them. He receives nothing but a hum of acknowledgement in return, the hand at his stomach pulling tighter. He can feel the faint rush of Yamaguchi’s breath against the skin of his neck, and it’s hypnotic. He almost forgets what he was intending to say under the easy in and out movement. Almost.
“Did you mean what you said last night, about not wanting… this? This town and the shop, I mean.”
There’s a still in the air as Yamaguchi tenses lightly before promptly falling lax once again. He pauses, seems to mull it over in his head. The hand at Tsukishima’s abdomen has stopped moving, now, and the face at his neck has turned away. He misses the sensation of Yamaguchi’s breathing immediately, though he says nothing at the loss of contact.
“I don’t know, Kei. Maybe I only want to leave and study or.. work, or whatever, because I never got a chance to. I might leave and hate it. I’m perfectly happy, well paid and… safe here.” Yamaguchi eventually responds, pressing his forehead against Tsukishima’s shoulder instead of his neck, almost as if he’s attempting to block the pervasive questioning out.
“I keep mentioning it because, amazingly, I care about you a lot, Yamaguchi. You want me to be really, selfishly honest?” Tsukishima asks, carefully rolling over to face Yamaguchi. The sheets are tangled in their legs as he settles down into the mattress again, and Yamaguchi’s gaze is startlingly clear despite the early hour as he nods.
“I’m leaving in September. I know we haven’t talked about it, but my summer placement is very much finite. My degree and my apartment is back in Sendai, and I... God, I hate expressing this sappy shit.” Tsukishima pauses, hand coming to rub against his temple with frustration. “I guess I kind of… it’s really stupid, because we met at the start June and now it’s, like, August. But I care about you probably too much, like, I might even love you. I don’t want you to stay here if you don’t want to, not if you could… be around, nearer to me, I guess. Not that I’m trying to drag you to Sendai with me- I just want you to be… around. That’s what I’m trying to say. Please never remind me of this conversation.” He finishes, hands coming to close over his burning face completely so he doesn’t have to witness the fallout of this sudden confession. He’s not used to being so earnest- that’s really Yamaguchi’s forte. He hates it.
“Jesus Christ, Kei, are you for real? Stop covering your face, you can’t just say that and then tell me not to mention it again!” Yamaguchi responds, immediately descending from mild sadness to complete disbelief. He tugs lightly at Tsukishima’s wrist, removes the hand obscuring his face to stare back at him for a long, long moment. Tsukishima merely offers the mildest nod, immediately breaking eye contact to stare pointedly at the white ceiling.
“So…I don’t know that I’m fully ready to say that back yet. But I do care about you- a lot. Even though I’m not.. Entirely ready to say it… I do think I’m close. Is that okay? I don’t want you to leave either. I really, really don’t. Not just because of… this. I kind of feel like you’re the first person in my life who actually sees me. Like, I have friends, obviously. But none of them are like this. That’s why I haven’t mentioned it.” Yamaguchi sighs, head flopping against the pillow before coming to rest at the junction between Tsukishima’s neck and shoulder. The hair pressed into his jawline itches slightly, but he wouldn’t even think of pushing Yamaguchi’s head away.
“Of course it’s fine. I can’t understand how it all happened so fast anyway. This has literally never happened before. It kind of sucks, in a good way.” Tsukishima mumbles in response, turning his head to press further against Yamaguchi. There’s a small jolt as Yamaguchi snorts at his words. Tsukishima can feel the smile pressed into his shoulder.
“I bet this is really hard on you, huh? All these feelings in that stone cold heart of yours.”
“Oh, it’s agony. Terrible, terrible agony. I’ve been weeping myself to sleep.”
“Shut up, Kei.” Yamaguchi laughs, easily setting into a comfortable silence. The brush of the curtain against the wall is soft as the breeze picks up once again, a particularly harsh crescendo of leaves bustling together outside the open glass. A car drives by, slow and steady along the vacant road outside. The sun has advanced slightly, moving to pour across the wall in long golden strokes as opposed to ornamenting their entwined legs.
“Can I say it again? Obviously you only say it back whenever you’re ready. I just want to… say it.” He asks, absurdly tentative considering his usual penchant for harsh tones and unabashed words.
“Only if you’re sure it won’t give you a heart attack to do it.”
“I’m pretty sure. I love you.”
He can’t believe this. He’s lying in bed, in bed with Yamaguchi, telling him that he loves him. Lying together, speaking together, pressed together. This random boy who he’d picked up from a local grocery shop in his green polo and his nametag, an apron tied at his waist, his hair in a mess. And he’s telling him he loves him, and he really means it.
He doesn’t regret it.