Archive of Our Own ^beta

There’s a saying, Tadashi is pretty sure, about absence making the heart grow fonder.

It’s true, for the most part; sometimes, when the apartment is empty and he’s watching movies on his computer, he thinks fondly about the way his mother would kiss his hair whenever she got home from work even though it’d always be accompanied by a gentle smack to the head and a scolding for staying up so late that she’d see him when she got home. When a handful of high schoolers get on the bus together, rowdy and annoying every other passenger except for him, he finds himself nostalgically reminiscing the times he’d get to practice and Hinata and Kageyama were fighting about nothing, even though it used to irritate him so much he’d grab them both by the shoulder and tell them to shut up and set a good example for the first years.

Tadashi anticipated it. He remembers in his third year when they’d all go out together as a team, spirits high, goofing around restaurants and shopping centers and festival stalls, and suddenly a tightness would seize the inside of his chest. This isn’t forever, on repeat in the back of his mind. Coming back to his apartment after crashing at Tsukishima’s house and in the silence, feeling like maybe he should be crying. And then putting on the television to make that feeling go away.

The fear was kind of hard to explain then. If you asked, Tadashi wouldn’t have been able to tell you what he was scared of. He still kept in touch with Daichi, sometimes, and they got even closer after he graduated, so it wasn’t like he thought he’d never speak with his teammates again or anything, just… wanting a moment to go on forever.

He started taking photos last year. Most of them are blurry and some of them are weird, but he looks at them sometimes anyway. The ceiling of Tsukishima’s room at 3 AM, Yachi and Hinata and Kageyama sharing takoyaki. His mother eating the first cake he ever made for her.

But it’s not that bad, even though maybe he can convince himself it is if he spends too long thinking about it. The saying is absence makes the heart grow fonder, not absence makes… the heart break, or anything like that. It’s nice. Something like appreciating them differently. When Hinata says something dumb, instead of shaking his head at him like he might’ve before, he feels a little warmer, and really happy. When Kageyama calls him a dumbass for it, he laughs instead smacking his shoulder for setting a bad example as vice captain. He was really happy then, so it’s nice to remember how happy he was. So he doesn’t forget.

Still. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Out of everyone, Tadashi didn’t think that saying would apply to Tsukishima.

In retrospect, that might’ve been childish of him. Maybe Tadashi never thought too hard about it because the thought of his relationship with Tsukishima changing would’ve made everything too much, but he always thought if their relationship changed, it would’ve only been something like… fitting into each other’s lives more easily. Because they were going to start living together. So they could only get closer. Different universities didn’t matter, because they’d been friends for so long they could survive anything.

Absence… is maybe the wrong word to use, kind of a spoiled word for Tadashi to use to describe it. Especially since Hinata’s all the way in Brazil on his own, and he’s rooming with his best friend since elementary school. But Tadashi’s always kind of been spoiled, when it comes to Tsukishima. For the bigger half of a decade, they spent more time together than they spent apart.

And now they go to different universities.

On their orientation day, Tadashi’s train stop came before Tsukishima’s, and he can remember navigating to school alone, sitting in a crowd of people alone. And it felt like… not the other half of himself, but… something that important, maybe, or something just a little less important was missing.

(They chose an apartment closer to Tadashi’s university than Tsukishima’s. He thought he’d gotten lucky, then, but he kind of wishes it was reversed, sometimes. So Tsukishima could always be around one place, and Tadashi could see him when he wanted.)

But even that isn’t that true anymore. These days, part of him is glad that he and Tsukishima went to different universities, in the way he used to be glad he spent dozens of hours after school just doing his float serve after he scored four times in a row during a match. It’s not even like they never talk; he just isn’t there all the time, every day, and now Tadashi’s figured out he’s okay without him, which he was pretty sure of in high school, but now doesn’t doubt at all.

So absence isn’t really the problem. The problem is fonder, because fonder is only the right word to describe it if you feel like being generous.

Fonder. Appreciating him differently. There’s another way to say for it, one that his friend Inoue from Calculus II and Photography Club used by accident and insist they didn’t really mean, but he can tell they still think he feels that way.

Oh, that’s the roommate you have a crush on? I thought he’d be more handsome.

Wait, you didn’t want me think you had a crush on him? You kept telling me how tall he was!

The thing is – Tadashi misses Tsukishima a little when he’s away, sometimes catches himself barging in his room to annoy him about something until he remembers he left for club or work, but more important than that, Tsukishima looks a little different every time he comes back. Which isn’t really… in the melodramatic sense of being like I don’t recognize you anymore, just like… One time he came back from practice when it was raining, and before Tadashi could make fun of him for forgetting to bring an umbrella, Tsukishima took his glasses off and Tadashi noticed the way his hair fell in front of his face when it was wet like that, and also how dark his eyes were, like a black hole but in a cool way instead of a scary one, and…

Tadashi thinks of it as something like an immunity. Tadashi’s definitely seen Tsukishima without his glasses and with wet hair before, just statistically he’s certain he’s had to, but now that Tsukishima isn’t always with him all the time and he doesn’t remember all the little things about him as well he used to, like how his face looks when it’s shining with sweat or how a uniform sleeve hangs off his bicep, he’s started feeling feverish while he’s around him.

