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Yamaguchi doesn’t know how he ended up in Tokyo. He’s not lost, mind you. He’s been here for almost a month now. A month of working a normal office job, of eating at the cafe downstairs with the owner’s cute dog, of glancing away from his computer for a break to soak in the beautiful blue of the Sumida river.
He’s never really wanted to go to university. He didn’t see the joy in studying like Yachi did, nor did he see it as a necessity like Tsukishima. Hinata and Kageyama didn’t see the point of university either, so off to the court they went. Yamaguchi, well, he just wanted to start working as quickly as possible. Studying made him feel helpless, but he needed at least a diploma to qualify for a job, so a mandatory three years was spent on business.
So yeah, here he is, one month into the eight to five Tokyo lifestyle after two years of the work, home, work, home Sendai lifestyle. But why Tokyo, he doesn’t know.
Maybe it’s because you moved here too. Maybe it’s because his subconscious hasn’t moved on.
He glances at his watch. 12:30 p.m. He should go somewhere else other than the cafe downstairs; he’s sure the owner’s bored of him now. Grabbing his blazer, he bows in the general direction of the rest of the room, striding towards the stairs while struggling to find the hole to put his arm into.
The sun is perfect today, not too hot even though it’s July. The wind drags a finger daintily across his cheekbones, and he walks down the length of the road before stopping at an udon restaurant with large windows, providing a clear view of the stunning river.
Yamaguchi had fallen in love with the river when he first arrived in Tokyo, the city that had different air. In Tokyo, the air is heavier somehow, as heavy as the pockets of the people here. Back in Sendai, the air was as light as the smiles of the people there, and other than whether to buy pork buns for the juniors or not, Yamaguchi had never had many worries even in his last year of high school, the threshold into adulthood.
Here, he feels more grown, more worn, more afraid. Here there aren’t any friendly grandmas who ask you to read the expiry date for them. There aren’t any holidays spent cycling on the road next to a rice field. There is only a ladder, and people who push others off to get to the top.
He doesn’t know why he came to Tokyo. He could’ve gone anywhere else. He steps into the restaurant, orders a zaru udon, sips a spoonful of soup first. He thinks of your smile, warm as kitchen lights.
—
“Let’s break up.”
Yamaguchi’s grown, grown to hold himself at the right angles, grown to not feel like he’s staring at his own body on autopilot. But his first thought when you said ‘let’s break up’ was:
What did I do wrong?
It pains him how much you know him, because your next words are: “It’s not your fault.” You shift your weight on the balls of both feet. “I just - I don’t know.”
You try to make your voice as gentle as possible, “I don’t love you anymore. I’m sorry. Is that okay?”
His shoulders curl forward. Is it? Is falling out of love okay?
It is. People change. One thing he’s learnt is that people change all the time. People change like the skies. That’s what makes the beautiful, ugly; that’s why they have clouds on their tongue and thunder rattling their teeth. They have the bleeding sun in their chests, pumping sunset scarlet through their veins. They live and hurt themselves, hurt others, die, live again. That’s what makes us humans.
People change. Hinata’s smile holds an edge to it sometimes. Kageyama holds himself prouder, but somehow softer. Tsukishima loves more, something Yamaguchi had never thought him capable of. Yachi’s gaze doesn’t waver anymore when she looks at him.
People change. You’re a person too, so you too change.
Is that okay?
“No.”
Your eyes drop. “I’m sorry, Tadashi.”
He doesn’t look at you either. “People - people do change. I just thought we could stay together despite that.”
“I’m sorry,” you say for the third time, biting your lip. “Please don’t make this hard for the both of us.”
His head snaps up, eyes disbelieving. “Don’t make this hard? So, what, am I supposed to just stop loving you? Is there a switch?”
“I don’t know, okay?” Your fists curl at your sides. “I just, I just don’t feel as much for you anymore. I have feelings for someone else. To stay in our relationship like that would be cheating on you. It’d be wasting your time. Both of our time.”
Ignorance is bliss, he remembers the saying. At this moment in time, he’d give anything to not know, to bury his head in the earth like an ostrich. You don’t know what you don’t perceive.
“I - I can’t just let you go,” he manages, voice catching. You bite your lip harder. “Y/N, what am I supposed to do?”
He’s lost, he truly is. It feels like walking and having someone pull the ground beneath you like a carpet, except you’re not slipping, you’re falling. He’s falling, and you’re the one who pushed him. You held his hand as he was dangling off the edge, and you let go.
“I don’t know.” You sound tired, like you’re ready to dash out the apartment door as soon as he lets this drop. “Give it time, and you’ll forget me. Time heals.”
—
It’s July 29, more than a year after you’d broken up, and he hasn’t forgotten you. Yamaguchi strolls along the passenger walk, on his way to the bridge. He walks closer to the shops, because you’ve always told him to be careful after he’d almost tripped and got run over by a car. Tonight, the already beautiful river will be lit bright with fireworks. It’s the first time Yamaguchi has been to the fireworks festival, although all of Japan had heard plenty about it.
There’s a fairly strong night wind. He gazes at the apartment lights in the distance and pretends they’re stars. Even in Miyagi he’d seen few to none, and Tokyo shines too brightly for any burning ball of gas to make its presence known. He’s humming a tune while leaning on the railing, feeling the night cloak his shoulders.
Usually, when you turn your head to the left, you don’t think much of it. He’s still half-stuck in a blissful dreamlike state when he catches sight of you.
He feels fifteen again, holding the toy he found buried under the piled up stuff in his home during spring cleaning. Pleasantly surprised, nostalgic, aching a little. Aching for something lost. By your side is your significant other, holding your hand, pointing out the different shops on shore as you stroll to the centre of the bridge, where he is. You stop some ways away from him, a family of four between you.
The fireworks paint the black backdrop. Time heals, you’d said. Does it? Yamaguchi doesn’t know. He’s not angry, he realises as he looks at the both of you out of the corner of his eye. He’s not sad, not jealous either. Only painfully aware that there isn’t a warm arm pressed against his. Just a dull aching, the feeling when you sit on your balcony and let the night air curl around your ribs.
He wrenches his eyes away to look at the fireworks. They’re not supposed to be blurry, are they? He blinks hard, strains his eyes and looks, looks at the purple and blue pathways streaking across the sky for the gods to place their feet on. He traces every wisp of barely visible smoke. Yellow, blue. If he doesn’t look, you’re not there. He hears your laugh. It’s the same, the same lilt, the same happiness. He’s not the only one who can make you laugh like that. Boom, boom. If he doesn’t hear, you’re not there.
“Let’s move there!” He vaguely sees you pointing somewhere over his shoulder. He turns his head as you walk over.
He thinks of how you taught him to sip a bit of soup before eating noodles, especially when he’s hungry. He remembers the way you taught him to fold the laundry, how he’d exclaimed at your genius and how you’d laughed, saying it was from a YouTube video. He remembers the exact shade your hair turns under the kitchen lights, the bead of sweat on your temple as steam from the cooking shrouds your face.
Yellow, blue. Boom, boom.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
The fireworks drown out his voice. Your shoulder brushes his. You don’t look back.