Archive of Our Own

“Aren’t you gonna say something?”

Kei glances at Tadashi. They’ve been walking quietly besides each other this whole time, so his question comes out of nowhere. He slightly raises his eyebrows, but his friend isn’t looking at him. From this angle, and in the dark, there’s not much he can read from his face. 

“What do you mean?” He asks, trying not to sound too annoyed. 

Tadashi shrugs. “About the match.”

Kei is getting even more confused now. What match? It can’t be the Aoba Johsai practice match, that was a long time ago. And other than the matches they play during practice against their own teammates, there haven’t been any other matches lately. 

Or wait.

“Against Nekoma?” 

“Mhm.”

Kei hates it when he doesn’t understand what Tadashi is talking about. He’s usually the master of reading him like an open book. He can tell everything that goes through his mind by only glancing at him, he’s able to pick up on his moods, and he knows exactly what to do when he’s in a really, really bad mood, like when his anxiety and insecurities overtake his rational thoughts. 

But right now he can’t figure out where Tadashi is getting with this conversation. 

“Why would I say anything about it?”

“Because it’s Tokyo , Tsukki.”

Oh.

Kei shrugs. “I haven’t been to Tokyo in years, Tadashi,” he says calmly, willing himself not to get frustrated like he does often when somebody mentions his past with Tokyo. 

“Well, I know . But it’s exciting, isn’t it?” Tadashi sounds a bit too enthusiastic for Kei’s liking. “If you hadn’t moved away from there, you might be on that team now! How crazy!”

Kei doesn’t roll his eyes often at Tadashi – because he’s one of the very few people who don’t drive him on the wall all the time – but now he can’t stop himself from doing so. 

“Tokyo has thousands of high schools.”

“I know, I know,” Tadashi says, making dismissive moves with his hands. “But it’s so cool that we’re playing against one of them!”

Kei shrugs. “I guess. I don’t care.”

They stop at the crossroads where they always part as they go home. Tadashi has to turn right and then walk another street to get home, while Kei still has to walk along this long – too damn long – street, and his house is right at the end of it. 

Tadashi frowns, but it doesn’t stay on his face for too long. Instead, he starts smiling awkwardly and scratches the back of his neck. 

“Sorry, Tsukki,” he says. “I know you don’t like talking about Tokyo. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Kei sighs and turns to Tadashi with his whole body. 

“It’s fine,” he says honestly. “It’s not like we can avoid talking about it now that we have the match coming up.” He puts his hand on Tadashi’s shoulder reassuringly, and Tadashi’s face lights up, a real smile replacing the slightly anxious one. “Don’t worry.”

“Okay, Tsukki,” Tadashi says, beaming. “I gotta go now.”

“Sure. See you tomorrow morning.”

Kei reaches for his headphones now resting around his neck to put them over his ears. 

“Good night, Tsukki,” is the last thing he hears before he connects the headphones to his phone and presses the play button over his favorite playlist. 

He shoots a small smile at Tadashi and answers, “Good night.” The noise canceling headphones make him deaf to his own words. Tadashi smiles once more, then turns away and starts walking towards his home. 

Kei also proceeds walking home. 

He’d really prefer not to think about Tokyo, but now that Tadashi has mentioned it, the thoughts are floating around his mind. It’s been six years since he moved from Tokyo to Miyagi, and it’s been four years since he last thought of the capital as his home. He remembers claiming that he would never consider Miyagi his home after his mom had dragged him here, away from everything he had known and loved. 

Oh, how things have changed since then. 

Thinking back, Kei didn’t care about Tokyo . Sure, it’s an amazing city, and he has good memories from there (well, he doesn’t have a lot of memories, but those that he has are good). But ultimately, when he moved away it wasn’t the city that he was going to miss, not the lights, nor the milling crowds. He really didn’t care about moving to another place. 

He only cared about his friends he left behind. 

He still remembers Tetsurou and Kenma like he last saw them yesterday. 

People used to say that their friendship wouldn’t last, there were just too many things that could easily end it. Some would say that their age difference would cause them to fall apart – all three of them were in different years, Tetsurou the oldest, Kenma a year younger, and then Kei the youngest –, while others swore that friendships of three never worked on the long-run, so one of them would definitely be outcasted sooner or later. 

The three of them never believed those people. They did everything together – they started playing volleyball together, they always hung out at each other’s houses, they had sleepovers every weekend, they played video games, they celebrated their birthdays together. They were truly inseparable.

Up until the moment Kei had to leave them behind. 

They were prepared for the change, they had plans. Kei would visit Tokyo, and his friends would visit Miyagi during breaks. They would call each other on their parents’ phones, since they all were too young to get their own cellphones yet. And when they would get old enough to have their own social media accounts, they would be able to keep in touch regularly. And most importantly, they would write letters. 

At first, everything went smoothly. He received letters from Tetsurou and Kenma almost weekly, and he answered them all eagerly every time. All their letters were several pages long, telling each other everything that had happened to them in graphic detail. It was hard to arrange calls, but once or twice they managed, although the letters remained their primary way of communication. 

Kei even visited them once – he was so happy to see them again. They came to get him from the railway station, and they spent an entire weekend together. It was like nothing had changed.

Kei thought everything was going to be okay. 

But after the visit, things took a rather unfortunate turn. 

Like something had been cut between the three of them, Tetsurou and Kenma never wrote to him again. Kei did – he sent them many-many letters, asking why they weren’t answering. He begged them to write back, he put all his desperation into his words, and sometimes even his tears stained the paper. 

But no matter how many letters he wrote, no matter what he told them, no matter how long he waited for them to reply, they never did. By the time he was twelve, it’d been almost a year since he last heard of his best friends. 

It hurt so much – Kei honestly thought he would never move on from that pain.

He loved Tetsurou and he loved Kenma so much . They weren’t his friends, they were more like brothers. There were a few times when somebody asked him if he had any siblings when he accidentally said he had three brothers instead of one. 

That’s how much Tetsurou and Kenma meant to him.

He had never thought that the kids who used to tell them that their friendship wouldn’t last would be right. But eventually, Kei had to admit that they had been – and just as they had predicted, their friendship ended due to one of them being outcasted. Kei didn’t want to be outcasted. He was so determined to keep their friendship working. 

He didn’t think that Tetsurou and Kenma had a different opinion. 

What hurt the most was that he was alone. Kenma and Tetsurou still had each other – they would probably have each other forever – while Kei was alone, with no friends. He remembers crying himself to sleep every night because he missed his friends, because he was scared of being lonely, because it hurt him that Tetsurou and Kenma just abandoned him like that. He thought it was unfair. 

Then he met Tadashi. And Kei’s life changed completely forever. 

He didn’t want new friends, at least that’s what he tried to convince himself with. But no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t get rid of Tadashi. Neither of them had friends, they were both alone, and although Kei didn’t admit it at the time, they were both in desperate need of some company. Tadashi stuck by his side, and Kei soon found himself being happy with him. 

They became each other’s rock. Kei cried on Tetsurou’s and Kenma’s birthdays, and Tadashi promised him that he would never abandon him like they had. Tadashi had panic attacks before every volleyball practice – he used to be scared of everything – and Kei helped him through them all with no difficulty. 

They became vital parts of each other’s lives in such a short period of time that it scared Kei. Tadashi told him it was okay to make friends and to move on from the ones that had hurt him. He also encouraged him to finally let go of Tetsurou and Kenma, to finally accept that they were his past and move on. 

