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The volleyball arced up, weightless in the low ceiling light, and landed back in Tsukishima Kei’s hand with a soft, familiar slap.
He tossed it again—caught it. Repeat.
It was something to do—not quite thinking, not quite bored. It was just enough noise to keep the quiet from pressing too hard.
The house was mostly still. His mom was at work. His brother, Tsukishima Akiteru, had been unusually vague earlier—said something about “meeting up with someone” and “don’t wait up.” That usually meant either a date or a spontaneous errand that turned into a day-long adventure. Tsukishima didn’t care which.
The ball slapped back into his palm again; the rhythm was steady and predictable.
His phone buzzed once. Then again… and again.
Tsukishima exhaled slowly through his nose, arm still mid-toss. The ball dropped into his lap as he reached lazily for his phone off the bedside table.
If it was a group chat, he was muting it.
He tapped the screen.
The first thing he saw was a photo—a selfie. Akiteru was grinning far too wide, and Tanaka Saeko was leaning in with two fingers held up in a peace sign. However, it wasn’t either of them that caught his eye.
In the background, slightly blurred but unmistakable, was Yachi Hitoka.
She was sitting at a small café table, a fork in hand, a slice of strawberry shortcake in front of her. Her cheeks were slightly pink, and she was mid-laugh—caught in a candid moment of soft expression. It was the kind of smile she didn’t wear around everyone. It was the kind of smile that looked like it belonged somewhere warm—like when she was around Shimizu Kiyoko during their first year or when she cheered the team on during an intense game.
Tsukishima stared at the image.
He scrolled up to see the previous texts.
[6:43 PM] Tsukishima Akiteru: Hey
[6:44 PM] Tsukishima Akiteru: Guess who I found eating your favorite cake? 🍓
[6:44 PM] Tsukishima Akiteru: We’re at the café near our house.
[6:45 PM] Tsukishima Akiteru: Don’t ignore me 🥲
[6:46 PM] Tsukishima Akiteru: Hey 😣
Then the next message came in.
[6:47 PM] Tsukishima Akiteru: Yachi-san said she’s just out running errands, but doesn’t she look cute?
Another buzz.
[6:47 PM] Tsukishima Akiteru: She eats just like you 🐿️
Tsukishima didn’t respond. He locked his phone and placed it on his bedside table.
He tossed the volleyball again. He caught it again.
Then, predictably, the phone buzzed again. It was longer this time—a call.
He didn’t even roll his eyes. He just stared at the ceiling as it vibrated against his bedside table.
Finally, with the kind of sigh reserved only for family-induced suffering, he picked it up.
“Why,” Tsukishima said flatly, “are you like this?”
Akiteru’s voice came through loud and bright, like he’d been waiting. “Oho! He answered! Saeko, you owe me five hundred yen!”
“Put Saeko-san on the phone,” Tsukishima muttered. “I’ll tell her what I think.”
“No can do. She’s busy interrogating Yachi-san about school stuff.” Akiteru paused for a moment. “Also, I don’t think she knows how to lie or how to reject anyone… Tragic.”
Tsukishima’s jaw clenched slightly. “Why are you sending me pictures of her?”
“Because you didn’t tell me you two were a thing now!” Akiteru said, the grin practically audible. “You went to a movie—with a girl! That you invited out yourself. She didn’t run away crying either—especially for a horror flick! That’s a good sign, Kei.”
Tsukishima didn’t respond.
“Besides,” Akiteru continued, “Saeko and I were just on our way to catch a movie, and she was here—alone. Saeko invited her to sit with us. It was very spontaneous. Very fateful , if I do say so myself.”
“You never say that,” Tsukishima said, dry.
“I am now. Things change. People grow. Young love blossoms in the presence of sugar and family support.”
“You’re not family support,” Tsukishima muttered.
A pause.
Then, he heard Yachi’s voice, soft but still audible. “Tsukishima-kun doesn’t have to come out if he’s busy. I was just—”
Akiteru cut back in before she could finish. “Anyway, we don’t want to leave her alone, but we also bought the tickets already. And Saeko really wants to see this one. It's a historical flick—"dreadfully hot samurai and chaotic wars"—in her words. I’d invite you, but you hate history and period dramas. So…”
Tsukishima was already sitting up.
“I’m not a babysitter.”
“Yachi-san’s not a baby,” Akiteru said, deadpan for once. “She might be disappointed if she heard you say that about her.”
“Did she?” Tsukishima asked, unable to stop the words before they escaped his lips. “Did she… hear me?
