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Bitter aromas of alcoholic beverages surged through the air, filling Tadashi’s sensitive nose and dizzying his weak head.
As it was with the rest of his fellow teammates, who were scattered across the room, either taking shots or making out with one another.
The bar was sticky. Tadashi tried to slide his finger against the polished wood, but it just got stuck padding against the dried beer, accompanied by whatever other substances had been poured that night. A remix of an already overrated mainstream song bashed against his eardrums, agitating his headache even further. Someone had to talk to whoever was controlling the music—if they were human at all.
The club was busy. It was a Saturday night, and Yamaguchi hadn’t been shocked at the number of people flooding the place, just at how many looked like they were actually enjoying themselves. Way too many, he had thought.
This was Tadashi’s hellscape.
He liked drinking, he really did. He just didn’t like going out often. And he wouldn’t have sneaked into this club at all if it weren’t for the party addict—Shoyo—pulling him out like staying inside would’ve killed him in cold blood.
Tadashi could’ve been in bed, his warm jasmine tea embraced between his hands, keeping his fingertips warm as he engulfed himself in his favourite blanket and watched romcoms that were so embarrassingly bad, they were good.
But instead, he was here.
Surrounded by gross drunk people, trapped on a crazily uncomfortable bar stool pushed between two chatty strangers arguing over who would be paying off the tab.
Tadashi wanted to go home, yet he couldn’t.
Only a select few of Karasuno’s members were actually sober: Daichi, Chikara, and—surprisingly so—Asahi. Tadashi had seen him drink, and he couldn’t say he wasn’t surprised at the fact he wasn’t glugging down shots with Nishinoya and Shoyo in the distant corner.
Though he was fully confident the three teammates could take care of the whole team, there was a particular teen he wasn’t too happy about leaving to his own accords.
Tadashi had never, ever seen Kei drunk. He’d seen him drink, sure. But never like this. Ordering drink after another, bottoming them as if they were nothing but water and talking to…
Strangers?
Wait, what?
Tadashi blinked his eyes dramatically and nipped at his tan arm to be rid of any possibility he could be dreaming—though it would’ve been a nightmare.
Kei was perched on a miniature couch, squeezed up against two people Tadashi had never seen in his life and chatting away, coughing up adorable hiccups as he spoke. Maybe they were relatives? Possibly long-lost cousins? God, please let them be long-lost cousins.
He was laughing, too. Little giggles bubbling up through his throat as he spewed nonsense. The laugh that only one person had truly experienced, the laugh that was meant for that person alone.
No, what was he thinking? Kei could be making new friends—this was great! Is what the angel on his shoulder told him.
The real Tadashi wasn’t so sure. Kei might not know what he’s doing in his intoxicated form! What if he’s uncomfortable? What if those laughs were nothing but awkward disguises?
Before Tadashi realized he had even sent messages from his brain to get his limbs moving, he had already unconsciously made his way to the tiny table the three were sat at.
“Y-Yamaaa… Whaat’re you d’ing here?” the blonde in question slurred, both his long arms draped across the back of the couch, almost dropping on each of the strangers’ shoulders. Far too close for Tadashi’s comfort.
“Tsukki, you’re drunk. I need to take you home.”
He didn’t really. It was only 10:30, and Tadashi knew Kei was more than mature enough to know when to stop the flow of drinks.
Be that as it may, it didn’t feel right seeing him like this—so unreliable, so vulnerable, so unlike him. It’s as if their roles had swapped and Tadashi was the one having to step up. He hated it.
He wanted to go home, but he couldn’t without knowing Kei was safe for sure.
One of the drunken men scooted back, successfully allowing Kei’s hand to drop against his arm. Tadashi glared.
“Whaat! Tsu—whatever his name is—is fine! Don’t be a party pooper, freckles.”
Tadashi grimaced at the nickname, memories of being tyrannised on a playground by boys just like this consumed his thoughts.
And anyway, Tsukki liked his freckles.
He hated having to be the serious one in situations like this. This is why he hated going out! It always ended with him having to take responsibility for someone’s lack of self-control.
“I’m—I’m not! I’m just worried about Tsukki.” Tadashi dropped (not far) to Kei’s height on the busted-up couch.
“Kei, please.”
Then something shifted in Kei’s eyes, his pupils grew, and Tadashi was almost convinced that even his irises became more vibrant under the flashes of a spinning, makeshift disco ball.
Kei got himself up—surprisingly easy considering his state—hooked his finger through one of Tadashi’s jeans hoops, and dragged him towards the bathroom. All while without tripping or stumbling once, Tadashi may add.
“Tsukki, what’s wrong? Do you feel sick?” Tadashi managed to scoff out as he tried to maintain his usual breaths.
Nothing. Not even a purse of pale, soft lips.
He continued to lead Tadashi into a stall, opting for the one furthest from the entrance.
Odd.
Tsukki probably just needed to throw up and he didn’t want the others hearing—he had always been a bit of a germaphobe.
Tadashi’s chest tightened at the concept that Kei wanted him to be there for him in intimate moments like this—his first drunk puke. How sweet.
Howbeit, it was obvious it’d be Tadashi. It always was just he and Kei.
