Chapter Text
For the first twelve years of Yamaguchi's life, he never wrote to his soulmate.
It's not like he wasn't tempted. Every time the boys at school called him pizza face, or his parents worked late and left him home alone for the night, he whipped out a pen, rehearsing what he would say. Whoever was on the other end, they'd get him. That's what the soulmate bond was all about. And maybe he would want to meet up in real life, and Yamaguchi would have his first friend-
That was usually when the fantasy ended, and he put his pen back in his pencil case. Yamaguchi didn't hate his freckles, or at least he didn't used to, but you could only be mocked for so long before your reflection in the mirror became distorted. Yamaguchi had a chronic fear of meeting his soulmate and having his appearance be enough to scare him away. They say you can feel when your soulmate rejects you. Yamaguchi didn't want to feel it himself.
Plus, his soulmate never tried writing him, either. That had to mean something was wrong with him.
So he made sure to stay far away from writing implements on those lonely nights that he thought he might just do it. Instead, he wrote his messages on post it notes, and ripped them up when he was finished. He imagined they were getting to his soulmate somehow, even if he couldn't see it, because that's how close their bond was.
Then came the fateful night he decided to try out for the baseball team. The kids weren't exactly mean, per se. They didn't shove him to the ground like they sometimes did outside on the school yard. No, they were civil. Distant. And when the time came for each kid to write their names down on the sheet, they gracefully passed it over Yamaguchi's head, nodding to each other.
"Is there anyone who didn't write their name down?" the coach had asked, waving around the clipboard, and thirteen pairs of eyes turned to face Yamaguchi, to see what he'd do. If he tried to report it, they'd certainly deny it, and treat him worse after hours. But if he just let it go, signing his name all the way at the bottom, he'd be invisible forever, the ghost of the baseball team.
He chose option C. When no one spoke up, the coach turned his attention elsewhere, and Yamaguchi let himself drift away. Drift away, little ghost, off the baseball field, out of school, back to your empty, haunted house. That's not your place. No, your place is in your bed, under the covers, where no one can see the ghost cry.
It was better that he left without anyone noticing, but in truth, they probably did. They probably didn't care. They were probably happy about it.
He made the fateful decision to trudge to his desk, grabbing a fat marker and taking it to bed with him. He didn't know why he was keeping the lights off, since there was no one home to be disturbed, but the flashlight's glow under his blanket just made it all the more dramatic.
He didn't think before he wrote; no, that would lead to hesitation, and ultimately quitting. He wrote the first thing that popped up in his mind, and when it faded, he was almost sorry to see it go.
I'm a ghost. Boo.
Scratch that, he couldn't believe he started with that. Boo? What was he, a five year old? All of this anticipation, and he went with four words that could be found on the inside of a Halloween card. He would die of embarrassment. He would curl up in a ball and die. He would-
He felt a tingling on his leg before he saw the words appear.
You scared me.
Yamaguchi smiled for what felt like the first time in days, and he took his marker back.
I'm Yamaguchi Tadashi. What's your name?
The response took only a moment to form.
Tsukishima Kei. Now what were you saying about being a ghost?
Yamaguchi learned four things about his soulmate that night. The first was that he was a quick reader. It took him only a minute to read through his entire baseball story, and even less to respond.
The second was that he was kind of callous. He mentioned after that he didn't have any friends (all dumbasses, he said of the people at his school), so he was out of practice when it came to being polite to people, but he would try when it came to Yamaguchi. When he first read it, his heart swelled, because even if he wasn't a nice person, he would try, and no one had before.
The third thing was that Tsukishima played volleyball. He picked it up from his brother, who was in high school, and since he was pretty tall - Yamaguchi had to take his word for it - he decided to follow in his footsteps.
It's an alright game, he had written. Instead of trying out for the dumb baseball team, you should join a volleyball club. If you don't know how to play, you can always find videos online.
Playing volleyball never even occurred to him, but now that Tsukishima had said it, it seemed worth a shot. He wrote himself a note - on paper - to check it out the following day.
And the last thing Yamaguchi learned was that Tsukishima went to bed really early each night. It was only 8 when he signed off, saying he was tired. It could've been a lie, but Yamaguchi himself was feeling pretty sleepy after the whole day's events. And if Tsukishima did just want to stop talking that night, so what? At least he cared about his feelings enough to lie.