It took him a while, but he did. He did move on. And by the time he and Tadashi walked into Karasuno together at the beginning of the year, Tetsurou and Kenma were just distant memories. People who once meant a lot to him, people who hurt him, people he didn’t think about anymore. He hadn’t thought about them for years at that point. 

Well, okay, that’s a lie. 

He still thinks about them sometimes. He wonders what they’re up to, how they live their lives. Tetsurou should be in his senior year of high school now, and Kei sometimes thinks about what he might want to do after graduation. He remembers Kenma every time he hears about the latest video games or consoles. Their birthdays are still marked in the calendar. He hasn’t thrown away anything that he got from them – gifts, letters, anything. He keeps them in a box under his bed. It's been about four and a half years since he last looked at that box. It’s probably covered in a thick layer of dust and spider webs at this point.

Despite everything, it doesn’t hurt anymore – he moved on. But it doesn’t mean he likes talking about it or about his hometown. He hates it when his mom or Akiteru mention them, and he despises it when people ask him about Tokyo. Yes, he moved on – but remembering how much Tetsurou and Kenma hurt him isn’t pleasant. 

So, he doesn’t. 

And he shouldn’t now, either. Tetsurou and Kenma are his past, and so is Tokyo. There’s no reason for him to think about them, he only does it now because Tadashi reminded him of it. But he needs to stop and look forward instead of thinking back. 

He opens the gate of his house, walks up to the porch and then enters through the front door. He wants to call out for his mom when he notices an additional pair of shoes by the racks and when he looks up to the coat hook, he sees the matching jacket – Akiteru is here!

Tetsurou and Kenma are quickly forgotten as he gets rid of his shoes and hurries into the living room to say hi to his older brother who he hasn’t seen in almost two months. 

Tetsurou is slacking. He knows. But no matter how hard he’s trying to do his best, it seems just so far out of reach right now. His receives are sloppy – to put it nicely –, his blocks are all over the place, and his spikes go straight out. He knows he’s being pathetic, but no matter what he does, he can’t pull his shit together. 

And obviously, the team has started to notice.

“What the hell is going on with you today?” 

Yaku’s voice is sharp and edgy. He’s pissed at Tetsurou, that’s for sure. And he can’t blame him for it – their team has lost two sets in a row because of Kuroo. If it were an official match and not just practice against their own teammates, Yaku would definitely be planning his murder at the moment. 

He sighs. 

“Nothing,” he lies, although he knows that it isn’t worth shit. Both Yaku and Kai – when did Kai even get here, anyway? – know him too well to believe his poor excuses. 

“Bullshit,” Yaku says, gesturing wildly with his arms. “Something’s going on, and it bothers you enough to fail blocking Teshiro’s spikes. Who has spiked like three times in his entire life. So, what’s wrong?”

Tetsurou decides to earn some time by taking a sip from his water bottle. Yaku rolls his eyes, but Kai is just smiling patiently at him. Bless him, really. Without Kai, Yaku and Tetsurou would’ve killed each other in their first year. The three of them being able to work so well together is purely thanks to Kai. Tetsurou will forever be thankful for that. 

He swallows the water. It really wouldn’t hurt to talk to somebody about his problem. He doesn’t dare talking about it to Kenma, knowing that it would open up old wounds for them both. He really doesn’t want that. But he does want to get it off his chest. And he trusts Kai and Yaku.  

“Remember when I told you about a friend Kenma and I had when we were kids?”

“The blond guy from the picture in your room?” Kai asks, and Tetsurou nods. “Sure, we remember him,” he says, but glances at Yaku for confirmation, who hums in agreement. “What about him?”

“Remember how I told you he moved away?” He receives another round nodding from his friends. “Well, he moved to Miyagi.”

“Oh,” says Kai. 

“I don’t know where exactly,” Tetsurou continues. “And I know it’s a long shot and I shouldn’t think about it, but-

“But you can’t stop thinking about what if you see him again,” interrupts Yaku, finishing his sentence with almost the exact words he would’ve used. 

“Yeah. And I’ve been thinking about what I would say to him if I met him, you know,” he continues, fiddling with the edge of the towel thrown over his left shoulder. 

“What about Kenma?” Yaku asks. His anger from before has almost completely disappeared – he still seems a tiny bit pissed about Tetsurou’s performance, though. “Did you guys talk about it-

“We didn’t.”

Kenma’s voice comes out of nowhere, and Tetsurou flinches as he notices his best friends standing right next to him. A moment ago they were talking to Yamamoto on the other side of the court – how hasn’t he noticed them coming here?

Kenma blinks up at Tetsurou, but only for a moment before they look back down to the ground. They don’t like eye contact at all, so they usually hold their gaze down. However, that quick glance they shared was enough for Tetsurou to know that they’re just as bothered by the topic as he is. 

“We should start by apologizing,” Kenma says in a small tone. “And then if he doesn’t hate us completely, we can try and catch up.” Then, they add, “But that’s only if we see him. We’re going to Miyagi, but there’s no guarantee we’ll just run into each other, you know.”

Tetsurou sighs. He knows that. In fact, not meeting Kei during the camp has a bigger chance than meeting him. Miyagi is a big prefecture, and Tetsurou and Kenma have no idea where Kei actually lives. He might live in the complete opposite part of the prefecture. (After all, it's been years since they last heard from him, the latest address they know about might not be relevant anymore.) 

But even if he lives near the camp, who says that he’ll be there? It’s been five years, almost six – Kei might not even play volleyball anymore. 

It’s not worth thinking about the possibilities. The chances are way too slim. Still, there’s an empty pit in Tetsurou’s stomach – it’s been there ever since he last heard from Kei all those years ago, and it’s never gone away. He knows Kenma feels the same way. Kei was special and important for the both of them – he remembers how shitty they felt when they realized-

Well, he guesses that’s not relevant anymore. Thanks to his and Kenma’s mothers… Yeah. Their point of view on their friendship with Kei – or more specifically, on how it ended – changed drastically a few months ago. 

Where used to be anger and bitterness, there’s regret and guilt now – and no matter how much he’s trying, Tetsurou can’t shake the feeling off. Although they don’t mention it, Tetsurou knows that Kenma feels the same. Or at least somewhat similarly.

Kai, probably noticing Tetsurou’s mood change, puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, and with a soft smile, he says, “If you want to meet him so much, why don’t you look him up online? Sure he has social media.”

Well, that just won’t work. He needs to see Kei face to face. He needs to look him in the eye and explain what happened. He surely hates Tetsurou now, so why would he agree to meet him? Tetsurou has no idea what kind of person Kei has grown to be in the past few years, but usually, people aren’t eager to meet up with their old friends who hurt them. 

Because Tetsurou and Kenma definitely hurt Kei – even if it weren’t their fault. 

But explaining that to Kai and Yaku now would be too complicated – he’s not really in the mood to tell Kai why it’s not a good idea to contact Kei online. So, instead of shutting the idea down, he just smiles at his friend, and says, “Yeah. I think I’ll do that.”

Kei can’t believe this. 

He can’t fucking believe this.

They’re here. 

They’ve changed a lot, but Kei doesn’t doubt that it’s them. He’d recognize Tetsurou’s awful bedhead – which is even worse now than it used to be – anywhere, and his annoying smirk seems the same, just a bit more mature. He’s tall, but Kei’s taller – it fills him with weird satisfaction. Kenma has a PSP in his pocket – Kei could see it from a mile away – and he still looks shy and unwilling to socialize. Oh, and his hair is blond now. Most of his hair, anyway. 

