Work Text:
---
“We lost.” His sullen voice rang through your ears. It was late in the night, your homework sprawled out in front of you with the signs of an all-nighter up ahead. You stared at your empty coffee mug. Maybe I should get more? This'll be a long night. “We lost.” He repeated, the weight of the words sinking deeper.
What does he want me to say?
“I’m sure you guys tried your best. I wasn't really able to watch because I’m still catching up on things from school but—” He clicked his tongue. Did I say something wrong?
This pattern isn't anything new. Tsukishima Kei was someone you admired for a long time, a friend of yours since childhood that has been shining brightly for as long as you've known him. Excelling in studies and competent in volleyball, to some he really is the catch. But you've crossed the line of friendship, though nothing beyond that.
“Kei, you know you can’t win every game,” you said softly, trying to find the right words to comfort him. His silence was telling. He wasn't just disappointed—he was crushed. The air was thick with unspoken emotions.
“I know that,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it doesn't make it any easier.”
You sat back, feeling the weight of his words. The history you shared was complex, filled with moments where you were each other's solace and times when the lines blurred. He was always there, and so were you—behind his back, waiting for a chance that might never come.
“We lost, and I feel like I lost more than just the game,” he continued, his vulnerability showing in a way you hadn't seen before. “She was watching earlier and she saw us lose just like that!”
Your heart ached for him but you couldn't help but grimace. This wasn't the Tsukishima Kei everyone else saw—the confident, somewhat aloof guy who had everything under control. But this time, it felt different. This time, it was about her, the girl he liked, the one who made his eyes light up in a way you wished they would for you. And yet, when everything fell apart, it was you he called, you he sought out for comfort.
“Kei, you haven't lost everything,” you said, your shaky voice filling the room. “You still have me.” You whispered, somewhat inaudible.
He went quiet, the only thing that you could hear from his side was heavy breathing. Tension filled the room, your heart breaking with each second of him not speaking. For a moment, the world outside the two of you faded away, leaving just the two of you and the truth that had always been there, unspoken.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice softening. “I guess I do.”
But there was something in his voice that told you everything you needed to know. He appreciated you, valued your friendship, but his heart was elsewhere. You were his rock, his constant, but you weren't the one who made his eyes light up.
The realization hit you hard, and you forced a smile, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over. “And I’m not going anywhere,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
He hummed, his calming voice assuring you that he understands. It wasn’t a sentence, but it was something. He ended the call after saying he's thankful and that he needed to rest, leaving you with nothing but a goodbye. You stood up, moving to refill your coffee mug, the warmth of the kitchen a stark contrast to the cold ache settling in your chest. As you poured the coffee, you couldn’t help but feel the sting of being the second choice, the one he turned to when things went wrong but never the one he dreamed about.
Returning to your desk, you put down your newly refilled mug. Looking at the picture frame of the two of you from your younger years, his arms wrapped around your shoulders with a big toothed grin on his face, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like if he looked at you the way he looked at her.
But reality crashed back in, and you knew that while you might always be there for him, he would never see you the way you wanted him to. You sighed and picked up your pencil, dreading the long night ahead but with a small ray of hope in your heart that maybe—just maybe, he'll call again.