There was a fifth thing to Tsukishima, but Yamaguchi would only learn it a little while later, when he got into the routine of writing to him almost every day. Tsukishima had a habit of not responding for days on end, only to resume the conversation like no time had passed at all. Yamaguchi called him out on it once, since there was no way he didn't notice the writing on himself, but Tsukishima merely responded that he was a bad conversationalist, and when he didn't know what to say, he sometimes forgot to respond for a while.
It annoyed Yamaguchi for a number of reasons, mainly because from what he knew about friendships, this wasn't how they went, but he couldn't very well argue with him, especially since he never started the conversations. It was always Yamaguchi with the problems, Yamaguchi asking for advice, and even if it took a while, he was glad he now had someone to turn to for it.
He got to know Tsukishima slowly, gathering bits and pieces from the scraps he told about himself. He had an older brother named Akiteru, and he was his idol. Tsukishima never sounded excited about anything, but when it came to Akiteru, he used an exclamation point or two. His parents were nice enough, which always sent a pang of envy through Yamaguchi, but he didn't talk about them much.
Instead, they mostly talked about volleyball, first when Yamaguchi was practicing to try out, then when he finally made the team. He didn't get that much action on the court, being a beginner, but he got enough of the feeling of glory just hearing about Tsukishima playing as a blocker. And it was nice that they had something to connect them, something solid in common.
Not to mention that the people on the volleyball team didn't treat him like he was invisible. The first time someone called Yamaguchi over by his name to practice bumping, he almost teared up.
Things were going pretty smoothly by the time Yamaguchi brought up meeting in person. He liked writing, liked the feeling of the letters forming on whatever body part Tsukishima chose (usually the leg, but sometimes the forearm if he wanted to change things up), but he didn't like the huge pauses in between. In fact, he was expecting another giant break when he first suggested it, but Tsukishima answered almost immediately.
My brother's playing his last match as ace next week in high school. You can come to that, if you want.
Yamaguchi's heart speeds up, and he quickly writes back Sure! Write me the time and address, and I'll be there.
He thought for a moment, then added, How will I know who you are?
Tsukishima's reply materialized on his forearm. Hmm. I'm tall, blond, I have glasses, and I'll be wearing a purple hoodie with a moon on it. You can't miss it.
Yamaguchi tried to imagine Tsukishima for the first time, but he couldn't think past stick figures. He'd have a clear image when they met. When they met. Oh my god.
The next week went by so unbearably slowly, Yamaguchi couldn't believe time was moving. He started doodling on his hands and arms, only stopping when Tsukishima told him that he got in trouble in school for it (he did say that he liked the pictures, though, so that was a plus). Then he went back to drawing in the margins of his paper, but the excitement remained.
He almost forgot to ask his parents to take him, only remembering the night before the game. He built up the courage to ask in his own room, then tiptoed down the hall, where he knew they were watching a movie together in bed.
"Um, Mom? Dad?" he asked, leaning his head through the doorway. The only way he knew they even heard him was because his dad paused the movie, still looking towards the screen. Still, he persevered, since this was an important matter. "Can one of you drive me to the high school tomorrow? I want to watch a volleyball game there."
His mom looked at his dad, shrugging. "I can take you after work," she said, almost making eye contact with him. "Since when are you interested in volleyball?"
"I joined the team a month ago," Yamaguchi said, trying not to sound hurt. He couldn't remember if he told his parents or not, but they probably wouldn't remember anyway. "So you can take me?"
"Yes. I'll drop you off, then you can text me when to pick you up."
"Great. Thanks." He tried to press as much enthusiasm and gratitude into the words, shutting the door behind him. The whole interaction left him feeling quite cold, but he was going to get to go to the game now.
Parents said yes! he wrote on his upper arm, and he felt a tingling almost immediately after.
See you then.
As soon as the final bell rang, Yamaguchi jumped out of his seat, running all the way home. He didn't have to go to the game for a couple of hours, but he wanted to take a shower and get all of his work done beforehand. Then there was the matter of choosing an outfit to wear. He had never been to a volleyball game, so he didn't know the proper attire, but since Tsukishima would be wearing a hoodie, he decided to wear the same. Hoodie, sweatpants, sneakers, all set.
He knocked on his mom's door half an hour before the match started, but when he pulled open the door, no one was there. It took him a few minutes to realize she wasn't home at all, and neither was his dad. He called her on the phone, pacing anxiously as he waited for her to pick up.
"I'm at the gym, Tadashi, what is it?" she asked as soon as she picked up the phone. Yamaguchi didn't think she could surprise him with her callousness, but evidently she had been holding out on him.
"You said you'd drive me to the volleyball game," he responded, trying not to whine. She had said it, had listened to him for once.