Kei doesn’t know what to do or how to act. Should he ignore them? Probably that would be the wisest idea. But what if they recognize him, too, and they want to talk? That would be weird. He could pretend that he doesn’t know them-

Wait, why would they even want to talk to him? It was them who decided not to be his friends anymore and stopped writing. They clearly had no desire to keep in touch with Kei, and it would make no sense if they did now. And it’s not like Kei wants to talk to them. So, ignoring them is the best option here. 

“Tsukki?” Tadashi asks, waving his hand in front of his face. 

Kei blinks a few times, turning towards his best friend a bit confused. 

“Huh?”

“You’ve been dozing off,” he explains. “I’ve been talking to you for ages, did you hear anything of it?”

Kei shakes his head and glances back at Tetsurou and Kenma. Tetsurou is talking to Sawamura-san, probably discussing some details regarding the match ahead of them – or, based on both of their scary expression, probably are scheming against each other – while Kenma is being crowded by Hinata, Tanaka-san and somebody else from Nekoma by the entry of the gym. Sugawara-san and a third Nekoma player are there as well.

Neither of them seem to have noticed Kei yet. Good. 

“Are you okay?” Tadashi asks. He was annoyed before, probably because Kei hadn’t been paying attention to him, but now his voice has a thin layer of worry on top. Kei usually doesn’t like hearing that – he hates making Tadashi worried – but right now he can’t bring himself to care. 

“Tetsurou and Kenma are here,” he says simply. 

He can see from the corner of his eyes as Tadashi’s expression changes – the frown disappears from between his eyebrows and they jump to the middle of his forehead. “What? Here? In Nekoma?” Kei nods, and Tadashi starts scamming through the newcomers. “Which ones?”

“The captain is Tetsurou,” Kei says, nodding towards Tetsurou and Sawamura-san still staring at each other with psycho smiles, “and Kenma is the blond one with Hinata.”

“Is it only me or does it seem like Hinata thinks they’re best friends already?”

“Are you surprised?” Kei asks with a small, scoffing at the end.

“Not at all.” Tadashi turns back to look at Kei. He also takes his eyes off Kenma and Hinata to focus on his best friend. “What are you going to do?”

Kei shrugs. “Ignore them.”

“What if they don’t want to ignore you?”

“Sucks to suck, I guess,” Kei answers, rolling his eyes at the idea. “They successfully ignored me five years ago, it’s too late to stop now. Besides, they haven’t even looked at me, yet. They probably don’t know who I am.”

Tadashi gives him an unimpressed look. “I’m pretty sure they’ll recognize you when they hear the team saying your name.”

As if on cue, like he heard what Tadashi has just said, Takeda-sensei appears from out of nowhere at the other side of the parking lot. 

“Tsukishima-kun!” He calls, not really yells, because he never yells, but it’s loud enough for him to hear it clearly. 

And apparently, it’s loud enough for Tetsurou and Kenma to hear, too – Kei can see both of them snapping their eyes at him, but luckily, he has an excuse not to look at them. He turns to Takeda-sensei partially to avoid his ex-friends’ gazes, but also to see what his teacher needs. 

“Can you help me with something for a moment?” He asks, and by the way he speaks Kei can immediately tell that whatever he needs his help with, it has something to do with high places that he can’t reach for himself. 

It happens all the time. He’s used to it at this point. 

Without saying a word – because he doesn’t want to talk that loudly among so many people – he nods and walks towards his teacher, who’s now smiling gratefully at him. As he walks away he can feel the curious gazes of Tetsurou and Kenma. He doesn’t look back at them, but he can tell that they’re following him with their eyes as long as he’s in their sight. 

They’re basically burning holes into the back of his jacket. 

He sighs as he finally leaves the parking lot – it’s going to be a long day. 

“Shouyou,” Kenma breathes, their eyes still fixated on the spot where Kei left the parking lot a few seconds ago. They don’t need to look at Tetsu to know that he’s doing the same.

“Hm?”

“The tall guy that’s just left,” they start, and they notice that their voice is a bit louder than usual. They can’t help it. It feels like they’ve just seen a ghost. 

“Tsukishima?” Shouyou asks back, head tilted to the side, and a bit confused. Kenma’s heart speeds up a bit as Shouyou confirms that they heard the name right. “What about him?”

“What’s his given name?”

Kenma’s well aware that the guy can still not be their Tsukishima. But honestly, they doubt it. The guy’s tall, probably taller than anybody else among the two teams – at least now that Lev isn’t here –, he wears glasses and his hair is the exact shade of blond that Kei had. It reminds them of Rapunzel – it’s always reminded them of her. And he’s a volleyball player. 

Really, what are the chances that there’s another blond, tall volleyball player with glasses in Miyagi named Tsukishima?

“Kei,” Shouyou answers, still confused. “Why?”

Kenma feels knocked off their feet – this can’t be a coincidence! It’s Kei, it has to be their Kei! What other explanation is there for it? There’s no way that this Tsukishima Kei isn’t the same Tsukishima Kei that Kenma used to think of as their best friend. There’s no way that this isn’t the Tsukishima Kei who Kenma and Tetsu have wanted to reconnect with for months. 

They finally tear their eyes from that one spot in the parking lot, but instead of answering Shouyou’s question, he decides to glance at Tetsu, who’s already staring at him with big, pleading eyes. Kenma knows what he wants – they want the same. 

They fucked it up – well, their mothers did, really. But Kei doesn’t know that. He probably thinks they abandoned him on purpose, maybe he even hates them. But ever since Tetsu and Kenma found those old letters in the kitchen cabinets seven months ago, they’ve been hoping for an opportunity to meet Kei again and make things right – or at least explain what happened. 

They owe that to Kei – and to themselves as well. 

And Kenma will be damned before they let this opportunity go to waste. 

Tetsurou is panicking, for lack of a better word. He doesn’t hear what Nekomata-sensei or Coach Naoi are telling the team, what wise advice they have to share before the match against Karasuno starts. All his focus is on the other team. More accurately, on Kei. 

Does he still have the right to refer to him as Kei? Probably not. But it doesn’t feel right to think of him as Tsukishima. 

Kei has changed a lot, even judging by far. He’s grown a lot – he’s fucking taller than Tetsurou now – and the frame of his glasses is different. He also seems quieter – he used to be energetic, cheerful, and he smiled all the time. He was the literal sunshine of their little friend group, ironically to his name. 

He’s really pretty, too. Tetsurou wouldn’t have called ten-year-old Kei pretty, but sixteen-year-old Kei? Yeah. He’s very pretty. 

Tetsurou wants to walk up to him, envelope him in his tightest hug and apologize to him – and then preferably catch up with him in a café and fix what’s been broken (more like utterly destroyed) between them. But he can’t – not now at least. He doubts Karasuno would appreciate it if Nekoma's captain stole one of their players right before the match. On top of that, his own teammates would probably drop kick him right in the middle of the gym. 

So, he has to wait. For how long? He doesn’t know. These practice matches are famous for lasting for more than three sets – usually the limit is total exhaustion – and that means hours . Tetsurou’s not sure he can play for hours with Kei on the other side of the court, unable to talk to him. 

The coaches dismiss the team, and Tetsurou feels Kenma poking his side. 

“Stop staring, it’s creepy,” they say. 

“You’re staring, too.”

“I am subtle, you’re not. And you still have that stupid speech about blood or whatever to give the team.”

Tetsurou looks at them, pouting his lips. “I wanna talk to him,” he tells him. 

