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“Could we have the check, please?”
“Of course. Right away.”
The waitress shuffles off, but like everything she’s done for them that night, it will likely take a while. Tsukishima turns his attention back to the remnants of his meal.
“Am I paying tonight, or are you?” Yamaguchi asks from across the table. Yamaguchi takes a long drink from his water glass and sets it down. His glass half hangs off the coaster, but he doesn’t even spare it a glance. He’s staring at Tsukishima, his fingers absently drumming at the table. Their legs are tangled beneath the table because, let’s face it, a two-person table will never have enough leg room for Tsukishima Kei.
“You paid last time,” Tsukishima replies, pointing to Yamaguchi with his fork.
“But you paid the time before that, and that time it was expensive.”
Tsukishima shrugs. “I knew how expensive it would be when I chose that place. I don’t mind.”
“Still,” Yamaguchi shrugs as well, and the neck of his sweater slips down. “I can pay tonight.”
“I can handle it.” Tsukishima takes another bite of his food. It’s not particularly good, but Yamaguchi loves this restaurant, so they come here often.
Yamaguchi shakes his head like he thinks Tsukishima is being ridiculous. He takes another sip of his water, then sets it down on the coaster properly this time. Tsukishima scans across Yamaguchi’s torso, the only part of him visible from his spot across the table. He’s wearing a tight, black turtleneck—all because of an offhand comment Tsukishima had made once, that he thought Yamaguchi looked best in black. Tsukishima isn’t sure if Yamaguchi took the compliment to heart or if he’s just teasing him, but every time they’ve met up since then, Yamaguchi’s been in black.
Even if he is just teasing, Tsukishima can’t complain. Yamaguchi does look phenomenal in black. He looks like a fucking model, leaning back in his chair with his turtleneck pulling tight across his chest. He’s even accessorized with a small silver chain. Yamaguchi has grown a lot from the boy he was in high school, and now he is undeniably hot.
Yamaguchi toys with the small ponytail he’s pulled up at the back of his head. His hair still looks a little mused from earlier. Of course, you would only be able to tell if you were looking for it. None of the unsuspecting strangers around them would look at Yamaguchi and know what had transpired earlier.
Yamaguchi shifts in his seat, leaning forward again, and Tsukishima is pulled from his stupor. He glances back down at his food, which seems lackluster compared to the whole meal sitting across from him.
Holy shit. Did he really just think that?
Kuroo was rubbing off on him more than he’d like to admit. He stabbed at his next piece of pasta more viciously, envisioning it with stupid black bedhead.
“Hey,” Yamaguchi laughs softly, “what did the pasta ever do to you?”
“More than you could know,” Tsukishima mumbles back before sticking the piece in his mouth. That’s what pain-in-the-ass Kuroo deserves.
Yamaguchi shakes his head and laughs again. Tsukishima would love to dive into that laugh and the open happiness on his face, but his attention is pulled elsewhere. The neck of Yamaguchi’s turtleneck has slipped down a little, revealing a small mark on his neck. Like the mused hair, it’s only noticeable if you’re looking for it, but it sets Tsukishima’s nerves on fire. That small, light purple hickey that Tsukishima had given him only hours before.
“Tsukki?” Yamaguchi pulls Tsukishima’s attention away from the bruise and up to his eyes, shining with mirth. “What’s wrong?”
Tsukishima swallows hard before scratching at his own neck, right where the hickey was on Yamaguchi’s. “You’ve got, uh, something on your neck.”
Yamaguchi’s eyebrows furrow and Tsukishima can see the gears in his head turning, as if he’s already forgotten everything that transpired three hours ago. Then his face brightens with realization and his cheeks are colored with a sweet pink flush. “Right. Uh, oops?” He adjusts the neck of his sweater, but it doesn’t quite cover it. “Better?”
Tsukishima moves without thinking. He leans across the small table and adjusts Yamaguchi’s sweater himself, his fingers lingering over the bruise for a heartbeat too long. He sits back down in his own seat and clears his throat. “There. Now it’s better.”
Yamaguchi seems at a loss for words. He nods and his fingers brush over the spot, now covered by his sweater. He opens his mouth to say something, but seems to decide against it and closes it again. Then he takes another drink of water and says, “Thanks, Tsukki.”
“You’re welcome.” Tsukishima continues eating his pasta like that wasn’t the most romantic and domestic thing he’d done to his friend.
Well, depending on one’s definition of romantic, it might not be the most romantic. Yamaguchi and Tsukishima were friends with benefits. They had both been single for a long period of time and both had...needs that they wanted satisfied, and given that they both liked boys, they decided one night to give it a try. The arrangement had ended up sticking.
Tsukishima thought it would be weird, having sex with his best friend, but it really wasn’t. It wasn’t like it meant anything. It was just a means to an end. It was like having sex with anyone else, except Yamaguchi was nicer during. It hadn’t affected their friendship at all. They even started getting dinner together afterwards, provided it wasn’t too late at night.
Nothing had changed between them. Their friendship was just as solid as it had been before. Everything was perfect.
Except…
Except lately Tsukishima had been looking forward to their meetings more often. At first he assumed he was just more stressed, but he quickly realized it was Yamaguchi he was excited to see, not just his fuck buddy. And then he started requesting that they meet more often. Yamaguchi had made a joke about Tsukishima being as horny as a teenage boy, and Tsukishima, in his infinite wisdom, simply went silent. He kept waiting for Yamaguchi to complain about how often they met, but Yamaguchi never did, so they started meeting two to three times a week.
