Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s a clear April afternoon when something first clicks for Kei. He doesn’t yet realise that’s what’s happening, but he will soon; for now the hazy puffs of a spring breeze cool him off as he stands with his back to the sun and his front to the shade of a tree, Yamaguchi next to him. Viridescent grass pools under their feet, connecting them to the surrounding grove of trees of all kinds that will be gone in place of a new building by the time they next step foot on Karasuno High School’s campus. 

As they’ve been friends for two years and best friends (according to Yamaguchi publicly and Kei privately) for half of that time, it has become a tradition to go searching for birds’ nests in the spring; the park between their houses has the most nests, but the trees and buildings around Karasuno high school have a more distinct variety of birds who set up camp there. Once they had even seen one resting in a lower branch of a tree; Yamaguchi had gushed about it the entire time they walked to Kei’s house and they poured over Kei’s mother’s ornithology books until they found out it was an oriental turtle dove.

Now there aren’t any birds ore their nests in sight, let alone oriental turtle doves.

“Maybe they’re just higher in the trees this year...” Yamaguchi says, eyes scanning the distant flora as if he could see anything through the thick foliage that halos them. Kei only tucks his hands in his pockets and shrugs; maintaining a grounding level of apathy for his best friend’s natural optimism is a skill he doesn’t have to try hard to be good at. 

“Maybe,” He repeats halfheartedly after a second. Birds and their nests are fine, great, stellar, but it’s not like discovering them is some rare experience. In his twelve years of living, Kei has seen a bunch of birds’ nests that he hasn’t even had to look for. He can already tell that Yamaguchi is just setting himself up for disappointment, and it makes no sense to him. They’re going off of prior knowledge, a fickle thing in even the best of circumstances — there’s just no way Yamaguchi can set his hopes as high as Kei believes they are.

But Kei knows the boy next to him well, maybe more than he’d like to admit, and because of that he knows that it’s likely that Yamaguchi honestly has had his expectations at the same level as Mount Fuji’s peak until this very moment. When they inevitably coast into a suitably low valley, he’ll end up with that Look that Kei hates to think about, let alone expect, because of how much it annoys him (he could count the ways timid hopefulness turning into disappointment is his downfall — Yamaguchi somehow exploits them all without trying)

In his own way of dealing with the possible, and alarming situation of a low-spirited Yamaguchi Tadashi, Kei decides it might be best to bring up how there’s a documentary about different prehistoric eras on tv tonight and how he should ask to stay over for dinner so they can watch it together. A change of topic might make the decline more bearable. He even opens his mouth to speak, but, luckily, a glance to the side tells him he would’ve just ended up embarrassing himself. “Yamaguchi?” He asks instead.

This is because, in the short period of time it took for Kei to figure out his course of action regarding an upset Yamaguchi, the person in question had moved from his position on Kei’s left to the halfway point between where they both had stood together and where a large plane tree fans its branches out like loving arms. It’s a harried action and he can see his not-quite-long legs take great strides as they move across the grass. Yamaguchi doesn’t answer him so Kei lets out a sigh and follows behind him, shortly ending up right next to him; his height almost definitely is an advantage now.

It doesn’t take long for them to reach their ultimate destination and Kei allows himself to show how mildly concerned he is about Yamaguchi since he wouldn’t able to see him either way; the brunet is crouching down next to the tan tree trunk, hands gripping spring-bright grass to steady himself. The Look hasn’t made its appearance yet, but Kei thinks that might change soon, if the way tufts of grass are breaking under his best friend’s touch is any indication.

“Yamaguchi--“

“I really hoped I was just seeing things.” Yamaguchi whispers, cutting off the rest of Kei’s sentence and throwing it away into the wind. He sounds so… so... Kei doesn’t have the proper vocabulary to describe it yet. 

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” He responds, harsher than Kei meant. It does something to Yamaguchi, snaps him out of the tiny trance he has fallen into. Kei can see when he notices his presence again — one tight blink, the subtle shift backward of his head. What, Kei ponders is so horrible that it made him forget someone’s with him?

“Sorry, Tsukki,” The brunet says. Kei can see that his voice is trying to convey his sheepishness, but he’s so unfocused it doesn’t work very well. Yamaguchi is still talking in the tone from before he can’t describe, and that Kei doesn’t understand makes him feel as though he’s gotten a bad sunburn, like the one Akiteru had gotten when they went to the beach; blisters filled with words like useless and unhelpful threaten to burst as soon as they finish swelling. It irritates him more than he knows what to do with. Kei follows the line of Yamaguchi’s eyes when he doesn’t elaborate, determined to at least understand what all the fuss is about.

And then he sees it.

A small, off-white egg sits cradled in the grass, splotched dirt right by the tree trunk. The thought that it looks like something a hen would lay flickers through Kei’s mind. Oh. He doesn’t know what type of bird it could’ve come from and makes a mental note to research it later, long after his friend has gone home. He thinks this is the best course of action because Yamaguchi’s shoulders have sunken so low that he seems close to falling over. Deflated. He looks like all the air has gone out of him; something rusty cuts into Kei’s chest at the sight. Kei’s still standing up, head bowing as he watches Yamaguchi’s hands reach out for the egg.

“Hey, Yamaguchi, snap out of it. We both know you aren’t supposed to do that.” Kei’s voice is one that leaves little room for argument, one that, by the time they get to high school, he will have perfected. For now, though, it’s a fluke that’s made possible by knowledge they both have and truths they both recognise to be correct. 

Yamaguchi pauses, hands still outstretched, but doesn’t touch, only shuffles closer before putting the appendages back down. “Sorry, Tsukki. You’re right.” Kei feels himself becoming tired of that being all Yamaguchi says. Sighing, Kei condescends to sit down next to him. He can feel the morning dew still left on the grass seep into his pants — he’s fine with the great outdoors, really, he is, but he prefers learning about it from nature documentaries and books over experiencing it first hand. 

Last year, their school had arranged for an ornithologist to teach them all about birds and their habits. This came after Kojima Kuu from class one had thrown a rock at the birds nesting just outside a third-year classroom, breaking a window and scarring the eight- and nine-year-olds inside. They had all learned that birds can use anything to make a nest, not just the twigs one sees in movies, that Japan has crows of the Carrion and Jungle variety, the former having a lifespan of nineteen years, and that a place called Columbia has the biggest variety of bird species in the world. But the biggest, most important thing that stuck out to the elementary school children that day was this — if you see a bird’s egg on the ground, leave it alone. From what Kei could remember (which wasn’t much seeing as he had no interest in birds) this had something to do with how the egg is probably doomed already from the fall, or maybe that it could still hatch when left undisturbed. 

Now that Kei is level with the egg, he sees why Yamaguchi is acting the way he is, if only a little because the sight is sad. This thing, this promise of new life after a season of death, has already defeated its purpose. It’s not a promise anymore, only a broken oath, signalled by the fracture in its shell that Kei can finally see along with the viscous substance leaking from it in tiny, reckless drops. Tsukishima Kei is twelve, but he knows that things like this happen. It’s life and life goes on. He’s about to open his mouth to say that, even, just like he’s been about to say a lot of things (he always feels like he’s on the verge of something before the universe shuts him down), but Yamaguchi beats him to it (he always beats him to it).

“Do you-” Yamaguchi cuts himself off as suddenly as he’s begun and the sunburn feeling from before slowly morphs into something Kei decides is sun poisoning. He heard his mother say it was worse than sunburn and much more dangerous. As the beat of silence caused by Yamaguchi’s unsaid words drags on, he feels the contents of his affliction pool so suddenly in his chest and his brain and his hands he’s almost surprised with himself when he tells him to-

“Just spit it out, Yamaguchi.” It’s exasperated and annoyed and all the things that Kei usually doesn’t mind unleashing on people. Key word: usually. Kei just doesn’t know why Yamaguchi is the exception this time, but he thinks it has something to do with the way hurt makes his best friend’s eyes shine along with his emotions towards the egg. The rusty object from before takes another stab at his chest but he doesn’t apologise, just waits for him to finally say something.

“It’s stupid.”

“I have a good idea about what’s stupid or not, trust me,” and, because Kei’s a little compelled to be nice after catching the look in Yamaguchi’s eyes, he adds “I won’t laugh if I think it’s dumb.”

That gets Yamaguchi to brighten as he glances up at him; Kei doesn’t understand how that expression — eyes a little wider, eyebrows sliding upwards, the freckles on his cheeks pitching up a little with the movements — acts like a salve and a tetanus shot all at once, but somehow it does. That’s only for a second, though, and then Yamaguchi goes back to over thinking, eyes falling back to the verdant ground in front of him. “Do you promise?”

For the love of- “Yamaguchi.”

“Tsukki.” 

It’s something about the serious tone of his voice that forces Kei to reply with “Fine. I promise.” and he’s almost upset at how easily Yamaguchi got away with that. Kei doesn’t have time to dwell on it because Yamaguchi is taking a deep breath and then suddenly, like the transition from eye of the hurricane to damage inducing weather, he speaks.

“Do you think it’ll still hatch? Or that we could fix it?” Kei doesn’t laugh, but he doesn’t know how to respond either.

He’s always doing that — asking Kei questions that Kei doesn’t know the answer to and acting like he’ll have it all figured out. It’s often nice for Yamaguchi to look at him that way, to see the pure laudation in Yamaguchi’s dark eyes when he’s impressed by something Kei says. It makes him think he could take on the world.

But sometimes, like now, it’s awful.

When he really doesn’t know the answer, doesn’t have a solution, that’s when Yamaguchi’s eyes make him feel powerless. Make him want to help, even when he knows he can’t. No one can put an egg back together again. Level-headed, logical Kei knows this better than anyone, and yet there’s some part of himself that thinks that with enough tape or glue or time, he could try to give the baby bird inside life again, just so Yamaguchi would smile. Anything would be better than how his gaze locks on the grass, and presumably, the egg, that’s right in front of him. Kei silently wishes that they had never come out here, that Yamaguchi would stop looking at him at all, that he never had in the first place. He hates being the person someone thinks they can rely on; disappointment is always palpable.

“You were right, that was kind of stupid,” No use trying to sugarcoat it, it’s not his style, anyway. He can see Yamaguchi’s shoulders go tense. ‘He’s finally getting it,’, “I doubt it’ll hatch or that we could even try to fix it. The bird in it is probably dead, or will be.” 

When Yamaguchi speaks it’s a rendition of his common cheer, “Right, Tsukki.”

Why does he feel wrong? 

That feeling doesn’t go away when Yamaguchi and him finally get up off of the ground, the former deciding that he doesn’t really feel like continuing their search and that maybe they could try again the next day, can ask Yamaguchi-san if he could take them on his errands and drop them off at the big park in Sendai.

It doesn’t go away when they exit Karasuno’s campus and Yamaguchi trails slightly after him, head down and contributing to a silence that chaffs Kei’s skin angrily. In reality, it’s more than companionable.