So crush is the wrong word, too. Sick, maybe (but not the kind of sick that comes with crush, just like, normal sick, like a cold), but not a crush. Tadashi thinks that even if it was a crush, it wouldn’t be a crush because Tsukishima’s been his best friend for what feels like most of his life even if technically it isn’t. It’d be a bigger, more serious word.

Just… Tadashi doesn’t feel like coming up with any examples.

✺

Tadashi’s coming back after work and a late club meeting when he opens their apartment door to Tsukishima in an apron, and his heart almost stops from the shock.

“Tsuk— Tsukki, what are you doing?” he asks, trying hard to maintain eye contact and not think about the way his shirt’s rolled up to the elbow.

Tsukishima barely looks up at him; his brow is furrowed as he watches the thermometer sticking out of the pot bubbling underneath him. “Dinner,” he says absentmindedly, and then picks up the pair of tongs at his side and starts fishing things out of the pot and putting them down on a plate.

It’s the first time Tadashi’s ever come home to Tsukishima making dinner. A little after they moved in together, they decided Tsukishima would be in charge of breakfast, because he can barely cook, and Tadashi would handle dinner, and Tsukishima would make up for that by being in charge of cleaning the bathroom. Even on days when Tadashi comes home late and there’s no leftovers, Tsukishima usually orders something before he gets back or picks something up at the convenience store, because he barely knows how to cook.

Tadashi really can’t stress that enough. The first week, Tsukishima made different kinds of eggs five straight days in a row until Tadashi sat him down and taught him about cholesterol, and then taught him how to make something else. (Now they have miso soup and rice in between rolled omelet, sunny-side-ups, and scrambled eggs and rice. When Tsukishima is feeling adventurous on weekends, he fries a fish. Recently he’s stopped burning it.)

The curiosity overwhelms the nervousness, for a second, and he moves to stand behind Tsukishima, goes on his tiptoes to see over his shoulder. “Hey, you’re making tempura? Even I’ve never made that! What’s the occasion?”

“You like it, don’t you?” Tsukishima says like it’s an answer, coating a piece of broccoli with batter. “Don’t stand so close to me. You’re going to get burned.”

“Since when did we have that thermometer, by the way?” Tadashi asks, resting his chin on Tsukishima’s too-pointy shoulder.

“I bought it on the way home, when I bought this apron. You should use it, too, Yamaguchi. We should’ve gotten one a long time ago. I don’t know how you haven’t gotten all of your clothes dirty.”

The correct answer is something like Some of us have been cooking longer than two months, Tsukki but what Tadashi says is nothing, because Tsukishima brought his attention to his apron again – mustard yellow, simple except for the little baby bird embroidered into the pocket – and the inside of his mouth feels dry because his chin is on Tsukishima’s shoulder, and Tsukishima is warm, and also looks really cute— interesting in an apron, and—

“Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima chides him as he lightly shoves Yamaguchi off his shoulder. “Go sit down. I’ll be done in ten minutes. You can change if you want.”

Tadashi thinks about doing it, about going to his room and catching his breath and thinking about car accidents and that time he flunked a quiz when he was nine and thought maybe he would be sent to jail, but he’s sitting down at their tiny kitchen table before he realizes it, just looking at Tsukishima. Watching the sweat on his brow, and his arms as he drops vegetables into the oil.

Tsukishima’s put on muscle since they came to Sendai, Tadashi thinks. He remembers goofing off in Tsukishima’s room when they were in high school, when he was so skinny he’d elbow him and feel his ribs. It’s not like that anymore. He really is—

“Stop staring at me,” Tadashi hears, and when he snaps back into himself, Tsukishima’s turning off the stove and moving the vegetables into a different bowl. “You’re not going to make me feel embarrassed about the apron. You should care more about your clothes.”

Tadashi laughs, probably too nervously, and then tries to think of something he’d say in this situation if they were still in Torono. It’s hard to hear the sound of his thoughts over his heartbeat. “I was just thinking you look nice in it,” he says, but it isn’t a joke and it isn’t… the way it was when he used to brag about Tsukishima’s height to strangers and he was able to not think about it. He thinks about it too much, now. So his voice is too dry, and it sounds off.

