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"I don't think I'm gonna continue with volleyball."
Tsukishima looks up almost too quickly, glasses almost flying off his nose with the force brought by surprise. He finds Yamaguchi's expression to be a peaceful one, smiling quietly as he works his sneakers into his sports bag.
Looking over his shoulder as if to make sure that there are no hidden cameras in the locker room, he asks, uncharacteristically quiet, "What?"
A short chuckle escapes from Yamaguchi, his eyes pointed downward--though not in shame, more like he didn't think of his sudden proclamation as one of much importance.
"Yeah," he says, reaching for his bag's zipper. "It was fun, obviously, but I'm...done, I think. After high school, I'll step off the court. Take a break, at least."
Tsukishima blinks, staring at his friend's smiling profile with puzzlement that he doesn't bother to conceal. “But,” he says, fiddling the thumb of his left hand under his fingers, "what about all the effort you put into it? All the extra practice you did? You're going to quit after all that?"
Again, there's a quiet laugh that passes through Yamaguchi and, almost as if to contradict the softness of it, he finally turns his face to Tsukishima with some kind of jarringly determined grin. "I'm not a quitter," he says with a note of confidence. "I just know when to stop, and I've reached my peak."
At Tsukishima's continued expression of vague bewilderment, he continues with that same grin, "I do love volleyball, but do you really think I can go any further? Hell, I'm--" his grin is suddenly traded for a fond smile and twinkling eyes, as if he still can't believe the fact, "I'm the captain! I went from the only first year on the bench to Karasuno's number one, I don't think it can get much better than that."
He shakes his head lightly with a soft chuckle and turns away again, moving to zip up his jacket. Tsukishima watches him carefully, admittedly unable to wrap his head around the words he's saying. Why would Yamaguchi Tadashi, his best friend since grade school, the fastest improver (fine--one of the fastest) on the entire team, the same boy who pulled him down by the shirt collar and reminded him of what it meant to have pride--why would he say he's done, all of a sudden?
"I don't get it," he admits, a hard crease forming in his brow.
"What's there to get? It's just what I've decided. I don't see it as wasted talent or whatever you're thinking, I just think I've gone as far as I can go, and I'm happy with what I've done.” With a chuckle, he adds, “Just be happy that you won’t have to force yourself to play with me anymore.” They both know he doesn’t really mean it.
There's a note of finality to it, and the locker room goes silent once more. And Tsukishima lets it--though he's still stunned by this newfound future that he'd somehow never considered, he knows enough not to push it.
He turns back to his own gym bag to stuff its contents down enough to be able to zip it, his hands feeling strangely numb, when Yamaguchi leans slightly to his right, tilting his weight over almost enough to tip into Tsukishima's space. Then, he says with a voice that's suddenly softer and a smile that's shockingly saddened, "Do you think it would be too sappy if I said that maybe it's also because I don't want to know what it's like to play with anybody besides you guys?"
Tsukishima all but freezes, his shoulders tightening and neck stiff as he slowly turns to meet those sheepish, light hazel eyes. He knows his face is twisting against his will, increasing with some odd combination of bittersweetness, gratitude, sorrow, and other words that he doesn’t have the energy to define, but he can't be bothered enough to try and fight it off.
There's another tense collection of seconds, Yamaguchi's words settling in, Tsukishima realizing for the hundredth time that it was never just about volleyball. Of course.
Eventually, either misinterpreting his friend's layered expression or realizing that he's been left speechless, Yamaguchi brings back that slight smile and closes his eyes as he leans back over, laughing almost, almost sadly. "Yeah, that's cheesy."
He pulls up his bag by the straps and lifts it to rest on his shoulder, all the while Tsukishima is struggling with what to say next. What can he do, return the compliment, if it could even be called that? Thank him? Spill the fact that playing with this annoying, tiring team was the best experience he's had, the happiest he can ever remember being?
No, he's far too stubborn for that.
Instead, just as Yamaguchi turns with the bag slung atop his shoulder, about to announce his parting, he grips the straps of his own bag and asks at what he hopes is an audible volume, "What if I told you that I wanted to keep playing?"
Yamaguchi's footsteps come to a full halt, and for a moment he seems completely frozen, but with his face still turned away, he soon lets out an amused snort.
"That wouldn't be enough to convince me," he says as he turns back around, rolling his eyes--everything about his tone, his expression, suggests that he thinks it was a joke, a hypothetical idea.
Unfortunately (especially for Tsukishima), it wasn't.
He tightens his lips, brow furrowing further involuntarily as he keeps his silence, opting to see what his friend would say next before deciding if he would elaborate. They're half way through their third year of high school, so of course they've both thought about what their plans are for after all this, but they hadn't yet gotten the chance to share those thoughts--the present conversation being major evidence of that.
Tsukishima can almost pinpoint the moment Yamaguchi processes his expression, his silence; the second the realization finally strikes him.
"Wait," he says, features lightly contorting into something that's almost entertained confusion, almost a quizzical smile, "you're serious?"
Tsukishima gives himself a moment to think. To remember back to all the games he's won and felt like celebrating even though he was sure he'd collapse on the spot. To the adrenaline and the thrill, the cheers and the satisfyingly shocked faces behind the net. The first of many disproportionately rewarding blocks all those years ago, that conversation with those pestering captains when he first learned that this sport is supposed to be fun. He even bothers to remember junior high, meeting familiar, horrified eyes on the other side of a gymnasium that he was supposed to be playing on--even with this, it comes back to the same answer.