“No… I stepped away.” Akiteru paused then continued. “Why? Are you worried?”
Tsukishima remained quiet, not wanting to give anything away.
Then, Akiteru spoke again, “You coming?”
Again, Tsukishima didn’t say anything.
He just ended the call, stood up, and grabbed his hoodie from the back of the chair.
He didn’t know why he was going—only that he was already moving.
Ten minutes later, Tsukishima paused outside the café entrance, hands in his pockets, hood half-up against the breeze.
He could see them through the glass—near the back, in a booth angled just enough to be visible from the sidewalk.
Akiteru was talking, hands moving in some exaggerated arc, probably embellishing whatever story he’d dragged out this time. Saeko leaned in across the table, one elbow propped, chin resting on her hand as she laughed with her whole shoulders. She always laughed like she meant it.
And between them—Yachi.
She was tucked into the booth beside Saeko, her back straight but not stiff. Her face was flushed with amusement, not embarrassment, and her hand was mid-gesture toward her plate. She had a fork raised with a piece of strawberry shortcake on it, the cream a little lopsided from the heat. She looked like she belonged there—like she wasn’t interrupting, or just being polite, or waiting for someone else to show up.
She was laughing.
Not the quiet, restrained laugh she gave when Hinata said something dumb in the gym, or the nervous one she used around boys from other schools at their matches. This was something different—lighter. Freer.
He didn’t think she’d ever laughed like that around him.
Tsukishima stared for a second too long.
Then, without adjusting his expression, he stepped inside.
The bell above the door jingled softly. A couple at a table near the entrance glanced over. The warm clatter of silverware and classical renditions of pop music playing overhead filled the space in place of words.
Akiteru spotted him first. He lit up like Tsukishima’s presence was some divine punchline to his joke.
“Hey! Kei!” Akiteru said, standing to wave him over. “Come on, we saved you the boring side of the booth.”
Saeko smiled at him, eyes crinkling. “Didn’t think you’d show.”
Yachi turned just as he reached the table. She looked… surprised. Not startled—just genuinely unsure what to make of it. Her fork hovered above her plate, and for a moment, she seemed like she was about to say something.
She didn’t.
Tsukishima slid into the open seat across from her. He didn’t take off his hoodie. Just sat, shoulders squared, arms folded on the edge of the table.
“You’re still here,” he said flatly, eyes flicking to Akiteru.
Akiteru grinned. “We stalled.”
Saeko sipped her tea with a perfectly innocent expression. “I ordered another slice.”
“And I was talking about—what was it?” Akiteru looked at Yachi. “Oh! The time Kei broke his glasses in middle school and hid it from Mom. He acted like he didn’t need them—so silly.”
Tsukishima shot him a look. “You're mixing it up. That didn’t happen.”
“Whatever,” Akiteru said, waving a hand. “Anyway, now you’re here.”
“I knew you would, Kei-kun,” Saeko added.
Tsukishima didn’t respond. His eyes drifted, inevitably, to the half-eaten cake still on Yachi’s plate.
Strawberry shortcake—his favorite.
He looked back up. Yachi was watching him—not expectantly, not nervously. She was just… calm—like she wasn’t sure what to make of him either.
“Did you want a slice?” she asked, quiet but clear.
He shook his head. “Wasn’t planning to eat.”
“You should get something.” She nudged the laminated menu toward him. “If not something sweet, maybe something else? They have good sandwiches.”
Tsukishima didn’t move to take it.
He just said, “You didn’t have to stay with them. You can leave, you know?”
Yachi blinked once. “I know.”
That was all. She didn’t argue. She didn’t say she wanted to stay either, but she didn’t get up.
Then, she said, “You didn’t have to come either.”
Somehow, her words unsettled him.
“I know,” he replied simply.
There was a moment of silence, and Tsukishima noticed Akiteru and Saeko shift beside him.
Akiteru stood with a stretch, cracking his back. “Well, we better head out if we’re gonna catch the trailers. Saeko insists on seeing every single one.”
“Sometimes they’re better than the movie,” she said, already gathering her bag.
Yachi began reaching for her own things, but Akiteru placed a hand on the table in front of her, palm flat. “Hey now, you have your own plans, right? You don’t have to go just because we are. You can finish your cake, Yachi-san.”
Yachi paused. She looked at Tsukishima.
“I’m fine,” she said softly. “I really was just running errands.”