Tsukishima doesn’t realize anything; he just tsks and starts bringing everything to the table. Tadashi’s mouth is still dry. He wishes he poured himself a glass of water, actually, before he sat down, Or— actually, that’s a good idea, so Tadashi suddenly stands up, takes two glasses off the drying rack and fills them both to the brim. He drains one, fills it again, and then brings both of them to the table.

“Thanks,” Tsukishima says when Tadashi puts the glass down next to him. He’s still wearing the apron, and it’s suddenly hard to sit across from him like this, even though he’s been doing it twice a day since they moved here. Tsukishima must be following his eyes, because he makes a noise of realization and stands up to untie his apron and hang it off their refrigerator.

It’s a little easier to breathe, then, except Tadashi watched the way Tsukishima’s back muscles flexed as he reached up to hang it, and he’s definitely seen that before on the court but it’s different somehow, in their kitchen, months since he played volleyball, and Tadashi’s throat feels dry again. He drains half his glass of water.

“Thanks for the food,” Tsukishima says when he sits down, and Tadashi repeats it after him, and he tries to only think about it for a bit and it’s— easy.

The batter is kind of bready and thick, but it’s nice, somehow. It’s a lot better than he thought Tsukishima was capable of, after all of those accidentally-blackened fish he ate, and it’s kind of nice he put so much thought into it. “This is really good, Tsukki!”

“It’s okay,” Tsukishima corrects him, and then rubs the back of his neck. He looks down at his bowl of rice. “I’m glad you like it.”

Cute, Tadashi thinks, and then he swallows. Thoughts that creep up on him…. This really does feel like being sick. He remembers when he got the flu in high school and when Tsukishima came over to give him the homework and check if he was okay, he called him a tall mean man until he stopped waking him up and forcing him to eat soup and went home.

“How was your meeting?” Tsukishima asks, and Tadashi remembers he was in the room. He wonders why it’s always like that. Why it’s always either Tadashi is too aware Tsukishima’s with him or he’s forgotten he was there completely. One of those things shouldn’t be possible if the other one is.

Still, Tadashi was better at acting normal this morning. Maybe he should burn that apron after Tsukishima goes to bed. “It was okay,” he says, and then reaches for a piece of sweet potato, dips it in tempura sauce, and takes a huge bite out of it.

It’s good, Tadashi thinks again, and he reaches for another piece of sweet potato when he realizes that he ate the last piece without asking. When he looks at Tsukishima, they accidentally meet eyes, but he doesn’t seem irritated. He’s just looking at him strangely, like he’s thinking about something. “Did you take any pictures?”

Tsukishima’s never been this interested in his club before. Not like— he wasn’t interested before, just that Tadashi usually just talks about things and Tsukishima nods. He’s not the kind of person to ask that many questions. “Oh, it was, um, a feedback meeting. We just show our pictures to each other and say what we think of them,” he replies. “How was practice?”

“Fine,” Tsukishima says dismissively. “Did they say anything about yours?”

Some of the pictures Tadashi used are of Tsukishima. When he just joined, it’d been one of those half-sincere, half-joking things, where he kept telling Tsukishima he was cool until he said he was okay with him showing off some of his pictures in club, but things are really different from then. He doesn’t want to talk to Tsukishima about it. Especially since he had to clarify that Tsukishima was his roommate so many times. “Yeah. They were nice. They’ve been kind of lenient on me since I said the reason I take pictures is that I want to remember things,” he says, and then he notices that there are only two pieces of tempura left – broccoli – and he puts one on Tsukishima’s plate and then shoves the other one in his mouth.

“That’s—”

“I’ll clean up, Tsukki!” Tadashi says, standing up. “Since you made dinner. It tasted really good.”

“Thanks,” Tsukishima says, a hint of pink in his cheeks. Before Tadashi can think about how it makes him feel, he picks up his and Tsukishima’s bowl and brings them to the sink. When he’s going to get the tempura plate, he feels Tsukishima tug on the back of his collar, and he puts the apron over his head. For a second, Tadashi can’t move, and Tsukishima takes the opportunity to tie it around his back. “Wear the apron. I bought it for you, too, since you cook so much.”

Tsukishima has long fingers. Tadashi’s always known that, but for some reason the knowledge won’t sit normally with him. The way they felt on the back of his neck, and… he shouldn’t be thinking about this right now. “Fine,” Tadashi says, but it still sounds a little off. “You should go take a shower. I can handle the kitchen.”

“I will after I get rid of the oil,” Tsukishima says, turning back to the stovetop, and Tadashi makes a conscious effort to focus on plates and glasses and not Tsukishima’s back. When he’s back at the sink, Tsukishima talks again. “Are you going to sleep after you’re done?”

It’s easier to focus on what Tsukishima’s saying when he’s doing it while rinsing down plates. He doesn’t have to look at him. “Uh… The new episode of the drama I like comes out today, so I was going to watch it on my laptop and go to bed after. Do you need me for something?”

