Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The heat is relentless. It’s the thick, muggy kind of heat. The type that’ll cloud your brain, make you lethargic under its pervasive golden rays. Not even the sea breeze is enough to fend off the unyielding inferno. It’s only June, but it’s looking like it’s going to be one hell of a long, hot summer. That’s what the weatherman says on Tsukishima’s old flickering television- the same thing every day, with his slicked back hair, buttery toned voice and gleaming white smile. It’s hot out today, folks! Stay hydrated! Stay in the shade! Have some fun! 

He thinks over it bitterly. Have some fun . As if. He wouldn’t be outside at all if he didn’t run out of food. 

His glasses are slipping from the accumulating sweat as he pushes the door with his shoulder, a meloding ‘ ring!’ sounding out from the golden bell latched to the peeling white wood. He’d briefly entertained the fantasy of indoor air conditioning, but as soon as the door shuts behind him, it’s almost as if the heat worsens instead. There’s nothing beyond a small fan stationed at the checkout desk, rotating meekly with a faint hum that settles across the relatively small store. There’s no sea breeze amongst these white walls. The air is stagnant, suffocating. All he can do is mutter to himself, push his glasses up, and resolve to go through his list as soon as possible so he can leave. 

It’s small for a grocery store, but it’s locally owned, so he supposes the size isn’t too unusual. The cracked, fading white sign outside had said ‘ Yamaguchi Grocers’ in a muted green print. He faintly remembers hearing about it in the information packet to his summer program. The storefront directly faces the ocean, separated only by a stretch of sand and a wide concrete path and road. 

The interior, in contrast to the simple white exterior, is densely packed with wooden shelves and large woven baskets of goods, the wall at the right side lined with fridges. Outside, it’s as if the sun seems to bleach the colour out of everything, but not here. There’s produce of all colours in front of him. Bright yellow bell peppers stacked next to a silver weighing scale and a small box of brown paper bags, baskets of large tangerines, small punnets of deep red cherries laid out on a table lined with gingham cloth, haloed by a small chalkboard exclaiming the words ‘ Summer special! One box for the price of two.’ in pink chalk, accompanied by a cheery drawing of some cherries, each one inscribed with a cartoon face. It looks like they’ve been given freckles.

The sheer amount of produce on offer is almost overwhelming to his heat-fogged brain, but the rough texture of paper in-between his fingertips brings him back down to earth. Right. He doesn’t need cherries or tangerines or any of the other vibrantly toned produce assaulting his eyes. His list is simple, and if he sticks to it, he’ll be out of here in no time. He moves quickly, quietly amongst the towering shelves. Slots what he needs into his netted bag as he swiftly goes down the list. It’s empty except for him and the employee at the checkout desk, though he hasn’t actually looked at the employee yet. He can hear the slight tones of a hum and the shuffle of fabric that indicates their presence, though, obscured behind the shelves. He hesitates at the table of cherries as he reaches the end of his list, eyes skating across the soft pink gingham of the tablecloth. He doesn’t need them, nor does he really have the spare yen for frivolous impulse purchases. 

Usually his responsible side would win. Logic over all else is the way that he sees the world. Not today, though. Perhaps it’s the plump redness of the cherries, the still heat fogging his brain, or the tantalising promise of a good deal, but for once he decides to indulge his impulses and picks up two punnets. It’s a precarious balancing act of handling the cherries underneath his arm, carrying his full bag and stopping his glasses from slipping, but he just about makes it to the checkout desk without incident. 

The faint breeze from the fan brushes against his skin as he stands awkwardly, composes himself and presents his collected items to be scanned and rung up. He’s so busy laying it all out, he doesn’t even look at the cashier in front of him until he speaks.

“Good choice on the cherries.” The cashier’s voice hums, warm and smooth in the stifling silence of the store. Tsukishima finally looks up, then. He can’t explain it, nor does he really care to, but as soon as their eyes meet, the electricity is almost tangible. 

He really does lose all common sense in the summer heat then if he’s buying into this kind of romantic crap, he thinks. 

The cashier is smiling, barely even looking down as his hands scan Tsukishima’s items almost robotically. Jaw length dark hair, tied messily at the back with a few strands muscling their way forward to swathe rebelliously across his forehead. Warm brown eyes, freckles that have evidently been intensified by the relentless sun. The faint glint of a silver ring ornamenting his right nostril catches Tsukishima’s gaze for a brief moment, before he glances down to observe the nametag pinned to his green uniform t-shirt. Yamaguchi Tadashi. He looks at his splayed out produce, then back at Yamaguchi’s face as he considers the remark.

“I suppose.” Is all he offers with a low mumble, pushing his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose and reaching up to lightly pull his shirt collar away from the skin of his neck. Yamaguchi’s smile widens slightly as he continues to scan, his eyes narrowing as he looks Tsukishima up and down in one fell swoop. It almost makes him feel like a specimen prepared for dissection. 

“I- um, I’ve never seen you before. Usually only locals come in, or tourists. You don’t look like a tourist, though. Not sunburnt enough.” Yamaguchi quips, finally dislodging his stare to look down at the register and begin finishing up Tsukishima’s transaction. Tsukishima finds himself snorting involuntarily at the remark, immediately forcing the amused tilt of his mouth straight. 

“Well… I’m not a tourist, you’re right. I’m here for the summer. Study program.” He answers. Immediately Yamaguchi smiles again with a gentle ‘ Ah’ sound, a look of knowing flashing across his expression. 

“I didn’t realise they were doing that thing again this year, it’s been a while.-” He muses, pausing his speech for a second as he focuses on tapping at the buttons on the register in front of him, each press resounding with a quiet click. The screen lights up momentarily with a number, red LED lights barely visible under the harsh brightness of the sun.  “-Ah, that’s about 2500 yen, please.” 

The exchange of money between hands is quick, Tsukishima careful not to make contact with Yamaguchi’s fingertips so as not to give away the lingering sweat on his palms. The register opens with a mechanical ring, drawer bouncing outward lightly as Yamaguchi tucks the notes inside and collects the appropriate change, drops the golden coins back into Tsukishima’s outstretched hand with a sunny smile of thanks. As soon as the drawer is pushed back in, the register whirrs lightly as it prints out a receipt, which Yamaguchi proceeds to snap off with a quick, concise motion. He places it gently into the bag, slides the bag back across the counter for Tsukishima to take. 

“So, I’m probably gonna see you a lot over this summer, huh? What’s your name?” Yamaguchi asks, tone light and airy as he leans forward to rest his chin against his palms, elbows placed on the countertop casually. He’s still smiling with that easy grin. It’s not even a customer service smile- it’s genuine. Tsukishima hesitates for a beat, purses his lips at the question before slinging the bag over his shoulder and looking back into Yamaguchi’s face. 

“Tsukishima Kei.” 

“Well, I’ll see you around, Tsukki!” Yamaguchi chirps, the flicker of honey behind his pupils as his face catches the sunlight giving Tsukishima pause for a second. It’s all he can do to nod, shuffle awkwardly out of the shop with the bell ringing behind him as the door shuts.

The breeze washes over him instantly, cools the sweat of his brow with a soothing embrace. There’s salt in the air, and the vague chorus of crashing waves lingering in the distance as he ambles his way back to his apartment, feet working against the cracked, dry concrete through the soles of his shoes. 