It doesn’t go away when Kei realises that he’s regretting not sugar coating his words to Yamaguchi from earlier or even when he offers the documentary from before as an apology (he will wonder later if Yamaguchi even saw it that way) and his friend agrees.

It does not go away. 

They’re halfway to Kei’s house when the blond finally glances slightly over his shoulder — their walking paces have long since synced up — and watches the dark hair that waterfalls over Yamaguchi’s face, concealing whatever emotions are inside in favour of humouring Kei’s halfhearted attempts at making conversation. It’s that precise moment that time burns into his memories. When he will think of that day the first thing that will come to mind is the face Kei cannot see, which isn’t shown to him, though he’s practically burning holes into the side of Yamaguchi’s head with his stare. It is not the cracked egg that Yamaguchi probably thinks of, or the cruelty of his words that Kei puts on agonising repeat afterwards, its flyaway hair and eyes he knows (knew, has known) are swirling with pent-up tears, all for the life lost as soon as its egg fell from its nest.

----

Kei’s humble opinion: they’re too old for building snowmen; Yamaguchi’s humble opinion: age is but a number.

Kei really wishes Akiteru hadn’t taught them that phrase while he was home for school holidays, especially because it’s been the foundation of all Yamaguchi’s arguments every time they’ve debated since — granted, that isn’t too often. His best friend’s persistence in the face of all of Kei’s grumbling ultimately lands them both outside on a cloudy December day — Yamaguchi smiling bright enough to take the place of the sun and Kei red-nosed and frowning up at the sky. Well, persistence and the use of the Look, which Kei thinks should be illegal, especially with how it can take so many shapes.

The snow filling the ground of Yamaguchi’s front lawn is soft, still new and powder fresh. This is not the first snow of the winter, but it is the first time they’ve had what Yamaguchi deems a ‘suitable amount’ for snowmen making. A suitable amount seems to be enough for Kei’s feet to sink ankle deep into the ground, big, wet flakes finding their way into his shoes. Yamaguchi is unbothered by it, or rather, he isn’t letting his displeasure show like Kei is; the grimace on his face can perfectly capture how much he’s rather be inside, drinking tea (Yamaguchi’s mother always makes the best cup of the stuff or at least better than Kei’s mother’s sludgy mess) and watching nature documentaries under piles and piles of blankets.

There’s no comparison when he’s against I’m-at-ease-in-the-outdoors Yamaguchi Tadashi.

“You know how to make one, right Tsukki?” Yamaguchi asks from where he’s kneeling in the centre of his yard, bright pink snow pants sticking out against the monochromatic wonderland. Trudging over to stand next to him, Kei narrows his eyes.

“Who doesn’t know how to make a snowman?” He snorts in response. Akiteru and him used to build them in their backyard, positioning them as though they were receiving tough serves or retrieving blocked balls. That was Before and Before is always painful to think about, so he doesn’t — Kei locks those memories up tightly behind the doors of a steel vault. One day he will throw away the key. Forget the combination. Maybe. Hopefully.

Yamaguchi shrugs, “Lots of people. It’s harder than you’d think.”

“Which part? When we stack balls of compounded snow on top of each other, or when we wrap a scarf around its neck?” Kei snarks, kneeling down next to him while raising a pale eyebrow. The brunet opens his mouth to say something back before closing it with a small frown. After a second or two Yamaguchi still hasn’t responded and Kei finds his fingers to be remarkably nice playthings for the umpteenth time in his life; the popping of cracked knuckles filling the spaces in the silence where words are supposed to go. 

And just when Kei has no more knuckles to crack (the gaps between the joints becoming a tad achy at the repeated motions), a grin covers Yamaguchi’s face again. This one is sly, makes Kei’s heart lurch in anticipation for what his best friend has up his sleeve, has his grimace changing causes. He doubts he will like it, no matter how much Yamaguchi tells him he will. Kei will begrudgingly agree to do whatever it is, though, and this is something he’s not sure if Yamaguchi is very aware of. Kei quietly hopes that whatever’s wrong with him in the refusal department goes away soon — the next thing he knows, Yamaguchi will get him to dress up as Tikachu. Kei’s nose wrinkles at the thought.

That’s the thing people never seem to take into account with Yamaguchi — when he lets himself relax, he’s smart enough to be properly shrewd.

“What?” Kei demands; Yamaguchi’s grin only widens.

“I was thinking… we should have a snowman building competition, Tsukki! Nii-san can judge when we’re done.” There’s such eagerness in Yamaguchi’s eyes while he proposes the competition that Kei can already feel his resolve slipping quietly away. The prospect of Atsushi, Yamaguchi’s older brother, judging sweetens the deal. He’s always treated Kei with considerable kindness and enjoys teasing Yamaguchi from time to time. Depending on his mood, Kei could make the worst snowman Atsushi has ever seen and still pick him just to get a rise out of the other boy (a sight to see if there ever was one). 

Still..., “Why can’t we just build one together?”

“It’ll be more fun this way, I promise. And if you win, I’ll... I’ll watch that shark documentary with you.” Now /that’s/ promising. Kei’s had a documentary on great white sharks saved for months and Yamaguchi, a person who fears that particular ocean creature more than any land mammal on Earth, always changes the topic whenever Kei brings up wanting to watch it together. Documentaries are more fun with friends, after all.

“What if /you/ win?” 

Yamaguchi tilts his head, thinking, thinking, thinking, thought. He comes alive, “You’ll stop asking me to watch the shark documentary. Sound fair, Tsukki?”

And what’s Kei supposed to do, say /no/? Yamaguchi is burning so brightly that Kei’s surprised the snow around him and his ridiculous snow pants haven’t melted already; Kei has to look away. If he doesn’t, he might melt too.

“Sure.”

“Really?” Kei can hear the smile in his voice and something warm fills his chest as he nods in response. Time spent holding out: two minutes. He’s getting worse.

There’s no time to dwell on that, though, because Yamaguchi is elapsing into a patient, if not a little ramble-y, explanation of how the entire competition will work. They have unlimited time to craft their masterpieces, they must use what they have on their bodies or what they can find in the yard for decorations, and they can’t help each other out if something goes wrong. Kei tacks on the last condition, much to Yamaguchi’s chagrin, even if he doesn’t vocalise it — as soon as he draws little shapes on his glove covered palms, Kei can tell — Yamaguchi’s done it since they’ve first met.

“What’s wrong?” The blond asks, tone as flat as freshly pressed paper, bespectacled eyes boring into the side of Yamaguchi’s head.

Yamaguchi’s head swivels to face him, finger pausing, “Huh?” Kei jerks his chin toward Yamaguchi’s hands and the boy they belong to chirps a sheepish laugh, “Oh. That. Nothing’s wrong, Tsukki.”

Kei levels his own almost perfected Look in his best friend’s direction. It’s the one that lets Yamaguchi know that Kei’s bullshit radar is off of the charts and the former averts his eyes while the latter smirks expectantly. He mumbles something that Kei can’t quite catch so he makes a ‘come again’ noise that has Yamaguchi taking a deep breath. He starts with his finger drawing thing again, which Kei watches as he waits. It’s soothing. He sort of understands why Yamaguchi does it.

“What if you need help? Not that I think you’re going to, but...” Yamaguchi tacks on the last part quickly, as if afraid of offending him. Pride? Wounded. Competitive nature? Sparked. 

“Why would I need help? I’ve made plenty of snowmen before.” Kei’s responds, purely petulant. Snowmen aren’t that hard to make and he has some experience, despite what Yamaguchi thinks. Although, he’s never exactly offered the stories about how he learned, or rather, who he learned it from, so maybe it’s only natural for Yamaguchi to doubt him. Doesn’t mean he likes it, though.

Yamaguchi glances up at him, looking vaguely horrified. “I know! It’s just… everybody needs help sometimes. I could need help too, Tsukki.” Kei knows he’s only saying that to appease him and on some parts of his brain it works, soothing ruffled feathers. On the other parts it makes him feel condescended to — Kei’s distaste for that feeling rivals the one he reserves for over-zealous personalities, which is saying a lot.

“No help.” Kei states, even with the glint in Yamaguchi’s eyes that beg him to consider otherwise. If there ever was a time he wouldn’t budge, this would be it. Stubbornness is a double-edged sword that Kei wields happily and without complaint.

“Alright.” Yamaguchi finally says, even though he’s wearing his reticence like a sweater.

Twenty minutes later, Kei finds out that it’s not alright at all.

The construction of snowmen is harder than Kei remembers. Firstly, one does not just make three giant snowballs — Kei tries this and ends up with a lumpy, completely un-ball-like shape that out of the corner of his eye he sees Yamaguchi give him an encouraging look for. He can’t follow Yamaguchi’s lead because that would be help and getting help is cheating. The whiny voice in his head croaks this when he tracks the brunet’s swift motions. He packs and rolls snow together with the ease of a professionally trained artisan, causing envy and fondness to bubble up in endless amounts as Kei continues to fumble with the basic aspect of body building.

Secondly, when one finally gets the parts of the snowman’s body finished, it’s a certain kind of hell to stack them on top of one another. Kei’s embarrassingly scared of his fifth and sixth tries falling apart on their trip, and when he eventually steels himself to the actions he must take, the snowman’s head falls apart in his hands. His rewards for his blunder — another two attempts at head making and a pitying glance from Yamaguchi who’s already decorating his perfectly rounded snow being. 

Lastly, Kei finds out that outfitting someone is something he would rather never, ever do again in his lifetime. Since he’s only allowed to use what he has on hand and what’s in the yard, Kei’s snowman ends up armless (Yamaguchi has surely squirrelled away all the sticks, that can be the only explanation for the lack of them on the snow-covered lawn). He has a hat, at least, and a scarf with pebbles for beady eyes. Terrible. That’s the only way Kei can describe his snowman, sitting lopsided against the dark grey landscape of the sky. ‘It’ll probably snow again’ Kei thinks with a shiver; his neck is unfairly cold without his scarf.

“Are you finished?” Yamaguchi asks, and Kei responds by walking away from his monstrosity. He glances over at Yamaguchi’s final product for the first time since they started and goes still. 

Where Kei’s snowman is a veritable abomination, a pox on the world of snow-building, Yamaguchi’s deserves some sort of award, if they even have those for snow-people built by thirteen-year-olds. The individual snowballs are smooth and symmetrical, rocks like buttons stand at attention on the torso-snowball and sticks poke out and upwards, raised to the sky like its cheering. Yamaguchi’s hat, garish pink like his snow pants, sits crookedly atop its snow head where more rocks linger to make a smile and eyes. It looks like it came right out of one of those American Christmas movies Akiteru froths over without knowing what they’re about (he hates reading the subtitles). Kei’s family isn’t even Christian. 

Yamaguchi clears his throat and Kei realises he’d been staring at his snowman; at least he can blame the redness on the tips of his ears on the cold. “Yeah, I’m finished.” is all Kei says as he crosses his arms, a frown growing on his lips. No shark documentaries for them, it seems. He says as much to Yamaguchi who goes to stand next to him, surveying both of their works with an infuriatingly (endearingly) optimistic expression.