“Can I…” Tsukishima trails off, and Tadashi’s about to turn around to look at him until he thinks better of it. He focuses on the stray grain of rice stuck at the corner of the sink. “I want to watch it with you.”

“Huh?” Tadashi says, and then wonders if maybe his best friend is trying to kill him. “It’s the one with, uh, the time travel, where they’re trying to stop the girl’s murder. I don’t know if—”

“I know. That’s the only one you talk about,” Tsukishima says. “I want to watch it with you.”

It’s not the kind of thing Tsukishima would like. Tadashi knows from how well he knows Tsukishima, and also from all the times he detailed what happened in the last episode to Tsukishima over breakfast and Tsukishima pointed out all the parts that didn’t make sense and kind of made fun of it. In that nice Tsukishima way that just made him laugh, not feel bad.

There’s something else at work, Tadashi thinks, but before he can think harder about it, Tsukishima’s hand is on his shoulder. “I’m going to take a shower. Wait for me.”

Against his better judgment, Tadashi does.

✺

Over the next few weeks, it gets worse. Tsukishima’s strange behavior and the behavior of Tadashi’s… heartbeat.

It’s kind of like exposure therapy, but Tadashi doesn’t remember when he agreed to it. Which is— probably why it doesn’t work. Why he can’t build up an immunity again.

Whenever they’re both at home, which is more often than it used to be, somehow, Tsukishima’s always in the same room as Tadashi. Sometimes, while Tadashi’s trying to wrap his mind around calculus, Tsukishima comes into his room with a textbook, or a laptop, or a 3BS, and just lays on his bed, completely silent until Tadashi puts his books away, at which point he starts making weirdly inquisitive small talk about Tadashi’s day until he says he’s about to go to sleep.

The worst part about this, other than that he’s pretty sure he hung off Tsukishima like this for eight straight years until he just accepted they were best friends, is that it’s nice. It’s like an angel came down and possessed Tsukishima, except not really possessed but more like— it’s on his shoulder, giving Tsukishima advice, and he’s taking it.

A lot of what Tsukishima’s doing isn’t really like him or what he would do naturally, the consciously hanging around Tadashi or asking so much about his day, but he’s making himself do them, probably because he thinks Tadashi likes them. Tadashi can tell by the way Tsukishima’s small talk sometimes feels like an interrogation, by the way he walks into his room so awkwardly without even giving a reason. He’s even sous-chefing for Tadashi now, even though Tadashi knows he hates cooking.

If things were normal, and Tadashi didn’t catch whatever disease was in the air in Sendai, he would think it was hilarious to see Tsukishima acting like this, would probably let it go on for a few days before he told him he didn’t have to keep forcing himself to do nice things because he likes him for him, accidentally and purposely mean every now and then and all. Tadashi’s thought this to himself, sometimes, and been determined to say something like that the next time Tsukishima does something strange, but… every time Tsukishima does something strange like that, it goes to his throat, and then his vocal cords, and the only things he can say are things like Thanks, Tsukki!

So instead of exposure therapy, it’s more like… One time when him and Tsukishima were at WcDonalds and he was eating french fries, Tsukishima told him that if you eat too much of one thing, you can become allergic to it, and your body can start to reject it so much that it’ll kill you if you eat it again. Tsukishima’s weird passive-aggressive “stop eating so many french fries” tactic worked for about a month, and then Tadashi wanted french fries and immediately got hooked again.

Tadashi would prefer to being allergic to french fries over being allergic to Tsukishima, but that’s the thing. That he is allergic to Tsukishima. It’s like if he became allergic to french fries because he liked them so much that he ate them all the time, and then when he became allergic, he suddenly lived right next to a WcDonalds and had to smell the fries cooking there every day, but he couldn’t enjoy them because it would kill him. 

That’s… kind of dramatic. If he said that to Tsukishima and he was normal and not on this weird “be nice to Tadashi” thing, he’d probably make fun of him for it, and that’s fair, probably. Comparing the way he feels about Tsukishima to anaphylaxis… It is dramatic, and a little disingenuous.

Sometimes Tadashi likes feeling like this. When he’s laying in bed at night and thinking about the way Tsukishima’s fingers felt when he pat him on the shoulder, or how he looked when his cheeks turned pink after he said something about how cool he was. When he leaves Tadashi’s room and he feels like he’s floating.

He still likes Tsukishima, even if it’s in a different way. If he leans into Tsukishima’s touches, savors the way his heart skips a beat when Tsukishima walks into a room, you can’t really blame him. Because he can’t make their relationship normal again either, and if Tadashi has to go through this anyway, he might as well enjoy it where he can. Let his relationship with Tsukishima change as they adjust to university in Sendai, even if it’s changing so much it’s becoming unrecognizable to what it was before. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, Tadashi’s already learned, and fonder isn’t a bad thing. He already knows that moments can’t last forever.

