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Over the course of his life, Tsukishima has had plenty of experiences with misfits and their oddities, so much to the point that his soul eventually became used to it, what with the continuous weathering of it all. With time, oddities and their character became grouped in the same category as ‘normal’ things.
Kuroo is at the top of Tsukishima’s list of ultimate misfits. It took a few years, but he’s become used to the older’s strange habits that string along his routine of messing with others and making their lives a living hell. Tsukishima no longer blinks an eye when Kuroo decides to launch a dry ink pen across the lecture hall (‘it’s more fun if there’s more people,’ he adds) or mischievously replaces Bokuto’s ketchup with hot sauce. Kuroo's demonic cackle when Bokuto breathes fire like a dragon is a sight to behold.
Bokuto is not exactly a misfit—in his own right. Unlike Kuroo, who puts effort into his actions, Bokuto does things that seem inherently natural to his personality. Tsukishima was initially stunned when he saw Bokuto jump after a large sneeze, but shortly learned that it came with every sneeze he produced. ‘Don’t mind him,’ Akaashi had told him. ‘He won’t feel good if he doesn’t do that.’ Tsukishima learned to not question Bokuto's habits from then on.
Akaashi is an unexpected entry to Tsukishima’s data table of misfits. Akaashi himself is a well put-together person of reputation, but he has his own strange habits that don’t match up to his character. ‘Can you really eat that?’ Tsukishima had asked after Akaashi took over Bokuto’s lunch that had been doused in hot sauce. ‘More or less,’ Akaashi replied tearfully after taking a large bite of the meal without flinching. Tsukishima was later informed by Kuroo that Akaashi once downed a bottle of hot sauce with few intestinal problems. 'His body is just like that: able, enduring, and weird.'
Hinata is more of a rascal than a misfit. His outward personality appears cheerful, bubbly, and full of light, but his actual personality is dripping with oddities. Hinata, the seemingly friendly student, has a bad habit of enticing people into fights, as proved by his recent scramble with Tendou. Tsukishima never stuck around to hear how the fight turned out, but rumor had it that Hinata took the fight by storm. Although the idea might’ve seen unimaginable, Tsukishima shrugged it off like it was highly possible. He does not doubt the tangerine's physical capabilities.
Kageyama is… just Kageyama. Not much else can be found in Tsukishima's table of records.
Tsukishima thinks he is some sort of magnet for humans with strange personalities. If there was an off switch, he would’ve flipped that fucker off so long ago. Tsukishima hopes, prays very hard, that he will have at least one relatively normal friend that does not enjoy the prank of yanking a friend’s pair of pants down in public.
Tsukishima is on good terms with most of his neighbors. Some of them are similar in age, while others have been longtime residents who have gotten to know him through daily interactions. Tsukishima carries the groceries for one particular neighbor, an elderly lady with a tender smile, and has found favor in her eyes. It is through her that he learns they’ll have a new neighbor soon, moving next door to Tsukishima. He never recognized his old neighbor moving out, nor does he remember them; the memories are few and blurry. Perhaps this new arrival will carry a heavier impression.
His new neighbor arrives within the next week. A few cardboard boxes and houseplants sit near the door as Tsukishima stands there, anxious to knock. He knows they don’t have to be friends, but he does at least wish that they will be on good terms with one another.
Tsukishima knocks once, weakly, and a boy with a constellation of freckles and chestnut-like hair answers his call. Tsukishima stares down at him, recognizing their similarity in age and tries to greet him.
“Hello,” he offers a thin smile. “I heard we’re neighbors? I hope we can get along in the future.”
His neighbor does not reply, holding his gaze over Tsukishima for a little longer than most would like. His brows pinch together. “Ah, hello. Nice to meet you. I’m busy now, so excuse me,” the words roughly flow out and push together. After an awkward bow, he scurries away and slams the door behind him. Tsukishima doesn’t know what to make of this, scratching the back of his head uneasily.
Tsukishima has offered his hand in hospitality, but he’s not quite sure if it was accepted or bitten. However, he can’t do much else, so he’ll leave it at that and let time do the rest.
A week goes by. Tsukishima’s neighbor seems to have moved in well, because the messy items outside his door have long since disappeared. Their greetings are few and scattered, with his neighbor casting an uneasy glance his way every single time. Tsukishima wonders if he made an unpleasant impression of himself.
The pages of his textbook mold into a foreign blur his mind can’t seem to make out. Even after briefly pausing his lofi playlist—the one created from an amalgamation of every lofi song Tsukishima liked—his concentration does not improve. He sighs in exasperation, turning to the next page to meet another mixture of text and punctuation that won’t register in his mind.