“You did good though, Tsukki! Really good!” He placates, causing Kei to give him a sharp, reproachful look.

“Lying’s lame, Yamaguchi.” 

Yamaguchi raises his hands defensively, “I’m not lying Tsukki, I swear. I like the way you... er... draped its scarf.”

“Of course,” His expression openly sours now, “It’s the most integral part of snowman making.” Kei deadpans which draws a surprised snort of laughter from Yamaguchi who tries (and fails) to muffle it behind his hand. Kei’s glower deepens and the brunet blanches, opening his mouth to say something else unwittingly patronising.

“I-“

Yamaguchi’s front door swings open to reveal a short woman with chestnut hair the same colour as her sons’ and an abundance of freckles on her tanned face, “Tadashi, Kei-kun, come inside, it looks like it’s going to snow again and I don’t want either of you getting sick. Where are your scarves and hats?” Yamaguchi-san frets, doing a once over of both boys as if their winter accessories would be in the pockets of their jackets.

“But-“ Yamaguchi begins, only to be cut off again by his mother.

“Nope. Don’t argue with me on this. Come on, the both of you. Inside. Now.” She gestures them inside with an extended arm, hazel eyes stern, a comical sight compared to how soft the rest of her is — chubby cheeks, rounded chin, wavy hair. Yamaguchi-san looks thirty-eight going on eight, a sizeable difference against the unintended severity of Kei’s own mother. She’s who he inherited his unflinching poker face from, after all, which suits his personality more than it does her’s by a long shot. 

They both comply with Yamaguchi-san and undress their snowmen before trudging out of the snow and up the walkway to the house where she still holds the door open. Relief filters through Kei’s body — no more being subjected to that silly competition! (He swears he isn’t a sore loser) But when he glances over at Yamaguchi that feeling falters, then does a swan dive off of a cliff.

He wears his disappointment like his heart, always front and centre on his sleeve. Somehow it’s even more persuasive than the Look, but Kei doesn’t know what he’s being convinced to do yet until he steps through the door with Yamaguchi behind him. Kei pulls his shoes slowly, like always, taking care to keep any mess made on the towel Yamaguchi-san has laid out for them and their wet things; Yamaguchi toes his off with haphazard care (He’s drawing on his palm again; Kei thinks that’s the biggest trump card he could’ve unknowingly pulled)

“Hey.” Kei states, getting his first boot off.

Yamaguchi turns to him absently, “Yeah, Tsukki?”

“You won.” Despite Kei’s words, Yamaguchi’s appearance still makes him think of drooping trees and rain clouds.

“What do you mean? Nii-san didn’t get to judge the snowmen.”

“So? You would’ve won, anyway. I’m calling it.” He bends forward to tug off his other boot and can unfortunately no longer see Yamaguchi’s expression. Kei has a good idea of what it is in the back of his mind, though.

“Really, Tsukki? You think mine would’ve- you think mine won?” The slight edge of awe in his voice is like a salve to the frostbitten edges of his ego; even with his poorly made snowman out in the yard for the entire world to see, Yamaguchi still thinks /he/ of all people is qualified enough in the art of snow-people building that it’s cool for him to be told by Kei that he wins their competition. It makes him feel larger than life; it makes him feel terrified of disappointing him. The second boot comes off with a wet noise.

“I said so, didn’t I?” The dryness of his delivery both diminishes and enhances the petulance in his phrasing, but Yamaguchi is un-phased. When Kei stands up straight, he realises his image of what Yamaguchi’s face probably looked like was spot on — big copper eyes, goofy grin from ear to ear, and high eyebrows. Admiration and happiness rolls off of him so intensely that Kei has to look away, embarrassed enough by the attention that he feels his cheeks pink.

“Thanks, Tsukki!”

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.” Kei says, something warm finding its way into his chest and settling there. 

“Sorry, Tsukki.”

When they compromise on a documentary to watch-- something related to botany that doesn’t get interesting until the twenty-minute mark — Kei doesn’t grumble about the lack of sharks once, Yamaguchi’s expression still heavy on his mind.

----

“Are you fucking dense?” Is the first thing Kei hears when he turns the corner.

He’s late to walk to school with Yamaguchi. This is embarrassing for two reasons — the first (and most important): Kei hates to be a hypocrite, and he’s snapped at Yamaguchi because of his tendency towards lateness more times than he can count. The second: he had thoroughly assured Yamaguchi (and his mother, but more importantly Yamaguchi) that he would be fine staying up until three am on a school night. TV’s biggest deep-sea creatures documentary marathon doesn’t happen every day.

Kei regrets nothing. Except, maybe, talking big about his ability to function off of four hours of sleep.

He tries not to drag his feet. Slightly out of breath from his fast pace and sleep deprivation and already done with most things life has to offer, all Kei wants to do is ride the small waves of Yamaguchi’s good-natured teasing, get to volleyball practice (the middle school qualifiers are in two weeks which means more and more volleyball idiots trying too hard at a sport that means nothing in the long run), and wait out the rest of the day. 

But that question. Are you fucking dense. It slaps him in the face... then shoves its phantom knee into his stomach once he’s able to tell that the words are levelled at a Yamaguchi Tadashi who’s hung-headed and hunch-shouldered and probably on the verge of tears. AKA, a Yamaguchi Tadashi that should not exist anymore, that hasn’t existed, not for a while at least to Kei’s knowledge.

There’s a man directly in front of him, a finger poking at the brunet’s chest, neck extended and head wiggling to intimidate him which works about as much as if he were to throw a pillow in his face. He’s only a little taller than Yamaguchi and shorter by miles when compared to Kei, with dark hair and a puffed up chest that evokes images of posturing douchebags everywhere. It’s almost hilarious how artificially scary he’s trying to be looks wise. Kei would laugh in any other scenario — probably one that includes sharing the joke with Yamaguchi. 

One thing about Tsukishima Kei: bullies piss him off more than a lot of things in the world. They’re lowlife scum who get off on the power trip that comes with shoving salt in someone’s festering wounds while watching them squirm. Bullies try to cancel out their own fear by relishing in other people’s, creating chaos so they don’t hurt alone. Kei knows a lot about hurting alone, suffering in silence only broken behind the walls of one’s room, and yet he isn’t a bully. Rude, abrasive, sharp-tongued, and asshole, these are adjectives Kei owns with the grace of having the title ‘beauty queen’, but going after those who aren’t able to handle his barbs is something he stays away from to the best of his ability. Bullies always have the choice to refrain but don’t have the guts to actually stop.

It’s infuriating

“I-I’m sorry.” Yeah, definitely on the verge of tears. Being friends for four years with someone who cries at every overwhelming elevation of emotion means you get used to understanding the significance of every wobbly word and increase in pitch — the slight stammer and tightness of Yamaguchi’s voice make his hands tighten into fists at his sides. Yamaguchi is afraid and that, that is the final straw, if there were even straws to begin with.

They’ve been in this position enough times by now that Kei surprises himself with just how much anger he’s now directing at the person who did this to his best friend. It’s rolling up and out of him, starting from the tips of his ligaments and ending in the middle of his chest where all of those feelings tighten, tighten, tighten themselves into a ball, sinking somewhere in his torso. The aura of that tennis ball sized rock is what’s surrounding him and emotions he used to have no words for categorise themselves in the back of his mind absently. Anger, so much anger that it seems prudent that he steps away and collect himself instead of doing what he thinks he should, is the one that’s the most prominent. The second is disgust for the grown man who’s still touching a dirty finger to his best friend’s chest. The third and last is the hardest to figure out. As the man’s greasy mouth opens to spew yet another taunt, Kei’s still absently turning it over in his mind. Who gave you the right? Kei thinks, to make him afraid?

“Excuse me.” Is all Kei says (he wants it to be all he has to with his sleep fogged and anger sharpened mind, but he knows enough about assholes to understand that it probably won’t be). Yamaguchi jumps before letting out a small noise of what he assumes to be (hopes to be) (really is) relief, and the man turns his head, dark eyes maintaining the tough guy persona well. Key word: Persona. Kei just needs to figure out how he’ll get it to crumble around him — punching is becoming an increasingly desirable option. 

“Yes? We’re kind of busy here, man.” He plants a meaty paw on one of Yamaguchi’s arms and looks as though he’s trying to steer the younger male further away from Kei. It’s all in vain as Yamaguchi has dug his feet in, become unmovable, and Kei, well Kei is just getting started.

Distaste is almost as flattering a colour on him as black and he wears it with the grace and dignity of a suit, head held unfavourably high in his (easy) attempts to look down his nose at him. “Busy doing what? Trying to get yourself arrested for assault?” Kei gestures to his hand; the grip looks bruising and if he were in any other position, he would be cringing for his friend. He wants to say so many things, call the man so many foul words, find expletives in different languages to hurl at him in case there aren’t enough in Japanese, but he refrains (Kei has no clue how). The man backs away from Yamaguchi as if touching him has left his skin burnt and blistered. He sort of wishes it has.

“We were just having a friendly-“

“I suggest you go back to your mother’s basement before I scream and alert everyone in the vicinity to the friendly conversation you were going to have with him,” Kei is looming, leaning forward the slightest bit in a feat of intimidation he’s had unwittingly perfected over the years. The man is trying to posture some more but can’t, cowering away at the non-verbal and verbal threats made. “I’m sure I could think of some other ways to get you away from him, but this is probably the most fitting for troglodytic scum like yourself. Trying to beat up a fourteen-year-old? How pathetic can you be?”

The man is gaping now, and Kei is focusing too much on him to pay much attention to Yamaguchi’s reactions. He looks as if he will say something else or try to splutter out some fake macho bullshit but Kei opens his mouth — presumably to scream although it’s really a feint, for now at least — and his snaps shut so fast that Kei likes to believe he could hear his teeth clack together.

“Fuck, whatever.” Is what the man says instead, voice quiet and mouth not moving much, before heaving a sigh. Finally, finally, he walks away without a glance in Yamaguchi’s direction. When he brushes past Kei he shoulder cheques him, but a mountain of apathy so big he wonders how it can fit inside of his body strikes Kei. The tennis ball of emotions is still there, but easing up now that it’s reason for existing is gone. He suddenly realises how far away he is from Yamaguchi... and that the sounds of soft sobs are filling up all the pockets of silence where the man’s voice and Kei’s words once took up space.

“Yamaguchi?” The /are you crying/ is implied; they both already know the answer. 

“Sorry, Tsukki...” He answers wetly, a small sniffle punctuating it all. Kei has gotten used to having a friend who cries a lot, but it doesn’t mean hearing him shed even the smallest amount of upset tears isn’t painful. A strong urge to hug him threatens to overwhelm him, to scoop him into his pocket and protect him from the world, from people like the guy and all the other ones like him, especially since he knows how many people like that Yamaguchi has had to face on his own. All the people he has to shield Yamaguchi from while the brunet tries (and fails) to claim it was fine, that stuff like this has stopped.

‘Why are you telling me sorry?’ Kei wants to ask, 'What are you saying sorry for, Yamaguchi? What could you possibly have to apologise for right now?'.

