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He should have left with the others. He knew he should have. He was well-aware that this was eventually going to kill him, he knew that pushing his limits was stupid, that it wasn’t going to make him better. But Tsukishima kept going.
Minute after minute, he insisted on perfecting his serves, his spikes, his sets; he’d run laps until his legs began to feel like jelly, wobbling dangerously under his weight. He’d worked hard to make his fingertips reach higher, to have stronger arms, to dive in case he were to receive a ball, if that would have meant not losing a point.
He’d been running himself into the ground for two weeks straight, every day, even on the weekend when the gym was closed and he could only workout in the tiny backyard. Even Kageyama and Hinata, who were known to always finish a little late, had started to leave the gym before him.
But unlike those two, Tsukishima needed this. He needed to work harder, he needed to get better. Bokuto had been right, after all: Tsukishima liked to pretend that he didn’t like volleyball, that it was just a hobby of his, something he did to blow off some steam. However, deep down, he knew the truth: he was weak.
He was too weak.
He’d tried to downplay his weakness as simple indifference, but Tsukishima knew that the only reason why he didn’t show just how much volleyball meant to him was because, after all this time, he was still weak, pathetic, a child that couldn’t get over his trauma.
And Yamaguchi wasn’t happy about it. He’d been keeping a close eye on his boyfriend ever since he’d noticed just how off he’d started to look: surely enough, his arms and legs were more sculpted, but the spectacles couldn’t hide just how sunken his honey eyes were, nor how his complexion had taken a sickly grey tinge over the course of the past two weeks.
At lunch, Tsukishima would eat his usual, tiny portions of food, though Yamaguchi would always ask him to finish his too, pretending that he was full and that he didn’t feel like throwing the food his parents had made for him away like that.
He’d maybe leave a couple of spoonfuls of rice, or some vegetables, or a banana he’d barely even touched, asking Tsukishima to finish those for him.
Sometimes, the blond would comply, but Yamaguchi had noticed that his boyfriend had began to act annoyed at his requests, so he’d stopped doing it, and limited himself to observing the boy.
Today was not different.
“Tsukki,” he called, sitting on the sidelines. Everyone else was gone already一 they’d left at least an hour ago一 and the moon was already shining up in the sky, stars blinking faintly in the distance, hidden beyond flimsy clouds. Yamaguchi pulled the sweatshirt tighter around himself, drawing his knees closer to his body.
“Tsukki, we should go home.” he insisted. Tsukishima didn’t even react to the voice, and instead he kept juggling, sending the blue and yellow ball higher and higher.
The rhythmic, dull sound of flesh hitting synthetic leather was almost unnerving to Yamaguchi, but Tsukishima had completely tuned it out.
Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. D-
The ball fell on his head with a muffled thud, but Tsukishima didn’t wince. Instead, he crouched down to grab it, expression unreadable. Normally, he would have clicked his tongue, or kicked the ball, or reacted in some way. But he didn’t, and for Yamaguchi, that was the last straw. The green-haired boy got up from his spot and paced toward his boyfriend; he grabbed at his arm, grip delicate but firm.
As soon as he made contact, however, Tsukishima flinched violently, immediately pulling away, wide-eyed. He blinked, slow and sheepish, squinting slightly and wondering why the hell his glasses weren’t doing their job.
Yamaguchi repeated the action, albeit more slowly. “Tsukki, enough! It’s late, we need to lock the gym up and leave. Now.” he said, not leaving room for discussion. Despite his hard expression, Yamaguchi’s guts twisted and knotted uncontrollably, the sensation that something was definitely not right sending shivers down his spine.
Karasuno’s number Eleven swallowed, thick. He glanced around, and Yamaguchi couldn’t help but notice how his boyfriend looked like a deer in the headlights. A very warm, suddenly-too-pale deer in the headlights, now that he noticed.
The shorter boy moved his hand that was resting onto Tsukishima’s shoulder up, placing it on his forehead; he pulled away in an instant, gasping.