Only when he’s well on his way home does the moniker ‘ Tsukki’ register in his mind. 

---

It’s his third time shuffling through that door in a week, now. Late evening, the sky cast in a deep orange as the sun completes its exodus across the sky. The reflection against the smooth surface of the ocean bounces off his glasses as he walks, blinds him every time he turns his head to face the waves. The air is punctuated by the careful orchestra of countless cicadas, though the sound cuts to silence as soon as the wooden door swings shut behind him with a melodic ring. 

Immediately Yamaguchi looks up from where he’s stationed, sat casually at the checkout counter with an easy expression and a book in hand, cover folded over to the back. He looks up, stares right at Tsukishima, and smiles. The way he always does, where his eyes scrunch up with the effort and his dimples show through. 

“Ah, Tsukki! Another late night run, huh?” He greets, placing his book aside to lean forward on his arms and address Tsukishima fully. The entire shop is bathed in the faint orange shine of the descending sun, and Yamaguchi is no exception. It almost looks like he’s glowing, amongst the golden sunlight and the ripe tangerines displayed next to the counter. 

“It’s 6PM. I’d hesitate to call this a late night run, Yamaguchi.” He snips lightly in response, moving smoothly to extract a bottle of ice tea from the wall of fridges, then returning to the counter. 

“Well, I suppose so. But still! Third evening in a row. If I didn’t know better I’d say you were coming here for me, or something.” 

At this, they merely share an amused look with a mild eye roll from Tsukishima. He slides the bottle across to Yamaguchi easily, rifling in his pocket to produce the payment. As soon as he sets down the golden coins however, Yamaguchi merely shakes his head with a smile and pushes the bottle back toward Tsukishima, neglecting to pick up the money entirely. 

“Don’t worry about it. Consider it a loyalty bonus for buying an ice tea three nights in a row.” Yamaguchi assures with an easy smile, leaning back slightly. 

“Can you do that?” He questions, raising an eyebrow behind the thin lens of his glasses.

“Well, my mother owns the store, and she won’t notice one bottle missing. Just take it, Tsukki!”

“If you say so.” 

“I do!” 

With that, he merely nods in thanks, recoups his money and plucks the bottle off its position on the countertop. One final beaming smile of goodbye from Yamaguchi. He’s not one to smile at passing faces on the street, but tonight, he does. It’s small and awkward looking, but it’s a smile nonetheless. 

---

It really is a late night run this time. 10PM, the sky darkened above him. It reminds him of the light cast by the glow-in-the-dark stars tacked to his ceiling in his childhood bedroom back home. The moon against the tranquil waves of the ocean is no less blinding than the sun, the sharp white glow piercing through the night with unavoidable clarity. 

As soon as he’s through the door, Yamaguchi is perking up against the counter. He looks like he’s about to chirp another cheerful greeting, but for once, Tsukishima beats him to the punch. 

“Jesus, Yamaguchi. Are you just chained to that counter or something? You’re literally always working.” He questions, voice tinted with both mild concern and disbelief. At this, Yamaguchi breaks into a tired laugh, leans further against the surface as he slumps down slightly. He looks weary, his shirt crumpled and his book discarded to the side. 

“Well hello to you too, Tsukki. To answer your question, no, I am not chained. I just work long hours over the weekends.”  Yamaguchi assures, a playful eye roll coasting across his face as he speaks. His eyes follow Tsukishima to the fridge and back, yet another bottle of something sugary secured in his palm. Yamaguchi looks like he might be about to waive the price yet again, but Tsukishima merely gives him a look over the rim of his glasses and slides the coins across with an unspoken insistence. Usually, Tsukishima would simply take his receipt and be on his way. Tonight however, he stays. He can’t explain why he stays, but he does. 

“When are you supposed to close? Surely you don’t get many customers this late.” He interrogates, leaning forward to prop himself against the surface of the wooden counter. He twists the lid off his drink with a smooth motion, sips it briefly before placing it down in front of him. 

“Says you, a customer.” Yamaguchi retaliates, lips curling upwards with mirth. “But no, you’re right. We don’t. It’s quiet though, and I still get paid, so I don’t mind too much. We close in…” He trails off for a second, twists his wrist to regard the watch secured around his arm. “... about ten minutes.” 

“Well...why don’t you just close early? Nobody will notice.” He suggests. Yamaguchi hesitates then, thinks on it for a moment before glancing once again at his watch, gaze fluttering between the glassy face and the door of the shop. 

“I really shouldn’t.” Yamaguchi laments, tone wracked with uncertainty. He’s looking into Tsukishima’s face now, eyes curious and almost inviting Tsukishima to play devil’s advocate and spur him on further. Maybe it’s the vague reflection of the moon in his eyes, but Tsukishima finds himself compelled to do as Yamaguchi wishes. 

“Come on, Yamaguchi. You look tired as shit. Nobody else is going to come in.” 

There’s a brief moment of consideration, before Yamaguchi pushes away from the counter with a sigh, throwing his hands up loosely in a mild approximation of surrender. He’s unpinning the nametag, slotting it under the counter without really looking where he’s putting it, all while shaking his head with a mild tut. 

“You’re gonna get me in trouble, Tsukki. Walk me home? It’s the least you can do. I know where you’re staying, they keep you guys in the same block of apartments every time they run your program thingy. We go in the same direction.” 

“Oh please, it hardly took much to convince you.” Tsukishima starts with a mild scoff. There’s a moment where he simply looks at Yamaguchi’s face, before he relents with a deep sigh. “Yeah, okay. I’ll walk you.” 

“Great! Hang out there for five while I close up. Flip the sign for me, would you?” Yamaguchi orders, mock disapproval quickly transforming into yet another sunny smile. He disappears into a small room at the back quickly, before Tsukishima can even get a complaint in. 

He does as he’s asked, though. Struts to the door in long strides, flips the thin paper sign to display the word ‘ Closed’. It’s oddly quiet on his own, without Yamaguchi’s easy conversation to fill the empty space in the air. He distantly notes that the cherries are gone, replaced instead with a display of locally grown tomatoes. 

Yamaguchi resurfaces, changed out of his green uniform shirt into a plain black one, a jacket hung loosely around his form. He flits about for a moment, covering certain displays over, flicking lightswitches, locking the register. He merely directs Tsukishima out with a point of his finger, following closely behind with a set of keys that clink together quietly and bounce off the ever-present hum of the moonlight as he locks the door behind him. The waves are quiet, yet they seem deafening in the silence of the evening, crashing against the rocks and the raised concrete of the road where the tide has pulled in. 

Yamaguchi sets off at a fast pace, looks back at him with a songlike laugh that makes his throat feel strangely tight. 

“Come on, Tsukki. Catch up. I’m the one who’s been working all day!” He teases, tongue poking out. He teases , but he slows his steps anyway, falls back into line easily next to Tsukishima. Tsukishima merely offers a huff at the mark, shivering lightly amongst the persistent breeze. 

They walk in silence. It’s not uncomfortable, or strained. It simply is. The faint caw of seagulls overhead pierces through the blanket of quiet enveloping them occasionally, a never ending reminder of their proximity to the ocean. They pass shops with the lights turned off, houses, streetlamps that hum with the effort of circulating electricity, weak orange spotlights outlining the way ahead. Occasionally a car sputters by, but mostly, they’re alone. 