“Yeah, me too. But we have to wait until the end of the match.” They put a hand on his forearm as an act of comfort. Tetsurou sighs. “We’ve been waiting for five years, Tetsu. What’s a few more hours?”

Yeah, sure. But during those five years Tetsurou had no idea about Kei. He didn’t know where he was or how to find him – in fact, for the majority of that time, he hated Kei, and he didn’t want to see him ever again. Really, that five years is only seven months – seven infuriating months. 

So yes, they can say that they’ve been waiting for seven months, so a couple more hours shouldn’t be a problem. But it is , because Kei is here, within their reach. They could just approach him, or maybe yell his name to get his attention. And they’re going to be playing against each other – how is Tetsurou supposed to focus on defeating their destined rivals when all he wants is Kei’s attention as he explains what happened?

“I can’t do it,” he says. 

“Yes, you can. You have to. Yaku will murder you if you start slacking because of this.”

Tetsurou frowns. “Do I look like I care when Kei is literally ten meters away and-

“I know you don’t care,” they interrupt. “I don’t, either. Believe me, I’d much rather talk to him now than later, too. But there’s nothing we can do about it. So stop whining, give that embarrassing speech and let’s play. The sooner it’s over, the sooner we can end it.”

They’re right, as always. Kenma has always been able to see situations in a more rational way, even if it affects their own feelings as well. Unlike Tetsurou, who’s always driven by his emotions. And right now, Kenma’s mindset comes in very handy. 

He takes a deep breath and finally stops staring at Kei. He looks at Kenma, who’s already watching him expectantly, and nods. 

“You’re right,” he tells them. He still doesn’t think he’s ready for the match, ready for the upcoming hours he needs to spend staying quiet and not running up to Kei. But he must do it, anyway. “Let’s play.”

Kei isn’t easily distracted. He’s well aware that his brain is his greatest weapon – on and off the volleyball court – and if people want to check his balance, they have a hard time. Even Hinata and Kageyama. They irk Kei to death, but he needs more than a couple of annoying bastards to lose his temper. 

But barely fifteen minutes into the match, he can feel his composure slacking. 

It’s not even his fault. If it was up to him, he’d just ignore Tetsurou and Kenma. He would. Or, at least he’d ignore them as much as a volleyball player can ignore their opponents while playing. He’d pay attention to them – Tetsurou being Nekoma’s middle blocker, and Kenma their setter, and probably their strategist as well, it would be required of him to keep an eye on them – but he wouldn’t be distracted by their presence. 

Sadly, it’s not up to him. He can feel both their eyes on him at all times. Which is kind of impressive, because Nekoma’s leading despite two of their players not focusing solely on the game. Not that Kei cares about the outcome of the match. He couldn’t care less if they lost, in fact, he’s been expecting it since the event was announced. It just annoys him that Tetsurou and Kenma have time to just keep looking at him while continuously jumping for killer blocks and giving perfect sets. 

They’re close to the end of the first set when Coach Ukai signals for a timeout. As Kei’s walking off the court he still feels two pairs of eyes burning holes into his jersey, but he tries to ignore them completely. He listens to what coach has to say, he’s encouraging the team to find more ways to break through Nekoma’s block. 

When he finishes talking and receives nods and agreements, he dismisses the team to drink some more water until the break ends and they have to return to the court. Hinata turns to Kei with the most confused expression he has ever seen on his face. 

“Hey, Tsukishima,” he starts, “how do you know Kenma?”

How the fuck does Hinata know that he knows him?

“I don’t,” he says, using the tone that usually stops Hinata from talking around him – he’s been told it’s scary – but unfortunately this time it doesn’t have the desired effect. 

“After you left the parking lot to help Takeda-sensei, Kenma stared after you and asked about your name. Your given name. And when I asked why they wanted to know, they didn’t answer.”

Kei raises an eyebrow. “They ?”

Hinata nods. “They use they/them pronouns.”

Ah. Kei didn’t know that. It’s definitely good to be aware of their pronouns. If the three of them do end up talking later – which he really hopes to avoid – at least he won’t start off by misgendering them. 

Kei shrugs. “Still. I don’t know them.”

“That’s a lie,” Sugawara-san interrupts, and turning towards him Kei notices that his little conversation with Hinata has an audience. The entire team, to be exact. He can barely suppress the urge to roll his eyes at them all. “They’ve been looking at you this whole time. First I thought they were just trying to read you or something, you know, like setters do, but they don’t do it to anybody else. Not that much, at least. Like even when Nishinoya subbed you out, they kept glancing at you.”

“Ah, thank god, I’m not the only one who noticed,” Tanaka-san says. “I didn’t want to say anything, I thought I was imagining things.”

“No,” Sawamura-san joins in. “I did, too. And it’s not only Kenma, it’s Kuroo, too.”

Nishinoya-san starts nodding furiously. “Yeah, I saw it, too. But like, he’s been staring at Tsukishima a lot . And not in a oh-he’s-the-other-team’s-middle-blocker-I-better-pay-attention kind of way,” he explains. 

Kei wishes they all just shut up. Can’t the timeout be over already? He’s never the one who just wants to go back to the court and play until he can, but right now he really wants to do that. Anything, even playing a match that they’re doomed to lose seems like a better option than continuing talking to his teammates. 

“So?” Kageyama asks, and somehow he  manages to sound both grumpy and unbothered at the same time. 

Kei glances at Tadashi, who’s standing right across him, asking what he should do with his eyes, and all he gets is the slightest humanly possible shrug. So small that Kei doesn’t think anybody else notices. 

But obviously , they do. 

“You’ve just done that weird thing when you and Yamaguchi have a conversation with your eyes,” Hinata says, pouting. 

Kei gives him an unimpressed look. 

“Yeah, you guys think we don’t notice but we do,” Tanaka-san confirms. “Come on, out with it. Why do they keep staring at you?”

Kei sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He can’t get out of the situation, can he? And he can’t avoid the question, either. All of his teammates – except Tadashi – are looking at him, expecting an answer. And at this point, Kei seriously doubts they’d believe him if he said he doesn’t know them.

Well, he guesses he can tell them something . He won’t spill the story of his entire childhood, but he can tell them something satisfying enough to stop them from any further inquiry. 

“I was born in Tokyo,” he says, choosing his words carefully so he doesn’t accidentally say something that he’d rather not share. Some of his teammates seem surprised by this information – Hinata, for example, is looking at him like he’s crazy. “And we used to be friends. It ended when I moved here. I guess they recognized me, and that’s why they’re staring.”

A short silence filled with tension, confusion and lots of weird staring from his teammates follows his words. It frustrates him. What's so hard to understand?

“You were born in Tokyo?” Tanaka-san asks surprised. Kei nods, secretly happy that finally somebody speaks up. “Ah, so you’re a city-boy, too! That’s why you laughed at me!”

Well, he’s not happy about that somebody being Tanaka-san, that’s for sure. 

“No. That was because your pronunciation is questionable,” he answers, almost chuckling at the memory of Tanaka-san saying shitty boys instead of city boys. “And I don’t care about Tokyo, I barely have any memories of it,” he adds, just so he can avoid being called a city boy once again. He was born in Tokyo, he had lived in Tokyo for ten years – but he is not a city boy. His hometown might be Tokyo, but his home is Miyagi. 

“But if they were your friends,” Hinata says, and he seems to be thinking hard, “why aren’t you catching up with them? Or even talk to them? Did you have a fight?”

