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The first sign of trouble was the sound of his brother’s all-too-happy humming.
Tsukishima Kei looked up from his desk just as Tsukishima Akiteru appeared in the doorway, leaning with the relaxed confidence of someone who clearly thought he was doing something generous.
“What?” Tsukishima said flatly.
Akiteru grinned and held up two tickets. “Got these through work. For tomorrow. Horror movie. I thought it’d be fun.”
Tsukishima blinked at him. “No.”
“No?” Akiteru stepped in anyway and placed the tickets unceremoniously on his desk, ignoring the frown that followed. “You’ve been holed up at home like some kind of brooding fossil. Come on, go outside. Socialize. Remember the sun.”
“I play volleyball. Outside.”
“You play volleyball inside.”
Tsukishima didn’t respond.
Akiteru sighed, annoyingly dramatic and familiar. “Look, I already bought the tickets. I know how much you hate wasting things.”
Tsukishima narrowed his eyes at him. Akiteru knew exactly which buttons to press. He didn’t rise to it—not directly—but his fingers reached for the tickets anyway, turning one over.
Saturday evening. 7:00 PM. Psychological horror.
“Ask Tadashi-kun to go with you,” Akiteru added casually. “You always drag him into these things.”
“I’m not dragging anyone.”
“Fine,” his brother said, already halfway out the door. “Ask him gently—or don’t. Ask someone else. Go alone. Just go. You’ll have fun. Probably.”
The door shut.
Tsukishima stared at the tickets.
He didn’t even like horror. It wasn’t fear exactly. It was just… messy and gross. Body horror and freakish monsters or demons. Predictable. Overstimulating.
Somehow, Akiteru always tried to make it about bonding or whatever, as if watching people scream in surround sound was a solid foundation for sibling affection or friendly camaraderie.
Still—
Tsukishima tapped open his phone and pulled up his contacts, thumbing through muscle memory more than actual attention. He clicked on a name near the top—the one he always texted when he had to attend something.
[5:03 PM] Me: You free tomorrow? Akiteru-niisan already bought the tickets.
He stared at it for a second. Then went back to flipping the ticket over in his hand, looking at the bold font title.
It looked dumb.
And loud.
And probably full of fake blood.
The message buzzed back about a minute later.
[5:04 PM] Yachi Hitoka: Um, yes? What time do you want to meet?
[5:04 PM] Yachi Hitoka: Is this for the club?
Tsukishima frowned.
Paused.
Read it again.
And then again.
He scrolled up, and that’s when he noticed—no message history. Not the long back-and-forth thread of updates and memes that usually followed any conversation with Yamaguchi Tadashi.
Just… nothing. No thread. No stickers, no sarcastic commentary, no dumb memes.
Only her name at the top.
Yachi Hitoka
His thumb hovered over the screen.
“Shit.”
He stared at her messages.
One message from him—that’s all it would’ve taken to correct her.
Sorry, wrong person.
Meant to text Tadashi.
Ignore that.
Simple. Polite. Clean.
He could even blame it on his brother. Akiteru would probably laugh, say something about fate, and insist he go with Yachi anyway. Then, after it was all over, he’d probably drag him to another movie with someone even more unexpected—saying how great it was that he was finally making new friends.
But instead, Tsukishima just… stared.
It was the tone of her message, maybe. So characteristically Yachi—soft and polite, unassuming yet earnest.
She was not suspicious of anything, even when she had every reason to. She was always giving people the option to say no—always offering space.
His thumb hovered over the reply bar.
He should say something because it was ridiculous. It wasn’t a club thing. She didn’t even have to go, and he didn’t like movies. Especially not horror. Especially not with people who might—for fuck’s sake—try to talk about how they felt about it.
He told himself it would just be awkward. That she’d hate it. That she’d flinch at the first jump scare and regret coming. That she’d excuse herself halfway through. And even if she didn’t do any of that, they’d have nothing to talk about afterward.
But he didn’t type anything.
He didn’t tell her not to come. He didn’t say it was a mistake.
Because somewhere under the logic, beneath the sarcasm and all the layers of emotional armor he’d spent years refining—there was a flicker of something else.
Curiosity—maybe.
Interest—no… he wouldn’t call it that. Would he?
Still, there’d been a moment during their first year—he remembered it clearly—when the club room was thick with tension. Kageyama Tobio was quiet as usual, his expression unreadable, and Hinata Shoyo—ever unaware—was bouncing around with restless energy that made the whole space feel louder. Everyone else was scrambling, nerves tangled, trying to figure out their places. Yachi stood by with her clipboard, cheeks flushed but steady, calling out names softly to organize the players.
