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The clouds are a dreary gray and the sun nowhere to be seen, as if the sky is revolting against the overly-cheerful weatherman Tadashi saw on Channel Four, his smile blinding as he declared the rest of the day to be hot and sunny. He invited Tsukishima to the beach right away, bones thrumming in excitement, phone pressed between his shoulder and ear as he scoured his drawers for a half-used bottle of sunscreen and an old pair of swimming trunks. Predictably, Tsukishima says no.
Like clockwork, he goes with him anyway.
Tsukishima is here now, arms crossed as he glares at the disappointing scenery. Tadashi ignores him like he always does, because the pinch in Tsukishima’s eyebrows are laced with fondness and there is no cruel twist to his mouth. Tadashi knows he isn’t mad, not even when he says, “What a shitty view.”
“You don’t like crowds anyway.” Tadashi says with a laugh. “If you think about it, this is actually perfect.”
“If I wanted to avoid crowds I would’ve stayed in my room.”
“You could’ve.” Tadashi replies bluntly. Tsukishima already knows this of course; his feigned reluctance and Tadashi’s (mostly) gentle persistence is the backbone of their friendship. It is solid and strong, its grooves weathered by time and circumstance.
Tadashi settles down on the sand, unlacing his shoes and peeling off his socks. In his periphery, he sees Tsukishima do the same. Tadashi extends his legs just so, shuddering as the ice-cold waves brush his toes.
“You knew it was cold.” Tsukishima points out. His shoes are still on.
“That’s the point, Tsukki.” Tadashi does it again. Only this time, the wave crashes harder than before and the water drenches the tops of his feet. “Damn!” Tadashi yelps, hugging his knees to his chest. Tsukishima snorts, and it sounds suspiciously like idiot.
“Aren’t you gonna ask me why I wanted to take you to the beach?” Tadashi asks.
Tsukishima shrugs. “Let me guess, you wanted me to get a tan because I’m too pasty for my jersey?”
Tadashi laughs again, the warmth in his chest spilling down and filling him with light. The Sendai Frogs jersey is, congruent to Tsukishima’s nightmares, a horrific shade of neon green. “You’re too smart, you know that?”
“Your standards are just abysmally low. I told you not to hang out with Hinata too much.”
“I miss Hinata.” Tadashi says with a sigh. They try, but between the harrowing time difference and Hinata’s crappy data plan, calls are far and few in-between. “You think he’ll come back anytime soon?”
“I don’t care.” Tsukishima says dismissively. Tadashi hums, unperturbed. Then, “You know when he does you’ll be one of the first to know.”
“So will you.” Tadashi closes his eyes. Behind his lids, he sees a life that doesn’t feel like his, the cavernous ceilings of the stadium, the deafening cheers of a dozen marching bands, the sure weight of a volleyball against his palm, the backs of his teammates an impenetrable wall. But then he sees Tsukishima, and he remembers.
In every life, Tsukishima is here.
“Tsukki,” Tadashi says softly. Tsukishima turns to him, eyebrow raised. Tadashi says, "I’m really happy you’re here.”
Tadashi waits for the answering silence.
It never comes.
Instead Tsukishima says, "You're a sap, Yamaguchi." The corner of his lips quirk just a fraction, and Tadashi thinks that maybe this was the sun he was promised. "I'm happy you're here too."