He opens his mouth with all the intention to send Hinata to hell for poking his nose into something that is none of his business, but before a single sound could leave his mouth, Ennoshita-san, who’s been quietly observing the conversation with Narita-san and Kinoshita-san this whole time, steps up and puts a hand on Hinata’s shoulder. 

“I don’t think that’s any of our business, Hinata,” he says gently, but somehow his voice is stern, leaving no room for objections. Kei can see why Sawamura-san wants him to follow his steps and become captain next year. 

Nothing proves it better than Hinata shutting his mouth immediately, albeit with the pout deepening on his face. Kei looks at Ennoshita-san, and nods to thank him for interfering and respecting his privacy. Ennoshita-san smiles back at him, warmly, and Kei thinks that he will be a great captain next year. 

“Is it bothering you that they’re staring?” Sawamura-san asks, his tone switching from curious to protective. This is something he has in common with Sugawara-san. They’re both very protective over their juniors – especially the first years, as Kei’s noticed. It’s pretty annoying at times. “I can talk to them if you want.”

Kei shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. It gets annoying, but nothing too bad. Thank you, though,” he adds. 

The whistle is blown, signaling for the two teams to get back to the court because the match is about to continue. Kei walks up to the front and takes his place in the middle, just like Tetsurou does on the other side of the net. Kei makes sure not to glance at him, nor Kenma, who’s standing in the back now, as it is their turn to serve. 

The game goes on for a while. Kei still feels Kenma’s and Tetsurou’s burning glances on him all the time, like they have nothing else to do. He tries to ignore them. He only looks at Kenma when he tries to read their next toss – he’s getting better and better at predicting their moves – and he only watches Kuroo when he spikes and Kei needs to jump for a block. 

His ignorance doesn’t really stop the two from staring at him, though. It’s getting more annoying by the second, but he doesn’t say anything. 

As he walks to the back row with the ball in his hand to serve, he gets stopped by his elbow by Sawamura-san. He raises his eyebrows in a silent question of What is it?

“Are you sure they don’t bother you?” He asks, voice unsure. “It even bugs me that they keep staring.”

Kei shrugs. “It’s fine. Besides, if we called them out on it, it would just be awkward.”

Sawamura-san nods, and lets go of Kei’s arm to let him serve. The ball goes over the net. It’s received by Nekoma’s ace, then Kenma makes a perfect toss for their number two. With Hinata in the front, Kei has no hope that the ball will be stopped. And he’s right. The ball lands between Azumane-san and Kageyama. 

Hinata turns around to look at Kei as Nekoma’s number two high fives with Tetsurou. He’s pouting as he stares at Kei. 

“I’ll block the next one,” he says. 

Kei finds it very amusing. He raises one eyebrow at him and smirks. “Will you, though? Can you even see the top of the net from down there?”

Hinata groans at him, but Kei doesn’t pay attention. Something else catches his ears, and his eyes snap at Tetsurou. He’s laughing loudly – and then it’s gone as he slaps his hand on his mouth to stop himself. Kei can’t help but chuckle. It’s involuntary, but Tetsurou notices. 

He sends Kei a small smile, and then turns away, smiling even wider at Kenma, who’s just nodding, as if they understand What Tetsurou is trying to say without words. Kenma then glances at Kei, and their eyes lock for a moment before the whistle reminds everyone that they’re still having a match. 

He has no idea what’s just happened between the three of them – but maybe he does want to talk to them, after all. He’s still angry, and remembering what happened five years ago leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. But this moment they’ve just shared…

Maybe talking to them wouldn’t be so bad.

Kenma’s nervous. They’re hardly ever nervous, but now they can barely stop their legs from tapping nervously on the floor as they and Tetsurou are sitting on the bench in front of Karasuno’s changing room, waiting for Kei to come out. 

He might not even want to talk to them. Kenma would totally understand that. From Kei’s point of view, Kenma and Tetsurou are the assholes, and he has a very good reason to believe that. 

For the longest time, Kei had been the asshole in their eyes. Tetsurou and Kenma spent months writing letter after letter to Kei, but they never got a response. It was like Kei had disappeared from the Earth. Both of them were heartbroken. Tetsurou couldn’t stop crying, and Kenma started having trust issues around that time. Their sadness turned into anger and hatred. They were so mad, even years later. They had never really moved on. Even hearing the name Kei pissed them off – whether it was their Kei or not. 

And when they learnt the truth seven months ago…

“Tetsu,” Kenma says, earning a quiet hum from their friend. “What do we do if he doesn’t want to talk?”

Tetsurou sighs. “I guess we finally move on.”

That sounds wrong. That sounds straight up wrong. 

Whether it was bitterness fueling them even years after their connection with Kei had broken, or the regret and guilt they’ve been feeling for the past months, Kei has never really stopped being a part of their lives. Finally letting go of him is a huge step. 

A step Kenma’s not sure that they’re ready to take. 

People tend to think that Kenma doesn’t care about their friends. They say that because they play lots of games, they never pay attention. They assume the worst of them, and Kenma never really bothers to correct them, because they don’t run on other people’s validation. If they want to think they’re a horrible friend, be their guest. 

But they’re wrong. 

Kenma cares about Tetsurou, and they care about Tora, and they care about Fukunaga. They also care about their entire team, although they wouldn’t necessarily call all of them friends. Still, they’re an important part of their life, and they cherish them all. 

They used to care about Kei, too. And then they didn’t. And now they do again. He might not be their friend anymore, he might never be their friend ever again. But Kenma still cares. If only Kei heard them and Tetsurou out, they could explain what happened. And maybe, maybe , they could be friends again. 

Kenma isn’t naive enough to hope that it will all play out well. Both them and Tetsurou have changed a lot during the past six years, and there’s no doubt that Kei has changed as well. He hasn’t said a word to Kenma, and still they noticed how different this Kei is from the Kei they used to know. This Kei doesn’t smile, he isn’t the cheerful, happy boy that he used to be. He’s witty and sarcastic. His voice is dripping with venom when he talks to Shouyou or their number nine – Kageyama, was it? – and he seems to be the type of guy who could make somebody cry with even a glance. 

But it doesn’t matter. Kenma doesn’t want to bring back their old friendship. They were just kids, after all. No, Kenma wants to reconnect with him. They want to start it from the beginning. They want to get to know this new Kei, and they also want him to see them and Tetsurou the way they are right now and not how they were five years ago. 

They want to forget what happened and create something new. They know that’s what Tetsurou wants as well. It’s only up to Kei to decide whether he wants it or not. 

They won’t force him if he says no, of course. They’ll respect whatever decision he makes, and as Tetsurou said, they’ll move on. It’ll probably hurt like hell, but they’ll accept it nevertheless.

“Did you bring the letters?” 

Tetsurou unzips his bag and pulls out the stack of letters, held together by a rubber band and shows it to Kenma. There was only a very small chance that they would meet Kei here, so small that it was nearly impossible. Still, Tetsurou insisted on bringing the letters. He said, “I know it’s a scratch, but what if we do meet him, Kenma? We can’t risk it. He won’t believe us if we just tell him that it wasn’t our fault, we have to prove it. I don’t care how unlikely it is that we’ll see him, I’m bringing the letters. Just in case.”

Kenma thought he was an idiot. Now, they’re thankful he brought them.

The door opens, revealing, well, not Kei, unfortunately. It’s Karasuno’s captain and their backup setter, who Kenma is pretty sure is the vice-captain as well. They stop their conversation as they see Tetsurou and Kenma, and the captain – what was his name? Sawamura? – sends them a slightly confused, but rather warning look. 