He opts for “What happened?” instead, diverting his eyes when Yamaguchi uses the sleeve of his sweater (since they were little he’s always ran cold and the middle of July is no exception when it comes to jackets) to scrub at his face. Still curled in on himself, Kei can’t see his expression. He knows that’s the point.

“He walked into me while I was waiting for you, started yelling at me about how it was all my fault and I know it’s not. I know. I just couldn’t get that out, especially when he was so... so close to me. I hated that, Tsukki, I mean he was just in my space and I couldn’t-“ They’ve both drifted closer to each other, now within arm’s length, and when Yamaguchi’s voice cracks on the last words and he resumes crying, louder this time, that urge comes back again. 

But it’s no longer just an urge. 

Kei will later think that he began to understand how sometimes the body does things we have no control over in that one instance; before he had always thought characters in the books he read just needed to have a little more control over themselves, that that was all it took to stop from doing something particularly stupid. But in that one instance he can put himself in their shoes because he has wrapped Yamaguchi into a hug that leaves them both tensing in shock.

After a second Yamaguchi relaxes, but Kei can’t. He’s never been one for physical affection and they both know this, especially since Yamaguchi is and Kei’s increasing comfort with touches from him still rarely end up as involved as a hug. 

Everything is heightened now that he’s this close to another person — the wetness seeping into the fabric of his shirt alive with the warmth of Yamaguchi’s cheek pressed into it, the shorter boy’s arms awkwardly parked around his waist because of his backpack being in the way, flyaway hair both scratching and tickling his neck. It’s alarming. It’s welcoming. He hugs him a little tighter, but only because Yamaguchi sniffles again as fresh waves of silent tears (he’s never loud when he cries and Kei tries not to think about why) subside a little. That’s the only reason.

“Thanks, Tsukki.” He says into his shirt, slightly muffled. Kei finally allows himself to relax as much as he can and rests his chin on Yamaguchi’s head, hyper-aware of his own pointy chin and the possibility that this could be uncomfortable for the both of them (It isn’t, but that information is doomed to go unspoken).

“Don’t mention it, Yamaguchi.” 

And if they stay like that until Kei mentions practice and Yamaguchi mentions skipping, no one has to know.

----

He realises that he’s a little in love with Yamaguchi on the walk to school that morning.

It isn’t some shocking revelation, nor one that comes with an outpouring of angst — the only thing that pours out of him is irritation at the world for making the rest of the morning come so fast (even though he had wanted it to end as quickly as it had begun before the Incident). 

If Kei has to give his heart to anyone, he thinks it might be nice to give it to his best friend.

----

Kei truly believes that the universe can be undoubtedly cruel sometimes, even when it’s trying to help. Scratch that, especially when it’s trying to help. His torture session had started earlier in the morning, when a girl had come into their classroom looking for Yamaguchi. She found Kei instead.

“Um, excuse me.” Came a high voice from his left. Kei didn’t bother taking off his headphones when he turned to the sound; butter-yellow sunshine swum in through open windows and glinted off of tan framed glasses, shiny, ash-blonde hair, and a silver locket, all pieces of a girl he didn’t care to know. Considering he had never seen her before, she was from a different class. What business she had with him was probably far-fetched and hopeful at best and annoying at worst; when she shuffled awkwardly under his cool gaze Kei figured it was bound to be a mixture of both.

“Yes?” He had breathed out, annoyed, when she said nothing. Kei longed for the day when nonverbal communication would be taught alongside verbal cues. 

“Y-you’re friends with Yamaguchi-kun, right? Tsukishima Kei?”

The way he regarded her became completely frigid. Eyes iced over with the excess emotions he’d suddenly been filled with. He knew what was coming next. Knew why she was asking — he’d seen other girls do the same thing with Yamaguchi before they corner him. Kei could see a small box in the hands she clasped behind her back, wrapped in pretty purple paper with a gold bow on top. Yamaguchi hates purple, has always said that it reminds him of the nasty cough syrup his mother makes him down every winter when he gets a cold. Suddenly Kei wanted to laugh. Maybe that would’ve resolved the stinging sensation deep within his limbs.

“Yeah.”

“Do you know where he is?”

Yes “No. I’m not his keeper.” A falsehood and a fact always balance each other out, right? Truthfully, Kei knew where he was — Yamaguchi was dropping off history flashcards to Kageyama and Hinata because of an exam they had coming up. History has always been Yamaguchi’s strong suit, and although it wasn’t well known, Kei knows he prides himself on it. Something bitter inside of him wanted to ask what information this girl thought she understood about his best friend, but he tried to slake his (in all honesty, awful) thirst for her floundering with the way she was shifting uncomfortably. 

’Do you know anything about him? Do you know how sometimes it’s hard for him to sleep so he plays Pokemon until he gets really bad headaches just so he can take the medicine for it. It makes him drowsy and that way he doesn’t have to take it without cause, just to sleep? Have you seen him when he gets excited about new seasons, how his eyes always go so wide before he flops onto the ground no matter if it’s snow covered or thick with mud? Do you know every single version of The Look and what they mean? Do you understand how much he’s grown? Will you ever?’

“Oh,” She’d said.

Kei made a small noise of acknowledgement, fully intending to go back to his window watching and the comfort of his silent headphones. Then she continued, “I’ll find him at lunch, then. Will you tell him I stopped by?” Her voice was so resolute, so hopeful — Kei wondered if it was bad how much he wanted to see that get wiped away. He also wondered if those thoughts which were what he was being punished for. 

“Sure.” And he knew he would, because Kei isn’t a complete asshole. He’s always aware of how often girls approach Yamaguchi about him, even if he’s claimed it’s stopped. It hasn’t. He’s also aware of how unfair it is for Yamaguchi to have to deal with that because it’s him, not Kei, who deserves that attention. Kei’s acknowledged that before and will continue to acknowledge it forever and always, even if it makes him feel like he’s swallowing battery acid to think about Yamaguchi choosing a nice girl and fancy chocolates over even considering tall, snarky, chocolate-less Kei.

She brightened and for a second Kei was reminded of Yamaguchi, a puppy-like sort of joy on her face that he could see being endearing because he always enjoyed when it popped up onto his best friend’s. “Thank you so much, Tsukishima-kun!” Came her chirpy response before she bounded out of the room — bounded, like she hadn’t taken a sledgehammer to Kei’s average day — leaving only flickering sunshine in her wake. Vapid chatter, muffled behind his earphones, still filled the classroom. The sun was still shining. Yamaguchi still shuffled into the room seconds before their teacher. The world, it seemed, was still turning while time was being just as searingly chipper as she had been.

When the bell rung Kei slipped off his headphones and tried to pretend he was anywhere but there.

----

Kei, despite his best (read: worst) judgement, recounts the tale to Yamaguchi.

“What!?” Yamaguchi yelps, nearly spilling his entire lunch on the ground. As it is, some rice topples out of the side of his bento box and into a grass which, any other time, would’ve provoked a dejected sigh from him (he might not have the biggest appetite, but Yamaguchi absolutely abhors wasting food. Kei finds this endearing to no end and generally reserves a little time to appreciate it when the effects of the trait make themselves known). But he doesn’t even notice it as he leans forward with wide, coppery eyes, made even more so by the sun that is, of course, still shining.

It’s on nice, autumnal days like these where the sun is beginning to stop sharing its warmth that Yamaguchi drags them to the courtyard to eat. Kei has long since stopped trying to protest in earnest; it’s not his fault he loves seeing the way his best friend’s head tilts upwards to receive the sunshine, the flutter of dark lashes against his cheeks when he closes his eyes against the brightness, the curves of — He clears his throat. Thinking about that image of serenity is thoroughly messing with his head when right in front of him is the perfect picture of shock morphing into excitement.

“I’m hoping that was rhetorical,” Kei says dryly, poking at his own meal. His appetite has evaporated with his high spirits but he knew it would happen that way from the second the morning drifted on quietly, without an opportunity to tell Yamaguchi what had happened in sight. He doesn’t laugh, but his eyes portray an electric sort of amusement underneath all the energy he’s vibrating with. “Stop it, you’re moving around like Hinata.”

Yamaguchi completely stills apart from his right knee, which he knocks against Kei’s, smiling like a (very cute) dork. “Sorry, Tsukki, I’m just... I don’t know. Happy? Yeah, happy. I’ve never gotten a confession before and...” He babbles on, yet Kei can’t bring himself to focus too intently on his sentences, letting them flow over and around him like a stream. A cold, cold stream that only dropped in temperature the longer he stood in the water. Words like ‘Happy? Yeah, happy’ nip at his ankles. Why wouldn’t he be overjoyed? Why wouldn’t he hope that was what she was planning? 

Why wouldn’t Yamaguchi say yes?

Kei can see the objectiveness of her beauty, the kind enthusiasm of her words, how nice she is; how unlike Kei she is. Yamaguchi and her would be a great couple. An expected couple. The kind who sit on porches together in their old age and tell sweet stories about their younger days to their grandchildren. That thought specifically makes him want to scream until his throat is raw.

“... then Hinata and I rode into the sunset on Hello Katey.” Yamaguchi finishes, popping a cherry tomato into his mouth. 

Kei squints his eyes at him, head tilted, and responds with a very eloquent, “Huh?” to which Yamaguchi laughs.

“I knew it, you were zoned out. I basically wrote you the plot to an entire novel, Tsukki.”

“One with you, Hinata, and Hello Katey?” Kei asks skeptically, pale eyebrow raised.

Yamaguchi only nods, “I’d have to get the copyright taken care of but I know it’ll be a big hit. You missed when we threw Kageyama into the sun, by the way.”

“Where was book me?” 

“Daydreaming.” 

“And you didn’t wait for him to finish? Cold, Yamaguchi.” 

“Not for Kageyama...” Yamaguchi says wickedly, a small smirk on his lips which does nothing to stop Kei’s own from forming, a huff of laughter escaping from his nose while Yamaguchi brightens. It scares him a little how much comfort his best friend can bring him, how the all-encompassing issue that weighed him down so forcefully before has rolled off his shoulders, discarded and forgotten, in the brief seconds of their back-and-forth conversation. It’s easy, so easy, it almost always has been. Kei wonders with a scowl if Yamaguchi and that girl will have easy talks just like this.

Yamaguchi nudges his knee again, “What were you thinking about, Tsukki?”

“Nothing.” Is Kei’s curt reply, ruining the pleasant atmosphere from before. It’s not meant to be cutting, at least not really, but he can practically see the thin wound he created on Yamaguchi and the air feels like it’s been knocked out of him a bit when he spots the look in his best friend’s earthy eyes. He doesn’t buy it, but when does he ever? Yamaguchi won’t push, though. Never does unless he really has to, and certainly not on a day like today. A day like today. Fuck. He’s thinking about it again.