When one mid-summer evening while they were young—still in pre-school—Kei taught Tadashi to ride a bike. Pushing him thoughtfully on the cyan bike that had been passed down from his father, teaching him to ride by himself as he reassured the freckled boy he wouldn’t fall, because he would be there to catch him.
Or when Tadashi had first called Kei, ‘Tsukki’.
A silly mistake while they were watching—to no one’s surprise—a dinosaur-themed movie that was of course picked out by Kei. Tadashi got a dinosaur’s name incorrect, Kei began his usual spiel about how significant their names were and how important it was to the plot when Tadashi began crying. Clear ink bleeding through the thin paper that was Tadashi’s supple skin. Kei immediately clung to the smaller boy, who then became a mumbling mess, and ‘Tsukki’ was soon born.
Kei had said he hated it, but Tadashi had never looked back since.
Though being hunched over each other in a minuscule, grody club bathroom stall wasn’t exactly the same sort of firsts Tadashi was thinking of—the point remained.
“Yaamaaguchi…” Kei muffled, keeping his dilated golden eyes on shiny emeralds.
Yamaguchi prepared himself to tend to a retching Tsukki, then—
Nothing.
Well, not nothing. But he wished it had been. He wished Kei had just doubled down, allowed the alcohol to irritate his stomach lining then and there, and that be it.
If only.
“Tadashi… you’re so pretty,” he continued.
“I—I looove you, T’ashi.”
Please don’t say that.
The ball dropped. The thing Tadashi had been waiting for his whole life, what he cried himself to sleep to every other night, the reason he hadn’t felt whole since he was eight—the big confession. It happened!
Except it wasn’t a sweet confession that was told after practice, underneath the pillars of school on a hot summer day. It was a stupid, drunk lie. “SDLs,” Shoyo likes to call them.
Why did he even bother? Why did he bother to come out at all—to hang out with Kei, when he knew it would only hurt him further?
Probably because Tadashi does love him. And it wasn’t only when his senses were deluged in an acidulous drink.
So he allows Kei to pull apart his feelings. Lets him sneak a sweet, saccharine compliment every now and then, lets him take him out to eat as ‘friends’, while Tadashi silently grieves what could be. A forever one-sided match.
But he couldn’t do this. Not now—maybe not ever again.
Yamaguchi’s heart was now far too fragile to be thrown about, to be cracked and shattered over and over again, only to be fixed right back together again. The glue being Kei’s honeyed touches, the tape being his misguided words.
“Tadashiii? Hey, you don’t look ssso good. Are you ok?” was the last thing Tsukishima said before he caved over the toilet seat, and retched for half an hour. Tadashi stayed and patted his back comfortingly that entire time, dismissing his own thoughts in the process.
What did he do after that, you may be asking?
He bought a taxi for the two, brought Kei home, and when he tried to leave and Kei tugged on his shirt—he stayed the night. Splayed on the blonde’s couch with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company.
Thoughts such as: “Why am I here? I should go home. No, wait. Tsukki needs someone to look after him when he’s hungover…” and then, “What am I thinking? He’s seventeen. He can think for himself.”
Only, he never left. He tossed and turned throughout the entire night, got up to get a glass of water several times, went to the toilet several times, and checked on Kei once—who was laying in his warm, comfortable bed without another care in the world.
Tadashi was almost happy he was gonna get a killer headache in the morning.
You’re so pretty… I love you.
What compels somebody to say that? To their best friend of years, nonetheless?
Tadashi knew he was drunk, but it changed little to nothing. The words remained said, bouncing around every point in Tadashi’s head like the DVD video loading screen. The only difference being Tadashi didn’t cheer once it hit a corner.
He subconsciously groaned in his mind, not wanting to risk (god forbid) waking Kei from his slumber. His mind continued to squabble until it was blatant Tadashi wasn’t getting to sleep anytime soon and he reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone.
Sho
yams r u and Tsukishima 👌 ??? i didn’t see u leave
Dashi
Yeah we’re okay. Tsukki is just drunk he’s asleep rn
Sho
ohhhh i c. are u really okay? i saw u and him go into the toilets and u came out looking suuper depressed
Tadashi sucked his teeth. He shouldn’t tell Shoyo, he shouldn’t. It was a simple mistake, they could talk about it in the morning. Which they won’t. But it’s fine.
Tadashi let out a deep sigh. “Tsukki, why did you do thattt,” he sung to himself, attempting to joke away the misery he was in.
Dashi
yeah i’m cool
In reality, he was the polar opposite.
He felt every inch of himself on the couch—the way the blanket itched his elbow but he was too lazy to scratch it, the window left open because he knew Kei got too hot when he slept, the strands of his fluffy socks annoyingly getting caught on his toenails.
He examined Kei’s apartment. He was so lucky to have been able to afford one and move out so early. Tadashi was jealous. The furniture perfectly fit the modern interior of his home, because of course it did.
Why was he so perfect? Why couldn’t Tadashi think of a single flaw for his best friend? It would be easy for the others—Shoyo and Kageyama would say he was snarky, stingy. Daichi would say he lacked confidence.