“So... what are you actually here for? I know the local museum runs some kind of student program, but I’ve never actually asked anyone what it is.” Yamaguchi inquires, soft voice washing over the steady quiet of the night. The further inland they walk, the louder the cicadas get. Usually Tsukishima reviles any kind of prying into his life, but walking here with Yamaguchi, surrounded only by meek streetlights and the low level symphony of the suburbs… he finds he doesn’t mind it so much. 

“I’m training at the museum over the summer. Work experience for my degree. Paleontology. It’s so I’ll have a better chance of finding work back home in Sendai.” He explains simply, looking briefly at Yamaguchi’s face before returning his focus to the way ahead. 

“Oh, wow! That really sounds interesting. You must be smart, then! Do you get to, like, touch all the old stuff?” Yamaguchi follows, the innocent excitement in his voice prompting a soft mutter of laughter from Tsukishima. Not unkind, just amused. 

“No, Yamaguchi. I basically just file papers and help keep inventory of the archives all day.” Is the response he gives, pausing lightly. He doesn’t know why he feels sheepish to admit it, but he does. Maybe some part of him likes the thought of holding Yamaguchi’s admiration, despite the fact that they’re not even friends . “It’s actually kind of boring.” 

Yamaguchi just shakes his head with a smile at that, lightly bumps his shoulder into Tsukishima’s. 

“Well, I still think it makes you sound pretty impressive, Tsukki. Paleontology is dinosaurs and fossils, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah. I’ve wanted to study it since I was little. You don’t study, I’m assuming?” 

It feels like an innocuous question, but from the way Yamaguchi clams up for a second, his eyes flashing with hesitance, Tsukishima thinks he must’ve stumbled upon a previously untouched nerve. There’s a mildly uncomfortable shuffle as they continue to walk in brief silence, but eventually Yamaguchi presses on with a distant looking smile. 

“Well, no. I think I’d like to, but my mum needs help with the shop, so… I’m still here!” He responds, strained laughter coming to flair his words in a vague attempt to dissuade the faint hint of bitterness creeping behind them. 

“If you want to though, why don’t you?” Tsukishima presses, earnest confusion coming through in his tone. It seems to take Yamaguchi aback for a second, almost like he’d never considered the possibility of doing something selfish for himself in the first place.

“Well… I just couldn’t, y’know? She’d be alone, and I’m supposed to inherit the shop anyway, so… it is what it is, I guess.” 

They continue on in silence for a moment more, Tsukishima flustering lightly with uncertainty in his words. It’s extremely rare that he feels shy , or even cares what other people think at all, but seeing Yamaguchi’s discomfort has struck him unable to form a sentence for fear of misstepping further. Whatever tension is lingering fades as Tsukishima comes to a stop in front of his apartment building, Yamaguchi following suit. 

The building is about three stories tall, painted white and slightly run down. Most of the windows are dark, the flicker of a television visible through some of the curtains. The streetlight outside flickers, cutting out every couple of seconds with the exhaustion of age. Mosquitoes congregate under the unreliable spotlight. Their movements erratic, desperate to press as close as possible to the meek orange glow.

“Well, this is me. This was… nice. I’ll see you around, Yamaguchi.” He offers, a nod of unusually polite acknowledgement directed at Yamaguchi as he begins to pivot to enter the building. It looks like Yamaguchi is gearing himself to say something, and as soon as Tsukishima turns, the silence breaks. 

“Ah, Tsukki. Um, right. Well, I think you’re pretty cool, yeah? And I know we’ve only talked a little when you come in, but I like talking to you. Plus I figured you could use someone to hang out with for the summer, right? My friend, he’s having a party. Next Saturday, starts at 8.” He pauses for a second, sheepish expression overtaking his face as he rifles in his pocket to produce a receipt, a number hastily scrawled on the back. “So, you don’t have to come. I won’t be offended. But I’d really like it if you did. Text me if you want the address, okay?” 

With that, he’s picking up Tsukishima’s lax hand in his own, pressing the receipt into his palm with a firm grip. He offers a vaguely self conscious grin and a wave, walking off briskly without further comment, almost reminiscent of a puppy running away with its tail tucked between its legs.

As he stares at the receipt, all he can think about is how Yamaguchi must’ve taken the time to write it while he was closing up, and how uncharacteristically fond that makes him feel.

He adds the number as soon as he’s inside. 

---

Tsukishima doesn’t really know exactly what he was expecting, but standing there with Yamaguchi’s heavy arm weighted around his shoulders, he finds it’s not so bad. The party is small, almost intimate. There’s a small crowd gathered within the house, most filtering between the main room, kitchen and garden. The atmosphere is easy, the weather cooling and the sky turning lavender with the approaching evening, low music resounding throughout each room.

There’s the occasional mumble of laughter, the subdued hiss of a bottle being opened. He doesn’t like crowds, but it’s strangely peaceful where he stands next to Yamaguchi in the corner of the garden. He’s yet to meet the host or any of Yamaguchi’s friends, but honestly, he doesn’t really care to. He’s more interested in talking to Yamaguchi over the rim of a lukewarm beer than he is in meeting anyone else. The wind pushes Yamaguchi’s hair back gently where he stands next to Tsukishima, a strand catching in his eye with a surprised blink before he pushes it away.

“I’m really glad you decided to come, Tsukki! Sorry I haven’t introduced you to the host yet. If I knew where he was, I would.” Yamaguchi speaks, volume raised slightly to combat the thrum of music and assorted chatter. Tsukishima just shakes his head, raises his beer bottle to sip lightly at the auburn tinted rim. 

“It’s fine, Yamaguchi. I came because you invited me, didn’t I? I’m fine with just you for company.” 

At this, Yamaguchi breaks into a modest grin, drops his arm from Tsukishima’s shoulder with a light pat to his upper arm. He’s nursing a bottle of his own, though it’s some disgustingly sweet looking alcopop concoction, vibrant blue in colour with a printed picture of a lemon on the front of the glass. When he speaks, Tsukishima notes that his tongue is dyed blue, too.

“I guess that’s true. I’m just surprised you’d actually want to hang out with me, is all. I’m not as interesting as you, y'know? I’m not complaining, though!” Yamaguchi titters, laughing lightly although there’s a slight self deprecating edge to his words. Tsukishima just rolls his eyes, empties his bottle with a swig. 

“Well I’m here. I don’t do things for appearances, Yamaguchi. If I didn’t want to hang out with you, I wouldn’t be here.” He assures, giving Yamaguchi a meaningful stare for a moment before lifting his gaze once more to graze over the other partygoers casually lounging around the garden. It’s a small area, fenced in with tall, sun-bleached planks and tiled over completely. The only visible greenery is in the weeds forcing their way through the gaps in the stone tiles. 

“Ah, is your drink empty? I’ll get you another one! Hand over the bottle.” Yamaguchi offers, hand outstretched with an easy expression. Tsukishima just raises an eyebrow at it, tightens his grip around the neck of the empty bottle. 

“What? You don’t have to. Really, it’s fine.” He replies. He’s trying to make it sound like he’s rejecting out of politeness, but really, it’s from the fear of being left to fend for himself amongst a crowd of faces he doesn’t know. 

“Aw, shut up, Tsukki! It’ll take me like five seconds, honestly. I don’t mind! You’ll have to hold mine, though.” 