“Alright, Tsukki.” Yamaguchi says with a distinct air of disbelief that Kei wants to extinguish. Couldn’t he believe him at least once? At least now? Kei’s about to say 'I'm fine' or some other bullshit that Yamaguchi will give him one of those puppy-eyed looks for (years with Kei has honed his personal bullshit meter to a well oiled weapon) and make Kei feel twice as bad, but he doesn’t get the chance. Instead, the tentative atmosphere is set upon with a sledgehammer and purple wrapping paper.

“Yamaguchi-kun!” She chirps and Kei feels the world slide out from under him. Yamaguchi jumps up and really knocks his poor lunch to the ground this time, red faced and turning around wildly until he spots her. The locket around her neck glints in the sun so brightly that Kei thinks it might blind both of them (Kei hopes it at least blinds himself so that when they end up dating, he won’t have to watch them; Kei also hopes he stops being so dramatic sometime soon).

“Y-yes?” He asks, not even noticing the upturned bento. It feels like something is digging into Kei’s chest with a dagger as he watches, stabbing at every vital part of him until he’s nothing but disjointed veins and pulpy muscle; somewhere along the way he’s averted his eyes and part of him, maybe the survival instinct, has switched into high gear, allowing him to pack his lunch back up quietly and efficiently, contemplating if eating in their shared classroom would be worth it or if he should find Yachi and sit with her. She’s distinctly more bearable than either of the freak duo, and he enjoys her company more often than not. 

“Can we speak privately?” 

Yeah, Yachi would be a great option. Better than being alone with his own thoughts, at least (Kei wants to talk Yamaguchi out of it; Kei wants him to be with someone who’s good for him; Kei wants Yamaguchi to be with him). Kei gets up and dusts the grass and dirt from his pants, eyes watching the ground in front of him as he adjusts his headphones back over his ears. A song is already playing (Yamaguchi loves this song, she will too), probably has been the whole time, Kei thinks with a good amount of irritation. He will definitely run out of power before he finishes walking home after practice (Yamaguchi would be with his girlfriend, wouldn’t he?). ’Where’s Yachi’s classroom anyway?’

----

“N-no, that’s okay, we can talk in front of Tsukki. He won’t mind.”

“Um, Yamaguchi-kun?”

‘Hm?”

“Tsukishima-kun left.”

“Oh... oh. Right. That makes sense. Yeah. Well. What was it you wanted to talk about?”

----

Kei’s phone doesn’t even make it to the end of practice. When he discovers its lifeless corpse at the bottom of his bag, he nearly throws it across the club room. The only things stopping him are the array of upperclassmen changing and how the freak duo would never let him live it down. Yamaguchi and him have barely spoken since lunch, but Kei chalks that up to the way he knows he’s been looming (from personal experience with the feeling and Yachi’s scared ramblings when he got to her classroom) and his best friend’s probable excitement at getting himself a girlfriend. The word alone makes his chest fill with acid.

Teasing comments from Nishinoya and Tanaka (plus concerned glances from Yamaguchi) aside, Kei functions like usual. He snarks at Hinata when he puts his shirt on backwards while trying to race Kageyama at dressing, he readies himself with his own rapid speed, and when he exits club room and makes his way down the stairs, Kei even hovers at the bottom to wait for Yamaguchi. That’s the problem with running on autopilot — one does what’s normal. Waiting for his chattier best friend while tapping odd beats onto the iron railing is like breathing for Kei; he wonders how long it will take for him to suffocate without it.

Once he realises what he’s doing, Kei moves away from his spot and begins his slow and music-less trek to the school gates and onwards. His headphones are clapped over his ears; they glint in the sparse lighting from the still open buildings on campus. In the presence of the new moon (conversely, the absence of the sun’s reflected light) the stars seem to glow brighter, unencumbered by the pollution that’s present despite the distance from a major city. Kei takes this all in and then some — the newly power washed main building, the basketball club’s gym, a tree that’s still verdant — while trying not to miss Yamaguchi and the companionable silence they always create. Now it’s just lonely, and the contrast is stark.

He’s almost at the entrance, can see Hinata’s bike still in the stands since he’s always the last to leave, just wants to get home and sleep. But he hears a noise. It’s muffled by the headphones so he shrugs it off at first, but as soon as it gets closer he can no longer ignore it. Pausing, Kei takes them off and turns to where the sound is coming from.

Kei comes face to face with a running Yamaguchi.

The brunet is only a few metres away at that point and trying his absolute best to keep himself at his fastest speed despite how hard he had worked during practice and how tired he must be. He’s yelling something that Kei has to wait a few seconds to identify before figuring out that Yamaguchi’s telling him to “Wait! Tsukki, wait!” as breathless as can be. 

“Yamaguchi?” Kei asks as soon as Yamaguchi is close enough to hear. The latter skids slightly in his attempt to slow down and shaves four years off of Kei’s life in the process, face puckering up in distaste for the action entirely. Yamaguchi rests his hands on his knees and crouches, leaning forward slightly and panting. It’s a fairly good distance between the club room and front entrance so Kei says nothing, just waits for some sort of response (waits to know what Yamaguchi is doing here with Kei instead of with his girlfriend).

“You... didn’t... wait... for... me.” Yamaguchi gets out between intakes of breath that slowly get less urgent as he recovers. 

Kei slides his hands into his pockets, “I thought you would walk home with your girlfriend.”

Yamaguchi’s head comes up, copper eyes fixed questioningly on Kei under furrowed brows. Kei longs to sooth the wrinkled skin there; he thanks the universe for the foresight (and love of keeping up aloof appearances) to keep his hands somewhere they can’t act on the questionable tasks his mind supplies. “Huh? My... Oh! You mean Nomura-san.”

Kei shrugs.

“I didn’t-- I said no. I didn’t accept her feelings.” Yamaguchi says sheepishly, face relaxing into a small smile as he rubs the back of his neck. Kei would normally note the heightened colour on his cheeks but he’s too busy feeling the weight he didn’t realise was building up slide off of his shoulders and fall around him like the autumnal leaves off of a tree.

Yamaguchi doesn’t have a girlfriend.

Yamaguchi doesn’t have a girlfriend.

Yamaguchi doesn’t--

“Oh.” He can finally breathe out after an awkward beat of silence. Maybe the relief is playing with his features because Kei sees Yamaguchi give him this Look (capitalisation heavily required, even if it's not the regular version; maybe Kei really doesn’t know them all). It’s... searching, that’s what it is, and leaves Kei feeling raw and slightly out of his skin. 

Nearly, very nearly, he snaps and tells him to stop trying to find whatever it is inside of him, that it probably doesn’t exist and he can’t handle consoling a desolate Yamaguchi when he realises that Kei’s all out of... of whatever he’s attempting to discover. He thinks he’ll barely be able to console himself knowing that he’s disappointed his best friend, no matter how deep he’ll bury it. Kei refrains and eventually the scathing nature of the Look subsides; he settles for dumbly asking “Why?” instead.

Yamaguchi walks forward and Kei follows with ease. He silent for a bit, the air around him is something contemplative which puts Kei into a (hands still in his pockets) thinking mood as well. Conversations past run on repeat through his mind — Yamaguchi gently chiding him for being particularly brusque with one of the many girls who confessed to him over the last few years, Yamaguchi telling him about a dream he had in their second year of middle school where one of their upperclassman showered him with sweets (Yamaguchi isn’t one for sweets, that’s more Kei’s department, but Dream-Yamaguchi had eaten them anyway) and compliments before asking him to go out with her but the dream ended before he could respond, making him particularly despondent, and, most importantly, Yamaguchi telling him so openly how much he wanted someone to confess to him. 

Can anyone blame Kei for assuming he would accept? Why hadn’t he accepted?

False hope is trying to dig into Kei’s chest, bright and silvery and full of promises he knows no one can keep. The longer Yamaguchi doesn’t talk, the more Kei wants to fill the silence with things like ‘I’m in love with you, Tadashi’ and ‘Are you in love with me too? Is this the confession you wanted, is that why you rejected Nomura-san?’ which is more dangerous than he can begin to explain. Kei isn’t cowardly, he tells himself, he just knows how to pick his battles. This is one he doesn’t want to lose just yet.

But.

The small voice inside of him that plays devil’s advocate reminds him that Yamaguchi would never try to hurt him on purpose. If he didn’t return his feelings, then it would hurt, sure, but their friendship wouldn’t end. It wouldn’t end. Kei would make sure that it wouldn’t end. 

Then there’s the slim chance that Yamaguchi would accept his feelings. Even the thought makes the tips of Kei’s ears burn fiercely and he’s thankful for the cover of night — Yamaguchi would surely notice something was amiss and ask him about it, or worse, give him one of those concerning Looks that’s ten times worse than the scathing one from before. No, it was better to not think of it at-

“She was nice, Tsukki, but I didn’t know her.” Yamaguchi’s eyes lock on the ground when Kei hazards a glance at him but, soon after he averts his gaze, the burning sensation of someone staring holes into the side of one’s head makes itself known to Kei in a way it hasn’t in a while.

Kei feels like his throat is closing up, “You could’ve gotten to know her.” he states pointedly, if not a little raspy. Still not meeting what he can only assume to be Yamaguchi’s gaze, Kei pulls his hands from his pockets and focuses with unusual precision on his fingers. When did he get that hangnail?

“Could’ve.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Tadashi.” It comes out sharper than he means and Kei doesn’t know why Yamaguchi’s given name chooses to come off of his tongue then, but it does and it’s out in the air and Yamaguchi stops walking beside him and Kei knows how truly and deeply fucked he is when he punctuates it all with his knuckle cracking after a particularly harsh tug. Yamaguchi recovers quickly and resumes moving, but the pregnant pause hanging between them lingers. Kei pinches the offending hangnail between the blunt pointer and thumb nails of his opposite hand and feels as it’s shortened.

“How do you mean?” And Kei can practically hear the adorable head tilt in his words. How can he refuse to answer that? Answer him? It would be easier if he could just pretend he doesn’t have answer lined up and ready, but he does, has had it the entire time even if it still only exists in the abstract. Kei makes a contemplative noise in the back of his throat while they pass underneath a streetlight like they’re in one of those musicals Yamaguchi likes so much. He’s trying to put his thoughts into words but it’s hard and he’s taken longer than Yamaguchi had when Kei asked him why. They’re a few minutes away from Sakanoshita and Kei feels the time slip through his spit-softened fingers (bad habits die hard and Kei’s nail biting was the worst).

Finally, simply, “You were happy that you were going to be confessed to. You said so yourself.”

“I was, I mean I am. Well maybe flattered is the better word, but it didn’t- I felt horrible turning her down. I almost didn’t, I felt so bad,” Yamaguchi gives a self-deprecating chuckle that makes Kei’s stomach sink and he doesn’t know what he wants to do but he has to do something, offer some sort of comfort. Verbal soothing is his preferred method, but Yamaguchi talks again before he can say anything. “I had to, and it sucked but--“

“You didn’t have to do anything.” Suddenly Kei wishes he had kept biting his nails, kept himself from saying that anything but that because why the absolute fuck was Kei looking a gift horse in the mouth? Why can’t he ever just accept things and move on?