A phenomenon occurs suddenly. The first note drops, and Tsukishima thinks he might be hearing things. His phone tells him that his music is paused, so it can’t be his headphones playing it. Thin walls carry the next chord in, letting him know that he is not dreaming. After a few seconds, Tsukishima perfectly understands the situation: his new next door neighbor is blasting classical music through the walls. While it is ultimately strange, Tsukishima does not seem horribly fazed by it. He expected this kind of thing to happen.
Tsukishima wears his headphones to bed that night, praying he doesn’t crush them in efforts to drown out the stringed quartet of violins and cellos.
Tsukishima is an early to rise type of guy, always preparing for the inevitable obstacle that may delay his trip to class. Today, lack of sleep is his foe, and he has lost. Tsukishima’s eyes briefly squint at his phone, past the night shift filter that hurts his eyes, and realizes he’s ten minutes late.
Tsukishima blames it on the orchestra when he misses the first bus. With his airpods plugged in, he patiently waits for the second one to pull up. Tsukishima’s morning playlist was supposed to energize him for the day, but he feels even sleepier when he climbs the bus stairs and takes a seat in the back. He glances around at his surroundings, determining how long he needs to set his alarm before he arrives at the university.
Twenty minutes is all he needs. Tsukishima slips his phone into his pocket, settling into the rough seat. He won’t get a pleasant sleep, to say the least. He thinks he spots his orchestral neighbor in the front before he drifts off.
Twenty minutes pass a lot faster than he expected. When he opens his eyes, his neighbor is nowhere to be seen, and the bus driver announces they’ll be pulling up to their next stop. Tsukishima stumbles to the front and prepares to disembark.
Tsukishima meets Kuroo at their normal spot before class. Kuroo would normally be spouting cheerful nonsense that the blond would simply put up with, but today, Kuroo notices the slumber in the younger’s eyes. Today, unlike their normal routine, they just walk silently to class. Kuroo, who has underwent hell once already, lets Tsukishima walk slower than normal. He never wants to deal with a grumpy blond ever again; the memory makes him shiver.
Tsukishima forces himself to focus during class, ignoring Kuroo’s antics of flicking eraser stubs at the back of Bokuto’s head. He barely manages to avoid the stub sent back as a gift from Bokuto. Akaashi shares a brief look of sympathy with him, who looks pained himself to be sitting next to Bokuto.
He gets his energy back during lunch, casually filtering into the conversation his friends are having. They welcome him back with open arms. Tsukishima chuckles over the story Kuroo retells, who enjoys skipping over details to make the story sound more dramatic. Bokuto objects to one part of the story, clarifying that he was the one who originally told Kuroo the story. Their bickering ultimately gets out of hand; Akaashi and Tsukishima agree to slip away while the two fight it out.
Tsukishima settles into his desk chair, letting his back rest comfortably against the flattened spine. He continues his studying session from the other night, flying much more fluidly through the material than before. He traces between his notes and the text, finger falling on a miniature doodle Kuroo left behind on one of the pages. Tsukishima scoffs at the doodle before flipping the page.
He’s briefly interrupted at the second paragraph of the page when the sounds of cymbals clash together. Tsukishima jumps, quite literally, sending his chair clattering to the floor in a startle. The vibration dies out as silence filters in. The blond sighs and lets his heart settle from the fright. The words of the next page die out before Tsukishima’s eyes when the low vibration of a cell carries through the wall.
His studies aren’t satisfied for the rest of the evening, and Tsukishima’s nerves are worn thin. Who in their right mind turns their music up to that volume? If he weren’t clothed in pajamas, he might’ve stepped out and given his neighbor a brief lecture in respect for surroundings.
Tsukishima slips on his headphones for the second time that week after burying himself under the covers.
Kuroo finally decides to comment on Tsukishima’s silence, feeling antsy after not being able to speak freely in the mornings, only forced to walk in silence.
“Are you okay? You look so tired every day I see you.” Tsukishima instinctively glares at the older, who flinches in return. “Wait, I’m sorry. I won’t say anything.”
The younger sighs. “I never said you couldn’t talk,” the monotone voice says. “My neighbor likes playing music really late at night. It’s so loud that I can even hear it in my sleep.” He rubs at his forehead wearily.
“How long has this been going on?”
Tsukishima soothingly rubs at his temples. “Nearly two weeks.” Kuroo makes a worried expression at the news.
“Can’t you just tell them to turn it down?” he suggests.
Tsukishima shrugs. “I really should. But I think he dislikes me or something. Maybe he’s doing this to spite me.”