With that, the empty bottle is being gently coaxed from his grip and replaced with Yamaguchi’s own drink. His drink is actually cold, somehow, condensation rolling down the side and across Tsukishima’s knuckles.

With a quick wink and a smile, Yamaguchi is gone. His back dissipates quickly amongst the small gathering of people, the door to the kitchen opening and closing with a distant squeal from the weathered hinges. He doesn’t like to admit it (even to himself) when he feels nervous, but displaced amongst this humming crowd without his metaphorical lifering, it’s undeniable. He shifts from foot to foot lightly, focuses his gaze on the sky to avoid making accidental eye contact. Sips absentmindedly at Yamaguchi’s drink. Immediately winces with the surprisingly sour taste. 

He’s busy analysing the structure of the two white chemtrails painted across the sky when his attention is drawn by an unfamiliar voice. 

“Hi! I’ve never seen you before. What’s your name?” The stranger asks, face stretched almost unnaturally with the force of his grin. The most immediate quality to the stranger is the vibrance of his marmalade coloured hair, mussed in a way that almost looks purposeful. He’s just grinning despite Tsukishima’s silence, thrumming with a level of sociable energy that Tsukishima could never hope to understand. 

“...Tsukishima.” 

“I’m Hinata! You’re tall, huh? So are you, like, a tourist or something? You look kind of funny to be a tourist.” He says, voice easy despite the strange bluntness to his words. 

“Funny to be a tourist? What does that mean?” 

“Just that you look too serious, I guess!” The stranger replies. He laughs, then, quick and energetic. 

Tsukishima can tell he’s not being laughed at , yet his instinct is to bristle at the sound anyway. Yamaguchi’s head is popping back through the crowd before he gets a chance to form an adequate response, however, drink in hand and outstretched to Tsukishima as he approaches. As soon as he takes it he can feel the coldness against his palm, label damp and peeling away from the bottle slightly. Yamaguchi plucks his own drink back with ease, turns to Hinata with a smile. 

“Shouyou! I was looking for you. This is Tsukishima Kei, my friend. He’s here for the summer.” Yamaguchi declares, prompting an immediate ‘ Ahh!’ of understanding from Hinata. 

Friend. On anyone else it would feel too quick to label it as such, but with Yamaguchi, it only feels natural to call him a friend. 

“I was just saying, he looks a little grouchy to be a tourist!” Hinata comments with a playful laugh, an overly familiar pat to Tsukishima’s shoulder which he merely glances at with disdain. “Well, good to meet you! I’ll see you around, Tadashi. You too, Tsukishima!” 

With that final comment, he’s assimilating back into the crowd with a cheerful swing to his step, vibrant orange disappearing from sight. Yamaguchi just pauses for a moment before breaking into a low giggle, prompting Tsukishima to look away from his focus and look directly at Yamaguchi, an eyebrow raised. 

“Sorry, Tsukki! You just look so… disgusted. It’s funny! You don’t mind that I called you my friend, do you?” Yamaguchi asks, smile taking on a vaguely apologetic tilt as he continues to snicker lightly. Tsukishima pauses for a mere second, thinks briefly before nodding and taking a sip of the drink in his hand. 

“No. That’s what we are. Friends.” He assures, hesitating lightly as he weighs up the pros and cons of elaborating further. It might be the beer clouding his judgement, but he decides to press on. “You’re the only one I actually let call me Tsukki, so… we’re friends.” 

Yamaguchi neglects to respond, then. A wave of surprise rushes over his face, though it’s quickly replaced by a vaguely sentimental smile of appreciation.

The hours pass with a blur, a mix of soft introductions, popped beer caps, low music and Yamaguchi’s laughter. The darker it gets, the rowdier the crowd seems to grow, laughter breaking out amongst slurred bursts of speech and the occasional scuffle of someone knocking something over or falling. There’s lights strung across the fences which have come to life with the lack of sunshine, illuminating Yamaguchi’s face with their pixie-esque glow. Yamaguchi himself is starting to slur, leaning into Tsukishima’s shoulder with a level of surprisingly casual affection usually only accessed through a little liquid courage.

Tsukishima finds he isn’t much better himself, considering he’s leaning into the contact, heat rising to his face from the tipsy fuzz clouding over his brain. Yamaguchi shivers for a second, an exaggerated noise of teeth chattering before he lets out an exaggerated whine. 

“Is it just me, or is it freezing out here?” He mumbles against Tsukishima’s shoulder, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed in an overstated display of discomfort. 

“It’s just you.” 

“Well I’m freezing.” Yamaguchi insists, drawing further in on himself and crossing his arms in a futile attempt to retain some heat. 

“What, you want my jacket or something? That’s kind of cliché, isn’t it?” Tsukishima mumbles in response, closing his eyes for a moment to ward off the spinning sensation before reopening them to look down at the top of Yamaguchi’s head. He’s laughing lightly, head shaking where it rests against Tsukishima’s shoulder. 

“Maybe. I like corny romances though! It’s nice to think about.” 

“If you’re a sap, I suppose.” Tsukishima clips, a sardonic tone to his voice. 

“You wanna hear something? I think secretly you are a sap, Tsukki. I can just feel it.” Yamaguchi teases, devolving further into drunken giggling. His face has turned a pleasant shade of peach with the laughter, like the colour of a bottle of rosé in the afternoon sun. 

“Excuse me? I am not-” Tsukishima starts, voice filled with indignation at such an accusation. He’s cut short however by Yamaguchi’s finger being pressed against his mouth with a little too much force than necessary. 

“ Shhhh! Don’t argue with me, Tsukki. I know I’m right.” Yamaguchi asserts, dropping his finger with yet another snort of laughter as soon as his eyes take in the look cast upon Tsukishima’s face- eyebrows raised, mouth corners stretched with a mockingly affronted inflection. 

“I think we should get you home, Yamaguchi.” Tsukishima merely offers in response,  a mildly fond eye roll and a huff of false annoyance to punctuate the words. He carefully shuffles away from Yamaguchi’s form, instead propping an arm around his mid-back to steer him through the cluster of bodies. 

“Ah, if you say so. But I should say goodbye to Shouyou!” Yamaguchi contends, twisting lightly under Tsukishima’s grip before falling back into place under his careful direction. He’s not hard to manage, easily falling right back where Tsukishima’s hands push him, as if he were made of hot wax. 

“You can text him tomorrow. Come on, keep moving.” Tsukishima insists, pushing him lightly towards a gate at the back of the garden. Yamaguchi grumbles faintly in mild protest, but he moves where he’s directed. Once they’re out onto the street, it seems he’s forgotten the transgression entirely as he spins to face Tsukishima with a grin. 

His face is caught directly under a streetlight, and he looks almost like a painting with the clash between the golden highlights of the bulb and the deep blue tone of the late night sky. Tsukishima finds himself staring, smiling back at the drunken grin glimmering on his freckled face. Yamaguchi looks like he might speak, but decides against it. Instead he just settles into a more subdued smile, wraps his arm around Tsukishima’s so that they’re linked at the elbow. 

The walk to Yamaguchi’s home is fairly short, especially with Yamaguchi’s (surprisingly strong) tug directing them. It’s a small building, the short garden at the front laden with flowers in each colour, however they all look the same shade of foggy blue under the poor lighting of the moon. The porch light is on, though the house lights are off. There’s a small rack of umbrellas stationed next to the front door, as well as a silvery steel dish of water for the neighbourhood cats. 

