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He doesn't wear his headphones during lunch.
He wordlessly slips him tissues in class.
After practice, he patiently waits for him in the clubroom without threatening to leave without him if he doesn't hurry up and get changed already.
And on their way home, in the dim light of the streetlamps, he lets him cry into his shoulder.
Yamaguchi's wet face is still buried in Tsukishima's neck, but he's stopped sobbing.
"Sorry, Tsukki."
He hugs him closer to his chest, and while his embrace is firm and strong, his voice is soft and kind when he responds.
"Shut up, Yamaguchi."