“Tsukki, y-you’re burning up!” he fretted, “You know what, that’s it, I’m taking you home right now. Stay here, I’ll go grab our stuff. Don’t you dare touch another ball.” he hissed, thought he wasn’t angry, but more like, scared out of his mind.
Before Yamaguchi could help Tsukishima to at least sit down, the latter whimpered, and he froze.
“I d-don’t... m’not...” Tsukishima stuttered out, voice weak. His eyes were shut tightly, almost painfully as he tried to stop the world from spinning around him. “I th-think一”
And just like that, his head ducked, and he almost headbutted Yamaguchi in the chin as he collapsed forward with a thick, burning retch. The putrid scent of half-digested food and bile impregnated his chapped lips and nose, tears of exertion and agony pooling at the corner of his eyes.
The sick soiled the floor and his shoes, and little specks of refuse ended up onto Yamaguchi’s too, but he didn’t care.
“Fuck一 Tsukki! It’s alright. There, get it all up, come on.” Yamaguchi fretted, trying hard not to lose his composure, “What's wrong, Tsukki? What is it? Where does it hurt?”
His sweaty palm was pressed against Tsukishima’s damp forehead, too hot for comfort, while the other hand of the freckled boy rested between his boyfriend’s shoulder blades, rubbing in what he hoped would be considered as comforting patterns.
“You're doing amazing, it's alright, just take a deep breath for me now. Easy does it, you're okay, I'm here, baby, I'm here. You're fine, it's fine, it happens, d-don't worry.”
Tsukishima’s body spasmed as he gasped for oxygen whenever his mouth wasn’t busy spewing the content of his upset stomach, clenching painfully. He felt too hot, too unsteady, disoriented if not for the physical contact of Yamaguchi that somehow helped him to cling onto consciousness. Just barely, that is.
“...ki, hey? Can ... me? Tsukki!?” called a voice from somewhere above him, and it was lined with panic, but his fever-addled brain didn’t really register any of that.
The blond groaned, shutting his eyes tightly and pressing his soiled lips in a thin, trembling line. A wet burp escaped his mouth, but he didn’t bring a fist up to conceal it, and instead sank forward again, bringing up another wave of vomit.
The world around him felt like a broken carousel, its hinges screeching and clanking loudly and making his head pound. Everything was going around and around in disorienting trajectories, taking him along for the dizzy ride, and it was loud, nauseating.
Sweat dripped down his forehead, and the white shirt he was wearing stuck uncomfortably to his pale skin, drenched in salty sweat.
Something一 someone was moving him, talking to him, but he couldn’t focus on it, he couldn’t bring himself to care, now.
“...shima please, please answer me! Kei!” called Yamaguchi. He was gripping at Tsukishima’s wrists tightly, leaving shallow marks on his boyfriend’s skin as he unconsciously dug his short nails into it.
The honey in Tsukishima’s eyes had been replaced with a darker shade of yellow, and his pupils were blown like he’d been in the dark for too long.
He didn’t seem aware of Yamaguchi’s presence, he didn’t seem to hear his boyfriend as he called his name repeatedly, urgency evident in his tone, and he didn’t seem to understand as the freckled boy bolted to the clubroom only to return a minute later, phone held in the crook of his neck as he spoke.
Tsukishima watched with blind eyes, passive, unfocused gaze falling somewhere behind the pinch server.
“...r mother’s gonna … soon, you’ll be alr… hear me? Tsukki, pl...” he heard him say. He couldn’t quite understand the words, but he felt grateful. And scared.
He coughed weakly, “Ya-ama..?”
“Tsukki!” Yamaguchi beamed, trying to catch his gaze, eyebrows arched in fear, “Tsukki, I’m here. You’re okay, you’re- you're alright. It’s just a fever, there’s nothing to worry about!” he explained, mostly to himself.