Tsukishima comes to a stop at the wooden door, stares for a moment at the way the soft hum of the porch light makes Yamaguchi look like he’s being surrounded by a soft halo of artificial light. 

“Tsukki! You should stay. You can sleep in my room! I have a double, and… and- I don’t want you to walk home alone in the dark. So you’re staying!” Yamaguchi declares, placing a light grip upon the lapel of Tsukishima’s jacket with a soft smile. 

“You don’t have to do that- I don’t want to intrude.” 

“Don’t be a dummy, Tsukki. Now help me unlock this door because- I won’t lie to you- my hands feel very fuzzy right now.” 

At this, Tsukishima just scoffs a fond laugh, leans forward to pluck the silver ring of house keys from Yamaguchi’s front jeans pocket. He’s still holding onto Tsukishima’s lapel as if he needs it for stability, even when his torso twists to turn the keys in the door with a faint jingle of metal upon metal. 

They make it upstairs to Yamaguchi’s room fairly quietly and without much incident, despite Yamaguchi’s occasional giggling. His room is small, well lived in. It’s like walking into a museum exhibition of Yamaguchi’s life, like suddenly Tsukishima is surrounded with the shadows of Yamaguchi’s child self. T-shirts overloading the laundry hamper. A class photo framed on the desk. A calendar tacked to the wall, full of little notes on each date. Yamaguchi is in every inch of the room, juxtaposed against Tsukishima’s own childhood bedroom back in Sendai which has mostly been emptied to a clean, white slate. 

Yamaguchi kicks off his shoes, flops onto the mattress face down. He’s totally still for a second before he shuffles in further, moving to one side to allow Tsukishima enough space to lie down. He does, hesitantly. Approaches like a wary animal, settles on his back with his shoulders tensed and an uncomfortable stare fixed upon the ceiling. 

“Sorry s’ a mess.” Yamaguchi mumbles, voice muffled by the fabric of the mattress cover that he’s currently pressing his face into. “I’m usually clean, promise. Scout’s honour, or something.” 

“It’s fine, Yamaguchi. Stop rambling and go to sleep.” 

“It’s good that we’re friends, Tsukki. I never had many, so it’s good to have one more. G’night!” Comes the response, spoken softly and trailing off into a tired sigh, finished with a yawn.

He’s struck with the distinct feeling that he’s just heard something a sober Yamaguchi wouldn’t have wanted to tell him. 

From the mild snore on the opposite side of the stiff mattress, it’s safe to assume that Yamaguchi drops off fairly quickly. They stay there, lying together, about ten centimetres carefully held between them. He doesn’t sleep. For some reason, he can’t. 

All he can do is count the seconds between each soft snore and glance carefully at the sleeping form splayed across the soft sheets before him. 

---

He awakes to a stripe of ripe morning sunlight directly cutting into his eyes, a chorus of mild birdsong filtering through the open window. The mattress is empty of Yamaguchi’s body, and he’s nowhere to be seen, although the distant clunking leaking through the lower level of the house seems to announce his presence anyway. 

The sun catches in the dust that floats languidly through the air, creates a microscopic festival of lights in front of him. Each little particle, a miniature lantern swooping through the air and slowly settling as Tsukishima sits up  against the mattress, sending them flying with the disturbance of air. His keys, his phone, his wallet- all carefully laid out on the bedside table next to him. He recoups himself, attempts to fashion something acceptable from his bedswept hair and crumpled clothes. 

He’s planning on leaving with a soft thanks and a wave. Yet the second he sees Yamaguchi through the doorway- hair mussed with a mug of coffee in hand, a second one poured next to him- he can’t help but splinter away from his original intended path. He’s been told he has a cold demeanour, that he’s off putting, that he’s too closed off. And yet. He’s so easily taken in by Yamaguchi and his warm smiles, his warm sheets, his warm coffee. It’s possibly even concerning, the rapidity with which he finds himself softening at Yamaguchi’s presence. 

He sits at the table, accepts the mug when it’s presented to him, and offers a real , fully fledged smile. 

“Morning, Tsukki!” 

---

June ticks over into July with a burst of unwavering heat, a sudden tsunami of the suffocatingly sweet smell of hydrangeas and the emergence of, somehow, even more mosquitoes. 

The more he’s around him, the more he’s started to suspect that Yamaguchi might just be beautiful. It’s not necessarily a thought borne from attraction (although it wouldn’t be incorrect to say he is attracted to Yamaguchi) but rather a simple observation of an undeniable fact. Standing there in the sun just outside the museum’s foreboding stone columns, nose ring glinting, grinning and holding out a shining can of something cold- he looks almost like he should be in an art exhibition book. Boy With Coke, Unknown Artist, 2020.   

This is a routine they’ve developed now, in their rapidly burgeoning friendship. Tsukishima works Mondays to Fridays. He takes lunch at one o’clock every day, for half an hour Monday to Wednesday and for an hour on Thursday and Friday. Conveniently, Yamaguchi doesn’t work Mondays and Tuesdays, and when he does work he’s liable to take his lunch whenever he pleases. And so now, they take lunch together. Every day. 

In fact- Tsukishima’s noticed they seem to spend most of their free time together.

It’s a particularly hot day. Sweltering, rebounding off the dried out concrete in thick waves. So hot he can smell it, mixed in with the hydrangeas and the salt that seems to permeate the air at all times. It’s so hot that he’s been sitting behind his desk with the window wide open and his clunky desk fan on full power all day. And yet- there Yamaguchi is, stood between the withering sun and the cracked concrete. Bicycle held carefully upright in his hands, grin on his face, glistening can outstretched for Tsukishima to take. 

“Hey, Tsukki! Brought you a can from the shop.” He chirps easily, arm finally settling at his side when Tsukishima grasps ahold of the can with a quiet thanks. It’s ice cold to the touch, condensation ornamenting the outer perimeter of the aluminium like lights on a tree. Immediately he’s pressing the cool metal to his face with a prolonged sigh, prompting a snort of amusement from Yamaguchi. 

“Ah, you have an hour of lunch today, right?” Yamaguchi continues, leaning lightly into the bike now. The pear green paint of the frame is almost hard to look at under the harsh vibrancy of the sun, a small wicker basket twined securely to the front. 

“Why do I feel like you’re asking me that and buttering me up with soda so you can drag me off somewhere?” Tsukishima mutters, a mild narrowing of his eyes as he finally lowers the can to pop it open with a subdued hiss as the pressure releases. Yamaguchi wags his eyebrows once, shrugs with an easy grin. 

“Because that’s exactly what I’m doing. Barely a month, Tsukki, and you know me so well!” 

“I know you’re a pain in my ass.” 

“Ah, but you keep letting me bring you free drinks and add discounts to your groceries anyway, so you can’t dislike me that much!” 

Tsukishima merely snickers into his can at that, readjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose with a smirk. There’s a moment of easy lull in the conversation, before Tsukishima finally lowers the can to hang limply in his fingers. 

“I guess not.” 

The words siphon an earnest grin from Yamaguchi. A grin he doesn’t think he’d ever get tired of seeing- like summer embodied in one smile. 