“Emotional cheating is still cheating, Tsukki.”

“You aren’t making sense. What does that have to do with-“

“Everything.” It’s the way he says it that has Kei stopping on the slope just before Sakanoshita, finally turning to face Yamaguchi who, after pausing himself, is mirroring him.

Yamaguchi’s mouth is set in a determined line, eyes narrowed slightly as they meet Kei’s — copper, illuminated by the tail end of one streetlamp and the beginnings of the next one on, gold, gold on copper. The Look is back with the same nauseating effects, but this time Kei doesn’t turn away. He can’t, not really. Yamaguchi is making it impossible. /Everything/ that was what he had said; so why does it feel like Kei suddenly knows nothing? The answer must be in the flush on Yamaguchi’s face that’s hard to see in the evening light, the step closer to Kei he takes, the press of his lips together as he waits for Kei to say /something/.

“Everything?” Kei parrots quietly.

Yamaguchi nods.

The hope that is settling into Kei’s chest sprouts rapidly, climbing up his rib cage and winding around his lungs. He’s so full of the stuff that it’s becoming hard to breathe and perhaps that’s the reason he’s leaning forward or maybe Yamaguchi is tilting his head up just enough that if Kei only moved a little more — holy shit is he close. Kei’s mind short circuits when Yamaguchi’s eyes leave his and dart to what he can only assume is his mouth; he can hear his heartbeat thump, thump, thump-ing in his ears so loudly that he wonders briefly if something’s wrong.

“Um,” Yamaguchi’s voice is breathless enough to be noticeable. Did Kei do that? Pride wells slightly in his chest, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Now it’s his turn for his eyes to linger on his best friend’s pink, pink mouth. Are lips supposed to look that inviting or is that just another thing he has to accept that Yamaguchi flaunts perfectly, probably without knowing it at all. Kei’s lips dry out in an instant; he’ll tell him--

“Yamaguchi!” Hinata’s familiar voice squawks, drawing both of them away from... from... whatever it was that they were about to do. Kei turns towards the noise. Trundling down the hill is none other than the freak duo, a bike sandwiched in between them, Hinata’s hands grasping the handlebars and Kageyama sipping from a milk box. A scowl sharper than anything he’s ever thrown in the direction of the human tangerine which has Yamaguchi chuckling.

“Hinata?” Yamaguchi asks back. Neither of them step away from each other as Kageyama and Hinata continue their descent.

“How many years of jail time can someone get for double homicide?” Kei ponders aloud, low enough for just Yamaguchi to hear. The latter snickers, warming Kei up from the inside out.

“Enough for it not to be worth it.” Making a displeased noise at Yamaguchi’s answer, Kei’s irritability increases tenfold as soon as Hinata is standing in front of them, as uncommonly bright and buoyant as ever.

He hurts Kei’s eyes.

Kageyama isn’t any better, although he seems to have a clue about them interrupting something and shoots Kei a glance that seems almost sympathetic? ‘Today is a strange day’ he thinks with a grimace. He doesn’t avert his eyes, though — Kageyama is safely the lesser of two evils at the moment, especially with Hinata starting to babble about--

“...treat me to a meat bun!” Food. Of course. 

Yamaguchi, who Kei is gaining even more appreciation of with every passing second, just laughs at his antics and throws his hands up in surrender. “I’m not getting involved,” Kei knows he means it, but then Hinata pouts and becomes so absolutely disheartened at the prospect of life without a meat bun that Yamaguchi closes his eyes and sighs. “I guess I could get you a meat bun if Kageyama doesn’t want to.”

Hinata perks up immediately; Kei’s mood sours incomparably, “Really? Hah! Take that, Bakageyama! Yamaguchi is actually nice and--“

“Don’t be such a dumbass, I’ll get you the stupid meat bun.” Kageyama interjects, causing Hinata to live up to his name with frankly annoying accuracy. All Kei can do is pinch the bridge of his nose and let Yamaguchi’s small giggles at their idiocy — and blatant crushes on each other, a topic Yamaguchi and him have broached many times — remind him that there’s at least one reason for not going to prison standing right next to him, and it’s a pretty damn good one as well.

“I take it all back you’re super nice and your smile isn’t even scar-- Kageyama that hurts, you jerk!” Kageyama has taken up squeezing at Hinata’s hair in retaliation, causing the surrounding volume to increase exponentially. Kei’s on the verge of snapping at them. Really, it’s a miracle he’s lasted this long. He opens his mouth and... knuckles sweep across his own and Kei opts to look down at his hand instead. The freak duo’s ruckus falls away; Yamaguchi’s hand is close to his own, so, so close, and he wants to reach out and intertwine their fingers, press their palms together, remind himself that Yamaguchi still isn’t taken.

Yet.

But Kei thinks he might be able to do something about that.

----

To: Kuroo, Bokuto

From: Me

I need your help

sent 23:00

Chapter Text

Someone has broken the light.

The thought hits him in a syrupy way, leaving him uncomprehending for a dangerous few seconds.

Someone has broken the light.

A lamp sits in the corner of the Place with the shade balancing precariously on a broken bulb. Shards of opaque glass have fallen like snow around it. Kei doesn’t know how he’s seeing anything.

Someone has broken the light.

Yet there is a dull glow still in the room, bathing the nothingness of the Place in butter yellow. 

Who has broken the light?

Kei moves forward through thickened air as soon as his mind processes everything it can. When he looks down at the floor, his eyes want for information. They find none. But he continues to walk on solid nothing, and for now, that is enough. It takes two steps; it takes twenty steps. Then he’s at the lamp’s side, kneeling on broken glass and feeling serrated edges dig into the skin of his knees. Kei picks up what salvageable pieces of the bulb he can with fingers that look truly horrifying in the yellow glow — ripped away hangnails, bloody cuticles, spit softened skin. He tries not to pay them too much mind, whatever goal he’s trying to accomplish is easier that way. When he collects all the usable pieces in his palms, he blinks.

Dark, dark, dark. Kei’s entire world is now dark in a way that’s alive. It presses warm, shadowy hands to every available spot on his body. He squirms away from their touch and shakes a few off; they multiply and fill the open gaps more thoroughly, covering his pale skin completely. Panic worms its way into the back of his head, numbed in its intensity the same way his thoughts and actions are. The glass in his hands cut into his skin when he draws them into fists, and he would hiss in pain if not for the darkness covering his mouth. Kei tries to pull away, but more hands are at the back of his neck, holding him in place. Something gets close to Kei’s ear, hot, sour breath puffing against the cartilage as it speaks.

Kei broke the light.

---- 

Kei doesn’t scream when he wakes up, he’s had too much practice with nightmares to do that anymore. Instead, he holds his breath. Heartbeat thrumming underneath every single part of his skin, he focuses on the clean white blurriness of his ceiling and the sweaty sheets gripped tightly in his uninjured palms. He does everything Yamaguchi has ever taught him to do. Twice. Box breaths, counting to ten at a painfully slow pace, describing something he can see aloud. Eventually, it works — whether from the repetitiveness or the association with Yamaguchi; he doesn’t know — Kei no longer hears blood rushing in his ears or feels like he’s lacking air. His jaw aches fiercely from how tightly he clenched it as he slept; Kei tries to rub away the pain with still trembling fingers.

One hundred and two. That’s how many times Kei has had that same nightmare. Maybe more, considering he started keeping count long after his first experience with it. There have been others, sure, but none as prominent as the one with the light. The light Kei broke. He shakes his head, grappling for his glasses on his bedside table, which he promptly slips on. The ceiling becomes clear and so do all the nondescript shadows around the edges of his room, comfort rolling over him in waves as he reaches again for his phone. 

The light from his screen both blinds him and comforts him — the seventeen missed messages, don’t.

To: Me, Bokuto

From: Kuroo

well well well, look who the cat dragged in

(sent 23:04)

To: Me, Kuroo

From: Bokuto

HEY HEY HEY TSUKKI WHATS UP MAN? HOWVE YOU BEEN? HOWS HINATA?

(sent 23:05)

To: Me, Bokuto

From: Kuroo

caps lock bro

(sent 23:05)

To: Me, Kuroo

From: Bokuto

Srry bro

(sent 23:09)

To: Me, Bokuto

From: Kuroo

its okay, bro

what amazing advice can your volleyball brethren offer you today tsukki?

(sent 23:11)

To: Me, Kuroo

From: Bokuto

Yeah!!!!!!!!!!!!! We need u at ur best if ur gonna have a CHANCE to beat us in an official match

(sent 23:17)

To: Me, Bokuto

From: Kuroo

^^^^^^ o(*￣▽￣*)o

(sent 23:17)

tsukki??????

(sent 23:32)

Everything from the previous day comes rushing back to Kei at rapid speed — Nomura-san’s confession, the almost kiss... and his extreme lapse in judgement. Really, at the time it had seemed like an idea that was slightly better than horrible. Kei needed, needs, relationship advice and Kuroo and Bokuto are in relationships that, last time he’d checked, are still going strong. They also aren’t on Kei’s volleyball team, an important aspect of his decision making. Sure, Kei trusts the team on the volleyball court (even Kageyama sometimes, although he’ll never admit it), but trusting someone to work hard towards winning a match and trusting them to give you advice on how to ask out your best friend are two very different things.

The rest of the messages they’ve sent are asking if Kei fell asleep (which he had) and calling each other bro enough to rival Nishinoya and Tanaka when they try to egg Daichi on in the team group chat. Kei feels a headache begin behind his eyes. 

To: Kuroo, Bokuto

From: Me

Please don’t call me that.

How did you confess to Kozume-san and Akaashi-san?

(sent 02:00)

Kei isn’t expecting any answers until the morning, so when he turns off his phone and puts it back on his nightstand, he’s vaguely surprised to hear the muffled buzz of an incoming message not a minute later. He brings the side of his thumbnail to his mouth and rests it against his bottom lip, resisting the urge to nip at the skin there. It’s the memory of the ragged nails in his nightmare that stops him, igniting the familiar (and usually well hidden) anxiety deep within his stomach. What if they can’t help? What if they give him awful advice?

What if, after all of this, Yamaguchi rejects his feelings?

His phone buzzes again, this time more violently. Kei picks it up and works to unclench his jaw — that won’t help his headache at all.

To: Me, Bokuto

From: Kuroo

ooooo does tsukki have a crush?

wait

IS TSUKKI ASKING US FOR HELP WITH HIS CRUSH???????

bo

bo get up you have to see this

the day has finally come

B o k u t o

(sent 02:03)

To: Me, Kuroo

From: Bokuto

Huh??????

(sent 02:04)

To: Me, Bokuto

From: Kuroo

scroll up bro

(sent 02:04)

To: Me, Kuroo

From: Bokuto

OMFG EIFJFEIJFIEJ TSUKKI I FEELK SO HONOUREDD

WHO ISS IT DOWE KNOW THEM???????

(sent 02:06)

To: Kuroo, Bokuto

From: Me

Yes.

Will you please tell me how you both confessed?