Tsukishima had to face the facts. He was falling for Yamaguchi. He’d known this for a while now; nearly a month. And in his selfishness, he’d kept meeting with Yamaguchi. During those brief moments, in the darkness of his apartment, he could pretend they were a couple. He would close his eyes and pretend Yamaguchi loved him just as much as he loved him and this was their apartment, instead of just Tsukishima’s. He would pretend they wouldn’t go out to eat afterwards and then part ways, and would instead walk out to their shared kitchen and cook together.
But the moments always passed, and Tsukishima didn’t dwell on it long. That would only hurt worse. He didn’t get his hopes up, because that would hurt even worse. He tried not to imagine a life with Yamaguchi as more than what they were, because he knew he could never have that.
Wow. Thinking about all this has really bummed him out. He wants to go home and get blackout drunk, and maybe drunkenly call Kuroo and cry about his feelings. “Where is that waitress?” he mumbles. He glances around the restaurant, head craning to try to catch a glimpse of their waitress, but he doesn’t see her. He sighs and slumps down in his seat, venturing a glance up, and he catches Yamaguchi’s eye.
Yamaguchi is, for lack of a better word, staring. He’s propped his elbow up on the table and has his chin nestled in his palm, and he’s looking at Tsukishima with the softest, fondest expression Tsukishima can imagine. It sends his head reeling and his heart beats so hard in his chest he thinks he must be having a heart attack. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Yamaguchi was looking at him like he was in love.
Tsukishima watches him for another moment or two before Yamaguchi realizes he’s staring. His face immediately bursts into a brilliant red; a shade Tsukishima hasn’t seen on Yamaguchi before, but it’s unbearably attractive. “I’m—I’m sorry, I—” Yamaguchi stumbles on his words, his eyes casting desperately across the table for something other than Tsukishima to look at.
“It’s no big deal,” Tsukishima lies. He takes a big drink of his own water, if only so he doesn’t have to look at the shame on Yamaguchi’s face. He hates that he made Yamaguchi feel bad. He hates that the air at the table is now awkward. He hates that he doesn’t know what to say to fix this.
So he resorts back to old reliable high school Tsukishima: all barbed wire and snark and playful teasing that comes across too harsh.
“Like what you see?” Tsukishima asks with a raise of his brow. It’s teasing. It’s familiar ground for them. They can stand on this and see where it gets them.
He expects Yamaguchi to play off of this, like he always does. But Yamaguchi looks down at the table and traces the patterns in the wood with his finger. His shoulders are slumped and he looks tense, like he’s folding in on himself. Tsukishima is completely lost now.
Finally, Yamaguchi says, “What if I do?”
Tsukishima’s brain short circuits with the implications. He opens his mouth to reply, but he finds that for once, he has no quick words on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he gapes at Yamaguchi. He must look stupid.
“Fuck it,” Yamaguchi mutters. He tips back the rest of his water likes it’s a beer or something and sets it down on the table too hard. He’s completely missed the coaster this time, but that little detail couldn’t be farther from Tsukishima’s mind. “Tsukishima, I have something I need to tell you.”
Yamaguchi’s face is bright red, and Tsukishima can feel his face heat up to mirror it. He refuses to get his hopes up, but he wonders if this could be what he thinks. He tells his brain to shut up, because he’s not in the mood to get his heart broken.
More than likely, Yamaguchi is going to tell him he wants to stop being friends with benefits. Maybe Yamaguchi has found someone else. Maybe he wasn’t looking at Tsukishima dreamily. Maybe he was daydreaming about some taller, more handsome guy he’s met who’s a nicer person and better in bed. Someone a million times better than Tsukishima.
Yes. That’s it. There’s no reason to get his hopes up.
Still, his heart clings to a small fragment of hope, traitorously shouting at him that this could be it. The moment he’s been praying for. The moment he hasn’t allowed himself to imagine but has always been on the forefront of his head. The moment that Yamaguchi tells him—
“Your check, sir.”
The waitress has reappeared, handing the small booklet to Tsukishima with a smile on her face. She’s been an okay waitress so far, but Tsukishima is tempted to not tip her anything for interrupting such a moment.
It takes him a few seconds to pull himself back to reality and take the check from her. “Thank you,” he mumbles. She nods and smiles and quickly leaves, as if she senses she’s interrupted something.
Tsukishima clears his throat and prays that Yamaguchi’s confidence from before is still there. “You were saying?”
Yamaguchi glances at the check, then back up at Tsukishima. He gnaws at his lip for a moment, then sighs and shakes his head. “I was, um, going to ask to pay for the meal. But...nevermind, Tsukki.”
Disappointment swells up inside of Tsukishima. He’s definitely going to go home and get drunk. He’s going to get shitfaced, and hopefully drink himself to death.
This is why he didn’t want to get his hopes up.
“Fine,” Tsukishima mutters. “Get your things and let’s go.”
They silently grab their jackets and bags. Tsukishima refuses to look Yamaguchi in the eyes. If he did, he’s pretty sure his hurt would show.
He’s such an idiot for thinking someone like Yamaguchi could ever like him back.
Tsukishima pays for the meal. He almost leaves no tip for his waitress, but he changes his mind at the last second and does. He shouldn’t take his shitty mood out on her.
The two leave the restaurant and are met with the brisk evening air. It’s drizzling a little. It reflects Tsukishima’s mood pretty well.
“Well,” Yamaguchi says, shuffling where he stands, “I’ll see you around, Tsukki.”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll text you later. We can meet again on...Thursday?”
“Sounds good.” Sounds horrible. The thought of having sex with Yamaguchi again, for once, makes his heart ache instead of swell with anticipation. But he would do it anyway.
He’ll probably never stop.
“‘Kay. See you around.” With a wave and a bitter smile, Yamaguchi turns and walks away.
Tsukishima watches his back retreat. He watches him until he can’t see his hunched over form anymore, and then turns and walks the opposite direction. He’s going home, but first, he’s going to stop at a liquor store.