Another time, when a stray ball rolled under a bench, she crouched without hesitation and pulled it out, slipping it back into the pile before anyone even noticed it was missing.
Later, when the whiteboard marker ran dry during Coach Ukai’s overview of strategies, she just dug into her bag and handed him a fresh one, the corners of her lips lifting in a quiet smile.
He’d seen her stay late, smoothing out the crease on a team form no one else noticed, double-checking the inventory list with neat handwriting only he seemed to glance at.
She noticed the little things: a loose shoelace, a missing water bottle, a teammate’s tired sigh.
She helped them all, even those who barely looked her way.
Tsukishima hadn’t said anything then. He hadn’t even thought about it then, but he’d noticed. Not that he’d ever say anything about that now. Not that he ever would.
Tsukishima locked his phone and set it facedown on his desk.
He wasn’t going to say it was fine. He wasn’t going to say he wanted her to come either. But he also wasn’t going to stop her if she was interested.
And that, apparently, was enough.
Tsukishima picked his phone back up.
He typed. Deleted. Tried again. Deleted again.
Then finally sent:
[5:18 PM] Me: Not really.
[5:19 PM] Me: Tomorrow at 6:30 pm. Station near the mall. Movie theater.
He gave no clarification—no correction.
No this wasn’t meant for you.
No you don’t have to come.
It was just a plain message. Neutral. Dismissive enough to pretend he didn’t care.
But, he immediately glanced at his phone when it buzzed again:
[5:21 PM] Yachi Hitoka: 👍
It wasn’t supposed to mean anything—even if part of him was already wondering if she was just being polite as usual, or if she’d actually show up.
The following evening, Tsukishima got there early.
Not because he was eager—absolutely not.
It was just because it was easier to get it over with than to loiter in his room, staring at the clock and avoiding Akiteru’s annoying questions and pestering.
Tsukishima leaned against a railing near the ticket machines, headphones on but no music playing, and kept his gaze down.
Every few seconds, he glanced up.
Then she was just there. No warning. No text.
She walked toward him like she’d done it a thousand times—shoulders a little hunched against the evening chill, wearing a soft-looking sweater and a long peach-toned skirt that swayed just slightly as she moved. Her hair was pulled back messily, strands loose at the sides. She carried a small crossbody bag and looked like she was dressed for a bookstore, not a horror movie.
He didn’t know what he’d expected. Jeans and a jacket, maybe. Something more… normal?
Not that it mattered. Not that he cared.
Yachi caught his eye and gave a small wave as she approached. “Hi, Tsukishima-kun.”
He blinked and removed his headphones. “You actually came.”
Immediately, he regretted the way it sounded.
But she just smiled. “Well… you texted.”
He adjusted his glasses and looked away. “Right.”
They stood in that quiet sort of almost-awkward silence, the kind that didn’t press on his ears too hard.
Finally, she asked, “Do you have the tickets?”
He pulled them out of his hoodie pocket and handed her one. “Don’t expect much. Akiteru-niisan keeps getting horror ones.”
Yachi peeked at the stub. “I don’t mind horror.”
He snorted. “We’ll see.”
They walked side by side toward the theater entrance, their steps not quite in sync, not quite mismatched either. He slowed his pace so she could keep up.
Tsukishima kept his gaze forward. But he found—much to his irritation—that he wasn’t dreading the next two hours quite as much as he’d told himself he would.
The theater was cold.
That was the first thing he noticed when they walked in. Too much air conditioning, the kind that made the back of his neck feel damp under his collar. He adjusted his hoodie sleeves and let Yachi take the inner seat by the wall without comment.
The second thing he noticed was how small she looked in the chair. She folded her hands neatly in her lap and tucked her ankles under her seat like someone waiting for a seminar, not a horror film.
He stole a glance at her profile as the lights dimmed. She was watching the screen with polite interest, like she was trying not to be rude.
He looked away.
The previews ended. The film started.
The plot was predictable—some string of haunted trauma and flickering lights, all heavy-handed music and slow zooms. Tsukishima didn’t mind scary things, not really. But bad writing annoyed him. So did jump scares that were just loud noises pretending to be plot.
Still, he watched.
And every once in a while, he glanced sideways.
Yachi didn’t flinch—not once.