(sent 02:06)

To: Me, Bokuto

From: Kuroo

if we do will you tell us who it is

(sent 02:07)

To: Me, Kuroo

From: Bokuto

YEAH!!!!!!!!!

(sent 02:07)

To: Kuroo, Bokuto

From: Me

No.

(sent 02:07)

To: Me, Bokuto

From: Kuroo

is it freckles?????

tsukkiiiii

is it freckles fuck whats his name

your silence speaks volumes

its him isnt it

damn good for him. bo we should’ve taken bets

(sent 02:08)

To: Kuroo, Bokuto

From: Me

Yamaguchi. His name is Yamaguchi.

And my silence isn't a confirmation, it's a refusal to answer.

(sent 02:08)

To: Me, Bokuto

From: Kuroo

sure it isnt

everyone knew he had it bad for you at the training camp

even kenma brought it up

(sent 02:10)

To: Me, Kuroo

From: Bokuto

Akaashi and I thought you were already dating...

(sent 02:10)

Kei takes a deep breath — the blood rushes in his ears loud enough to drown out the rain that’s starting to tap dance against his window. He reads and rereads the texts a few times, eyes getting stuck on ‘he had it bad for you’ and ‘you were already dating’.

‘Are Hinata and Kageyama rubbing off on me? Is that what's happening? Is stupidity this contagious?'  he thinks to himself, running a hand through his hair. Sleep has matted the locks on the left side to his skull, and what is usually an annoyance is something Kei is now grateful for; it gives him something to focus on while his mind is reeling. Whatever Yamaguchi’s feelings are (he can’t face the idea that they may be written in past tense now) have been clear to see since the training camp and maybe even before that. Kuroo and Bokuto have been sure about Kei’s best friend’s feelings for him before Kei himself has had time to fully process the developments.

How long has Kei been in the dark?

To: Me, Bokuto

From: Kuroo

tsukki?

you there?

(sent 02:15)

To: Kuroo, Bokuto

From: Me

Yeah.

(sent 02:15)

To: Me, Bokuto

From: Kuroo

listen man you don’t need to do anything special

its v v v obvious that he already likes you

(sent 02:16)

To: Me, Kuroo

From: Bokuto

P A I N F U L L Y OBVIOUS, LIKE, REALLY FUCKING OBVIOUS

(sent 02:16)

To: Kuroo, Bokuto

From: Me

Thanks.

(sent 02:16)

To: Me, Kuroo

From: Bokuto

NP!!!!!!

Wait r u being sarcastic????

(sent 02:17)

To: Me, Bokuto

From: Kuroo

anyway

if you want to make it special or something, take him to a place that means a lot to you as friends

and then just,,,, confess or ask him on a date or whatever

that’s what i did w kenma

(sent 02:19)

To: Me, Kuroo

From: Bokuto

^^^^^^^^^

Akaashi confessed to me after a really good match

Like we were on FIRE the other team??? didn’t stand a chance

(sent 02:20)

To: Me, Bokuto

From: Kuroo

bo

you guys were playing against us......

(sent 02:20)

To: Me, Kuroo

From: Bokuto

Did i stutter

(sent 02:20)

To: Me, Bokuto

From: Kuroo

BOKUTO ISTG

COME HERE AND SAY THAT TO MY FACE YOU WONT

(02:21)

To: Kuroo, Bokuto

From: Me

Thank you both.

This was more helpful than I expected.

(sent 02:21)

To: Me, Bokuto

From: Kuroo

youre wel- what’s that supposed to mean?

we give f a n t a s t i c advice

its what were known for

tsukki?

tsukishima?

fucking damnit he left didn’t he

the dISRESPECT

(sent 02:24)

----

To: Yamaguchi Tadashi

From: Me

Do you want to hang out tomorrow?

(sent 02:25)

----

To: Me

From: Yamaguchi Tadashi

Sure Tsukki! (*^▽^*)

(received 10:44)

----

Kei doesn’t know if he has ever seen someone as beautiful as Yamaguchi Tadashi.

The boy in question is sprawled out on the soft, autumn browned grass underneath a giant ginkgo tree. The night’s light rain has made way for a cloudless afternoon sky and the sunlight that streams down through the yellow foliage above him dapples his face, kissing his freckles like Kei longs to. Yamaguchi’s eyes are closed as he breathes in and out so softly that if Kei didn’t know any better, he might assume that Yamaguchi is sleeping; the smile tugging at his lips says otherwise. Kei’s laying next to him as per Yamaguchi’s command, but he doesn’t feel nearly as at peace as he assumes Yamaguchi is. He can’t be, not when the centimetres between them are palpable. All Kei has to do is shift the littlest bit and they’ll be touching, shoulder to shoulder. He averts his eyes before Yamaguchi can catch him in the act.

Patience.

Having some idea of how to get from point A to point B is comfortable territory for Kei and the anxiety that once washed over him now sits contained in a box deep within his chest, reinforced with the steel of the plan he spent an hour the night before getting ready. What was he supposed to do? Go back to sleep? (The inky smudges underneath his glasses answer that question perfectly; thankfully they’re obscured by his glasses) Kuroo and Bokuto’s advice was surprisingly helpful in formulating the idea, and he’s entirely sure that they will never let him forget it. 

All morning Kei has felt the dull sense of anticipation squirm hotly under his skin, good and bad scenarios alike populating his brain. Kei would make some sort of grand speech like a master wordsmith that culminates with him telling Yamaguchi he loves him, Yamaguchi would flush and tell Kei he feels the same way, and they would kiss softly in the shade with the sounds of autumn around them. Kei would uncharacteristically fumble over his words and finally get out that he’s in love with Yamaguchi, Yamaguchi would reject him while laughing about his behaviour, talking about how he completely misinterpreted what had happened the other day, and their friendship would crumble in the palms of Kei’s hands. Yamaguchi would tell him he’s not his type; Yamaguchi would tell him he thinks about Kei as much as Kei thinks about him.

It’s been Hell.

“The red-crowned crane mates for life.” Kei states suddenly, knocking his way ever so gracefully into the companionable silence that is — was — taut in the air between them. He puts the hand that isn’t in between him and Yamaguchi on his stomach, staring up at the leafy sky absently. 

“Hm,” Yamaguchi responds, pondering the information for a second and taking it in. It’s one of the things Kei loves about him — Yamaguchi listens to everything, even when he doesn’t want to (Kei has found it easy to spot when he’s actually engaged or just forcing himself to be, just one of the many perks to being his best friend). He’s always processing the information, letting it settle within him. It makes Kei feel heard. “I wonder how they got that way.”

“Maybe they’re just jealous birds?” Kei offers and Yamaguchi lets out a snort of laughter that is so unbelievably adorable Kei can feel something in his chest swell. He wants to tell him as much.

“Too many jealousy related peckings, Tsukki. They had to do something to control the problem.” Yamaguchi says matter-of-factly. Kei hears rustling next to him and turns his head to find that Yamaguchi has rolled onto his side. There’s grass stuck in his hair and a streak of dirt has managed to find its way onto the edge of his jaw.

Ever since they were kids, Yamaguchi has attracted grass stains and mud splatters, even when he tries to stay clean. Yamaguchi-san used to get on him constantly about it, always insisting that he just needed to be more careful, but that was the thing, he was always careful. Eventually she gave up bothering him and, according to Yamaguchi, chalked it up to his clumsiness (she wasn’t completely wrong).

On the other hand, Kei has always loved the indoors and has always been much less likely to dirty himself in the outside world; the feeling of still-wet grass seeping into his pants is one he doesn’t necessarily welcome at the moment, but he has expected it nonetheless. 

Mirroring Yamaguchi, Kei rolls onto his side as well, “It’s a necessary evil. For the sake of their species, of course.” 

“Of course.” Yamaguchi repeats, letting out another small laugh as Kei tucks a hand under his head as a makeshift pillow. The sunshine is still speckling Yamaguchi’s face, his eyes crinkling with his own amusement, amusement Kei helped create, and Kei takes a deep breath.

The atmosphere changes sharply, he can tell the moment Yamaguchi notices this because of the unbridled concern on his face and the Other Emotion (capitalisation required). Kei has his suspicions about what it could be but refrains from putting too much stock into the empty hypothesis. Another deep breath in and-

“You have grass in your hair.” Kei’s voice comes out softly, clearly meant for something else entirely. Kei can’t tell if Yamaguchi deflates or if he’s just projecting onto him. Either way, when Kei reaches out, he knows he doesn’t imagine him stiffen up, nor the way his cheeks come alive with colour, causing the freckles there to stand out. Using his thumb and index finger, Kei plucks the offending greenery from Yamaguchi’s hair. It’s gotten longer than it ever has been, enough so probably he could pull it back if he wanted to, and the parts Kei can feel are soft, beckoning him to card his fingers through it. Later (hopefully).

“T-thanks, Tsukki.” The brunet stammers out.

Kei doesn’t fully retract his hand, opting instead to move it so he’s cupping Yamaguchi’s cheek, thumb brushing over freckled skin-- Kei wonders how many constellations he could make if he connected them, wonders if Yamaguchi would let him try. “There.” and Kei speaks like they’re in the middle of a quiet room and not under a tree in a busy park. For Yamaguchi’s ears only. 

“Tsukki?” Kei lets the pad of his thumb glide across Yamaguchi’s cheekbone. They’re close enough to share each other’s breaths, which is simultaneously a little suffocating and nice. How it manages to be both, Kei has no clue. He wants to be like this again, though, hopes Yamaguchi will let them be like this again. The other boy’s eyes are earnest, if not a little confused — Kei finally realises he has said nothing for at least a minute or so.

“I’m...” He trails off, trying to find the words. They’re there, sitting on the tip of his tongue, but they feel so tiny. A minuscule way to capture how calm Kei feels when he’s with Yamaguchi, the way his smiles make Kei think he can take on anything just because Yamaguchi Tadashi told him he could, because he believes in him enough, what his heart does every time Yamaguchi glances in his direction. How does saying ‘I love you’ tell him all of that? How does it even come close to describing what he’s felt for his best friend since he was young?  “What do you do when an emotion feels bigger than a word can convey?”

“Is that rhetorical?” Yamaguchi whispers back, amusement surfacing on his flushed face.

“Maybe. I haven’t decided yet,” Kei smirks. Yamaguchi snickers. The atmosphere lightens and Kei senses that his chance is slipping away, right through the spaces between his fingers that are made for Yamaguchi’s to fit in. They’re close, so close; Kei’s eyes dart down to the other boy’s lips, brain stuttering embarrassingly when Yamaguchi’s tongue shoots out to wet the skin there. “I’ve decided. It’s rhetorical.” Kei states suddenly, gaze drifting up and catching on his best friend’s. Irises that seem like they’ve always been in Kei’s life bore into his and Kei’s resolve steels.

Kei lets Yamaguchi take his first kiss, and he knows that no matter the outcome, he’ll never regret it.

