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It rains just as Tadashi turns the corner to Tanaka's restaurant.
He finds cover when the first few droplets kiss his hair, and follows the awning to his destination: a small building with dim lights and wood deliberately made inelegant to suggest the feeling of home. The sliding door is slightly ajar - out of it comes a muffled laugh, a word or two Tadashi cannot discern with the drum of the worsening rain.
It's quiet otherwise; the restaurant is tucked in a still part of town, and Tanaka had told him he would close for that night. Still, Tadashi's nervousness seeps through his skin, through his socks like rain. He pulls back the door before he can overthink himself into leaving.
"You're so tall!"
A bell chimes when he slides the door back. He's immediately engulfed in a wave of hair and teeth, although Nishinoya settles by trapping his waist. Tadashi blinks down at wild eyes and a loud, red streak.
"Noya-san."
"You look different, Yamaguchi." Tadashi looks up. Daichi's smile is wide and candid, and Tadashi can't help but smile back, even as Nishinoya lets him go to slap any part of his back he can reach.
"I didn't even recognize you!"
"It's the hair!" Sugawara supplies, sitting at the longest table in the room. Tadashi self-consciously smooths down damp strands, and then stops immediately when he notices the state of the wooden floor.
"Oh, it's so short," Nishinoya says. Tadashi dodges his fingers.
"Hello, everyone," he tries.
"Oi, Hinata, Kageyama, Yamaguchi's here!" Daichi calls out. Tadashi perks up at that, at least; he hasn't seen either of them in months. But there's no reply, and Daichi excuses himself to find them.
"You look like someone with a business degree. And a dog," Ennoshita adds. Tadashi tells himself to take the compliment, even if neither of the assumptions are true.
He shakes his head. Smiles sheepishly. "Sorry."
"Well. It's still nice to see you."
Every emotion comes in the form of the T-word.
"So is Tsukishima coming?"
Dread, longing, panic.
"No idea. How was Indonesia?" Tadashi deflects the question so fast he worries Kageyama will notice. He pokes at his beef.
"Great. We won. I got you a keychain. He owes me money. Do you have his number?"
"Huh? Whose?"
"Tsukishima's," Kageyama says slowly, emphasizing every syllable.
Desire, confusion, guilt.
"I have it," Hinata offers. Tadashi wonders, with much more bitterness than he'd admit to himself, when they'd gotten that close. Or if Tsukishima had changed so much he actually allowed Hinata the chance to annoy him at any time during the day.
Jealousy, curiosity, fear.
"So, Yamaguchi, how long have you been back in Miyagi?" Sugawara asks him.
"A week. Fukuda asked me to help train Karasuno for Nationals."
"They any good?" Tanaka pipes in from the head of the table, back from the kitchen. (The same time Hinata grumbles "Why didn't he ask us?" under his breath.)
Tadashi nods. "Better than us, I think." (To Hinata, he mutters back: "He didn't want you to miss practice.")
"Seriously?" Asahi asks, eyes wide.
"They have an amazing first year trio."
Sugawara laughs so hard the rest of the room laughs with him, even as Kageyama chokes on his drink. Tadashi regales them with stories about current-Karasuno, bridging each chapter with another one, every character his own protagonist. He notices, with amusement, that everyone at the table tries to relate themselves with a member, as if the team would always be a set of the same kind of people.
A bell chimes.
Tadashi's heart beats faster, and then stops all at once when he looks up. Every emotion he can think of cycles behind his eyes like a flipbook in his consciousness, so fast he can barely figure out what to feel. Stupid, he thinks. Stupid, stupid, nothing's happened yet.
"Oi, where's that money you owe me?"
"It's raining outside," Tsukishima answers.
There's a disorganized chorus of yelling as everyone welcomes him. Nishinoya runs up like he did Tadashi, and jumps high enough to muss up his hair. Tanaka follows suit, but Daichi remains standing a safe distance away. Kageyama hounds him for the cash he supposedly owes. Kiyoko greets him as politely as she can sitting down. Kinoshita takes his umbrella. Tadashi, for his part, is suddenly hyperaware of the empty seat next to him.