“Stay with me now, alright? Your mother’s going to pick us up in a few minutes, and she asked me if I could stay with you for the night since she has a nightshift to cover. Is that okay?”
Tsukishima blinked, lips quivering as he tried to compose a somewhat cognizant thought, and failed. He let his fuzzy head loll forward, limp against Yamaguchi’s shoulder.
“Hurts.” he slurred, shivering. “M-messed up.”
“No, no, shhh, you didn’t mess anything up. You didn’t mess anything up, Tsukki. Stay with me now. You’re here with me, I won’t leave you.”
Tsukishima whimpered. “Dunno wha’s happenin’ t’me.” he mumbled, “M’sorry.”
“You don’t have to be!” Yamaguchi screeched, maybe a little too loud. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he added, voice lower, “it’s alright, it happens. You just need to get this under control.”
“Ca-an’t.”
“You can. You can. You’re too hard on yourself, but you can work on it. We can work on it.” Yamaguchi explained, rubbing at his back to ground him when he noticed how shifty his boyfriend’s gaze was getting.
“Tsukki, hey, hey. Don’t go yet. Listen to me, okay? Listen to Yama.” he said, “I’m sorry this is happening to you一 man, you’re scorching. B-but we’ll fix this, yeah?”
Yamaguchi cursed himself. He’d seen it coming, he knew it was going to happen and he didn’t do anything to stop it, to stop him from hurting himself like that. His grip around Tsukishima’s shoulders tightened, and he shifted closer to the boy. His eyes were still open, but he didn’t look entirely conscious. This was worrisome, to say the least.
“Tsukki, you with me?” the pinch server asked. “Do you feel like you’re going to be sick again?”
A shrug.
“Okay, okay, that’s fine. Just stay with me.” he insisted, “You’ll be okay soon, we just need to…”
To the middle-blocker, Yamaguchi’s voice sounded as if he was speaking from underwater. Or maybe, Tsukishima thought, he was the one that was drowning. It felt like it. But he also felt like he was melting. How could he melt underwater? That sounded… funny.
“Tsukki..?” Yamaguchi called fearfully, eyes wide and filled with horror as the boiling boy chuckled for no apparent reason. He was almost too scared to prop him up.
And the blond was fully-intentioned to reply, to explain why the image that he had in mind was amusingー Yamaguchi was surely going to find it hilarious, too. He opened his mouth, voicing out a shapeless mutter, before the grey that had been clawing at his vision since he'd collapsed decided to take over him.
He felt so heavy, all of the sudden; his limbs were in agony, and his head pounded.
Tsukishima briefly wondered if he had some painkillers in his bag, before he inadvertently tilted to the side, world tipping, going dark. And then, he knew no more, dragged under by an infinite void.
By the time that Ms Tsukishima arrived, a few minutes later, Yamaguchi was an absolute mess; he’d tried to keep it together, for his boyfriend’s sake, but when Tsukishima had collapsed after giving only the tiniest, most pitiful sigh as a warning, he’d lost it.
Ms Tsukishima, already dressed up for her shift that was going to begin soon, had found her son laying on his side, as the kind boy who was always next to him kept running a hand through his matted hair and calling out his name, voice broken.
His eyes were red-rimmed and shiny with tears, chin twitching as he stifled soundless sobs.
The two of them had then managed to drag Tsukishima's lanky body out of the gym and haul him into the car. Yamaguchi had grabbed Tsukishima's phone and had called him, placing the device on the seat of the car, and taking his own with him as he went to rapidly clean up the mess, while Tsukishima's mother went to retrieve the bags.
That way, the freckled boy and Tsukishima's mother could feel a bit less guilty about leaving the unconscious blond alone in the car.
They were both back in the car less than five minutes later, and Tsukishima had not regained consciousness in the meantime, nor during the drive. Yamaguchi could only run his long, shaky fingers through the damp hair, and pray. Tsukishima's boiling head rested on his thigh as he rested, lost into a fitful sleep.
