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Yamaguchi Tadashi has always preferred red wine over white. He’s always welcomed its bitterness, but tonight, for the first time in his life, he has trouble choking it down. So instead, Tadashi opts for wine coolers, his favorite fruity drink, one that he hasn’t enjoyed in ages. Still, there’s not much time for enjoyment. He gets tipsy, quickly — he’s always been a lightweight, so he’s unsurprised —, and tonight, he allows himself to think back to certain days of his past.
Reflecting has never come easy to Tadashi. It has never come easy to him, but he knows that no matter how hard he tries, he won’t be able to run away from the repercussions of his mistakes forever. And while they aren’t necessarily big mistakes—in fact, some of them have affected nobody but himself— he finds that they have been amplified by the weight of time.
With every wine cooler he finishes, he falls one regret deeper into the pit he has dug for himself.
When the six pack is empty, Yamaguchi Tadashi watches the clouds settle in the night sky while shadowing its stars and finds himself dialing a number he knows by heart.
Within seconds, Tsuskishima Kei answers. “Tadashi?”
“Kei?” Tadashi’s shaking like he hasn’t spoken to the other in ages, but he tries to keep his voice as steady as possible. “Do you have a moment?”
It’s quiet for a moment, and he pulls the phone away from his face, wondering if Tsukishima hung up on him. Then:
“Have you been drinking?”
Tadashi frowns. “I asked you fir—”
“Yamaguchi Tadashi,” Kei cuts him off. “Answer my question.”
There’s an edge to Kei’s voice, one that Tadashi hasn’t heard in years. It scares him so much that he gives in almost immediately. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I have.”
On the other side of the line, Kei sighs. “Go on, then. I have a few minutes. What do you want to talk about?”
“Have you ever—” He hiccups. “Have you ever wondered about how things could have gone differently?”
Tadashi knows he hasn’t, but tonight, Kei must feel bad for him, because he decides to play along .“How so?”
“Like—like in our second year, when we lost at the interhighs. That was my fault, you know?” There are tears falling from his eyes now, but he pushes forward. “God, I never learned, did I? My receives were always a bit off if I didn’t practice them enough, but when I focused on them more in practice, my serve would lose its power.” He laughs, then, almost in disbelief. “I still can’t believe Ukai designated me as captain during our third year. I sometimes wonder if that was a mistake on his part.”
“Coach Ukai doesn’t make mistakes like that.”
Kei sounds so sure of himself that Tadashi almost believes him. But since it’s nearly two in the morning, and since the alcohol has shown no signs of wearing off, he doesn’t. “I just—Tsukki. Even at nationals, even with our second year libero, even with the pure, raw talent of our first years, we lost our semi-finals match. We fell apart, Kei, because I couldn’t keep us together.”
“We didn’t fall apart.” Tsukishima sounds frustrated. “Tadashi, we didn’t lose because of you. We lost because it was the fifth consecutive day we had played and because we were exhausted. We lost because the other team had more stamina than us. There wasn’t a single person to blame, Yams, and there never will be. I wish you’d realize that.”
“But, if I hadn’t flubbed that last serve—”
“Nobody blamed you, Tadashi. It was a mistake, and sure, it cost us the game, but I doubt we would have won anyways. Hell, if I were in your position, I would have done the same thing.”
Because Tadashi’s been to Kei’s games with the Sendai City Frogs and seen him ace the jump serve he had once tried so hard to perfect, he nearly questions the validity of that statement. But since this is Kei’s way of comforting him, and since Kei has a family to wake to in the morning and probably needs to get going, he forces himself to agree. “I suppose so.”
He hears a rustling in the background. Hushed whispers of, “Go back to sleep, sweetie,” and “You can sleep in tomorrow, alright?” make their way through the phone before it goes quiet. “My bad,” Kei says to him after a minute.
Tadashi stiffens. “Was that—“
“Sorry.” Kei chuckles. “I guess Erika made a little too much noise.”
Ah. Tadashi, in his drunken glory, had forgotten that Kei and his wife had recently adopted a five-year-old. His heart shatters like it hasn’t done so a million times before. “Is she faring well, then, adjusting to a new environment?” He slurs, focusing too hard on keeping his voice steady and losing control of his pronunciation instead.
Though Tadashi can’t see him, he figures Tsukishima nods. “Yeah! She’s doing great. We lucked out, you know. She’s all we could ever wish for.”
Years ago, Tadashi thinks, Tsukki was all he could ever wish for. He thinks back to the night he confessed, the night Tsukishima had told him he didn’t reciprocate the feelings but held Tadashi in his arms and whispered “sorry” over and over until the other stopped shaking. Tadashi had told him to shut up at one point, that people can’t help who they develop feelings for, that “it’s probably just a stupid crush, anyways,” and that as long they stayed best friends and Tsukishima was happy with the woman he would eventually fall for, he would be happy, too.
He was lying, then, and while he listens to the other ramble about how happy he is with how everything in life is going—wife, daughter, and career included—he makes a new promise to himself. Like most people, he has many regrets. Tonight, for the first time, he vows to let them slip away.
But for now:
“Kei?” He finally whispers into the phone’s microphone, cutting the other off.
“Hm?”
“Do you think that in some alternate universe, you could have loved me back?”
Tonight, Tsukishima Kei indulges him. “Honestly? Yeah. I think I could have.”
That’s all Yamaguchi Tadashi needs. He wishes Tsukishima Kei a quick goodbye, tells him he’ll call more often, and maybe even visit (while sober, of course), then hangs up his phone and stares at the stars. They remind him of the ones that have been on Kei’s ceiling since the two turned 12, the ones now dull from years of wear and tear.
He sighs and closes the curtains. Everything reminds him of Kei. He’ll have to work on that.