Tetsurou stands up. Kenma follows him. 

“Are you here because of Tsukishima?” Sawamura asks, not wasting any time on formalities or pleasantries. 

Kenma’s eyes widen as they hear the question. How does he know it’s about Kei? Tetsurou could be here to talk to him, since they’re the captains of the two teams, it would make a lot of sense. Daichi has no reason to think that they want to see Kei, not unless Kei has told him something. 

“Why would you think that, Sawamura?” Tetsurou asks. Kenma decides it’s better to stay quiet for now. 

“Because you two have been staring at him during the entire game,” the setter says – Damn, I’m really bad with names, aren’t I? – crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

Kenma looks up at Tetsurou, only to find him already looking at them, brows furrowed in confusion. 

“You were staring at him?” He asks, his voice offended. Kenma has no idea what to do with him right now. “ You told me to stop staring!”

“Yes, and did it stop you?”

Tetsurou pouts, but schools his expression after a short moment and turns back to the others, who currently don’t look too impressed by Tetsurou and Kenma. Kenma sighs. They’re not off to a good start. 

“Look, we just want to talk to him,” Tetsurou says, and this time he sounds much more serious than before. “Actually, we just want to ask him if he’s willing to talk to us. And if he says no, we’ll be out of his hair in no time.”

Sawamura and Sugawara share a quick, but seemingly meaningful look. It’s like they’re communicating without words. Kenma gets it. They and Tetsurou can understand each other without saying anything, only by glancing at each other in certain ways. 

Sawamura exhales heavily, and then turns back to them. 

“I do find it a bit shady that you kept staring at him, but he did tell us you used to be friends. And it’s not like we can tell Tsukishima what to do.”

“Even if we tried,” the setter takes over, “it would be to no avail. Tsukishima doesn’t listen to anybody. Well, except for Yamaguchi.”

“Sometimes,” Sawamura corrects him. 

“Yeah, sometimes.”

The door opens once again, and Kenma's breath hitches as Kei’s golden curls appear behind his two teammates. They suddenly don’t know what to say. They’ve been waiting for this moment for seven goddamn months, and now that Kei is right in front of them, and there’s a chance to talk to him, Kenma finds themselves unable to form coherent thoughts.

“Ah, Tsukishima,” the setter says. “Kuroo-san and Kozume-san want to talk to you.”

Kenma frowns at the use of their family name, but they don’t say anything. They really shouldn’t correct him right now, especially since they don’t even know his name. It would be embarrassing, even for them. 

“Yeah, uhm,” Tetsurou says, scratching the back of his neck anxiously as Kei’s eyes snap at the two of them. “We do. But only if you want to.” 

He sounds so awkward and nervous, he can barely find the words to say, so Kenma decides to help him out a bit. 

“Don’t feel forced. We understand if you don’t want to.”

It’s not Kei who speaks up – it’s his best friend. Yamaguchi , Kenma reminds themselves, remembering the setter calling him Yamaguchi a moment ago.

“Will you excuse us for a second?” He asks, and then he pulls Kei back to the changing room without waiting for an answer. 

Kenma feels their eyes widening, surprised by the sudden turn of events. They wonder what they’re talking about, if Yamaguchi’s trying to convince Kei not to talk to them. From Kei’s letters Kenma and Tetsurou know that Kei was not okay when their friendship ended. If Yamaguchi knows about that – and Kenma has no reason to think that he doesn’t – then he’s rightfully trying to protect Kei. 

That doesn’t make the wait any less infuriating, though. And with Sawamura and the setter still here, it’s not only nerve-wrecking, it’s also awkward. Kenma feels as their anxiety level rises, but they try to stay as calm as possible. This is about Kei, and no matter how long they have to wait out here, it’s fine. They’ve been waiting for seven months. What’s a couple more minutes compared to that?

“Are you sure about this?” Tadashi asks once again, and all Kei can do at this point is nod. 

“Yes, Dashi. I’m sure. I want to talk to them.” He exhales a bit too loudly. “I don’t have expectations with this, it would just be nice to get a closure, you know. I never knew why they stopped writing to me. 

Tadashi doesn’t seem convinced at all. He’s eyeing Kei with a curious glance, a concerned wrinkle between his eyebrows as he stands in the way of the door, as if to stop Kei from possibly slipping out. Not that he would. They’re having a conversation, he wouldn’t just leave him here like that. 

“I’m worried, Tsukki,” he says. “I saw how you were five years ago, and I don’t want to see you like that ever again.”

Kei smiles softly at Tadashi. “You won’t, I promise. What you saw was me suffering from losing my best friends. But they’re not that anymore. You’re my best friend, so unless you want to get rid of me, you won’t see me like that.”

Tadashi scoffs. “Please. I would never get rid of you. And even if you wanted to get rid of me , you couldn’t.”

Kei’s smile grows. “Good thing I don’t want to, then.” Then, he adds, a bit more seriously. “Really, Dashi, I’ll be fine. And I can always just walk away if I don’t like what I’m hearing.”

“Yes, you can,” Tadashi reassures him. “Okay, fine. I don’t like it, but it’s your wrecked friendship, not mine. But , the moment you’re done with them, you’re calling me. Deal?” 

Tadashi holds up his pinky finger, and Kei doesn’t hesitate to link it with his own. It’s almost like they’re thirteen again. They used to promise everything like this, and they thought that this way it was unbreakable. 

“Deal.”

Tadashi nods, and then he moves away from the door. It’s a bit awkward in this tiny space. The door of the changing room first leads to a very small room with only a sink, and then another door opens to the actual changing room. This room is not big enough for two people to stand here and move , but they manage somehow. 

Tadashi goes back to the changing room, probably to wait for Hinata and Kageyama. Kei, however, goes the other way, and steps out on the door once again. This time, it’s not a surprise when he sees Sawamura-san and Sugawara-san stading right at the door with Tetsurou and Kenma. 

His heartbeat picks up as the two look up at him with a silent question in their eyes. He wonders if this was actually a good idea, after all, but he reprimands himself immediately. He wants to talk to them, he can’t throw in the towel now. 

He nods before he speaks, and it already makes Tetsurou straighten up and Kenma’s eyes go wider. “Let’s talk,” he says. 

“Are you sure?” Sawamura-san asks, but he doesn’t look at Kei, he’s looking at Tetsurou. He sometimes has these moments when he’s being overprotective of the team and this seems to be one of those moments. Kei rolls his eyes, happy that Sawamura-san can’t see him do it. 

“Yes, I am.”

“Come on, Daichi, let’s leave them alone. We have a reservation, remember? We’re going to be late.”

At Sugawara-san’s words Sawamura-san’s shoulders relax a bit, and he turns to his boyfriend with a soft, almost sickeningly loving expression, probably the complete opposite of how he’s been staring at Tetsurou until now. 

“You’re right. Let’s go,” he says. Then, he turns back to Tetsurou. “Good game, let’s repeat it some other time, shall we?”

Tetsurou starts nodding. “Yeah, sure.”

Kei notes as Sawamura-san doesn’t go to shake Tetsurou’s hand like before the game, he just intertwines his fingers with Sugawara-san’s and they slowly start to walk away. “Well then, see you guys.”

“Yeah, see you, Sawamura,” Tetsurou says, following the two with his eyes. Kenma only waves in their way. 

The three of them watch as they leave the hallways, and when they’re left alone, awkward silence settles between them. Kei turns back to his ex-friends, unable to say anything. He hasn’t really thought this through. Is he supposed to talk?

