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There's something about Tokyo, Tsukishima thinks as the bus comes to a stop. Something about the air, sweeter and a little more bitter, as it enters his lungs through the open window. It tastes a little different on his tongue, thicker and heavier, a little smoky.
There's something about the buzz of it all, he thinks. The din of the team echoes around, shouts and cries as everyone tries—and fails—to make their way off the bus in an orderly fashion. How they shout about the towers and the city boys. Something about the way everything bustles with that big city purpose, even with where they are in the suburbs. Everyone has somewhere to be, some busy schedule unseen to passerby's, that has the very air rife with energy.
There's something about Tokyo, in the way Karasuno's wide-eyed team edges their way into Nekoma's gym. Something about the heat of it, of the dry burn of summer in the city, of the fiery passion ignited only by challenges between rivals.
There's something about it, in the way a smirking Kuroo pulls Tsukishima into a bone-crushing hug. In the way that the teams oooo and ahhh in a fashion usually reserved for fruitless advances on Shimizu. In the way Tsukishima slaps at Kuroo's shoulders and calls him names. In the way he buries his face in Kuroo's shoulder just to hide his mile-wide smile. Because as much as he hates to admit it, Tsukishima missed him. He always misses Kuroo, in that way reserved in the back corner of his heart, the corner that hurts the most when left alone for too long.
There's something about Tokyo, in the way that Bokuto always, without fail, manages to make it to even the most menial of practice games. In the way that he never fails to quite literally drag Akaashi to come along. No matter the time of day, the two are always there. There's something about the way Bokuto yells and screams from the base of his gut, his diaphragm, low and encouraging. How he alternates between cries of "Get 'em Tsukki!" and "You go Kuroo!" in a way that makes it impossible to know what team he's really cheering for.
There's something about the way Tsukishima knows. About the way Kuroo knows and about the way Akaashi knows. Bokuto doesn't cheer for a team. He cheers for a feeling, chases after it with every breath in his lungs, goes for it with his whole heart until he's panting as hard as the players on the court. He cheers for something that brews in all four of them, the smallest seeds of an emotion none of them dare label as love just quite yet.
There's something about Tokyo, where Tsukishima can watch Bokuto charge towards him. With his fists balled and his eyes pressed shut in a blind sprint in the general direction of the net. Tsukishima doesn't think Bokuto even knows who's won. He doesn't care. This isn't that kind of game for him. There's no competition when he's only there to enjoy the sight of dedication and the goosebumps brought by good plays. Bokuto, when he hears the game end, has the reaction to congratulate. No matter what team is hanging their heads, no matter who is shouting in victory, it all seems momentously dull next to him. He runs with blind faith, hoping eventually he'll barrel his way into Tsukishima and Kuroo. Akaashi always follows, seconds after, jogging across the court to offer a ruffling of hands in sweaty hair and a little smile that rounds the apples of his cheeks.
Through the high of a win or the pang of a loss, there's the glorious encouragement brought on by Bokuto's radiance. There's the lesser but still shining beam of Akaashi and the relentless torrent that is Kuroo.
Through the shattering attack of Bokuto's hugs and the gentle brush of Akaashi's hands on Tsukishima's waist there's a kind of buzzing. An internal glow only felt around those who are there for you, those who support you and those who know you.
Through the sloppy kiss Kuroo presses to everyone's temples. Through the hug the four of them share at the very centre of the court. Through pats on the back and through gentle whispers of "I'm proud of you, both of you."
Through it all is something so simple as Tokyo.
It has to be laced with some kind of magic, Tsukishima thinks as he slumps off to his sleeping quarters for the night. After he's declined offer after offer from Bokuto to just stay the night, come on, please, and after Akaashi has long since dragged him off and after the sun has set and after Tsukishima is alone without really being lonely.
There's something about Tokyo that has him feeling like he's never quite alone. Whether it be the little walk in the middle of the night to see Kuroo, or the way the two contemplate sneaking off to see Bokuto and Akaashi, if only for an hour. Just long enough to breathe in their scent, long enough to hear hushed words that Tsukishima can cherish until his next time in Tokyo. He thinks he may never feel alone again if he has soft midnight exchanges to live off of.
Loneliness can drive a man to do a lot of things, Tsukishima knows this first hand as the other Nekoma third years find him and Kuroo wedged against a wall whispering their escape plan.
The shorter one kicks Kuroo, calls him an idiot, and drags him off without a second's hesitation. The taller of the two throws a quick apology over his shoulder and politely tells Tsukishima to get back to bed.
Tsukishima hums a resigned agreement. He knows that when morning comes it won't matter all that much that he didn't get the chance to see Bokuto and Akaashi alone.
He knows when he takes tentative steps to the bus the next day that it won't matter all that much. He has his whole future ahead of him, he knows this, is reminded of this as he takes a last breath of the bittersweet city air.
There's something about Tokyo, Tsukishima can't help but think one final time, in the dirt that sticks to the soles of his shoes. The earth itself is fertile with a kind of hope, an expectancy, like the ground is merely waiting for Tsukishima's return. Like it's calling to him, don't be gone too long. There's something that makes him want to come back.
There's something about Tokyo that makes him want to come back.
But, he supposes heading home isn't all that bad. He has those routine calls with Bokuto, Kuroo, and Akaashi. The ones that last until the late hours of the night. The ones that only happen the first night after they're all separated. Again.
These are the calls where Akaashi taps his pen between his fingers and stares down at his schoolwork, pretending he's actually getting anything done and stifling laughs at the shenanigans that go on. The calls where Bokuto shouts about the most random of topics as if he's trying to force himself to think about anything but the fact that Tsukishima's gone again. The calls where Kuroo stares down at his textbook like he's actually reading it, when in reality he's staring through his bangs at the three of them, struck with their beauty. The ones where Tsukishima can't help but remember how far they all are. Can't help but remember Tokyo, and what it means.
Maybe it's less something about Tokyo, and more something about a home away from home. A home that isn't a place, not a thing, not a person. But three people who make a foreign city feel safer than Tsukishima's own bedroom.
Maybe it's not the way the city makes him feel, not the air or the dirt or the bustling life of it all, but instead the people there.
Tsukishima figures the people there, the three that make him feel such gratifying things, could make even the worst of places seem like something magical.