“Well! I thought we could ride for a while, along the coast! They rent bikes out of these little stations everywhere, it’s three hundred yen for two hours. Tourists use them all the time! There’s one just down the road from here. It’s literally five seconds away.” Yamaguchi presses on, leaning into his own bike absentmindedly as he speaks. Tsukishima merely raises an eyebrow, glances between the bike frame and Yamaguchi’s face with an unimpressed stare. 

“Are you kidding? In this heat? I’m surprised the wheels haven’t melted off.” 

“Oh come on, Tsukki! It’s not that hot, especially with the sea breeze. It’ll only be a quick ride! I’ll even let you buy me ice cream.” Yamaguchi insists, to which Tsukishima immediately offers an eye roll. 

“Oh, you’ll let me?” He pushes back, staring with a deadpan expression into Yamaguchi’s widening grin. Yamaguchi merely shrugs under the weight of Tsukishima’s eyes, stares right back with a smile and an imploring look in his eyes. Tsukishima almost feels like he’s in a western showdown, like the sky is about to bleed orange and a tumbleweed might flutter by. It seems they’re at an impasse for a moment, before Tsukishima inevitably relents with a melodramatic sigh of annoyance. It was never truly in doubt whether he’d refuse Yamaguchi or not, anyway.

“God, shut up Yamaguchi. Let me finish this can and get my wallet.” He sours, although there’s no bite behind his tone. Yamaguchi just laughs, soft and melodic as always, leaning into his pear-toned bike frame even further. 

“I didn’t even say anything!” He protests, voice lilting up with the exaggeration of indignation. 

“And yet I could hear you.” Tsukishima counters, prompting another laugh- this one louder, more snarky in tone. Yamaguchi makes a shoo-ing motion with his hands as he settles into a low snicker, lightly lifting an arm to push against Tsukishima’s bicep, coaxing him toward the vague direction of the museum entrance.

It’s a quick in and out process. Running through the museum entrance and scanning across his ID card to access the offices, retrieving his wallet from his desk drawer, draining the remnants of the can before tossing it lazily into the wastebasket tucked under his desk. Upon his return, Yamaguchi practically glows with the force of the placated smile on his face. Somehow it’s even brighter than the searing sun. He drops a few coins into Tsukishima’s palm, points him towards a small station of docked bikes, each one painted in a bright colour and adorned almost entirely with an obnoxious amount of company logos and website addresses. He pushes the glinting coins into the station of a blue bike, and within minutes they’re off. 

He hates to admit it, but Yamaguchi was right. The closer they get to the ocean, the cooler the wind feels against his face, whipping past him as he pedals carefully to keep up with Yamaguchi’s moderate speed. The mild blue fabric of Yamaguchi’s shirt ripples lightly with the force of the passing wind, lifting just high enough to expose a strip of skin across the small of his back. Tsukishima notes that, even from his distance as he pedals on his own bike, he can tell that the warm skin is freckled. Just like he’d suspected. He probably spends too much time thinking about exactly how far those freckles might spread, really. 

They continue on for about ten more minutes, the heat of exertion slowly creeping up the back of Tsukishima’s neck despite the persistently cool breeze. The ocean is calm where they cycle past, waves lashing gently against the white hot sand. He hasn't taken the time to really appreciate his proximity to the ocean yet, but now, skirting past with Yamaguchi leading him, he finally takes notice. It’s so… overwhelmingly blue . Tsukishima knows that the ocean is meant to be blue- he’s fully aware of this very basic fact and always has been, right back to when he was five years old carefully colouring in the waves of a colouring book with a waxy cerulean crayon. 

He knows it, and yet it throws him for a loop. The depth of the colour, the range of shades, the way the entire body of the ocean seems to shift with every passing second as if some grand, breathing beast. It’s almost scary, imagining how deep down it could run. Whilst he’s lost in his own introspection, Yamaguchi curves lightly and skids to a stop against the bleached white pavement, concrete sprayed with sand from the beach. It’s almost autopilot, the way Tsukishima follows, knuckles white against the stiff brakes. 

Yamaguchi takes a moment to catch his breath, scoops some of his dark hair back with a hair tie from around his wrist. As soon as he’s happy he leans back casually to sit with a lean against the worn leather bike seat, feet planted firmly on either side of the frame. 

“There’s that ice-cream shop I mentioned, right by there. That was good, wasn’t it?” He asks, leaning across with careful balance to poke Tsukishima’s side. He flinches away from the protruding finger in his ribs for a moment, swatting gently at Yamaguchi’s outstretched arm with mild disgruntlement. There’s a second where their skin makes contact, and Yamaguchi is so warm . 

“I suppose.” Is all that Tsukishima offers, retracting his hand to hang limply by his side. The warmth seems to linger in a Yamaguchi shaped mark on his skin. 

“I love how enthusiastic you are, Tsukki. Really.” 

“Only for you.” 

At that Yamaguchi merely scoffs with a barely suppressed smile, shifting to dismount his bike as Tsukishima follows the same motion. There’s an empty bike stand just outside the shop where they station them, before entering the shop. It’s all cool blue and sleek, freshly painted white in colour with a hefty air conditioning unit humming away at the door frame. There’s two tables, each a mixture of cobalt blue linoleum and steel, both empty. The glass cabinet before them glints away the overhead lights, each tub of ice cream a differing, vibrant hue. 

They’re served quickly- two cones, dipped in chocolate at the top. Tsukishima’s choice of a strawberry scoop prompts an exaggerated gag and an ‘ Eeew.. Tsukki!’ from Yamaguchi’s snickering form, holding his own cone crowned with a large scoop of chocolate. Tsukishima just rolls his eyes, pulls out his wallet with the hand not carefully balancing an ice cream, swipes his card across before Yamaguchi even has the opportunity to process the transaction. 

They’re sitting against the stone wall facing the beach outside, waves crashing behind them, directly in the line of the sun. Yamaguchi’s talking- he can hear the background mumble- yet all he can focus on is the heavy drip of chocolate ice cream cascading down the heights of Yamaguchi’s bony fingers. His hands- they’re so soft, so accommodating, so… safe. He glances up to see Yamaguchi fixing him with a displeased expression, leans in for another lap at his ice cream so he doesn’t have to cobble together an answer to whatever Yamaguchi has just said. 

“You know I was joking. You didn’t really have to pay.” Yamaguchi mumbles at the lack of response, finally noticing the drip of ice cream and clearing it with a concise lick. Unfortunately, the quick flash offered of the pink of his tongue is even more distracting. There’s probably a reason he fixates on these small acts and mannerisms of Yamaguchi’s, but he doesn’t feel particularly inclined toward an epiphany from his place perched upon the stone wall. So he just discards it from his mind, simple and easy. 

“Think of it as repayment for the free ice teas and the discounts.” Tsukishima assures.

“Aw, Tsukki. You don’t have to repay that stuff!” 

“Okay. Then don’t think of it as repayment. Think of it as me buying you ice cream because you’re my friend and I want to. Just accept it, Tadashi. You don’t have to scramble to reciprocate somehow every time I do something nice. It’s okay.” 

Yamaguchi seems almost lost for words at that, mouth opening aimlessly before he simply closes it with a nod and a smile that might possibly be the widest, sunniest smile Tsukishima’s seen him give yet. There’s a pause between them, filled comfortably with the gentle constant of the ocean and the occasional chatter of a passerby. Yamaguchi shifts against the wall, turning his entire torso to face Tsukishima with a self conscious expression. 