"Yeah," he says, shrugging as if he doesn’t care, as if he hadn't been both dying to admit it and dreading it at once. As if he hadn't spent countless hours with every what if he could think of, flipping back and forth between of course I shouldn't and maybe I should. Now, though, meeting Yamaguchi's eyes as he says it out loud is something entirely different. Facing his best friend, first and only partner, equal, he can't help but doubt his not-quite-decided decision.
It's not that Yamaguchi's words had swayed him. No, he'd thought the possibility he had presented over and through--the idea of finding new teammates to play alongside is, although daunting, one that he frequently revisits (in all honesty, it’s some kind of relieving). It's more like his own misguided pride that had kept him unsure, the surefire shock and "I told you so"s to be met with after all his insistence that he doesn't care as much as the rest is...daunting. And annoying to imagine.
Still, Yamaguchi stands in front of him with his mouth open barely a centimeter, mildly confused because no matter how many times Tsukishima thinks back, he had still finally said it out loud.
The staring quickly becomes bothersome, so with another eye roll he lifts his own bag onto his shoulder. "Stop acting so surprised."
"But--but I am!" Yamaguchi protests, getting a grip on himself. His mouth, slack with surprise, pulls itself up into another grin. "You never told me that you thought like that! Is it true?"
Tsukishima looks away stubbornly, hoping the embarrassed heat in his cheeks isn't visible. "Maybe," he mutters, tightening his hold on the straps over his shoulder.
He doesn't let them slip into another silence--or more of Yamaguchi's questions--before he continues briskly, "Anyway, what's your answer? If I decided to keep playing, what would you say?"
Soft, sudden realization plays behind Yamaguchi's eyes as if he's only just remembering that that was the point of this trail of conversation (and, admittedly, he probably had), and his smile slowly turns into something gentle. His eyebrows relax and he almost looks (disgustingly enough) proud . Tsukishima swallows at the lump in his throat that formed at the sight of the soft shine behind those light hazel eyes.
"Well," he says with a content sigh, "I think I would support you, no matter what."
There's an odd stifling of breath when Tsukishima's heart seems to forget to beat once or twice, an odd blush that creeps up the back of his neck. It's such a simple answer but somehow, somehow, it means everything.
"Right," he answers quietly, clearing his throat and averting his gaze again.
For what must be the hundredth time, it's silent again. They both need to process the weight of the admission--Tsukishima wants to keep playing volleyball. Tsukishima "it's just a club" Kei, Mister "Why do You Push Yourself so Hard" himself, he knows that this sport means so much more than what he thought all those years ago. Maybe it's some cheesy metaphor for growth, maybe it's nothing more than a lack of anything else to pursue--either way, it's strangely unexpected yet so suddenly obvious.
And there's the opposite side of the coin, the fact that Yamaguchi Tadashi wouldn't be continuing to chase after the sport he spent so long perfecting, but somehow, they're both okay with it. The future calls them in different directions, but they know they'll never stray too far away, not any time soon. Yamaguchi’s “that wouldn’t be enough to convince me” does sting the smallest amount, but Tsukishima knows he has his reasons--part of him had expected it, in fact.
"Anyway," Yamaguchi says with a small laugh and a sigh, turning his foot toward the door. "Wanna head to my place? I've got some homework we can catch up on together."
Tsukishima can tell it's a thinly disguised plan to get him to continue talking about this, but somehow, he doesn't mind. He nods once and turns his feet in the same motion. Yamaguchi flashes that cheerful, tender smile once more before turning around, once again sending Tsukishima's heart into that odd frenzy, but he tucks that feeling away. For now, anyways.
The sun is setting when he leaves the locker room, bathing the school grounds in a soft crimson light. First years are chatting a little ways back and up ahead he can hear running footsteps getting further away--he laughs lightly in spite of himself. He isn’t sentimental enough to call this place home, but it’s something like that. Something like the place where he remembered what it meant to have passion, to be invested again. It’s up to him to make sure that all that learning doesn’t go to waste after graduation. He’ll step off this court and land on the next, if he’s lucky, and if Yamaguchi’s earnest, reassuring smile tells him anything, it’s that he doesn’t have to worry about any of it backfiring too badly.
“It’s funny,” Yamaguchi says with the lightest chuckle, staring out into the painted pink clouds in the glowing sky, “I always thought I was the one to force you into playing with me, at least in high school.” He turns his head over his shoulder to show Tsukishima his grin. “And now look at you, ready to go on without me.”
It takes a few moments of silence, but Tsukishima answers with something of a scoff, “I’m not leaving you, or whatever. Even if you’re not playing too, we’ll still have each other, won’t we?”
As soon as the words fall out, Tsukishima is struck with the embarrassing realization that they were far more sentimental than he had anticipated, and he almost cringes in on himself. But Yamaguchi’s smile falters for a moment, replaced with a gaping, dimly surprised expression, before lighting up with a laugh that sounds almost flattered.
“Of course,” he says, and Tsukishima doesn’t miss the newly formed red tint on his cheeks before he turns back around. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”