Chapter Text
Art colleges aren’t the single most common thing in Japan, but Yamaguchi Tadashi had been accepted to a fine arts college in Tokyo. His mother had fluttered over him while he packed, fluttered while he got on the bus, and then called him thirty minutes later to flutter some more and tell him to make sure he ate.
She’d settled down a little now he’d been settled in for a while and reported back every weekend that yes, he’s eating enough, and yes, the teachers are fine, and yes, his grades are just fine, and no, he doesn’t have a girlfriend because he hasn’t been looking he’s been focusing on school. His mother takes this in stride, and he’s not sure why she keeps asking because she should know by now that he’s just not interested. Well, that’s not entirely true, but he can’t tell his mom that or she’ll grasp onto it like a life line. There’s this one girl in his basics of design class, and there’s this guy a couple rooms down from his dorms, but it’s superficial attraction more than anything else.
And he certainly can’t tell her he’s in love with the late night college radio DJ despite never having met him. Yamaguchi tries not to even tell himself that, because it’s ridiculous. He realises that he’s been standing in front of his canvas without moving for at least five minutes, trying to convince himself that he’s not a mildly delusional teenager.
Yamaguchi wipes his paintbrush on his apron and sighs, looking around. The room is mostly empty and dark now and he glances at the clock. He blinks, surprised at how late it’s gotten. When had midnight passed? He wipes his hands off and sets about cleaning up. He’s sure there’s paint on his face, but he doesn’t bother washing it off. Instead, he washes his hands and finds his mp3, making sure it was tuned to the college radio. He shoves it in his pocket and stores his unfinished painting on the rack.
The late night shift starts at ten and last until two, when the radio goes on autopilot so that the late night DJ can get some sleep. Yamaguchi hadn’t really been interested in the DJs, but he’d listened to the college radio because the commercials were less irritating. Then, one night before the end of semester, he’d been up late, working on his term piece. The radio had been running in the background and the evening DJs shift ended.
“Well kids,” she’d said, yawning, “this is Blondie, signing off. We’ve got a new DJ for the late night now that Sugar’s graduating a semester early. Lucky sod. All yours, Firefly.”
Yamaguchi had paused, covered in clay up to the elbow. He’d liked Sugar because he could always tell when the DJ smiled; it leaked into his voice. Would he like this Firefly too?
“I never really understood this codename thing, but college art kids, I suppose,” was the first thing the new DJ said. Yamaguchi had blinked, surprised by the low voice and the hint of derision in it. He had wiped his hand off and turned up the radio before going back to his sculpture.
Firefly was witty, making snide comments about music choices and musicians. He seemed to like dinosaurs- or at least have a wide bank of knowledge that he liked to pass off to the late night listeners- and international politics. In between the regular songs, soft music no doubt chosen to be background music to studying, sometimes he’d play his own music and Yamaguchi was startled to find they had similar taste.
“You know; I’ve been thinking about starting up a segment. Is that the right word? Send in five songs and I’ll play them. Break up the monotony a little. I admit that, considering the time, I don’t expect much, but ah well.”
He’d set up a section on the college radio’s website and every Saturday, Yamaguchi sent in five songs under the name Constellations. It’d been the first thing he’d thought of, but he’d come to like it; he’d always liked stars.
“I think,” Firefly announces, shaking Yamaguchi out of his reverie, “that I like this kid.” He scrambles for what the DJ had said before. Finally, he finds it: “more songs from Constellations.” Yamaguchi blinks in surprise, turning pink.
“I like your consistency, Constellations, and your music taste. So, here’s Melancholy Hill.”
Yamaguchi fumbles with the doorknob to his dorm, trying and failing to process what he’d just heard. He swallows and lets his hand drop. Now or never? He turns and rushes out of the dorm. He walks across campus with his hands shoved into his jacket. The radio studio doubled as a CD shop, selling a few records as well, with the back soundproofed and made into the studio.
Yamaguchi pushes open the door quietly. There’s no CLOSED sign and there’s light in the front area, so he assumes that he’s allowed in. He peruses the CD racks, trying to figure out what to say, how to feel about the situation. Sure there were lots of flaws in his plan, one of which being ‘what if he’s not interested in guys’ and the other being ‘would he want to be friends with some random kid’, but he brushes those aside. He digs his fingers into his palms.
“That’s a wrap. It’s two and I’m tired. Have fun with the playlist.”
Yamaguchi swallows, his heart in his throat. Dear Lord, was he actually doing this? He finds himself in the English Indie section and picks up a CD, not really seeing the band. In his jacket pocket, his fingernails dig grooves into his palm.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?”
He jumps, nearly dropping the CD. There was no mistaking that voice for anyone else but the late night DJ known as Firefly. Yamaguchi’s mouth grows dry, any thoughts about what he might say gone. Tall, wiry, and glasses clad with messy blonde hair, he’s just Yamaguchi’s type.
“I, um, it’s. I was looking for,” he fumbles with the CD, the latest Gorillaz album, dear God. “I was, it’s too late to go to a regular store but I thought this might be open and,” he cuts off his mumbling when he processes the bemused raised eyebrow. The other man looks him up and down, then his eyebrow raises a little farther.
“Well, well, well. Has my wit abandoned me or are you him?” His voice is low and amused, but there’s something underneath it that makes Yamaguchi’s stomach twist. Yamaguchi looks down at the CD in his hands, not sure what to say.
“Who?” He manages eventually, stuttering a little and sounding strangled. The other man walks up to him, taking the CD from Yamaguchi’s hand.
“Let me ring this up for you.” They both know that ‘Constellations’, hangs unsaid at the end of the sentence. Yamaguchi fumbles in his pants for his wallet, trying to ignore the blood blister he’d given himself on his palms.
“Tsukishima Kei,” the DJ says eventually, scanning the CD. Yamaguchi chokes.
“Yamaguchi Tadashi,” he mumbles. Tsukishima grins at him and leans against the counter. There are traces of mockery in his grin but his voice is sincere.
“I like your shirt.” Yamaguchi looks down and turns scarlet. Of course. Oh god, of course. The space shirt, purple with a big moon on the chest, and the Gorillaz album. It wouldn’t be hard to connect the dots. Or the stars, as it were.
“I, oh hell,” Yamaguchi sighs, covering the side of his face with his hand. Tsukishima laughs quietly, fanning himself with the CD. Yamaguchi fumbles with his wallet but eventually manages to pay for the CD.
“Star crossed lovers,” Tsukishima says, grinning at him. Yamaguchi turns scarlet but doesn’t protest so Tsukishima doesn’t call it a joke. Yamaguchi is starting to panic, so he grabs the CD and thanks Tsukishima.
“Come see me again,” Tsukishima calls, waving as Yamaguchi flees.