Still. Sometimes, Tadashi goes through the pictures of his phone and he finds the awful blurry selfies he used to bully Tsukishima into taking with him, arm draped around his neck and grin enough to take up half his face, and he wishes, more desperately than he’s wished for anything, that he was still there.

✺

They’re sitting across the table from each other, eating french fries Tsukishima made by hand, when Tadashi brushes a piece of potato off of Tsukishima’s mouth and starts thinking about leaning forward and pressing his mouth to his.

Tsukishima doesn’t think anything of it, just keeps interrogating Tadashi about his day (“Chiba-san? He’s in your math class? What’s he majoring in?”) but after the initial rush of the moment wears off, the realization that he needs to put an end to something before his friendship with Tsukishima ends permanently sinks into his stomach like lead, and the french fries that had tasted comforting turn to ash in his mouth.

He goes on autopilot for the rest of dinner, and then it’s over the dishes that he comes up with something, says it before Tsukishima goes to the shower and he can chicken out.

“Tsukki,” he says, and he stares hard at the bowl he’s scrubbing because he knows if he looks at Tsukishima now, he’ll feel too guilty and stop. “I’m glad you started spending so much time with me, but I have an economics midterm soon, so I’ll probably need a… little more time to myself than I get now.”

Tadashi isn’t sure how long it is that Tsukishima doesn’t reply, especially since his sense of time is so warped around Tsukishima these days, but it’s enough that he starts to get concerned, that he turns off the water and moves to look at Tsukishima.

Tsukishima isn’t doing anything just strange, just sealing the container for the oil, and then he looks up and meets Tadashi’s eyes. A flicker of surprise is there, at first, that Tadashi’s even looking his way – maybe Tsukishima’s been aware of how avoidant Tadashi’s been of him after all – but it softens, and he walks forward, pats Tadashi’s shoulder the awkward way he always does.

“Good luck on your midterm,” he says, and then turns around to leave the kitchen.

✺

A few days later, Tsukishima walks into Tadashi’s bedroom while he’s going over lecture notes, and he says, “I need to talk to you.”

There’s a certain gravity to Tsukishima’s voice, a kind of serious that’s so rare from Tsukishima that Tadashi’s only heard it a handful of times, for as long as he’s known him. When they have conversations like this, it’s usually Tadashi who starts them. The other way around is… scary, maybe.

Or maybe that isn’t really the word. Tadashi can remember the last time Tsukishima came to speak to him and his voice sounded like this. It’d been a little bit before the Interhigh in his third year, and Tadashi can remember the way the fear ate up the inside of his stomach. How scared he was of letting his team down, or if he let them down already, didn’t train them right, didn’t put the team together right. If maybe he didn’t deserve to be on the court at all, no matter how many hours he spent training before it.

He’d done a good job of hiding it. Tadashi knows because Tanaka and Daichi both slapped him on the back before the game, told him something about how he’d grown a lot stronger in his third year, but when he’d gone to the bathroom, Tsukishima followed him in, and when Tsukishima looked him in the eyes and asked him what was wrong, he could feel Tsukishima reading the inside of his chest down to the letter. He probably didn’t even need to ask him.

It’d gone fine, after that. Tsukishima chewed him out the way he would’ve chewed Tsukishima out if their roles were reversed, and he got him out of his own head enough that he didn’t break down when they lost. Still, it’s kind of strange to remember, now. That Tsukishima used to be able to just look at him and instantly know everything the way he did that day.

The voice he’s using now. I need to talk to you. That is scary. Maybe Tsukishima never lost the ability to read his mind, and Tadashi just forgot he had it. Maybe he knows what’s been making Tadashi go a little bit more insane every time Tsukishima stands closer to him. That’s…

Tadashi promised himself, after the day Tsukishima made french fries, that he’d kick Tsukishima out if he tried to get too close to him again. For both of their sakes. But… Tsukishima’s tone of voice, and the conversation Tadashi’s been putting off about how he’s been forcing himself to be nice because he hasn’t been able to have it. Tsukishima at least deserves this, Tadashi thinks, whatever he’s going to tell him.

“Okay,” and he says, and turns his desk chair around to face Tsukishima on his bed. When he looks at Tsukishima, he looks away.

This isn’t like that time in their third year of high school. Tsukishima doesn’t want to say what he’s about to say. Rejection, probably, but as much as that scares Tadashi, as much as he’s stayed up at night thinking about the prospect, he kind of just wants to get it over with now. To finally be freed from this weird too-much-Tsukishima not-enough-Tsukishima purgatory.