When the sound design crescendoed into a piercing scream, she barely blinked. When the main character stumbled through a pitch-black hallway with a flashlight and a broken phone, she sat up a little straighter.
At one point, someone on screen vomited black liquid into a sink, and Tsukishima actually heard a guy a few rows back gag, Yachi just tilted her head and furrowed her brows.
Tsukishima looked at her again—longer, this time. She didn’t seem detached—not bored. Just… unaffected.
It was kind of unsettling. Weirdly impressive.
And maybe—just maybe—almost cute. Not that he’d say that to her. Not even to himself.
He crossed his arms and stared forward again, pressing the heel of his sneaker against the floor until it squeaked softly. Yachi glanced over at the sound, then looked back at the movie without a word.
A scene later, the final scare landed with a deafening bang and sudden strobe lighting. Tsukishima felt his shoulders jump—only slightly—and immediately tried to pretend they hadn’t.
Yachi didn’t even shift in her seat.
He stared at her again.
This girl. This tiny, polite, notebook-carrying manager who once apologized to a vending machine for kicking it too hard. This manager who once flinched when the gym door slammed too loudly. Apparently, she wasn’t fazed by any of this.
What the hell?
The credits rolled. Then ended.
She stretched her arms over her head with a quiet sigh. “That was… interesting.”
He blinked at her. “You didn’t get scared at all?”
She looked over at him and gave the smallest shrug. “I told you I don’t mind horror.”
“That wasn’t horror,” he muttered. “It was a two-hour cliché machine.”
She chuckled, and the sound echoed louder than expected in the emptying theater.
“I liked the flashlight hallway part,” she said. “That was kind of tense.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That was the worst scene.”
She just smiled. “Then I guess I have bad taste.”
And for some reason, that made his chest feel… lighter.
He slung his bag over his shoulder as they stood. “There’s a family restaurant across the street.”
Yachi blinked up at him. “Oh?”
“Unless you need to get home.”
There was a beat of hesitation.
Then she shook her head. “I can stay for a little longer.”
He didn’t smile. But he didn’t scowl either.
The restaurant wasn’t fancy. Plastic menus. Sticky tabletops. Bright overhead lights that buzzed faintly every few seconds. The kind of place where the food came out fast and always smelled a little like grease.
Tsukishima liked it better than the movie already.
Yachi sat across from him in the booth, still looking slightly out of place—hands folded neatly on the edge of the table, eyes scanning the laminated menu like it was a textbook.
She ordered a grilled sandwich and fries with a peach soda.
He got the hamburg steak plate with rice and salad, and a strawberry shake.
They sat in silence for a while. Not awkward—just quiet.
Finally, she said, “Thanks for letting me tag along.”
Tsukishima raised an eyebrow. “It wasn’t really a choice. Akiteru-niisan would’ve complained if I didn’t use the tickets.”
“I meant…” she paused before continuing. “Thanks for not sending me away—after the text mistake. It was a mistake, right?”
He looked at her then. “No…”
“Huh?” Yachi raised her eyebrows. “I figured I wasn’t your first choice. I figured you’d ask Yamaguchi-kun to go with you.”
She wasn’t teasing. She wasn’t flustered—just honest.
“Why not?” He shrugged. “You didn’t seem to hate the movie anyway.”
That earned a small laugh. “I guess so.”
“Besides… Tadashi would’ve wanted to leave early. He isn’t good with horror.”
Their food arrived not long after. Her sandwich came with the cheese still hot, the fries in a small metal basket. His hamburg steak plate was neatly arranged, rice in a molded dome, salad on the side. The strawberry shake was bright and a little over-the-top, whipped cream already softening around the rim.
Yachi glanced at it as he took a sip. “Didn’t think you’d go for something so… pink.”
He didn’t look up. “It tastes fine.”
She nodded. “I believe you.”
He started on his meal, chewing in silence.
A few bites into her sandwich, she nudged her basket of fries across the table without saying anything.
Tsukishima looked at it, then at her.
“I’m good,” he said.
She just nodded and kept eating.
He didn’t take any, but he noticed that the fries stayed where she left them.
Halfway through her meal, she took a sip of her drink and said, “I don’t usually go to the movies. But that was fun.”
“Fun? You really weren’t scared then,” he said, watching her expressions.
“I told you.” She smiled. “Scary movies don’t really freak me out. They’re predictable if you know what to look for, you know?”
He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate.
She glanced out the window, then added, “Real life’s scarier.”