Well, no. They asked him to talk. Which means that they’re supposed to start this conversation. 

Seems like Tetsurou gets to a similar conclusion. 

“Uhm, we shouldn’t talk in the middle of the hallways, right?” He asks awkwardly. Kei and Kenma both nod. “Eh, is our changing room fine? All our teammates are gone, we were the last ones.”

Well, that’s a good start. He certainly doesn’t want to risk anybody hearing their conversation, especially with his most annoying teammates still very much within hearing distance behind the door. A private space with just the three of them sounds like a good idea. 

“Yeah. That’s fine,” he says. 

Tetsurou bites down on his lower lip, and clicks his tongue. “Okay, then, uhm. Let’s go?”

“Sure,” Kei manages to say. 

He's so nervous, but still his voice is even, and it sounds emotionless enough to pretend that the situation doesn't bother him in the slightest. He wonders if the others can tell that he's not as calm as he seems to be. 

Probably not. 

Tetsurou and Kenma start leading the way down the hallway, and they walk to the very last door. Kenma opens it and Tetsurou and Kei follow them inside. Kei closes the door behind himself. He's surprised to see that this changing room is different from the other one. There's no tiny room, they step right into the changing area. 

As promised, it's completely empty. 

They stand in the middle, Kenma and Tetsurou next to each other while Kei in front of them, just glancing at each other. It's so awkward, Kei wants to run. But he won't. He doesn't know what he should expect from this conversation, but he's not leaving until he gets it. Whether it’s an answer, or a closure, he wants it. 

But first, they should end this awkward silence somehow. 

Kenma clears their throat. 

“Thanks for talking to us,” they say, a bit quietly, but it’s not like that’s a surprise. Kenma’s always been a bit reserved, and he’s never been one to speak too loudly. 

Kei nods, pressing his lips into a thin line. “We aren’t exactly talking, but sure.”

Tetsurou flinches, but before Kei has the chance to feel bad for his sharp retort, he starts speaking. 

“You’re right, uhm.” He glances at Kenma quickly, they share a nod, and then they look back at Kei. “We’d like to apologize.”

“And give you an explanation.”

Kei scoffs. “You don’t need to explain anything,” he says, and he can’t stop the bitterness that’s seeping into his voice as he speaks. He moved on years ago, but the anger and sorrow he felt have always stayed inside him, carefully hidden. And now, he feels it coming to the surface. “You decided you didn’t want to be friends anymore, so you stopped-

“No,” Tetsurou interrupts him, taking a step to get a bit closer to Kei. He can barely suppress the urge to step back and keep the distance. Kenma gets closer as well.

“That’s not what happened, Kei,” Kenma says, this time talking a bit more loudly than previously. 

“Oh, it’s not?” 

He can’t believe this. He can’t fucking believe this. What other explanation do they have? Is that not what happened? Did little fairies steal the letters on the way? They can’t possibly think that Kei would believe any of their nonsense. He knows what happened. 

Tetsurou and Kenma abandoned him. End of story. 

“No, it’s not,” Kenma insists. They tug on Tetsurou’s sleeve. “Show him.”

Kei rolls his eyes and folds his arms in front of his chest. “Show me what?” He asks, and he thinks he sounds indifferent enough to pretend he doesn’t care. He does, unfortunately. At the same time, though, he doesn’t want to see what they want to show him. He’s not interested in all the lies that he’s about to hear. 

Tetsurou pulls out a stack of what seems to be letters from his bag. From this far Kei can only see that they’re held together by a rubber band in the middle, nothing else. 

Tetsurou sighs. “These are all the letters that you’ve ever sent us,” he says. 

Kei raises his eyes. A bit of pain explodes in his chest, knowing that they did get the letter, and probably read them all as well, but they never answered. 

“The last one we got from you was the one that you sent right after your visit,” Tetsurou continues. “We wrote you back, and we never received a reply.”

What the hell? But that’s not true! It’s them who never wrote Kei ever again, not the other way round! The proof is in Tetsurou’s hands! They’ve got all the letters! They can’t expect him to believe this bullshit! This is a joke, this must be a fucking goddamn-

“And these are the letters that you’ve never gotten,” Tetsurou says, pulling another stack of letters from his bag. Kei’s letters are now in Kenma’s hands, and Kei wonders when he’s gotten so distracted that he didn’t notice Tetsurou giving it to them. “The letters in which we were begging you to reply, asking you to write back, and to not leave us.”

“I really don’t understand what you’re-

“Please, just, let us explain,” Kenma asks with pleading eyes. 

Kei remembers that when they were kids, he was never able to say no to Kenma when they looked at him like this. There was something about his golden eyes boring into his that made Kei want to say yes all the time, even though Kei was the younger one. Tetsurou was the same – Kenma always got what they wanted from the two, because neither of them was able to resist. 

Kei finds himself falling back into that old habit. 

“Fine,” he says, or more like spits. He doubts this will lead to something that makes sense, but okay, he’ll hear them out. If it turns out to be total bullshit, he’ll just turn around and leave. For good measure, he’ll slap the door behind himself so forcefully that the walls will shake. 

“As I said, the last letter we ever got from you was the one after your visit,” Tetsurou says. “At least, that was the last one that we knew about.”

Kei’s so confused about what he’s trying to say. 

“All the letters you sent us after, Tetsu and I never got them. And all the letters that we wrote to you after, they were never mailed.”

Never mailed? What?

“Seven months ago we started renovating our kitchen,” Tetsurou starts, as if he’s telling a story before bedtime. Kei’s confused by the sudden change, but he resists interrupting him. He doesn’t believe a word they’re saying, but he wants to know what they’re talking about. “And in one of the counters, I found a box. I didn’t know what was in it, I hadn’t seen that box in my life before, so I opened it.” He takes a deep breath before he continues. “And I found a bunch of letters from you that weren’t supposed to exist, and a bunch of letters from us that I thought had been mailed years prior.”

“He called me, and we questioned his parents about it,” Kenma picks up. “Turns out, our parents agreed that it wasn’t a good idea for the two of us to try to maintain a long-distance friendship with you. So, they hid the letters that you sent. And they didn’t mail the letters that we asked them to mail.”

Kei’s not sure he understands the situation completely. This can’t be true, right? This can’t be the reason why he spent weeks crying himself to sleep when he was ten years old. It can’t be the reason why he still can’t trust people easily, afraid of being abandoned once again. This can’t be the reason why Tadashi used to hold him for hours to calm him down. This can’t-

“We know it sounds surreal,” Tetsurou says, and his voice trembles, and Kei thinks that he might be close to tears. “But it’s true. We read all your letters, and it was the same as the ones that we wrote. Begging each other to reply. Asking why we were ignoring each other. Insisting that our friendship can’t end like this.” He holds the letters out for him. “Read it yourself, if you don’t believe it.”

He nods, encouraging Kei to take the stack. 

And Kei does. Cautiously, he grabs the letters. He walks to one of the benches, drops his bag on the ground and sits down. He takes off the rubber band and chooses the letter on the top. Its yellow-ish color is clear proof of its age. He first checks the date – this letter was written four months after Kei’s – apparently – last letter.  

He opens it, a bit clumsily, as his hands are shaking. What he finds is a piece of paper, torn from a notebook, folded in two, both sides covered in what Kei recognizes as Tetsurou’s and Kenma’s handwriting. As always, the two pages are two separate letters – one from Kenma and one from Tetsurou. As he unfolds the letter, it’s Tetsurou’s, and the one on the back is Kenma’s. 

