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Tadashi wasn’t a stranger to the fact that he was generally an anxious person. He had come to terms with this fact early on in life, both as a cause and a result of the bullying he had been on the recieving end of through his childhood. It rarely affected his volleyball, but the fact that he stuck to the bench most games was both a blessing and a curse. He never had to deal with his nerves affecting his playing, but each game he spent not playing just built it up in his head, until it reached something very nearly insurmountable. Even the thought of going out on the court was enough to make his legs shake and his breathing shallow.
Tsukishima never had that problem. He was so sure of himself, confident and comfortable in his skin and his identity. He knew exactly who he was and why he was there, both on and off the court, and he knew that he had the ability to live up to his own expectations. Tsukishima was absolutely everything that Tadashi was not .
Which made it all the more inexplicable that, against every bit of logic Tadashi could come up with, Tsukishima still wanted to be with him. They’d been together for close to a year, a year that Tadashi wouldn’t trade for anything, but sometimes he still wondered how Tsukishima could still find him interesting. For someone who had such a derisive view of damn nearly everyone in the world, the fact that he had even stopped to look Tadashi’s way was nothing short of a miracle. Their relationship never had a “honeymoon phase,” more like they just settled into their previous rhythm, but with the knowledge that there was more than platonic love on both sides. There wasn’t any sort of dramatic confession either, since Tadashi’s feeble attempt at one had ended up with Tsukishima cutting him off and telling him to “just get on with it.”
Even after a year, Tsukishima never said that he loved him. To be fair, Tadashi never told him either, but he just wrote it off as their relationship not being “like that.” He told himself it was the same reason that they never held hands or hugged or even sat close enough to brush shoulders. He was okay with it. Tadashi reminded Tsukishima often of how much he cared, and there was an understanding that Tsukishima reciprocated it, just never said it. And Tadashi didn’t need Tsukishima’s validation. They’d known each other long enough that Tadashi had outgrown his need to hear his boyfriend tell him he had done well in practice, or that the bento he’d brought for them to share was well-made. He had Shoyo for that, who was free with his words of affirmation and even freer with his touches. He had his parents, who constantly reminded him that he was good enough, regardless of how he was playing or how his grades were.
Simple things like that kept the doubts in his mind quiet and the burning in his skin at a manageable level. He loved Tsukishima, but he refused to rely on him for anything. It was too easy of a way to get himself hurt, to tell someone who tried to deal with emotions as little as possible, that even a brush of fingers right before a game would be enough to take away his fear for the next hundred of them.
It’s a hot, humid night when the routine breaks. Tadashi had been practicing his serve from after school ended until it was well after dark, and his body was on fire. His arms were leaden and his lungs felt like they withered each time he tried to take a breath. The ball slipped from Tadashi’s shaking fingers, bouncing across the ground in his backyard. His head hung low, neck no longer able to support the weight. Sweat glided down his face, mingling with what he realized must have been tears. He let out a shaking exhale, realizing that his throat was drier than sandpaper when he tried to swallow.
Tadashi knew he should go inside. The door to the kitchen was right there. He should go in and get water, get himself out of the hot, stifling air. His breathing would calm down, his hands would stop shaking, if he could just get inside. But the distance between him and the door seemed to fold in on itself, elongating and shortening in distortions that glowed green along their edges.
Oh , Tadashi realized. I’m hyperventilating.
Sugawara had caught him in this state once before, after a practice when everyone else had already left. It had been a particularly agonizing day, where Tadashi couldn’t seem to hit a single serve right and his receives were shaky at best. The memories of their match against Seijoh plagued his mind, and before he knew it, he was leaning heavily against the wall of the locker room, hand pressed over his mouth to stifle his panicked breathing as the room spun around him. Sugawara had forgotten his uniform shirt in his locker, and had happened to hear Tadashi when he went to grab it.
Tadashi and Sugawara had, predictably, spent a lot of time talking since they were both on the bench most of the time, so Tadashi had already known Sugawara to be reliable and understanding. He gained a new level of respect for the senior when he had faced the trembling freshman with a gentle sternness and guided him through the motions of stabilizing his breathing. There was no judgment in the eyes that refused to leave Tadashi’s for even a moment, and he seemed to know exactly how to bring Tadashi out of his state.
In a moment of surprising clarity, he realized he really should text Sugawara. He would know how to help, would know how to bridge the seemingly endless gap between Tadashi and the door to his kitchen.
“Listen, Tadashi. I don’t care what it is, what time it is, where you are, or where I am. If you need something, call me first. That’s the only promise I’ll ever ask you to make to me.”
Right. Tsukishima’s promise. Something he had said softly, but surely, in Tadashi’s bed when the lost match against Seijoh still haunted both of them. They were lying inches apart, facing opposite directions, and Tsukishima’s voice had broken the hour-long silence.