He could hear her sigh on the other end. "I'm sorry, Tadashi, I forgot all about it. I'll take you to the next one there is, just tell me when."
Yamaguchi knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't leave the gym, not in the middle of a yoga session, so he didn't bother bargaining with her. Instead, his eyes flitted to the clock. Twenty eight minutes until the game starts. I can still make it.
"I'm just gonna walk," he said flatly, going to hang up the phone.
"What? Tadashi, you can't just-" Her voice cut off as he hung up on her, shoving his phone in his pocket. If he was going to make it there on time to see Tsukki, he'd have to run.
And run he did, following directions on his phone. The Tadashi of a month ago wouldn't be fit enough to make the distance, but the training he did in volleyball helped him through, even when his calves were burning and his lungs felt bone dry.
The high school stood in front of him, large and imposing, but he didn't have the time to be intimidated. He followed the directions the security guard gave him towards the gym, and swung open the double doors.
The sounds hit him almost immediately, cheers and yells and feet stamping and god, it was overwhelming. He looked around him, eyes straining to find a flash of purple, but there were so many people, and they were all moving so much, he couldn't get a flash of anything. He was starting to think he was too far out of his element.
And then! Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the slightest bit of purple sticking out from the crowd. He squinted, and when the crowd parted, there he was. Tsukishima Kei, in the flesh. He didn't see him, his eyes too focused on the court, but that wouldn't be for long.
Yamaguchi navigated his way to the staircase leading to the bleachers, mentally rehearsing what he'd say. Was a simple hello not enough? Should he try harder? He was so caught up in his own thoughts, he didn't notice the boy himself standing right in front of him.
"Boo," he said simply, splaying his hands out in front of him, and Yamaguchi practically jumped. He looked up in front of him to find...
"Tsukki! It's you!" he exclaimed, looking him over. Tsukishima adjusted his glasses, attempting a smile.
"Uh, yeah. It's me."
"How'd you recognize me? I didn't give you a description or anything."
"You've talked enough about your freckles that I could probably pick them out of a crowd. Plus, you're the only person here not focused on the game. It wasn't hard, really."
"Wow, you're a genius, Tsukki!" Yamaguchi said, and Tsukishima scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed.
"Yeah, whatever. Follow me, I got us some good seats in the front."
For the first couple of points, they were more focused on each other than the game itself. Yamaguchi fought to move past the awkwardness that came with seeing Tsukishima's face in front of him, hearing his voice, having his attention. They talked about trivialities, as they always did, and Yamaguchi saved the story of how he got there for a later time. It didn't match the light air of the gym.
Eventually, though, they decided to turn to the court, trying to find Tsukishima's brother.
"His jersey has the number four on it," Tsukishima said, leaning over the railing while holding his glasses steady with one hand. "Do you see him?"
"Uh, no," Yamaguchi said, squinting as well. He went through all six people on the court, not seeing anyone with the number four jersey. He checked the bench, too, tilting his head a little, but still, no one.
And then he saw him. He couldn't be sure that it was Akiteru, since he wasn't wearing the jersey, but he looked remarkably similar to Tsukishima, albeit a few years older. It couldn't be him, though, because he wasn't the ace. He wasn't even a sub. Yamaguchi shook his head, turning his attention back to the court. But the fact lingered in his head.
And then Tsukishima caught eye of him. Yamaguchi could tell the exact moment, because he heard a sharp intake of breath beside him. He looked between Tsukishima and the guy standing across the gym, holding the sign, and he could almost feel the tension in the air.
"Tsukki, are you alright?" he asked, because for the first time since he had known him, it didn't seem to be true. Even over writing, Tsukishima was always calm, cool, and collected. And now he looked featherlight, a second from turning to dust.
"No," he said seriously, finally breaking his eyes away from Akiteru. "I'm not."
Then he suddenly stood up from his seat, pushing his way through the crowd towards the exit. Confused, Yamaguchi tried to see where he was going, but almost immediately felt a tingling on his arm. Judging by the looks of it, the words had been scratched in with his fingernail.
Don't follow me.
Yamaguchi walked home that night. He supposed he could ask his mom for a ride, but he needed the time to think, and besides, he was pissed at her. She probably wouldn't remember to pick him up anyway.
When he got home, he thought about writing to Tsukishima, but stopped himself. It was obviously pretty traumatic for him, otherwise he wouldn't storm out, so he probably needed space. Yamaguchi got the feeling, and decided to wait for Tsukishima to write to him first.
He waited a lot longer than he thought he would. Like, three years longer.