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Sunlight peeks past the canopy, slants over the calloused edges of Tadashi’s fingertips and he thinks that life as he knows it is ending today.
There is something weighted in his chest, like a fist pummelling into his heart, but gently. Grazing it, almost, as if to punish him. Torture him. Hurt him.
Tadashi doesn’t understand whether this is fair in any capability, but he’s learnt to live with it now.
“So,” Kei begins, and it is unlike him to start a conversation, so Tadashi’s mildly startled. “This is it, huh?”
“I guess,” Tadashi says.
“How many years has it been?”
“Dunno,” Tadashi says, though he does know, though he does remember. “Over a decade now?”
“A decade down the drain.” Kei clicks his tongue. “I don’t look forward to having to make new friends in college.”
And upon the mention of the word, that one word, there is a flair of pain which sprouts in the cage of Tadashi’s ribs, echoes all the way up his throat until he can’t breathe. Until the tears that he’s been keeping at bay threaten to pour and trickle, but he holds them back. Corrals them within the confines of his lungs because Kei does not care. Kei would never understand, he mustn’t be burdened by something like this.
These feelings which Tadashi holds within himself— they belong to him, and him only.
They shall remain there— unspoken, haunting, aching, but he’s learnt to live with it now, he likes to think. There is a certain burn which accompanies the things that you love: the ache in your knees after five sets of volleyball, the burn behind your irises after a particularly good season binge, the tearful thrumming of Tadashi’s heart as he realises, this is it.
This is where it all must end, as all good things do.
“You say that now,” says Tadashi, tucking his legs into his chest and feeling a frigid chill settle over his body despite the heat funnelling down on them. “But soon enough you’re going to have a little minion following you. You’ve always been cool like that.”
For a few moments, those words fester in silence; Tadashi is not embarrassed, not in the least. He’s only stated the obvious, the usual, and Kei knows this. He only fears, so, so briefly, that Kei will be able to discern the lovesickness concealed within the lilt of his words, within the droop of his shoulders, and it’ll all end right now, right here.
Tadashi does not want it to end.
He wants it to flourish. For it to fly.
“I don’t want a fucking minion,” Kei mutters eventually, and he has never been particularly confrontational, but the weight of his gaze as it now slides over and settles onto the cut of Tadashi’s jaw is heavy. It is prominent, it is purposeful, and it lets a fluster run amok over the angles of Tadashi’s cheeks.
His chest stutters out a sigh, somehow.
“You don’t get to choose who you befriend.”
“No?”
“You take what comes your way,” Tadashi says, a mumble in his mouth. “You don’t particularly care enough to ascertain who spends your college years with you.”
“Are you calling me uncaring?”
“Passive is the correct word for it.”
“Bullshit,” Kei mutters, still staring, still warm. “I could be assertive if I tried. I know what I want.”
“Oh?” Tadashi manages, feeling an urge to rub at his chest because he feels awfully full, bursting at the seams but in a way which is bothersome. He doesn’t, however, as he is still acutely aware of Kei’s eyes on him, how his gaze lazily tracks the rise and fall of his chest, the pallor of his skin. “And what is it that you want, Tsukki?”
“You,” Kei says simply, and for a moment, just for one isolated moment when the sun is warm on the planes of Tadashi’s cheeks but he’s still freezing within, the world is stagnant. Akin to those moments when he jumps so high that the sky is tangible on his tongue, he can breathe.
Soft, gentle, just a barely warm breath of air which is enticed upon the utterance of that minuscule you, before Tadashi shakes his head free of the bullshit which has begun to broil within.
“Sorry,” he whispers, because that is the best he can do, “what did you say?”
“Can’t see myself without you by my side anymore,” Kei says, sounding pitiful, but resolute. As if he’s come to terms with this realisation and the implications that they hold. “And this might be lame, but— but you’re my friend, so.”
The word doesn’t even sting this time around, and Tadashi dares to glance only to find Kei with his eyes downcast, now. His chest, too, is stuttering.
“So, what you’re telling me is—” Tadashi begins, grappling onto the words that bumble within his mouth, “that you—”
“I’m going to college with you, Yamaguchi Tadashi.” Kei clears his throat, and this time when he ventures forth to capture Tadashi’s eyes in an innocent, teetering look, he seems self assured. Blushy faced, perhaps a smidgen fidgety, but entirely willing. “Whether you like it or not, you’re gonna have to stick with me.”
And perhaps if this were any other moment, if Tadashi were a braver person in a more daring body, he’d have leaned forward and kissed him.
Kissed Tsukishima Kei under the final strands of sunlight, kissed him fucking dumb, kissed him until his glasses would teeter and fall yet Kei would come back for more.
He would kiss him breathless, hard enough to overshadow their trembling lips, but he doesn’t.
Because now, he has another four years to make things right. To do it all as he’d intended to.
So, for the moment, Tadashi sticks to smiling stupidly wide at Kei, the tremors of his heart etching a happy something into his pulse, while he waits for that one day when he’ll be able to kiss Tsukishima Kei without having to worry for an end.