Tadashi had never answered him, pretending to be asleep. He knew that was a promise he couldn’t keep, not when the thing he most feared was Tsukishima’s indifferent, derisive gaze that he directed at the rest of the world being directed at Tadashi . Even if he somehow knew that Tsukishima wasn’t busy, and for some reason would be ready and willing to help Tadashi, he still wouldn’t call him. Not because he didn’t trust his boyfriend, but because he couldn’t bear the thought of making Tsukishima drop everything to come to his rescue because Tadashi couldn’t handle himself. Despite the fact that Tadashi knew Tsukishima had to think he was weak (because how could he think he was anything else?) the thought of proving that to him was enough to make Tadashi want the earth to swallow him whole.
He reached into his pocket to grab his phone, because texting Sugawara was something that finally sounded manageable, a clear path out of his mess -
“Yamaguchi?”
Fuck. He was supposed to study with Tsukishima that night. Tadashi must’ve lost track of time, or forgotten what day of the week it was. Fridays were when they always studied together, for almost as long as they’d known each other.
Of course Tadashi had to mess up at exactly the wrong time. There wasn’t a worse time for Tsukishima to find him, so of course that’s when Tsukishima would appear.
“Tsukki?” He called out in response, before he could stop himself. He just hoped his voice wasn’t shaking as much as he thought it was.
It seemed his hopes weren’t answered, because Tsukishima’s voice had a sharper, panicked edge when he called out next. “Tadashi?”
“Go inside, I’ll be there in a minute!”
Please just listen, for once in your damn life just listen to me-
“Tadashi?” Tsukishima’s voice sounded right next to the brunette’s ear.
“Hey, Tsukki.” This was it, he’d been caught, and Tadashi refused to take his eyes off the grass because if he looked up and saw Tsukishima’s disappointed face, he doesn’t think his heart could take it.
Just make fun of me, yell at me, walk away, just do something other than just stand there-
A warm hand circled around his wrist, gently tugging him towards the door. Tadashi’s eyes widened, shock flooding his system like a cold glass of water. Despite his shame, he looked up from his feet and saw Tsukishima standing next to him, a tentative arm outstretched and holding onto Tadashi’s wrist.
“Tsukki?”
The blonde turned away before Tadashi could see his face. “C’mon, let’s go inside.”
When Tsukishima started walking towards the door, Tadashi had no choice but to follow.
They stepped through the threshold into the kitchen, the place where they’d made countless bentos before school, one disastrous night of baking cookies at a sleepover, and made hot chocolate on cold days they spent on winter break. Tsukishima never let go of Tadashi’s wrist as he pulled a glass down from the cupboard and filled it with water. Tadashi followed him in a daze, still not even sure what time it was. Tsukishima led the both of them upstairs into Tadashi’s room, setting the water down on the nightstand and guiding Tadashi to sit on the edge of his own bed. Tsukishima moved over to Tadashi’s dresser, pulling out a set of pajamas from their usual place. It struck Tadashi just how much Tsukishima knew about him, about his habits and mannerisms and even where he put things in his bedroom.
“Go shower,” Tsukishima ordered, throwing Tadashi’s own clothes at him. “You’re sweaty.”
Tadashi opened his mouth, wanting to say something , but closed it just as quickly. He couldn’t deny Tsukishima anything. So he just nodded, hanging his head low, and made his way to the shower.
When he left the bathroom and came back into his bedroom, Tsukishima was sitting on Tadashi’s bed, looking at him with an indecipherable expression.
“So, uh,” Tadashi started, before cutting himself off. He really didn’t know what direction to take the conversation.
I’ll just say I don’t feel like studying. “I’m not feeling great today, Tsukki,” Tadashi said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I don’t think I’ll be able to study. We can just study extra next Friday to make up for it.”
Tsukishima leveled him with an unimpressed look. “Don’t bullshit me, Yamaguchi.”
Tadashi sighed, deciding to switch approaches to telling more of a half-truth. “Tsukki, I’m not lying for fun here. I’m not feeling up to it, and I’d rather not try to study tonight.”
Tsukishima stood up from Tadashi’s bed, crossing the room so that they were stood directly facing one another. Tadashi turned his head away, willing his face not to reveal any of the turmoil going on in his head.
“What happened right before I got here?” There it was. The one question Tadashi had been willing Tsukishima not to ask the entire time he’d been there.
Tadashi just bit his bottom lip, trying to figure out what to say. Suddenly, Tsukishima’s hands were on his shoulders, one moving up to the side of his neck to turn Tadashi’s head towards his boyfriend. Tadashi followed the hands’ urging, meeting Tsukishima’s gaze.
“Tadashi, talk to me,” Tsukishima’s voice verged just slightly too close to the edge of actual concern, which was enough to send Tadashi’s brain into a melted mess. “Was it a panic attack?”
Tadashi’s world stopped.
“How did you know about that?” He asked, voice unsteady.
Tsukishima’s hand trembled ever so slightly on Tadashi’s neck as he let out a small huff of something close to laughter. “You thought Sugawara wouldn’t tell me after that time in the locker room? I think he assumed I already knew, but his advice was still appreciated.”