“I’m sure he’s not,” Kuroo reassures. “It doesn’t hurt to ask. If he can’t, I’m sure you guys can come to some sort of agreement.”
“Thanks,” he quietly replies.
“Anything for my Tsukki!” Kuroo quickly bounces back into his normal routine of chattering, and Tsukishima lets him.
From then on, Tsukishima looks for an opportunity. It’s almost like he’s an audience member now, waiting for the cymbals to strike so he register a complaint. However, the concert’s been on pause for almost a week. Honestly, he’s quite thankful for the silence, but he’s also unsure of when the next one may happen. When he tells the older of the news, Kuroo congratulates him on the silence, and proceeds to retell another story Bokuto relayed to him the other night.
Tsukishima does not see classical music boy much. Again, their interactions remain sparse, only engaging in a simple wave before freckles boy dashes off. Then, the concert resumes after a week. Tsukishima doesn’t react heartily, merely slipping on his headphones and playing his lofi music. He learns lofi and classical mix weirdly.
Despite Kuroo’s suggestion of registering a complaint, he more or less ends up adjusting to the melody of tubas and violas. He no longer has to sleep with headphones on, because classical music helps him sleep just a little more soundly.
Tsukishima dreams of a boy with freckles playing a piano until dawn. The thought does not leave him until Hinata physically tugs at the boy’s shirt.
“Tsukishima, did you hear what I said?”
“You said something?” he replies, voice sounding like a tease. Hinata pouts and rolls his eyes.
“I said, do you have a partner for the project yet? I have a friend who doesn’t have a partner yet, if you’re interested.”
Tsukishima shrugs. Kuroo and the others don’t take this particular class; his only mutual friend is Hinata. When Hinata first suggested the two of them working together, he actually rejected the offer, saying he’d find someone else. Playfully hurt Hinata cocked a brow and said no more. Suspicions grew, and Tsukishima was still partner-less as of recent.
“Sure,” he answers. What does he have to lose? Hinata blinks once and runs down the hall, narrowly avoiding collisions with other students. In a moment, he returns, pulling on the arm of another boy with him. Tsukishima’s eyes widen, recognizing him as his neighbor.
“This is Yamaguchi,” Hinata gestures at his friend, “and this is Tsukishima,” he gestures towards the blond. Both boys awkwardly bow to each other. “Anyways, good luck to you guys!” Hinata runs off to join with Kageyama, who happened to be waiting for the tangerine.
“Hey,” Tsukishima greets once more. Yamaguchi just nods a hello. “Wanna go to a cafe and talk more?” He gets a silent nod in return. This might take awhile.
“Here’s your drink,” Yamaguchi sets the cup down and takes a seat across from Tsukishima. His voice is barely audible over the distinct noise of other customers.
“Before we want to start, can I ask you something?” Tsukishima asks. Yamaguchi fidgets in his seat while nodding his head, and the blond wants to connect the constellations in his freckles. “Have I done something to make you uncomfortable?”
Yamaguchi’s brows draw up in surprise. “No, you haven’t,” he quietly says. “I’m just not the greatest at talking to people.” He worriedly continues. “When we first met, I didn’t mean to be so rude. You just scared me a little. I’m sorry.”
“Mmm,” Tsukishima hums in reply. He didn’t realize he was scary; maybe it was the resting face. Normally, he's not bothered to appear amiable, but something about Yamaguchi makes him want to try.
“Well, I hope we can get along,” he extends his hand once more. He tries to force a small smile, make his expression look a little more pleasant. Yamaguchi reluctantly takes the hand, and Tsukishima sees a dimple when the boy laughs a little.
“Also,” Yamaguchi adds, growing in familiarity, “can we move somewhere quieter? It’s hard to focus here.” Tsukishima readily agrees, wondering if he’ll have another meeting with classical music.
The first time in Yamaguchi’s apartment was nerve wracking. The boy had fervently insisted on working in his apartment, saying he felt more comfortable with his surroundings. Tsukishima had no objection to it, and got right to work despite the unfamiliar atmosphere. In reality, it wasn’t much different from his own; it was slightly more cluttered but housed more plants than his own. In a way, it illustrated their own personalities. It didn't bother him; rather, he felt comfortable.
Conversation picked up by their second work meeting. It wasn’t hard for Yamaguchi to fall into conversation with Tsukishima, eagerly talking his head off—completely unlike their very first meeting at the door. The thought of it made something warm sprout in Tsukishima’s heart, like he had accomplished a rare achievement.