It was offhand. It was almost too casual.
But there was something in her voice—too flat to be funny, too steady to be shrugged off. It was the kind of line someone says when they’re trying to pretend it doesn’t mean anything.
Tsukishima paused with a piece of hamburg steak halfway to his mouth.
He didn’t ask what she meant—didn’t pry.
He just watched her for a moment—this tiny, cheerful, endlessly capable person who never asked for anything, who always smiled too quickly and apologized for things that weren’t her fault.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It is.”
She blinked at him, maybe surprised he agreed. She didn’t press.
They finished their food in companionable silence—mostly. Every once in a while, she asked him questions. She asked about Akiteru, and he muttered something dismissive. She asked about practice, and he gave her actual answers.
It wasn’t like talking to Yamaguchi, but it wasn’t worse. It was just… different.
He walked her back to the station when they were done. She tugged her sleeves over her hands as the night cooled down and smiled at him like they did this all the time.
They didn’t.
But maybe…
He didn’t finish the thought.
The house was quiet.
Akiteru was probably already asleep, judging by the lack of clattering in the kitchen or commentary from the living room. Tsukishima’s mom was working late. The hum of the refrigerator filled the silence like white noise.
Tsukishima sat on the edge of his bed, glasses off, phone in hand.
He wasn’t really doing anything—just scrolling, idly switching between apps without reading any of them. The light from the screen cast faint shadows on the walls. His food from earlier still sat a little heavy in his stomach.
He kept thinking about what Yachi said.
“Real life’s scarier.”
It shouldn’t have stuck with him. It wasn’t profound. It wasn’t even said seriously, really. But it had been true in that quiet, offhand way that made him feel like he’d been handed a puzzle piece he hadn’t asked for.
He hadn’t realized how much of her he didn’t know.
He thought he did—at least the things he considered to be enough. He’d seen her flustered in the gym, seen her clutching her clipboard like a shield, seen her navigate chaos with a manager’s practiced calm. He’d assumed that was most of it.
But the girl who sat through a horror movie without flinching, who smiled when she talked about being afraid of the real world—
That was someone he didn’t know at all.
He opened their message thread.
Just the six texts from yesterday.
[5:03 PM] Me: You free tomorrow? Akiteru-niisan already bought the tickets.
[5:04 PM] Yachi Hitoka: Um, yes? What time do you want to meet?
[5:04 PM] Yachi Hitoka: Is this for the club?
[5:18 PM] Me: Not really.
[5:19 PM] Me: Tomorrow at 6:30 pm. Station near the mall. Movie theater.
[5:21 PM] Yachi Hitoka: 👍
He stared at the screen for a while. His thumb hovered over the keyboard.
He could text her. Something casual—maybe a joke about how she clearly had no soul since she didn’t even blink during the jump scares. Or something drier, like You’re a menace to horror movies.
Or he could just say:
Thanks for coming.
It wasn’t as bad as I thought.
It was… nice.
He typed out half a sentence.
Deleted it.
Typed another. Deleted that too.
The screen dimmed.
He locked his phone and set it down on his bedside table. Pulled his blanket over his legs even though the room wasn’t cold. He leaned back and closed his eyes.
He wasn’t going to text her.
It would make things weird—and he didn’t do weird.
But somewhere in the dark, his chest felt lighter than usual.
His phone buzzed a little after midnight.
He wasn’t asleep yet. Not because of the movie. He was just… thinking. That was all.
He reached over, turned on his lamp, and read the messages.
[12:02 AM] Yachi Hitoka: Thanks again for today. It was nice.
[12:02 AM] Yachi Hitoka: Let me know if your brother ever buys extra tickets again 🙂👻
He stared at the message longer than necessary.
The smiley face and ghost emojis should’ve made it feel light.
It didn’t.
It felt… careful. Like she meant it. Like she wasn’t teasing. Like she hadn’t regretted a second of it.
Tsukishima sat there for a couple of minutes, thumbs resting on the keys.
He thought about ignoring it. About replying in the morning. About sending something neutral like, Sure.
Instead, he typed:
[12:05 AM] Me: Yeah. I’ll let you know.
He paused.
Then, after another beat, he added:
[12:06 AM] Me: Glad you came.
He hit send before he could think too hard about it.
Then he turned off the light, laid back, and let the quiet fill the space around him.
He wasn’t smiling—not exactly.
But for the first time all day, he didn’t feel annoyed by the quiet.
Not at all.