Fuck. All this time spent trying to keep Tsukishima from seeing this particular weakness of Tadashi’s, and apparently he had known all along. Tadashi could never hide anything from Tsukishima, could he? He would always be forced to have every horribly embarrassing, vulnerable part of himself on full display for the ever-judgemental Tsukishima to see clearly. It is apparently Tadashi’s fate to bear witness to his own flaws, consistently chipping at Tsukishima’s inexplicable care for him.
“Oh.” Is all Tadashi can say.
“Yeah, genius,” Tsukishima teased, but there was an uncertain edge to it. “Were you gonna tell me or was I just supposed to figure it out?”
“You weren’t supposed to know about it at all.” Tadashi gritted out, willing himself not to cry. Not in front of Tsukishima.
Tsukishima’s face, still outside of Tadashi’s vision, froze in an expression of surprise. “What do you mean by that?”
Finally, something other than numb embarrassment broke through Tadashi’s head. “It means ,” he bit out. “That it’s embarrassing enough that Sugawara saw it, that I even have this in the first place. I didn’t want you to know about it, too.”
There was a beat of horrible silence, where Tadashi’s entire body trembled and the weight of his words hung between them in the air.
Then, Tsukishima had brought an arm around Tadashi’s shoulders, and one to the back of his head. Tsukishima had curled around him, cheek against Tadashi’s temple and Tadashi’s face buried in the crook of the taller’s neck.
“Damn it Tadashi,” Tsukishima muttered, voice thick as his arms brought the two of them impossibly closer. “What the hell happened to your promise? I know you were awake, I know you heard me, so why the hell didn’t you keep it ?”
Tadashi’s shaking arms came up to wrap around Tsukishima’s waist, fingers skating along his spine and his ribs. “It’s too much, Tsukki. It’s too much to admit anything about this, much less to you.”
Tsukishima let out a shaking, barely-controlled exhale. “I’m supposed to be the one person you can admit this kind of thing to. I’m supposed to be your emergency contact, remember?”
Tadashi did remember. It was something Tadashi had mentioned offhandedly a while ago, that he wanted Tsukishima to be his emergency contact one day. “I just don’t want to make you deal with this. It already sucks enough that I have to.”
Tsukishima pulled away, taking the warmth with him, but he just brought his hands up to Tadashi’s face, fingers splaying along his cheekbones and grazing his ears and jaw. Instinctively, seeking balance, Tadashi brought his hands up to lightly grip Tsukishima’s wrists.
“We’ll deal with it. Both of us. That’s the point behind all this, Tadashi. We face things together, right?” Tsukishima’s eyes, which remained locked onto Tadashi’s own, never wavered. They held nothing but the same certainty that Tadashi had always admired.
“I can’t handle the idea of holding you back, Tsukki,” Tadashi admitted softly, fingers clenching around Tsukishima’s wrist bones. “I can’t help but think this is just one more thing that’ll keep me from ever being on the court with you.”
Gently, but with certainty, Tsukishima brought their foreheads together. “You are always on the court with me. Hearing you just a few feet away keeps my head clear. Standing with you in the line-up keeps my nerves away.”
Tadashi’s eyes fluttered shut. “I’m never scared when I’m next to you. I’m afraid of disappointing you, of driving you away by being so damn weak all the time, but whenever I know you’re right next to me, it’s like it’s impossible for me to be scared at all.”
“You don’t have to be scared of disappointing me, idiot,” Tsukishima answered. “I’m not going around looking for reasons not to love you anymore.”
Tadashi’s eyes widened.
“Say that again, Tsukki?” He felt his fingers grip Tsukishima’s wrists tighter, voice coming out barely above a whisper as his eyes squeezed further shut to stop the burning behind his eyes.
He heard a small huff of affectionate laughter. “I love you, idiot. It’s not changing anytime soon, so get that in your head. When you’re with me, when we’re apart, when we’re on the court-- remember that. As long as I’m here with you, nothing will happen. And if it does, we’ll get through it together, because that’s what we do. I don’t care about a couple missed serves, or if you can’t always be composed and brave. You’re human. But I’ll always be there to catch you, just like you’re always there when I need you.”
The tears were freely flowing down Tadashi’s cheeks at this point, surprised and extremely touched that Tsukishima had willingly said such vulnerable, emotional things for him . Two fingers gently touched the underside of his chin, urging his gaze upward, urging him to open his eyes.
He opened them, and there was Tsukishima. The sight of the small, gentle smile that was reserved only for Tadashi sent a wave of affection through the brunette, nearly enough to bowl him over.
“I love you too, Kei.”
The next match they played against Seijoh, when Tadashi was called up to serve, there was a familiar buzzing in his chest that threatened to suffocate him. The whispers that taunted him in his head, the visions of his last time serving against Seijoh, the weight of the expectations of his teammates. It was overwhelming, just as it would be for anyone.
But he caught Tsukishima’s gaze as he walked onto the court, and suddenly it was all quiet. There was nothing but faith and certainty in its place.