It wasn’t until their fourth meeting that Yamaguchi pulled out his speaker. “Tsukki,” as he had endearingly grown to call the blond, “can I play this? It helps me work better.”
“Sure,” Tsukishima had no objections. “It helps me, too.” Yamaguchi shortly learned that his speaker had carried music to Tsukishima’s room, and briefly apologized in an embarrassing fit. Tsukishima reassured him in a soft laugh, saying he had grown to like it. Together, they enjoyed the familiar melody of Yamaguchi's favorite symphony.
“So how’s work with your partner?” Kuroo asks one day on their walk to class. Tsukishima hasn't told him many details, only that he recently started a group project with someone.
“Not bad,” the blond replies. “Did you know? He’s actually my neighbor.”
Kuroo’s widen with shock. “No way, are you serious?" The blond nods to confirm it. "That’s so weird in a way. You guys are neighbors and partners.”
Tsukishima chuckles to himself. “I know. I didn’t know he went to this school. I found out the day I was introduced to him.” He sighs, looking up at the sky blooming with clouds and blue. What a small, weird world. His thoughts of Yamaguchi are brief as Kuroo jokingly shoves him into a fountain. Thankfully, only his hair gets wet.
"Sorry," Kuroo snickers, "I shouldn't have shoved so hard." Tsukishima glares at him, deviously plotting revenge.
Tsukishima’s about to comfortably slip under his covers when the doorbell rings. With a heavy sigh, he pulls himself out of bed to answer the door. When it’s this late at night, he can only assume it’s either the cops or Kuroo—who has a funny drunken tendency of showing up at his door. He prays it’s the former.
The doorbell rings once more before Tsukishima can get to it, mumbling ‘yeah yeah, I’m coming,’ placing bets on who his rowdy guest is.
“Hello?” Tsukishima opens the door to none other than Yamaguchi, clothed in strawberry jammies and strawberry slippers, balancing his laptop across one arm. Yamaguchi's eyes are focused on the bright screen, inputting a few words and deleting some. He doesn't realize the door's been opened until the blond clears his throat.
“Hey, Tsukki, do you know what you want to put for this—” he looks up, first at his forehead, then back down to his eyes, and he laughs. A full blown laugh falls from his lips and makes Tsukishima's heart curl in some unusual way.
The blond frowns and rolls his eyes in annoyance as he quickly explains. “Yes, this is a keroppi frog mask. My brother got it for me.” Yamaguchi won’t stop giggling. “Must you bother me this late at night?”
“I just wanted to ask one more thing,” Yamaguchi wipes a stray tear from his eye. “Also, I like your mask a lot, it’s really cute.” He giggles once more.
“Thanks,” the blond sarcastically replies, a soft flush crossing his features. He doesn’t know what he’ll do with this kid.
Tsukishima stretches his long limbs, poking a foot against Yamaguchi’s own foot. The boy instinctively reacts, giggling at the touch. “Cut it out, Tsukki.”
“Sorry,” he doesn’t mean those words as he continues his advance of tickling the boy’s foot. He smirks at the other boy, who’s wiggling to move out of his reach.
“You need to focus,” the chestnut scolds. Tsukishima shrugs and returns to his work. After typing in a few more paragraphs, he shuffles to the kitchen aimlessly, needing some water for his parched throat.
“Tsukki,” piano boy pipes up after a moment.
“I thought you were focusing,” he sarcastically replies. Tsukishima pulls a certain mug out of the cupboard, one embroidered with a small dinosaur pattern. He previously designated this mug as his favorite, and Yamaguchi didn't seem to mind at all.
“Just hear me out for a second.” Tsukishima does not say a single word as he fills the mug with tap water. “There’s this movie that came out that might help with our research. Wanna go see it?” he sounds a little nervous.
Tsukishima cocks a brow as he returns to the living room. “Will it really help?”
“Yes, yes, I promise! It'll be great for our research.” Tsukishima can see the excitement in the boy's eyes when he says that. The blond merely sighs and shrugs, which Yamaguchi knows to mean agreement. “So, it’s a date then?” Yamaguchi’s eyes are twinkling with an abundance of stars, wanting to hear Tsukishima verbally confirm their plans.
With the way Yamaguchi says it, he can’t refuse. In fact, he quite likes the way it rolls off his tongue.
“Sure. It’s a date,” Yamaguchi beams at him so happily. Tsukishima can't ignore the erratic thumping of his heart, naturally assuming that he’ll be going into cardiac arrest soon.
Even if it is all a fabricated excuse, something crafted by Yamaguchi's hands, he can't help but play along with it. His antics have him hoping for more. Maybe he's becoming the weird one now.