"Hi," he tells Tadashi. He sits.
Exhilaration, hurt, relief.
"Hello."
Sugawara passes around pictures when Kinoshita asks about his children.
"Three. The girl's a minute older," he beams. One picture reaches Tadashi - three faces smiling impossibly into the camera, one with ice cream smeared around its lips. Someone else would have cooed at the twins first, but Tadashi's stare lands on an immortalized happy Sugawara.
"Are they... you know..." Saeko asks Sugawara, cradling the bump on her stomach. Tadashi passes the picture to Daichi when he asks for it.
"Good?"
"That."
"They're amazing," Sugawara gushes. "Really makes being a single dad a whole lot easier."
"Really? Your kids?" Daichi teases, studying the photograph Tadashi handed him. Sugawara jabs at his side.
"Saeko-san, I'm sure you have nothing to worry about," he continues. "Asahi, on the other hand..."
Tadashi doesn't quite understand how people can change so much but still be the same in essence, except for the fact that it happened to his high school volleyball team. He can almost imagine them in jerseys, complete, lamenting a loss or rejoicing a victory over cheap noodles. Save for the added woes of adulthood, it's almost like nothing has changed.
"Tsukishima, can you pass me the soy sauce?"
He doesn't realize how loud his voice is until he notices the entire room go quiet as the bottle is wordlessly handed to him. Tsukishima doesn't flinch at the use of his last name, but Tadashi didn't think to use anything else either way.
Their fingers don't even touch. But Yamaguchi's feel electric.
"Thanks."
He picks up a slice of sashimi.
"I think Asahi-san would make a good dad," he says, more to diffuse the silence than anything else, though he isn't really lying.
"Uh, thanks, Yamaguchi."
It still burns to be near him. Tadashi prays he isn't vulnerable enough to combust.
Despite everything that could have made him regret coming, he's still disappointed when he checks his watch and finds the smaller hand nearing twelve.
"I have to go," Tadashi announces, standing up to gather his things. "Karasuno has early practice tomorrow."
"It's still raining, isn't it? Do you have an umbrella?"
He sits back down. "Oh."
"I'm leaving, too," Tsukishima says, not offering an explanation.
"Do you have an umbrella?" Daichi asks him.
"Yeah."
"Then you can walk together," Daichi says. Tadashi's eyes widen. "Yamaguchi's house is on the way to yours, isn't it?"
Tsukishima nods.
"Oh, no, that's really -" Tadashi tries. I moved, he wants to say. And I'm camping out in the woods tonight.
"I don't mind."
So they walk, letting the angry patter of the raindrops fill their own silence. Tsukishima holds the umbrella for both of them as they trudge on. Tadashi tries to look anywhere but his left side, except there's nothing interesting about the tiny houses on his right.
Tsukishima somehow looks taller, and somehow even more beautiful than when Yamaguchi saw him last. Or maybe he'd just forgotten how Tsukishima looks under the moonlight. Tadashi hasn't seen him in years; it could be that Tsukishima hasn't changed at all.
But he has, Tadashi argues with himself. Tsukishima's features are sharper. He's wearing new glasses. His hair is longer, to the point that the tips touch his ears. Tadashi resists the urge to take a strand with his fingers by fiddling with the ends of his own shirt. He wonders if Tsukishima sees his childhood in him, or if they really are strangers now.
They reach the small park they used to frequent. Tsukishima uses the hand not hanging on to the umbrella to point at the faded pink, rust-ridden monkey bars.
"You fell off over there. Scraped your knee," he says.
"I remember."
"You asked me to kiss your nose so it would stop hurting."
Tadashi turns to stare at him as they walk. "I did?"
Tsukishima nods.
"And did you?"
"No. I kissed your knee. Because that was the one bleeding."
When they pass the park, neither of them look back.
"Why are you doing this?"