He feels overwhelmed. He’s not sure he’s ready for this. Still, he starts reading. 

Kei,

This is the sixth letter we’re writing to you. I hope you’ll answer. Please, answer. I don’t know why you stopped answering, but it’s making me sad. Did we do something that made you upset? If yes, tell us, please, and we can fix it. We miss you so much. It’s not the same without you here, but it’s better when we talk. Do you not want to talk to us anymore? Are we not friends anymore? Did you find other friends? It’s fine, you can have lots of friends at the same time. You can be friends with us and them, too. Please, just answer. I don’t want to lose you. I love you.  

Tetsu

Kei takes a shaky breath as he finishes reading the page. His vision is a bit blurry, but he tries to blink away the tears. He’s not going to start crying now. No. He can’t. Instead, he turns the paper to see Kenma’s letter. They always used a different color from Tetsurou, and this one is purple. That’s Kei’s favorite color. It’s always been. 

Hey Kei, 

Today we made friendship bracelets in school. I made one for me, one for Tetsu and one for you. It’s in the envelope. I hope you’ll wear it. I hope we’re still friends. Tetsu says you don’t want to be our friend anymore, but I don’t believe him. We promised we would always be best friends, and we can’t break our promises. Please, don’t break our promise.

Kenma

Ps.: I miss you

Kei looks into the envelope, and true to Kenma’s words, he finds the friendship bracelet. It’s nothing special, just something any eleven-year-old would make to their friends, made with three different colors of beads – purple for Kei, red for Tetsurou and teal for Kenma. 

Kei’s heart breaks as he looks at it. 

It’s true. This has to be true. Kei had hoped that it was all made up, but no. There’s no way. Their handwriting, their wording, the small bracelet, the yellow papers…

Oh my god.

“I thought you abandoned me,” he whispers, not trusting his voice enough to talk louder. He can visualize eleven-year-old Kenma begging Kei not to break his promise, and twelve-year-old Tetsurou telling him that he doesn’t want to lose him. 

“We thought you abandoned us, too,” Kenma says. 

“We were so mad at you,” Tetsurou tells him. “We thought you didn’t care anymore. That you found other friends and you didn’t need us anymore. And then seven months ago we found these, and…” He leaves the sentence open, but he doesn’t need to finish it for Kei to know how it ends. 

“It was probably worse for you,” Kenma picks up again. “We had each other, but you were alone.”

Kei nods. “Yeah. But then I met Tadashi. If it hadn’t been for him, I don’t know how I would’ve moved on.”

Kenma steps closer to Kei, and then they sit on the bench next to him. Tetsurou does the same, walking to the other side of Kei and hopping down. Kei wants to open the rest of the letters, but now’s not the time for that. There’s at least a dozen letters, and he doesn’t have the time to skim through them all. Also, he doubts he’d be able to get through them with dry eyes. He’s already close to crying. 

“We’re sorry,” Tetsurou says. 

Kei shakes his head. “Don’t be. It was your mom, not you.”

“Mere condolence,” Kenma replies. “We barely talked to them for months after we found out about this.”

“They said they wanted what was the best for us.” Tetsurou scoffs, disbelief and bitterness mixing in his voice. “But they just did more damage. Kenma and I, well…

“We didn’t have a Tadashi to help us move on,” Kenma finishes instead of Tetsurou. 

That makes Kei furrow his brows in confusion, but he doesn’t look at them. He keeps staring at the bracelet in his hand. He hasn’t taken his eyes off it since he revealed it from the envelope. 

“What do you mean? You didn’t move on?” 

“Not really,” Tetsurou says. “We tried, but we were too angry to really move on. Obviously, we stopped writing letters, just like you, and after a while you weren’t the topic of all our conversations. But neither of us has ever really moved one. Losing you hurt too much, I guess.”

Kei inhales sharply. “I forced myself to move on. I thought you didn’t need me anymore, so I wanted to prove that I didn’t need you anymore, either.”

He has no idea what he should feel now. Everything he’s felt in the past five years seems unimportant and wrong now that he knows the truth about what really happened. Is he relieved? Happy? Sad? He genuinely can’t decide. 

He’s overwhelmed by the swirl of emotions inside of him, and he has no clue how to handle it. 

His friends didn’t abandon him. No, his friends thought that he abandoned them . Which is the one thing he swore he would never do when he moved away. They were supposed to get through it. They were supposed to remain friends and fight against the whole world on each other’s side. 

He guesses his mother was right – she had never liked Tetsu’s and Kenma’s moms. She always used to say that there was something about them that pissed her off. If they were capable of doing something like this, then Kei understands why she used to think like that. It’s fucked up, what they did. 

“So, uhm,” he starts, finally tearing his eyes away from the bracelet, but he still doesn’t look at them. “What now?”

He can feel Tetsurou relax. 

“That’s up to you,” he says.

“Me?”

“Yes, you,” Kenma answers. “We’d like to be friends with you again. If you’re up to it, that is.”

They… Really? After all this time?

“Why?”

Tetsurou chuckles. It’s soft, not like the hyena-like laughter he used to have when he was a kid. Kei wonders if he still has it. He used to be bullied for it, but Kei, whenever he had the chance, stood up against the bullies and protected his friend. He did the same to Kenma when people mocked him for being too shy. And Tadashi, when the boys from his class made fun of him for his freckles. 

Now that he thinks about it, he finds it ironic. As a kid, he stood up against bullies for his friends. And he grew up to be one himself. Well, at least according to Hinata, he’s a bully. He doesn’t think he is, though. He’s just an asshole to people who annoy him. That’s it. 

“Because our friendship was never supposed to end, Kei,” Tetsurou explains, and his voice sounds so much more lively now, Kei can’t help but glance at him. He finds him smiling. 

“We don’t want to fix what we had,” Kenma says, and Kei now turns to him. “We’re not the same people we were five years ago. But maybe we could still be friends.”

How would that even work?

“Like, what? Like we never knew each other? Make a groupchat on Twitter and see if we can be friends again?”

“That’s a really good idea,” Tetsurou murmurs as he starts digging in his bag. He takes the envelope form Kei and with the pen that he pulls from his bag, he starts writing something. “These are our usernames,” he says. “Follow us and we’ll make a groupchat.” He hands the envelope back to Kei. “And we’ll see where we get from there, huh?”

Kei thinks he should hesitate before he accepts the envelope. That he should think it through carefully, ask for Tadashi’s advice, maybe even talk to his brother. But nowhe doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he takes the envelope from Tetsurou’s hand, puts the bracelet and the letter back in it, and then he wraps the rubber band around the stack again. 

He’ll read them all when he gets home. 

But first, he’s going to find Tetsurou and Kenma on Twitter. 

He smiles. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s do that.”

Maybe it’s a bad idea. Maybe he shouldn’t do this. But now that he knows the truth, now that he knows why he never received another letter, he can’t let them go again. He doesn’t know if this will work or not, and he’s sure that they won’t be able to establish such a strong friendship again – not after five years. 

And no matter what was between the three of them, they will never reclaim the best friend title from Tadashi. That belongs to him and only him, nobody else. 

But maybe this can lead somewhere. Maybe he can reconnect with his old friends. Their relationship won’t ever be like it used to be, it’ll be different in many, many ways. But that’s not a bad thing. In fact, maybe it’s for the best. 

Maybe it will end in an ugly way again, or maybe they will form a strong, genuine friendship. Kei doesn’t know. But he’s very eager to find it out.