Akiteru clapped his hands once, satisfied. “Perfect. Kei can help you carry stuff. He’s good at lifting things and not talking.”
Tsukishima muttered, “You’re not subtle.”
“I don’t need to be,” Akiteru said, leaning down to ruffle his hair before he could dodge. “Have fun, you two.”
They left in a breeze of laughter and the scent of Saeko’s floral perfume. The bell over the door jingled again as it swung shut.
Silence settled over the table—not tense, not heavy. It was just… still.
Yachi picked up her fork again and took the final bite of her cake, chewing thoughtfully.
Tsukishima glanced out the window.
Then, without looking at her, he said, “So. What errands?”
Yachi wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “Stationery store. My mom needed some printer ink, and I wanted to buy some washi tape. Later, I’m supposed to pick up green onions and tofu for dinner.”
“Thrilling,” he said dryly.
She smiled, reaching for her bag. “Want to come?”
He didn’t say yes, but he stood up anyway.
The air was cooler now.
The sun had dipped low behind the buildings, leaving the sky streaked with pale violet and soft orange. It was the kind of faded watercolor that never quite made it into paintings. Streetlights buzzed faintly overhead, not quite bright enough to wash out the early evening shadows.
Tsukishima stepped out first, holding the door open for Yachi to follow him out. Once she stood beside him, the door swung shut behind him with a gentle thud, the bell above the entrance giving one last soft jingle.
They stood just outside the café, near a short metal railing where someone had chained a bicycle. The street was quiet—residential and slow, just a few passing cars and a woman walking her dog on the other side of the road.
Neither of them said anything at first.
Tsukishima stuffed his hands into his pockets. He glanced sideways at her.
Yachi was adjusting the strap of her crossbody bag, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear. Her face was still faintly pink from the warmth inside, or maybe from laughing too hard, but she didn’t look flustered now—just thoughtful. Content, maybe.
He looked away.
“Thanks for coming with me. I’m sure you’re busy, too,” she said after a while.
“Not today.”
She turned to look at him. Tsukishima tilted his head back slightly to watch a plane crawl across the sky, a thin trail behind it.
“I just didn’t want them bothering you the whole time,” he added, more dryly this time.
Yachi smiled. “They were nice.”
“Don’t encourage them.”
“I think Saeko-san’s fun.”
“She is.” He paused. “That’s why it’s annoying.”
Yachi’s eyes lingered on his profile for a moment. “Your brother really cares about you.”
Tsukishima made a low, unimpressed sound in his throat. “He’s persistent.”
“That’s not a bad thing.”
He didn’t answer.
They stood like that for another few seconds, not quite facing each other, not quite not. They were just adjacent. The streetlight above them flickered once, then steadied.
Tsukishima exhaled a long breath. “Where’s the stationery store?”
Yachi blinked, then pointed gently down the street. “About ten minutes that way.”
“Let’s go,” he said, already starting to walk again.
Yachi hesitated, just long enough for him to notice.
Then her shoes scuffed softly against the pavement as she caught up to him, their footsteps falling into a quiet rhythm as they moved forward together, side by side.
The walk was quiet, but not uncomfortable.
It was the kind of quiet Tsukishima didn’t mind. Yachi was beside him, phone in hand, occasionally reading new messages from her mom as they passed dim storefronts and shuttered cafés.
“She just sent another one,” Yachi said, a little amused. “Now it’s pens. The kind with that soft grip. She didn’t say the brand, though.”
“Helpful,” he said dryly.
Yachi smiled, not offended. “She usually just grabs whatever’s on sale, but she’s picky when she sends me.”
They reached the stationery store, its front display full of new items and deals.
Yachi moved efficiently—familiar, practiced. She navigated the shelves like she came here often, scanning the wall of printer cartridges before selecting a box with a green stripe.
She moved on to the pens, lifting two different types and weighing them in her hands. “This one’s cheaper, but I think it skips sometimes. Do you want to try it?”
She handed one to him without looking up. He pressed the grip with his thumb.
“Feels flimsy,” he said.
She nodded and took the other one instead, dropping it into the small basket with a decisive little motion.
Then she paused at the end of the aisle, where a display of washi tape was arranged by color and pattern—some bright, some soft, some metallic.
She lingered there a little longer.
Tsukishima watched as she picked up a narrow roll decorated with tiny gold stars and crescent moons scattered across a navy background. Then she put it back and reached for another—pale green with a delicate leaf motif.
“I’ve been meaning to get some,” Yachi said quietly, almost to herself. “For journaling. Or maybe just for decorating notes.”