Lasting for three seconds (yes, Kei counted) it’s really more of a peck than anything, but it leaves Kei’s lips tingling and cheeks burning when he pulls away. Yamaguchi says nothing at first, which causes panic to leech from the carefully constructed box from earlier into every part of his body, but then he notices his smile. It starts out small but quickly consumes his entire face — starshine personified. The panic eases but not entirely, maybe never entirely, because holy shit what did Kei do to deserve Yamaguchi’s smile? What did he do to deserve Yamaguchi?

Kei knows who he is, understands the finer points of his own personality like he does for so many other people. Words with negative connotations seem to fit him like a glove and Kei wears them with a certain amount of pride. There’s good things about being an asshole to others, people ignore you, all friends are good friends, you can get away with a lot until someone gets fed up with you. But there’s bad things, too. That’s what scares Kei. Being an asshole is all fun and games until someone gets hurt, really hurt, and the universe decides someone needs to pay a cosmic hospital bill for karmic rehabilitation.

What did he do to deserve Yamaguchi isn’t the question. Not really. It’s what will Kei do to deserve him? To give back to the universe for letting him have that one thing.

“I more than love you, Tadashi.” Yamaguchi’s hand finds Kei’s where it still rests on his face and holds it there, leaning into the touch. His cheek is still warm from how much he’s been blushing; Kei thinks he might be able to feel his heartbeat like this but resists the temptation to check how fast it’s going — his own heart has taken it upon itself to body slam his rib cage. 

“I more than love you, too, Tsukki.” And Kei looks at Yamaguchi like he’s the most incredible thing to have been allowed to walk the Earth, touch as gentle as humanly possible, like he’s afraid his entire being will break apart in Kei’s pale hands. A smile, a true, meaningful one, works its way onto Kei’s still tingling lips and Yamaguchi smiles back.

What will Kei do to deserve him? Anything.

----

To: Kuroo, Bokuto

From: Me

It worked.

(sent 18:48)

To: Me, Kuroo

From: Bokuto

YEAH!!!1!!1

WE KNEW IT WOULD GOOD JOB BRO!

KUROO IT WORKED

(sent 18:52)

To: Me, Bokuto

From: Kuroo

you followed our advice didnt you tsukki (¬‿¬)

didnt you

im taking your silence as a yes

you took our advice :)

bo you owe me ¥2000

(sent 18:55)

To: Bokuto, Kuroo

From: Me

… Seriously?

(sent 18:55)

To: Me, Kuroo

From: Bokuto

TSUKKI WE SHOULD GO ON A TRIPLE DATE

KUROO DOESN’T THAT SOUND FUN???????

IT WOULD BE EPIC

(sent 18:56)

[you have left the chat]

To: Me, Kuroo

From: Bokuto

We’ll work out the details later then（っ＾▿＾）

(sent 18:59)

----

Kei finally understands what had clicked into place all of those years ago.

Tadashi and him walk hand in hand through the stone opening at the front of Karasuno high school. It’s Tadashi’s year to pick their nest-hunting site and no matter how much Kei has grumbled about how they spend enough time there as it is, Tadashi hadn’t let up. Then again, all he has to do is kiss Kei softly and smile for Kei to become putty in his hands. This is something Tadashi knows and gladly exploits for his own personal gain. Kei thinks that’s one of the (many, many) reasons he loves him.

“I think I saw one over here, Tsukki!” Tadashi chirps, eyes alight with hope as he leads Kei towards a tree that’s near the bike racks. Mud squelches underneath their sneakers which makes Kei wrinkle his nose and Tadashi laugh at his expression once he sees it. “It’s just mud, Tsukki. You’ve dealt with worse.”

“Not willingly.” Kei deadpans. The way Tadashi laughs at that is contagious and he exudes a huff of amusement using Kei’s diaphragm, a small smile filling in for the neutral expression he usually wears.

Despite his aversion to the mud, Kei lets Tadashi continue to drag him until they reach the base of the tree that possibly held a nest. It’s a cherry tree, one of the many on campus, and pale, rose coloured petals litter the grass around the tree trunk. During the school year there isn’t much time to sightsee the flora and fauna around them, especially when the tiny sliver of April (when cherry blossoms finally bloom) that the students actually spend at school is spent studying for the many, many exams they need to continue onto the next year. But now, as the hot-and-cold spring sun warms the surrounding colours, Kei can appreciate it all.

Including Tadashi.

He’s let go of his hand in favour of tip-toeing around the tree, eyes fixed on finding a branch with the nest he saw. Hair pulled back into a short, chestnut ponytail, Kei can see his face — lips pressed together, chin tilted up, freckles crinkling on his cheeks. Then Tadashi’s head swivels to face Kei’s and he realises he’s been caught staring. Kei tries for a shrug, but Tadashi simply blinks at him, unamused.

“You’ve not even trying to look for the nest, are you?” Tadashi asks, stepping forward with his arms crossed over his chest.

Kei shakes his head ‘no’, face dispassionate.

“If you help me find it, I’ll watch a shark documentary with you.” Tadashi tries to persuade. Kei is stubborn, but not stubborn enough to turn down something like that. His mother says he’s childish that way, Kei says he technically still /is/ a child. 

“Really? You aren’t going to find a way to get out of it?” Kei questions, remembering the last time he used that to bait Kei into helping him (creative escapes are getting to be something Tadashi is very good at).

Tadashi nods enthusiastically, “I promise, Tsukki. Cross my heart, okay? Just help me look?” 

Sighing his assent, Kei shuffles from his spot to walk in surveying circles around the tree just to appease his boyfriend. That title is a reward in and of itself — shark documentaries are high up there, though. He’s thorough about it, too, putting his keen observational skills to the test as his gaze darts from branch to branch. Kei discovers nothing.

“Yamaguchi are you-“

“Tsukki!” Tadashi whisper-yells, effectively cutting him off. Slightly concerned, Kei finishes his lap around the tree and ends up at Tadashi’s side, brow furrowed as he glances at him. The other boy is staring up at something in the rosy foliage and beckons Kei to follow his line of sight with his eyes. This method of getting Kei to see what Tadashi sees is quickly proven ineffective, and Kei turns his gaze back to Tadashi when he realises that it’s not working.

Nudging at his shoulder, Kei mouths what at the same time Tadashi mouths bird. They both get well acquainted with the fact that they aren’t good lip readers, no matter how long they’ve been able to understand each other’s moods. With a puff of laughter and a stifled snort respectively at the expressions mirrored on each other’s faces, Kei raises his eyebrows in a silent question; he knows that Tadashi can read him better than any book this way.

“Bird, Tsukki, bird.”  He whispers before getting a determined gleam in his eye that both terrifies and intrigues Kei. The latter finds out what it’s for when Tadashi tugs at his sleeve, pulling him down so Kei’s hunching slightly at Tadashi’s eye level. 

Resisting the urge to point out that their height difference isn’t big enough for Kei to miss something like a bird from where he’s standing, Kei lets Tadashi move his body how he wants — cheek against cheek, neck craned, chin tilted up. If it was anyone else doing this, he would punch them in the face, something they both know, so Kei doesn’t think he’s imagining the gentle air of smug happiness radiating from Tadashi. As soon as he’s done positioning him, Tadashi uses his index finger to point to where he wants Kei to look and, although partially distracted by the scent of vanilla coming from Tadashi’s skin and the heat from his cheek, Kei complies.

He sees the bird almost immediately.

“Is that...” Kei asks lowly.

“I think so.” is Tadashi’s excited response.

It’s an oriental turtle dove, exactly like the bird they had seen when they were younger. The bird isn’t the same as the one they saw at ten years old, that much is certain five years later. Kei doesn’t know much about the lifespans of birds, but it would surprise him if they were very long at all; not to mention how reusing the same nest makes it easier for predators to prey on their young. The bird from their childhood is probably long gone.

Against the pale pink of the foliage, the bird’s smokey-grey body stands out. How did they miss her before? Her wings are darker than its torso but with edges that look like the golden brown of perfectly roasted marshmallows; a gill-like patch of blue feathers rest on her neck, iridescent in the sunlight. Those feathers make Kei a little nauseous when he glances at them, just like they did before. He can’t exactly place why, though, and it’s unsettling.

“We should name it, Tsukki.” Tadashi whispers.

“Sure.”

“What about Delibird?” Kei pulls away from Tadashi and the sight of the bird to give the other boy a look that screams are you kidding me?

“Yamaguchi, we aren’t naming it after a pokemon.” The look on Kei’s face from before has morphed into its neutral state of vague distaste and knowledge of a joke one isn’t in on. Tadashi deflates, but Kei holds his ground — Delibird isn’t even a good pokemon.

“Please, Tsukki?”

“No.”

“Alright…” Tadashi eventually concedes. Kei turns his gaze to the ground, anything to get away from those mournful eyes. A bubble of guilt pops in his chest — is Delibird really that bad? It asks, are you going to make him sad over a bird again?. No, Kei decides, he will not. He opens his mouth to take back his stance on the bird’s name, but the tentative beginnings of Tadashi’s own sentence form in the air.

“What if…” Kei’s looking at him again, eyes urging him to continue, “What if we combine the first part of Delibird’s name with one you like? Then it’s fair and technically not named after a pokemon.”

Kei is only happy to agree, even if his face is utterly devoid of emotion, “Okay.”

“What’s your pick, Tsukki?” Tadashi asks. Kei would love to know what it is himself, and he spends the next few seconds thinking about it with the same care he applies to everything he likes. Eventually one comes to him, leaving a smirk to tilt the corner of one of his lips.

“Deliwobbe.”

The confusion and amusement in Tadashi’s expression is frankly enchanting, “Deliwobbe?”

“Deliwobbe.” Kei repeats seriously.

Tadashi bites his lip to keep the laughter in.

“Alright, Deliwobbe it is.”

They spend the next few minutes watching as Deliwobbe the oriental turtle dove hobbles around one branch of the cherry tree and then to a few others, pecking here and there at the bark. For all his apathy towards finding their new bird friend, Kei finds that it’s easy to be content watching her closely, seeing the rise and fall of her chest and the tremble of Deliwobbe’s wings as she balances itself (Tadashi’s hand finding his a few seconds in has nothing to do with Kei’s emotions, nothing at all).

After what seems like no time at all, Deliwobbe takes flight, flapping serving to knock more than a few of the cherry blossoms off of the tree and onto the already covered ground. Kei feels the breeze of the motion brush against his face, sees it gently move Tadashi’s bangs back. They watch until Deliwobbe’s plumage stands out against the blue, blue sky rather than the pink of the blossoms. They watch until she becomes a shadow. They watch.

Finally, “So are you coming over tonight to watch the documentary, or…?”

“Um,” Tadashi rubs at the back of his neck with his free hand, smiling apologetically at the grass, “I’m not able to tonight. My, uh, mom needs me to… do something for her.”

Kei tries not to roll his eyes too hard; some things never change.

----

On the way home, Kei tells Tadashi that he got the second part of Deliwobbe’s name from the Wobbegong carpet shark species.

Kei may love him, but that doesn’t mean he can’t laugh at Tadashi’s shock and horror from time to time.