When he came to, he felt... just as bad as before. Worse, maybe.
Tsukishima didn't want to wake up, but consciousness seemed to be willing to forcefully drag him back to the land of the living without his consent, and there was nothing he could do when his senses slowly returned to him. The pain did too, and suddenly the middle-blocker realised just how worse for the wear he'd had it.
“...ki?” someone called. The voice was low, warm and familiar, and it made him feel at ease. He wondered whose voice it was.
“Tsukki, baby?” came again, and this time, this time Tsukishima knew. His eyes blinked open without him telling them to, not managing to unclose past slits; the form before him was blurry, its outlines faded and unclear.
Something was wrapped around a handー his hand, he reminded himselfー and it was warm and soft, though slightly wet.
“Y-Yama.” Tsukishima croaked out. The room around him started to become more familiar to his burning eyes, and the blond came to the realisation that the place he was in was his own bedroom. With his free hand, Tsukishima felt the clean sheets, and grabbed a fistful of them, grip weak and unsteady.
He inhaled, slow and deep, taking in the scent of lavender of the pillowcase; with the little strength he'd left, he somehow managed to lift his and Yamaguchi's hand, and put the freckled boy's against his lips, planting a soft kiss, allowing himself to whiff at the scent of strawberryー Yamaguchi had started using cherry body soap ever since he'd discovered that he reminded Tsukishima of a strawberry when flustered, apparently.
He found it cute.
“How are you feeling, Tsukki?” Yamaguchi asked, voice gentle and barely a whisper.
A half-choked groan was all he got in response. The pinch server hummed.
“You're running an awfully-high fever. It got to 39.6°C earlier, but I think it’s a bit lower now.”
“M'sorry.” Tsukishima mumbled. Yamaguchi didn't even need to ask why, and the blond knew it. Karasuno's number Twelve let his shoulders drop, and he stood up from the chair he was on, and sat onto the mattress, feeling it sag under his weight.
He delicately rubbed Tsukishima's cheek, before he started to cradle his hair, careful not to pull any strands. Only then did Tsukishima realize that a damp cloth had been draped over his forehead. Through fever-fogged eyes, the blond could still see how sadness lingered in his watery gaze.
“You don’t need to do this to yourself.” he simply stated.
“M’sorry, Yama. I don’tー I didn’t think…” he trailed off. He still had a high fever, and his thoughts were scrambled also due to the fact that he had no energy in him right now.
Yamaguchi exhaled softly, “Scoot over.”
“Wha’?”
“Come on, Tsukki, let me lay down a bit.”
Tsukishima did as he was told, moving a few centimeters to the right so that Yamaguchi could get under the blanket next to him; he didn’t lay down entirely, and let Tsukishima move his head to rest on his chest, hearing the rhythmic thumping of his heart.
“Don’t do that ever again. Please.” Yamaguchi whispered, “That was scary, and I don’t want you to go and almost kill yourself like that. You don’t need to.”
“I need’a be b-better.” Tsukishima croaked out, “If I c-can’t block, m’notー the team won’t wa-ant me. I jus’ wanted to be good enough.”
The hand that was cradling his sweaty hair stopped moving, and Tsukishima barely kept himself from whining at that. “You’re already good enough, Tsukki, and even better than that. You’re you, you’re good just as you are.” Yamaguchi said, stern,
“The team will always want you. We need you, Tsukki, and not only because you’re a good player, but because everyone likes youー yes, even the other first-years, don’t start.”
Tsukishima chuckled despite himself. “M’really sorry, Yama.”
“It’s okay, just… don’t do that again, please. That’s all I’m asking.” Yamaguchi breathed out, voice soft. He leaned over to plant a soft kiss onto Tsukishima’s warm forehead, the salty sweat moist against his lips, Tsukishima leaning into the tender touch. “Now rest, I won’t go anywhere.” he said.
The blond could only breathe out the umptenth apology, before he was enveloped in the darkness once again. But this time, he was safe.