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They say that in love, there was no such thing as 'timing.' They say, loving someone is timeless - you'd pursue them despite all odds, and wait no matter how long, if it meant seeing through the end with them by your side.
There was no room for these insecurities, for jealousy, for fear -
Perhaps that one most of all.
'Everything you want is on the other side of fear,' his mother told Tadashi repeatedly, like a chant of jabberwocky whispering at the back of his mind, but leaves him cold when fear stares him down, and grabs him by the throat.
That was until he met Tsukishima Kei. Everything about him, everything he did, and said - it was like walking into a different world, and yet somehow, it mirrored Tadashi's - and perhaps that's exactly what drew the two to each other - the similarities we hold, despite the countless differences, were the little piece of force that pulled them to the other.
"Soulmates," Tadashi mused one night, as Kei laid next to him on the grass, the fresh smell of mildew clinging to their clothes.
"Hmm?"
"Aren't we like, soulmates?"
Kei only smiled and nodded, thinking to himself.
"I guess so."
It was easy to fall in love with Yamaguchi Tadashi. Kei knew that by heart, knowing the other male like the back of his hand - Perhaps loving Tadashi was easy for Kei, but for Tadashi himself, and the facades and walls he's built - those couldn't be torn overnight.
And Kei knew this. He knew it very well. He knew how Tadashi had fought for this, to stay by his side willingly, clinging close that for the past 5 years there was only ever Kei and Tadashi, and never Kei or Tadashi. The green-haired male had persisted, and so he won Kei over ; but sometimes Kei wonders if that will ever be enough.
Kei knows the answer but refuses to admit it.
"I love you," Kei whispered to Tadashi, as he softly kissed his forehead, before pressing his lips unto him, and despite Kei's closed eyes, he could feel Tadashi smiling against his own.
"I love you too," Tadashi replied back, his hands finding Kei's large ones, their warmth breathing fires on Tadashi's face, their red heat making Kei fondly sigh. "I love you so, so much."
"Promise me you won't leave," Kei asked solemnly, the darkness of midnight covering half of his face, but the silvery light of the full moon above illuminating enough.
"Everything you want is on the other side of fear," Tadashi's mother bitterly smiled at the sleepy 8-year-old, as she kissed her son goodnight. "It'll be okay, Tadashi. Mommy's here. I won't leave." The small child squeezed his mother's hand tightly, a smile on his face, as he dozed off to his mother's promise.
But when 8-year-old Tadashi woke up in cold sweat, there was no more warmth in his hands, as he placed them on his neck for heat.
"Mommy?" Tadashi called out, seeing the vacant seat next to his bed.
"M-mommy?" Tadashi yelled louder, tears forming on his eyes. The small boy ran barefoot outside his room, and laid his eyes on the boldly colored sticky note hanging on the ref, and written in capital letters: TADASHI. What soon followed made the small child weak in the knees.
Tadashi would never see his mommy again. And as the small child laid in his pool of tears on the floor as he erupted in sobs, everything felt cold and heavy- but perhaps, the coldest and heaviest part was inside, beating underneath his chest.
"You promised," he hicked. "You promised."
"Tadashi," someone worriedly called out.
Tadashi only cried harder.
"Tadashi."
"Tadashi!"
"Tadashi," Kei called out, his voice growing louder, and more worried. Tadashi snapped out of his daze, wet tears rolling down his face. Kei cups his face and wipes them, kissing Tadashi's eyelashes and holding him close.
"It's okay if you can't promise that," Kei held him tightly - if he could, he'd hug him tightly enough to squeeze all the pain away.
But Kei was only human. And so was Tadashi.
"I-I promise," Tadashi bit his lip, preventing himself from letting out the sobs he wished he'd have the nerves enough to show Kei.
But he couldn't.
He wouldn't get the chance again.
They say that in love, there was no such thing as timing, but honestly Tsukishima Kei would beg to differ.
Because if timing wasn't the issue, he'd still have Tadashi buried in his chest, his arms wrapped around the smaller male.