It’ll probably hurt more than anything else has ever hurt him, Tsukishima not liking him back, but… it’s like he thought before. The same way he was glad he went to a different university than Tsukishima, before these feelings started cropping up in his chest. It’s bad now, but in the future, when they’re friends again and Tadashi can put his arm around Tsukishima’s neck and take a picture and not have to worry about him finding out he has feelings for him. It’ll be worth it.

Tadashi’s always been good at that kind of thing. Doing something kind of hard now to make the future even better.

“I’ve been… acting strange. Yachi told me… No. I think I might have projected on you,” Tsukishima says, and rubs the back of his neck. There’s something sobering in the back of his eyes, enough to calm Tadashi’s awful feelings for one conversation. “But that isn’t the point I’m trying to make.”

It’s not a rejection, is the first thing Tadashi thinks, but it doesn’t matter because he has no idea what it is, and it’s exhausting. That so much of the time he’s spent with Tsukishima recently has been on uncharted territory. He remembers when he’d been able to look into his eyes and read every single one of Tsukishima’s thoughts, too, even the ones Tsukishima pretended he didn’t have. “What are you talking about? How did you—”

“I know you don’t have a midterm,” Tsukishima says, not meeting Tadashi’s eyes. “I remember when you were putting all the dates into your calendar. You told me the date for your economics midterm was so late that it had to have been a typo or else it ‘might as well have been a two-thirds-term,’ and then told me the next day how surprised you were that it wasn’t a typo.”

Shit. Tadashi can remember what Tsukishima’s talking about, now that he’s brought it up. He misses it, but he also kind of hates his past self for talking Tsukishima’s ear off about things that don’t matter. He can’t even tell him a white lie because it’s impossible to remember every truth he’s heard from his mouth.

But Tsukishima remembers. Tadashi tries not to think about how that makes him feel.

“Tsukki—"

“You don’t need to apologize,” Tsukishima cuts him off. “I didn’t come in here to get angry at you. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have made you uncomfortable. I…”

Tsukishima won’t look at him. It’s funny. His sheer frustration in this moment is enough to push down all his annoying feelings and make him feel normal, for what feels like the first time in ages, and now Tsukishima, who’s been making eye contact with him so aggressively the past few weeks, who’s been following around their apartment, won’t even look at him.

Tadashi’s fingers are itchy. He wants to do what he would’ve did before everything: grab him by the shirt, shake his shoulders, punch his arm, anything that’ll make Tsukishima bypass whatever he’s babbling about right now and go straight to what he actually means, but… the frustration is enough now, to make Tadashi feel normal, but once he’s touching Tsukishima, once he’s that close, if Tsukishima snaps out of it… he isn’t sure what’ll come next, if he lets that happen. With the feelings that are inside of his chest.

Tadashi closes his eyes. Opens them. Notices his hands are clenched into fists.

What happened to all those things he promised himself about what would happen if he stopped hiding and just let himself rejected. What happened to what he said about being good at doing things that are hard now.

“We don’t need to be close for the rest of our lives just because we were in high school,” Tsukishima finally says, and it’s the one thing Tadashi never imagined him saying, the one scenario that was so worst-case Tadashi thought it was impossible, and his heart stops.

Tsukishima doesn’t stop talking.

“Your university friends sound like… good people. I’m sure that they care about you as much as I do. Or… they will.” Tsukishima swallows. “I can’t move, but I won’t bother you anymore. I… I didn’t mean to bother you in the first place. I thought you were sad that we weren’t spending as much time together. It’s… a little ridiculous to think about now.”

Tadashi doesn’t realize he’s left the room until the door is already firmly shut.

(Tsukishima must have done it carefully, however emotional he was, because Tadashi’s door doesn’t fit right and you have to put effort in if you want to close it correctly.)

It takes a second for Tadashi to parse his memory from a moment ago, a second for the realization to sink in that Tsukishima hasn’t secretly hated him this whole time, or gotten sick of him, he’s just being an idiot the way he always is. At the same time the thoughts all fit together right, Tadashi’s legs start moving on their own, marching across his doorway to Tsukishima’s room, and he kicks it open.

“Tsukki! I’m gonna wring your skinny neck!”

Tsukishima’s on his back, laying in his bed over the covers and staring up at the ceiling with a blank expression, and Tadashi wishes, not for the first time, that his best friend could at least be normal about stuff like this, stuff with him, that he could just talk about stuff instead of— buying an apron and learning to make tempura for no reason, but… it’s so Tsukishima, it’s so Tsukishima that he can’t stop smiling even as he’s yelling.

The music on Tsukishima’s headphones is too loud for him to hear him, which is so annoying, and like him, and Tadashi kind of wants to cry in the way that he’s happy. He laughs when Tsukishima’s eyes widen, and pushes him so he rolls over and makes room for Tadashi on his bed.

