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“Stay.”
That was the first time Tsukishima ever said those words to anyone. To you, even.
A year ago, you had said the exact same words to him with his back turned to you. He remembered how your sob made your voice crack, and him, being the heartless bastard that he was, didn’t even turn.
He should have, Tsukishima thought with clenched fists. He should’ve turned around and crushed you against his chest.
But his pride wouldn’t let him. Pathetic as it was, he was the one who gave up on himself while you still tried. You were the one who always did. He was the problem throughout the whole relationship, but he gave up first. He ran first, as he always did.
He’d always given up. On anything that felt was slowly beginning to matter to him. When things began to have meaning, he ran.
And you’d always been so patient with him; always understanding when he would cancel dates to practice or when he wouldn’t call you before bed because he argued that that time was better spent on sleep or school stuff than a stupid phone call, or when he wouldn’t bring you to to his games because he’d said he was too shy.
To all that, you had said you understood with a bright smile on your face. He never even took the time to tell you how he loved seeing that smile; what it did to brighten his own day, melting away every insecurity that ate at him. How you’d wrap your arms around his waist and nuzzle your head in his chest like you wanted to belong there.
You did. You always did, and right now, even though you were only an arm’s length away, Tsukishima felt like he couldn’t reach you anymore. But he had to try.
“Please,” he whispered. “I…I–just want…” want you. Want to be better. Want you with me again. I want us again.
Say it, you idiot! Why couldn’t he say it? Why couldn’t he just—
“I’m sorry, Tsukki,” you finally said, turning to him. And when Tsukki saw your eyes, all the hope left him in one great rush of air.
There, in your eyes, red-rimmed and brimming with tears, there was an endless sadness where he knew you could never get out from, but behind it was a steadfastness. An immovable decision.
You didn’t have to continue, and he didn’t have to say anything more because Tsukishima already knew. He was too late.