But Tadashi didn’t think any of that. He thought his snarky comments were funny, his insults ambiguous and creative, his lack of surety only fuelling him all the more.
It was stupid. Sleeping on Kei’s cramped couch when he could be in the comfort of his own bed—was stupid.
Everyone says dumb stuff when they’re drunk; it didn’t mean anything.
But why did that thought only hurt him more? Why did it stir his aching head to an even greater amount? Also stupid questions, but Tadashi couldn’t help but wonder them.
He loved Kei. Kei didn’t love him back. It was as simple as that.
Tadashi wasn’t even sure if he wanted his feelings to be mutual—were his conceptions of Kei… skewed? Who he thought he was in love with—was it only a distorted reflection Tadashi had been hopelessly gleaming at? Never investigating the cracks in the mirror, never dragging his fingertips through the ripples that remained still to find out what was hidden underneath them.
Never turning away from that reflection, that fantasy. Never taking medicine for that fever, letting himself become sicker with faux fondness.
And now he was facing reality.
Tadashi lopped over to his side, shutting his eyes as tight as he could. He didn’t wanna think anymore—he wanted sleep to swallow him whole. His prayers were ignored, however. As he slept soundly, his dreams were corrupted with shiny mirrors and clear lakes.
He slowly frog-blinked his eyes open, meandering at the seemingly very interesting ceiling. It was quiet—a nice shift from the pounding EDM music that still faintly resonated in his ears. Tadashi had hardly drunk, but both his body and head felt as though they had been put through a blender, inside a blender.
He sat up leisurely, noticing the blanket that had been providing him warmth was now scattered across the floor next to him. He cursed his reckless legs. His socks had fully slipped off his feet, and the air was cool.
Then, from the kitchen, he heard a distant clink.
Kei was awake.
Great. Just what he wanted.
He dragged himself, sluggishly, off of the couch and into his undoing. The undoing being: having to see his lifelong crush who drunkenly confessed to him last night. Tadashi couldn’t think of anything worse. He may as well be tied to a chair and excruciatingly electrocuted to death.
Yeah. Those two were definitely in the same field.
Kei was propped up against the kitchen counter, domestically sipping coffee from the mug Tadashi had gifted him. Did he do that on purpose? Tadashi wouldn’t be surprised.
“Do you want some toast? Coffee?”
No, he wants you.
Tadashi simply nodded. They sat at Kei’s table in silence. Mundane, soothing silence. The air remained crisp, every single window being cracked open not doing a great deal to aid the lowering temperature. Tadashi looked everywhere but Kei’s eyes, avoiding his hypnotising gaze. He’d only get trapped again, rereading a part of a page over and over again because the words would fly right over his head.
A book fell on its side on one of Kei’s many, abundant shelves, startling the two and forcing them to turn their heads. When they turned back, despite Tadashi’s subtle efforts, their eyes did meet. He quickly looked away.
“You didn’t have to stay, you know.”
It feels harsh. It feels as if Kei hadn’t clung to him the night before, begging him to stay.
“I’m aware,” Tadashi hesitantly replied, his tone coming off slightly more sour than he intended. “You just—you don’t remember, do you?”
Kei stayed silent, unmoving. If Tadashi couldn’t see his chest slowly moving—up and down, up and down—he would’ve thought he had turned into a statue. A delicate and feeble monument, ready to be shattered.
Just like Tadashi’s heart.
“I remember enough.”
Such little words, yet so many meanings. Not a confession, not a denial. Just a small sentence that happened to hold so much.
Tadashi couldn’t read Kei—he never could. Kei could always know exactly what Tadashi was thinking, his precise thought process accurately every time. If only it were the other way round. If only they were in another universe.
A universe in which Tadashi had never fallen so hopelessly for a jerk. Where he wasn’t the epitome of awkwardness. Maybe one where he didn’t even like boys.
“I said something dumb, didn’t I?”
Tadashi was over allowing Kei the reins. Constantly controlling him, a puppet held on strings, except the puppet had the ability to cut them.
“You did.”
Kei stared into his coffee. Tadashi wondered if now, he was the one in the reflection.
They breathed together, Kei’s breathing matched Tadashis, their chests moved in harmony.
“Would it have been dumb if I wasn’t drunk?”
Tadashi blinks, his breath suddenly stuck in his throat, his vocabulary suddenly gone. The air matured—a rapid string of warm wind feeding throughout Kei’s apartment, making Tadashi shiver regardless.
He surged through his mind for something witty to say, to joke away his overcomplicated feelings.
He felt his heart quicken, too. Beating nonstop, clawing its way out of his chest. When had that happened?
“I’m not good at this thing, Tadashi. You know this. But I’m not lying. I meant it.”
Kei brushed his hand against Tadashi’s. Thoroughly, cordially, lovingly. Their fingers intertwining, Tadashi felt Kei’s overgrown fingernails scratch his—now rivalled with goosebumps—skin, privily ruminating the white streaks they left behind.
Kei’s breath hitched, but only for a fleeting second. “You don’t have to say anything now. Just… don’t leave.”
Tadashi says nothing, finally moving his fingers against the ripples, finally allowing his shattered heart to cure.
He stays.