She held the two rolls in either hand, thumb brushing over the edge of the green one. Then, glancing briefly over her shoulder, she asked, “Do you think the stars are too much?”
Tsukishima looked at them—then at her.
“They’re both fine,” he said.
She nodded, not seeming disappointed. “Yeah… I guess they are.”
After a second, she put the green one back and added the star-and-moon one to her basket.
She hadn’t needed his input. She wasn’t waiting on his approval, but she’d asked anyway.
He wasn’t sure why that made something shift in his chest.
Was she just being nice?
He followed her through the checkout and out the door without ever touching a thing.
The grocery store was colder than the stationery shop, bright with fluorescent light. Tsukishima blinked as his eyes adjusted, trailing slightly behind Yachi as she grabbed a plastic basket near the entrance.
She didn’t ask him to carry it despite Akiteru’s earlier comments. She just walked.
He watched her scan the produce signs as they passed through the narrow aisles. She slowed at the green onions, crouching slightly to sift through the bundles in their plastic bins.
“She said she wanted ones with rounder bulbs,” Yachi murmured, mostly to herself.
Tsukishima stood just behind her, watching the careful way she handled them. Not rushed. Not performative. Just… deliberate.
She lifted one bunch into the air, turned it under the lights, then frowned faintly and set it down again.
“Is there… a reason that matters?” he asked.
Yachi looked up at him.
“No reason,” she said. “Mom just likes them more.”
Tsukishima blinked. “Fair.”
She smiled. “Yeah.”
He said nothing, just watched as she picked the best bundle she could find and placed it neatly in the basket.
The tofu aisle came next. The refrigerator’s chill slipped into the sleeves of his hoodie. Yachi crouched again, scanning each tray.
“She said to check the expiration dates. If it’s close, it falls apart faster in miso soup.”
Tsukishima paused. “Do you make miso soup often?”
“Always,” she said. “I’m in charge of meals at home. I’m still learning, so when Mom asks for something, I want to get it right—even if it's as simple as miso soup.”
Tsukishima stared at the back of her head for a long beat. While he didn’t relate—not exactly—he respected that quiet kind of follow-through. The way she took every task seriously, even the small ones.
Soon, Yachi selected a tray with the farthest date, checked it once, and set it carefully into the basket swinging from her arm.
Still, she didn’t ask him to carry it. It didn’t look like she needed help. But, for some reason, that left more of an impression than if she had.
As they walked toward the checkout, she glanced sideways at him. “Do you like miso soup?”
Tsukishima blinked. “What?”
She adjusted the bag in her hand. “You don’t eat much, but I thought… next time, I could make extra.”
She said it plainly—like it wasn’t a big deal.
He didn’t answer right away, but he eventually hummed. As he kept walking beside her, the corner of his mouth pulled up—just slightly.
They sat on a bench just outside the store.
It wasn’t picturesque—plastic slats, slightly faded, with a scratchy bus schedule taped to the shelter behind them. A streetlight buzzed faintly overhead. The air was warmer again, with that end-of-summer humidity clinging low to the ground.
Yachi sat with the grocery bag neatly on her lap, the handles looped carefully so nothing would tip. She was scrolling through her phone, probably checking which bus would come first. Her brow furrowed lightly, the way it always did when she was processing information.
Tsukishima sat beside her, arms resting loosely over his knees. His shoulder almost touched hers, but didn’t.
He could’ve walked ahead. He could’ve gone home. But he stayed.
Yachi put her phone away and looked ahead, not at him. “Thanks for coming with me.”
“I didn’t have anything better to do,” he said, out of habit.
Still, it came out softer than usual, less deflecting.
“I know.” Then, her smile quirked into a little smirk. “Akiteru-san said so.”
Cute, Tsukishima thought before he could stop himself.
A pause stretched between them, but it didn’t feel empty.
The city moved around them—cars passing slowly, the hum of a vending machine nearby, a few cicadas still clinging to the heat. Tsukishima glanced sideways.
She wasn’t saying much. Again.
He studied the curve of her cheek in the yellow streetlight, the way her expression seemed steady even when she wasn’t smiling. Her bag was full of careful choices—green onions with rounder bulbs, tofu with the farthest expiration date, pens she knew her mom would like. She did everything with attention.
She didn’t need him to tag along. She hadn’t needed him for any of it. Still, she let him walk beside her anyway…
Tsukishima leaned back against the bench.