Tsukishima stops walking. "Doing what?"
Tadashi marches on, and Tsukishima rushes to make up for lost pace. "Is it guilt? Don't. It was years ago, I'm over it."
"Yamaguchi."
"Did Yachi talk to you? I know she wasn't there earlier, but if she called, then -"
"Yamaguchi."
"Because really, it's nothing. I don't care."
"Yamaguchi," Tsukishima repeats, grabbing Tadashi's arm to keep him from walking. "Stop."
They're at his house.
Tadashi blinks three more times than usual. He walks to the door, Tsukishima dutifully following with his umbrella until they reach the front steps.
He turns around. There's a new mole under Tsukishima's lip, only noticeable because of their proximity. Tadashi sighs.
"Do I look different?"
Tsukishima's answer is soft and sure. "Not really."
Oh, god, he thinks, before pulling Tsukishima down to kiss him.
Tsukishima is achingly still until he isn't - he kisses Tadashi back tentatively, slowly, one to Tadashi's ten.
"You'll regret this when you're sober," Tsukishima whispers against his lips, hand determinedly gripping the umbrella. Laughing, Tadashi maintains his hold.
"I'll regret not doing this when you leave again. And what? I don't even drink, Tsukishima."
"I'm not -" Tsukishima starts. Tadashi swiftly interrupts him with another kiss. "Leaving."
"It's been years. I don't even know who you are anymore."
Tadashi moves his hands to Tsukishima's face, cradling his jaw, weaving his fingers through his hair to bring him closer. He kisses harder, purposefully. He tugs on Tsukishima's bottom lip with both of his, breathing him in. He drags his fingernails down, lightly along the back of Tsukishima's neck.
Tsukishima drops the umbrella. It awkwardly falls on their heads before it slides off and onto the floor, catching the rain meant for Tadashi's pavement. The rain sighs with them, against their hair, soaking into their clothes.
Hands on Tadashi's waist slowly guide him backwards until his back touches something solid. Tsukishima leans against him, gently pushing him against the wall as he kisses back fervently, desperately. Beneath the roof, they're shielded from the rain, but still they share raindrops between them; the water on Tadashi's fingers slide onto Tsukishima's cheeks, the drops on Tsukishima's hand melt into Tadashi's clothes.
Tadashi shuts his eyes so hard he's afraid they'll bleed. Tsukishima's heartbeat drums against his own as they take each other in, every kiss a prayer against the other's lips. Even as they stop kissing, they tremble against each other, foreheads touching.
"I'm scared," Tsukishima breathes, so quietly Tadashi almost doesn't hear him over the rain. "I didn't think I would miss you this much."
"Why didn't you tell me you were leaving?" Tadashi asks him, shuddering from the sudden cold. Tsukishima holds him tighter.
"I think I would have stayed. If I had told you."
"But I wouldn't have asked you to stay."
"I know."
"You didn't even call! You told Akiteru you didn't want me to visit. You didn't want to see me." His voice cracks somewhere, and he doesn't notice the tears on his cheeks until Tsukishima wipes them away.
"I'm sorry."
The only comfort Tadashi can think of at that moment is kissing Tsukishima, so he peppers his lips on any part of him he can get to. Tsukishima allows him, leaning down so Tadashi can reach. It's a temporary relief, but it calms Tadashi down all the same.
"I got a job offer last month," Tsukishima breathes, as Tadashi kisses his earlobe. "In Osaka."
Tadashi smiles despite himself, despite everything.
"Hey, that's where I live."
"What a coincidence," Tsukishima deadpans.
It feels juvenile - making out in the rain, professions of desire after years of no contact, tearful conclusions to unresolved injuries. The future is hazy; all Tadashi is sure of stands right in front of him, lips swollen and cheeks flushed and glasses skewed to one side, arms around Tadashi to keep him warm.
Any clairvoyant might advise against his optimism. But Tadashi kisses the tip of Tsukishima's nose and welcomes the hope that blooms, tender and unguarded, under his own fingertips.