Laying side by side like this. Tadashi still feels it, a little, the nervousness that made it impossible for him to carry a coherent conversation with him, the thing that made him so afraid of showing even a little affection for his best friend, but he feels stronger than it, now. Now that he has to.

He thinks that’s the kind of thing Tsukishima’s always brought out in him, from the beginning. Tadashi can remember the day he told off the kids calling him names, how it was enough to make Tadashi finally decide to suck it up and join a sports club, so he could be that strong one day.

Tadashi hears himself laugh as he watches Tsukishima take his headphones off, as his mouth goes from the emotionless line it was before to that frown, the one he puts on when he’s embarrassed to show how he really feels. Tadashi laughs, again. He doesn’t think he’s laughed like this around Tsukishima in a long time.

“What the hell, Tsukki?” he asks, examining the lines of Tsukishima’s profile. There’s a tiny nick on the edge of his jaw, scabbing over. He should’ve made fun of it a long time ago. “You were just gonna stop being friends with me?”

Tsukishima exhales softly. There’s something heavy behind it, the irrational worry that must have been building up in Tsukishima’s overdramatic brain while Tadashi was sitting in his room alone and convincing himself he was doing the right thing. “I didn’t want to.”

It’s been years, since Akiteru. It’s even been years since he patched things up with Akiteru. Tadashi wonders what’s wrong with Tsukishima’s brain, that it still goes to such ridiculous, awful scenarios when it comes to people he cares about the most.

Tadashi thinks about pressing his face in the fabric of Tsukishima’s t-shirt sleeve, and then does it, because he decided he doesn’t care anymore. What Tsukishima finds out. Tsukishima will stay next to him, no matter what, and Tadashi knows that because he’s not the same brand of idiot that Tsukishima is.

Tsukishima’s sleeve is soft against his cheek. “Why would you do it, if you didn’t want to?” he asks.

“You started acting strange around me. And then you lied. It’s not like you,” Tsukishima says, still staring up at the ceiling. “Eight years is a long time to be friends with someone. You’re my… You’re important to me. If there’s something I can do to make you happy, of course I’ll do it, whether or not I want to. Especially if it’s something like that.”

“That explains why you’ve been cooking so much,” Tadashi says, unable to keep the grin from his face, the warmth from pervading his chest.

When they were in his bedroom, Tsukishima told him he thought his university friends cared about him as much as he did, or he thought they would eventually. It’s such a funny thought, somehow. What Tsukishima is saying to him now, everything he’s done over the past month. Tadashi isn’t sure there’s anyone else in the world who could care about him as much as he does, except for maybe his mom, and Tsukishima thinks everyone would.

He wonders what that is. Underrating himself, or overrating Tadashi. Knowing Tsukishima, it’s probably a little bit of both of them.

“You know, Tsukki. You call me dramatic a lot, but it’s really you who’s dramatic, isn’t it? The way you barged into my bedroom,” Tadashi says, and he can’t hold back the teasing lilt from his voice. Tsukishima’s cheeks redden slightly.

“I don’t want to be.”

It’s such a sad little thing to say, and Tsukishima’s cute, blushing like that. Tadashi hears himself laugh. “I’m grateful, you know. That you would do that, even though you’d know I’d never want to stop being friends with you like that if you used your brain a little. But you should care about yourself more. And be a little cooler!” He nudges Tsukishima’s arm, and an exhale comes out of him that’s close enough to laugh.

It’s nice. This moment. Tadashi thinks about living in it forever. But there’s still something hanging above him, something keeping it an arm’s-length away from perfect, and Tadashi decided not to care anymore.

He wonders why Tsukishima didn’t ask. Maybe he doesn’t want to know, or maybe he thinks Tadashi doesn’t want to know. He’s been too worried about Tadashi’s boundaries, lately, but only about the ones that don’t matter.

Either way, he deserves to know.

“I… The reason I’ve been acting strange lately,” Tadashi forces out, and the words trip over themselves as they come out of his mouth. He should’ve rehearsed this, maybe, but Tadashi tends to forget everything he’s rehearsed when he needs it, anyway. “Everyone in Photography Club thinks I have a crush on you, and…”

Tadashi feels the way Tsukishima stiffens next to him, feels the nervousness inside of him build a little more, and he remembers that things that are hard now are hard now. Tsukishima tsks. “You haven’t changed in some ways, too. Still getting self-conscious over something like that,” he says, and while he’s trying to keep his voice light, Tadashi can hear the bitterness between the words, towards people other than him. “We’ve been friends a long time, Yamaguchi. I know that you’re an affectionate person. I wouldn’t mistake your friendship for anything else.”