Yachi’s hand was resting near her thigh, fingers curled loosely around the edge of the bench slat. Not close enough to touch him. She was just… near.
A bus pulled up a few minutes later, headlights slicing through the quiet. Yachi stood first and picked up the bag. Tsukishima followed.
“Do you want me to carry it?” he finally offered.
She shook her head. “It’s not heavy.”
He didn’t argue. They stepped onto the bus together.
The bus was mostly empty.
Tsukishima sat beside the window. Yachi took the seat beside him. They didn’t talk much. The bus moved with that low hydraulic sigh each time it stopped—two, three passengers getting off, one person climbing on with a tired shuffle.
The city outside blurred softly behind the glass. Neon convenience store signs, quiet intersections, dim apartment buildings with one light still on per floor. Yachi was watching the stops carefully. Tsukishima couldn’t help but think how comfortable it was—sitting here together, not talking, just enjoying the silence.
The bus slowed.
“This is me,” she said, rising gently and adjusting her bag.
Tsukishima looked at her, then away. “Okay.”
Yachi stepped off. She turned back once on the sidewalk, just past the closing doors, and waved—not big or exaggerated. It was just a small flick of her fingers.
Tsukishima raised a hand in return, barely, palm open against the window. She smiled once more.
The bus pulled away.
He watched her shrink in the side mirror, then vanish entirely behind the row apartment buildings.
The front door clicked behind him. He kicked off his shoes and barely stepped onto the floor mat before—
“Kei,” Akiteru’s voice called from the kitchen. “You eat already? Saeko and I got some take-out from—”
Tsukishima didn’t answer. He just walked past the hall, past his brother, and straight to his room.
The door shut behind him with a quiet, final sort of click.
He dropped his phone onto the desk, shrugged off his hoodie, and lay on the bed without bothering to turn on the light. The ceiling above him was dark, the faint streetlight from outside casting thin shadows over the wall.
He thought about the day.
About strawberry shortcake.
About how he’d tossed a volleyball in the air that morning, perfectly fine being alone, and still somehow ended up walking beside Yachi through aisles of pens and produce.
He hadn’t done anything special. There were no clever words, no moments of charm or effort. He just… followed her. He watched her read labels—saw her choose ink and pens and washi tape, green onions and tofu.
It was ordinary.
Yet, for some reason, it stuck in his chest like it meant something.
His phone buzzed.
Tsukishima sat up, grabbed it, and unlocked the screen.
[8:58 PM] Yachi Hitoka : Thank you for today. You didn’t have to come, but I’m really glad you did. 🙂
A second message followed right after. It was a photo—slightly orange-tinted from the warm kitchen light. It was a ceramic bowl of miso soup with steam still curling up faintly at the top. There were small cubes of tofu floating near the surface—green onion sliced thin, simple and clean.
Tsukishima stared at it for a long moment, feeling a slight fluttering in his chest.
There was a soft knock at his door.
“Kei?” Akiteru’s voice, muffled. “You okay?”
Tsukishima didn’t answer at first. There was a pause.
Then, Akiteru tried again, cheerful and lighter this time. “Just checking. You were quiet when you came in. Saeko says hi, by the way. She says you owe her for emotional damages.”
Tsukishima sighed and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Tell her to send an invoice.”
There was a chuckle from the hallway. “That’s what I said.”
More silence.
Then, Akiteru asked, “You had fun today, right?”
Tsukishima stared down at the phone still in his hand. The picture of the miso soup. Yachi’s words.
He didn’t say anything back. He just got up and opened the door a few inches.
Akiteru stood there in pajama pants and a hoodie that didn’t match. He looked surprised, then quietly pleased.
“I’m going to bed,” Tsukishima said flatly. “You should, too.”
“Isn’t it too early? It isn’t even ten.”
“Not for me,” he replied. “Plus, you always complain about not getting enough sleep.”
Akiteru grinned, stepping back. “Night, Kei.”
“Night.”
He closed the door again.
Back on his bed, Tsukishima opened the message thread once more. His thumb hovered for a second. Then, without really thinking too hard about it, he typed:
[9:15 PM] Me: Looks good.
He paused.
Then added:
[9:17 PM] Me: Let me know if your mom needs more ink or green onions.
[9:17 PM] Me: This was nice.
He hit send. The phone screen dimmed as he set it back on his bedside table.
Tsukishima lay down again, this time letting the quiet fill the room without resisting it. Outside, the wind rustled the trees. Somewhere, a car passed. He closed his eyes.