“People haven’t always been… nice to me, I guess. It surprises me when you are, but it’s not because I don’t appreciate you. I really do.” Yamaguchi mumbles, avoiding Tsukshima’s direct gaze and instead looking off toward the endless blue of the ocean waves. He’s shifting almost restlessly, like he’s just said something deeply personal and he’s preparing for the ensuing avalanche of judgement. All Tsukishima has to offer, however, is a tut and an unavoidable, deadpan stare. 

“Well you deserve people who are nice to you. So just accept it. Don’t get used to free ice cream at my expense, though.” He finishes, the remnants of his ice cream cone tossed aside for the seagulls to pick at, the wafer fragmenting as it makes contact with the harsh concrete. 

It’s like Yamaguchi doesn’t stop smiling, after that. Doesn’t stop staring at him like he just hung the moon up, right up until the moment he’s waving Tsukishima off and back into the museum offices. 

---

The glass door of the fridge swings shut with a secure click, the silver keys chiming gently as they twist against the lock, cool metal gripped tightly in his fingers. He can hear Yamaguchi bustling around on the opposite side of the store as he continues on, striding along the line of sterile steel fridges, locking each one for the night. Yamaguchi’s humming airily as he works, carefully covering each display, faint notes accompanied by the light shuffling sound of the fabric covers as they’re stretched over wicker baskets of fresh produce. The sound of his hum cuts through the quiet with crystal clear clarity. 

The moon ricochets off the windows of the storefront, catching on Tsukishima’s glasses as he crosses the store to return the fridge keys to Yamaguchi’s hefty metal keyring. The light overhead is dimmer now, painting the store in a calm golden glow, accented by the occasional fleck of silver cast by the moon outside. Yamaguchi spins on his heel as Tsukishima approaches, hair fanning around his neck slightly with the force of his movement. Almost instinctively, he hands over the ring of keys to Tsukishima with a tranquil smile. 

“Thank you so much again, Tsukki. Usually the monthly stock check is a nightmare, but you’re really helping me a lot.” 

“It’s fine.” Tsukishima starts, pausing briefly as he struggles to slide the key along the tightly wound metal hoop. With a decisive push, it finally falls into place on the ring, crashing into the other keys with a soft clink. “Do you usually do all this on your own?” He continues, looking up from his hands to meet Yamaguchi’s eyes. His eyebrow raises lightly with the question, and it’s almost as if Yamaguchi suddenly turns meek under the questioning gaze. 

“Ah, well... My mother, she- uh, she used to help me out, or do it herself. But she’s not so good anymore. Her eyes, y’know? They can’t take the strain of filling out all the sheets. Her knee, too. She had an accident a couple years ago, taking a delivery in by herself. She’s fine! She’s fine, but, um, she can’t really stand for too long.” Yamaguchi responds, looking away from Tsukishima’s eyes and shuffling slightly with mild discomfort. He turns, then, continues his work of ticking off certain numbers on his stock checklist and covering each basket with its fabric protector. 

Tsukishima hums for a moment, considers Yamaguchi’s words carefully. Automatically he falls into place next to Yamaguchi, looks sidelong at him as they both work in tandem, analyses the tense look in his brown eyes- although, they almost look completely black as they’re cast under the poor lighting of the shop. The little flecks of colour that Tsukishima usually sees during  sunlight hours appear to be missing. However, strangely, Tsukishima finds that he doesn’t miss the array of colours- the various greens, occasional oranges, the gold. The dark black of Yamaguchi’s irises under the shop’s dim light is just as compelling as the vibrant splay of colours in its own strange way. 

“Is that why you never left to study?” He questions. His voice is careful, wary, as if he’s picking up a wounded bird from the grass beneath his window. It doesn’t stop Yamaguchi bristling slightly, but he doesn’t look away from Tsukishima’s eyes this time, so he takes it as a win. 

“Well… Yeah, kind of. I just... need to be around for her. It’s not like I’m being forced here, or like, I hate it or anything like that… it’s really fine!” Yamaguchi insists, a subdued smile flashing across his features in an effort to neutralise Tsukishima’s curiosity. 

He could push further, demand an answer, tell Yamaguchi that he’s too giving and that he deserves to be able to go wherever he wants- but Tsukishima has never been the type for inspirational speeches or grand expressions of affection and candour. Even if he wanted to, it’s clear from the slight lines etched into Yamaguchi’s expression that he doesn’t want to be pushed on the matter. So they simply stand in a silence of unspoken understanding, working together with almost mechanical efficiency. 

After a while however, the silence breaks. Yamaguchi pauses in his actions for a moment, looks at Tsukishima as if he’s trying to decide something. He clearly settles on a ‘ yes’ , opening his mouth to speak. 

“Tell me about your university. What’s it like? Is it like those stupid movies, with keggers and, um, what are they called? You know… they’re like huge clubs, but super serious.”

“Fraternities?”

“Yeah, fraternities. Thanks. Is it like that?” 

Tsukishima offers a soft scoff of amusement at the earnest curiosity in Yamaguchi’s tone, which Yamaguchi mirrors with a smile and a lightly raised eyebrow. 

“Well, no. Not really. That’s all very American. I guess there’s parties, but I don’t go to them. I don’t really have friends, or care about making any. Well, actually... That’s kind of a lie- I guess I do have some. A guy called Kuroo, sometimes this other guy called Bokuto hangs out with us too. It’s pretty boring overall.” He answers honestly, leaning back carefully on the heel of his foot and rubbing at his eyes behind the lenses as they ache from the strain of the overhead light. Yamaguchi is just staring at him with a disgruntled expression and a disapproving stare. 

“Seriously? That’s it? I guess I should feel pretty proud that we’re friends and I’ve managed to drag you to a party, then! Come on, Tsukki. Surely you should be happier that you get to go... Aren’t you being a little pessimistic?” Yamaguchi presses, clearly dissatisfied with Tsukishima’s decidedly dull answer. 

“Do I think I’m being pessimistic? No. Am I objectively being pessimistic?... Perhaps.” He relents playfully, rolling his eyes. Neither of them are working now, instead facing each other fully, easily firing quips back and forth. “I guess it’s not that boring. Not for other people, anyway. There is a lot of drinking, lot of stupid parties. Kuroo goes out all the time, usually comes back absolutely steaming with a few phone numbers smudged on the backs of his hands. He never calls them, though. There’s little faculty run events all the time. Lots of people, from all over the place. It’s no movie, but it’s alright.” 

Yamaguchi doesn’t respond immediately, just crumples forward slightly in a slouch with a distant look in his eyes. He sighs after a moment, the distance dissipating and instead being replaced by a deeply sad look. 

“I wish I hadn’t asked. I just made myself all mopey.” 

“What, just hearing about it is enough to make you sad?” 

“Well… Yeah. Don’t you get that? When you really want something, and you kind of just know that you probably can’t have it?” 

Tsukishima stares for a moment, ponders the question. He stares right at Yamaguchi, at his face- the shine of his black irises, the reflection of watery yellow light off his silver nose ring, the smattering of pronounced freckles across his warm skin. 

“Yeah, I guess I do.” He answers.   