The end happened the day they had least expected it - but that's the thing with endings right? They were almost always unpredictable.
But Tadashi knew anyway.
"Was it me?" Kei whispered, the echo of his voice filling inside the house - their house, their home. Even Tadashi's breathing was silent, as he stared out the window, his expression emotionless.
Kei wonders if it's always been like this - if the roles had always been switched, with Kei running after Tadashi and the load he bore.
He wished Tadashi would tell him, the same way he'd laid and trusted the most fragile pieces of himself within the green-haired boy - he wished he'd ask when Tadashi offered to sleep early when he'd use that time to practice his serves, he wished he'd hold him a second longer, when he noticed Tadashi smiles grow weaker, his words sullen deep by the thoughts that outweighed everything else - he wished for so many things, right at that moment, that he could only find himself wishing in a well that had dried up long ago.
"It's not you, of course," Tadashi weakly smiles, the sides of his mouth upturned, before they fell just as quickly as they appeared, the gears to his genuine happiness unmoving. Everything felt cold and heavy.
Just like that time.
"It's always been me."
"Tadashi-"
"It's okay," he whispered, his voice cracking.
'He didn't want to do this either,' Kei thought. 'Then-'
"Let's end it here, Kei."
"K-kei?" the blond echoed, the sound of his first name so foreign to him.
He's also been Tsukki. His' Tsukki.
Yamaguchi nodded, and began to walk away in defeat.
"Tadashi," Kei called out, taking him by the hand, as the green-haired male limply turned to him, the tears starting to taint his cheeks again. Tadashi looked away quickly.
"This would be so much easier on you if you didn't look at me right now," he cried out softly, hiccuping between his words. Kei only tightened his grip on Tadashi's wrist.
"We can fix this. I'll try harder-"
"BUT WHAT IF I CAN'T FIX ME?" Tadashi bellowed, his frame shaking, his knees growing weak. There was only so little that a person could take, and Tadashi was at his limit.He’s held out for 5 years - but not anymore. A dam can’t be fixed by placing loose boards over it, over and over again, only to be washed out to shore.
"I'm not okay, Kei," Tadashi quietly whispered, slowly taking Kei's hand in his palm, and kissed the back of it for the last time. "I'm scared you'll only lose yourself by being with me, because I'm so, so, broken, and so, so, lost. I'm scared Kei."
"I'm scared of letting you go," he gripped Kei's hand tightly. "But I'm so much more scared of dragging you with me, knowing full well how fucked up I am."
"I give up. So give up on me already, please." Tadashi bit the insides of his cheek harshly, keeping in the sobs that he could keep in. It was useless, as Kei cupped his cheeks and wiped away the tears pooling by his eyes - the same way he'd always do when his favorite characters died, or when he'd woken up from a nightmare, or when everything felt so empty and numb and cold - Kei's hand was there, his warmth, his love, his everything - his' Tsukki was there.
"I will never give up on you."
Yamaguchi smiled bitterly, before letting Kei's hand go.
"I already did."
There's a reason why we were told to let go of broken toys. There's a reason why we let go of hot objects, cry out when we're pricked by sharp things, and a reason why we look away at the sight of those we don't understand.
But Tadashi wasn't a toy, or an object or any of that - he was human, and he was scared, and maybe a little bit broken, but if a broken crayon can still color, Kei believed that Tadashi would be able to smile again, to color the world with his light again - even if that meant Kei wouldn't be able to stay by his side.
Kei knew Tadashi well, after all!
"Thank you Kei," Tadashi messaged the blonde, as he sent him a photograph of the two as children. A smaller version of Kei was holding the crying Tadashi in the picture, the familiar boldly colored sticky note in hand.
Kei knew and understood more than anyone, and anything.
"My husband sends his thanks for driving us to the airport. We'll arrive in America later night, and then I'll meet up with our psychologist to start my treatment." Tadashi messaged one last time. "Thank you for everything, Tsukki!"
And Kei loved him all the more -
The timing just wasn’t right.