The wrong idea. The way Tsukishima leaps to his defense. Tadashi isn’t sure if it makes him feel better or worse. He rolls over on the bed, looks up at Tsukishima’s ceiling. “It’s not— I… never treated Hinata or Kageyama the way I treat you, Tsukki. Even Yachi, or my university friends. I don’t think I’ll ever treat them the way I treat you.”

“I was the first friend you ever made. You were mine. Of course you treat me differently,” Tsukishima says. “We’ve known each other too long. If you liked me, you would’ve realized a long time ago.”

Tsukishima’s voice is strange; dismissive, detached, logical. It reminds him of one afternoon, a long time ago, when Tadashi decided to keep insisting penguins had fur just to annoy Tsukishima, and the next day he came in with all these penguin facts memorized and pelted them at Tadashi until he dropped the argument.

That Tsukishima is rattling these answers off so easily, no emotion behind them, no pondering, just fact. Like something he read in a book.

Or something he came up a long time ago, and brought up again and again, whenever he needed to argue the prospect of Tadashi having a crush.

It hits Tadashi, then. The way Tsukishima blushes when Tadashi compliments him. The way he doesn’t mind him in his personal space, his feet on his lap, his arm slung around his neck.

It’s funny. Tsukishima is an idiot for the way he’s reacting to Tadashi’s would-be confession, right now, but Tadashi’s also an idiot, for not entertaining this possibility even once. For shutting it down for something as silly as it would hurt too much if it wasn’t true. Of course it’s true. Of course even if it weren’t, Tsukishima wouldn’t let him get hurt that much.

“I guess you’re right. I’ve known you too long to have a crush on you,” Tadashi concedes, and he sits up, takes the opportunity to look at the whole of Tsukishima’s face. “Sometimes I think I know you better than you know yourself, Tsukki! So if I did like you at this point, it wouldn’t be something like a crush. It’d probably be something more like love.”

Tsukishima’s face flushes a deeper red, and then he swallows, and then frowns. “Yamaguchi—”

“Tsukki,” Tadashi cuts him off, something bold swirling in his chest, “how long have you liked me?”

Tsukishima thinks about it for a second, long enough for the atmosphere around them to start to feel threatening. And then, instead of answering, Tsukishima sits up and presses his mouth against his.

Tadashi’s imagined kissing Tsukishima before. That’s what the problem was, actually, that Tadashi’s been imagining too many things about Tsukishima and he was starting to feel bad about it, or at least a little scared Tsukishima would notice, so of course Tadashi’s imagined kissing Tsukishima. Tapping his shoulder while he’s standing over the stove and pulling him down by the apron, turning off the stupid drama he can’t follow anymore because Tsukishima’s always crowding him so close while they watch and climbing into his lap. Even nice, little things, like kissing him on the cheek after he did him a favor.

But he never imagined kissing Tsukishima would feel like this.

Tsukishima’s fingers are threaded into Tadashi’s hair, and he’s kissing him with a strange sense of earnestness or maybe… ferocity, more like. He’s so large around Tadashi, and the way he’s surrounding him, purposefully now as his soft lips press against his, feels like he’s suddenly become the entire world, or maybe an ocean, and Tadashi has no choice but to follow his tide.

It’s good, more than anything. It’s the near-constant fear in his chest turning into something heavier but easy to carry, like security, like trust, like love. It’s Tadashi fantasizing about Tsukishima for weeks straight and Tsukishima managing to be something even better without even realizing Tadashi had expectations. It’s Tsukishima making Tadashi fall even more in love with him with his awful attempts to make him feel better.

They part, eventually, and Tsukishima eventually lowers his fingers from Tadashi’s hair, settles for gingerly covering Tadashi’s hand with his own. It’s sweet, somehow. After the way he just attacked him.

“So, a long time, huh?”

Tsukishima’s eyes are still dark as he’s looking at him now, and it’s fun to watch understanding sink into his expression, the way his mouth curves into a frown, how he exhales out of his nose. “It doesn’t matter.”

Tsukishima’s embarrassed. It’s funny enough that Tadashi doesn’t mind not getting the answer out of him for today. “I like you a lot, Tsukki.”

“I already believe you.”

“I know,” Tadashi says, and he smiles at Tsukishima, just to annoy him a little more. “I just missed saying things like that to you.”

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.”

It’s still cute, the way Tsukishima says it, reflexively as his face goes red, and it’s nice, somehow. It feels something like – some moments can last forever, and some things don’t ever change. But it’s as Tadashi’s thinking this that Tsukishima’s expression changes, eyes wider and a little more thoughtful, and he pushes Tadashi against the flat of his bed.

As Tsukishima presses his mouth to his, Tadashi thinks that maybe he should stop obsessing over this moment and start looking forward to the next one. And then Tsukishima’s fingers find his scalp, and Tadashi stops thinking completely.