They go back to working in silence, after that. It’s like there’s been a silent admission to himself, the soft recognition that perhaps he is starting to feel a little too warm towards Yamaguchi. It’s not a shocking explosion of feelings, or an overwhelmingly doomsday-esque meltdown realisation. It kind of just… is. It’s less of an ‘Oh my God!’ situation, more of a muted ‘...Ah’. 

Yamaguchi huffs after a little while, spins away from the display with a dramatic exhibition of exhaustion that makes the corner of Tsukishima’s mouth curl. 

“Tsukki, I’m turning the radio on. I need a little music to fix up my frazzled brain. Um- if that’s okay with you, that is.” Yamaguchi announces with an unsure lilt to his voice, hand hovering just above the dial of the ratty old radio placed upon the shop counter. It’s small, battery operated and encased in shiny orange plastic, a silver antenna extended high into the air. 

“What? Yamaguchi, it’s your shop. If you want music, put music on. You don’t have to ask.” 

“I know that. I guess it just feels more polite to check. We’re not all as brash as you, Tsukki!” Yamaguchi pokes, sticking his tongue out in friendly mockery before turning to twist the dial carefully. 

The radio bounces to life with a moment of soft clicking static, before the smooth voice of the local radio station’s night time presenter warbles into focus. There’s the end of a sentence, before the presenter’s voice fizzles out and the mellow notes of a fairly popular song he almost recognises take over the radio speakers. Yamaguchi perks up immediately, standing straight with his hands pressed against the countertop. He snaps around to Tsukki with his eyes brightened, a wide smile spreading easily across his features. 

“Hey, Tsukki! I love this song! Do you know this one?” He asks, an expectant look baring deep into Tsukishima’s eyes. 

“I… guess I might’ve heard it before?” Tsukishima mutedly offers, to which Yamaguchi merely responds with a loud splutter of incredulous shock. It’s all a little bit theatrical and on anyone else (ie. Bokuto) he might find it infuriating, but on Yamaguchi, it’s mostly just amusing, and perhaps a touch endearing.

“Come on. We’re dancing, right here, right now.” Yamaguchi demands, a suddenly fierce look of fiery determination engulfing his expression. 

“Absolutely not, Yamaguchi. I don’t even really know this song.” Tsukishima attempts to rebuff, although from the pointed look Yamaguchi is giving him, it seems he’s unsuccessful. Yamaguchi’s hand shoots out towards Tsukishima, palm open to be encased in his own. 

“I won’t hear it, Tsukki. Come on, please? I don’t know how to dance either. We’ll both look like idiots.” 

All Tsukishima can do is scoff, roll his eyes, shift from foot to foot for a second before grumpily dropping his own hand into Yamaguchi’s warm palm. The grin on Yamaguchi’s face is immediate. He wants to stay grumpy, to scowl and remain fully rigid, but Yamaguchi’s sunshine laced grin seems to override his willingness to be difficult completely. He finds himself swaying with Yamaguchi to the easy melody, swinging their arms together back and forth like two very confused birds in the midst of a bizarre courtship dance. Yamaguchi’s palms are as warm as they always are, radiating right up to his shoulders. The honeyed warmth seems to bleed into his face, even. He can feel himself reddening. 

Usually such an obvious disruption of his cool demeanour would feel humiliating, but he knows Yamaguchi doesn’t care, doesn’t want or expect him to be closed off and cold. There’s a particularly vigorous lurch of movement from Yamaguchi as the song hits its final run of the chorus. He’s singing along now, loudly and unabashedly, voice warping and straining around the lyrics to the song. He’s really kind of mesmerising, fully open and vulnerable as he shifts back and forth to the music, laughing around each syllable. The movement sends Tsukishima wobbling unsteadily on his ankle, barely catching himself from falling by clasping to the rim of the countertop. His glasses aren’t so lucky however, as they cascade rapidly to the floor with a dull clattering sound. 

Yamaguchi’s vocals are cut short by the clatter with a wince and a slight gasp. He’s on the floor, reaching for the black frames before Tsukishima even has the chance to get further than a slight kneel. Clasped gently in his hands, he seems to examine the lenses, nods with a sigh of relief before wiping each pane of glass with the corner of his shirt. 

“I’m so sorry, Tsukki! They’re okay, not scratched or anything.” Yamaguchi hurriedly apologizes, rising swiftly to face Tsukishima with the frames held securely in his fingers. 

“It’s fine, Yamaguchi. I drop them all the time.” Tsukishima assures. He holds his hand out, expecting Yamaguchi to simply drop the black metal frames into his open palm. Instead however, Yamaguchi leans in, slips the glasses carefully onto Tsukishima’s nose with a sheepish smile. He’s so close, his careful hands brushing against the side of Tsukishima’s face as they pull back, frames secured behind Tsukishima’s ears. There’s a moment where he should move back, re-establish his own personal space, but he doesn’t. He just stays right where he is, freckle spangled face merely inches away, smiling easily as if there’s nothing strange about him being so close. 

“See? Not a scratch.” He assures, eyes flitting across the eyeglasses before settling back on Tsukishima’s mildly startled stare. He’s stood stock still, hand still outstretched slightly in front of him as if he’s lagging behind, still expecting to casually catch his glasses. 

Yamaguchi does something infinitely more surprising than simply leaning a little too close. He leans in even further, leans in fully, just barely rests his hand against Tsukishima’s cheekbone. It’s an easy, gentle kiss. One that says ‘ If you don’t want this, tell me.’ . Careful, relaxed. Barely there. Tsukishima, finally retracting his hand, kisses back with an insistence that replies ‘ I do want this.’.  It’s fairly innocent despite the insistence, Tsukishima leaning further to crowd Yamaguchi slightly with a hand gripping into the fabric around his shoulder. It lasts for a slow, saccharine minute before Yamaguchi is pulling back with a smile, his hand dropping to press against Tsukishima’s left collarbone. 

He’s just smiling like he always does, as if nothing particularly noteworthy has happened. The way he smiles when Tsukki lets off a sarcastic remark, when a child bounds into the store behind their parents, when a character he likes comes back onto the scene in one of his novels. 

“Should we just finish all this tomorrow? I kind of feel done with it for tonight.” Yamaguchi suggests, exhaling as his eyes scan across the store, fluttering across the outline of each shelf and covered basket display. All Tsukishima can do is nod, clear his throat, reposition his glasses awkwardly.  

He feels as though the nonchalance from Yamaguchi should be strange. What’s even stranger however is the fact that, actually, he feels almost… familiar with the sensation of kissing Yamaguchi, too. Not that it wasn’t special but rather that, similar to his previous realisation of burgeoning feelings, it simply doesn’t come as a surprise. It’s just warm, safe . It almost feels like it just fits, like this is the natural progression of their not-quite-platonic-anymore relationship. This was the logical next step, and it needs no ceremony. It’s just an inevitable development.

Tsukishima is not the type of person to ‘just go with it’ but he finds himself, well, just going with it.  

“Walk home with me?” Yamaguchi asks, bounding across the shop to retrieve his jacket and start switching off lights. He stops finally before Tsukishima once more, patiently waits for his answer. 

“I always do, don’t I?” Is what Tsukishima offers, looking directly at Yamaguchi with a rare, miniature smile crossing his face. 

Yamaguchi’s hand finds his during their walk- and this feels entirely natural, too.