Chapter Text
Yamaguchi Tadashi was born on November 10th, 1996, to a Japanese father and a Mexican mother and he had been bullied for as long as he could remember. When he lived in Mexico, kids teased him for being “Chinese.” No matter how many times he corrected them, they refused to call him by his actual name; he was just “Chino”, or some variation of it.
Then his family moved to Japan, and the teasing only shifted direction. Now he was mocked for being Mexican, or for his accent. His looks, his name none of it seemed to fit anywhere, and people never let him forget it.
Being born in Mexico meant having a second name (Alejandro) and carrying both his father’s and mother’s surnames. His mother’s surname was long and complicated, far too difficult for most Japanese speakers to pronounce. For years, all of this made Tadashi hate where he came from, where he lived, and eventually, who he was.
That was until he met Tsukishima Kei.
When Tadashi met Tsukishima, he was on the floor, getting called names and seconds away from getting beaten up. Tsukishima walked by with great indifference, barely even glancing in Tadashi’s direction. But it only took a single word to flip Tadashi’s world upside down.
“Lame.”
Tsukishima Kei was born on September 27th, 1996, into a broken household. The same moment his mother found out she was pregnant, she also discovered his father’s infidelity. She asked for a divorce, and not long after Kei was born, his father relapsed into alcoholism. What followed was a constant cycle of rehab, recovery, and relapse.
Kei didn’t meet his father in person until he was five, when the man came out of rehab for the fifth time. It didn’t take long before he stole money from Kei’s mother and spiraled again.
Kei grew up more or less fatherless, but it never really mattered to him because he had his older brother. Akiteru taught him everything their father didn’t. He was the one who showed up when their dad said he would and didn’t. He taught Kei volleyball. He lay beside him when the nights were too long. He helped him read. As far as Kei was concerned, he didn’t need a father or friends as long as he had his brother.
But some of that changed when he met Tadashi. At least the part about not needing friends did.
When Kei first met Tadashi, the boy was on the floor, crying while a group of kids laughed at him. In complete honesty, Kei hadn’t meant to defend him. He simply thought the whole scene was lame, and he’d been raised to speak his mind so he did.
He’d heard of Tadashi before, though never by his actual name. To other kids he was “the one with the stupid and long name,” or “the kid with the funny accent,” or in the worst case “the narco kid,” a rumor Kei was sure was just not true.
In a way, Tadashi forced his way into Kei’s life. After that encounter, he started following Kei around, trying to talk to him, and Kei never told him to stop. There was something endearing about him. Maybe it was the small cultural mismatches Kei kept noticing, like how Tadashi sometimes forgot to bow after thanking someone, or the first time he accidentally kissed Kei goodbye on the cheek, turning bright red and apologizing so fast he almost tripped over the words.
But that endearment wasn’t cultural at all. It was just who Tadashi was.
Tadashi was kind—far kinder than Kei—and curious about the world. He liked bugs and animals. He liked dinosaurs even though he barely knew anything about them. He likes videogames, especially Pokemon. He likes music and wants to learn how to play the guitar. And most importantly, he liked Kei. That alone was foreign territory. Other kids didn’t tend to like Kei. They usually avoided him, due to feeling intimidated by his height or snark. But Tadashi liked him for those same reasons.
For the first time, Kei found himself wanting to keep someone around. And that was new. The sort of news that shifts something inside you.
Tadashi felt safe around him because other kids were intimidated by him and despite still hearing whispers and rumors about him, Tadashi didn’t care anymore because for the first time in his 9 years of life Tadashi felt accepted.
Their friendship felt easy, and with time, it also became familiar woven into Tadashi’s daily life so naturally he stopped noticing when it happened. Weeks turned into months, and slowly, they learned each other’s patterns in ways that kids don’t usually articulate.
Tadashi discovered that Kei hated loud crowds but loved quiet corners. Kei learned that Tadashi needed time to warm up to new things, but once he did, he committed with his whole chest. Tadashi picked up on the way Kei’s jaw got tight when he was angry or uncomfortable.
They became complementary
Kei, for example, was brutally honest but he was the first person in Tadashi’s life who didn’t twist that honesty into cruelty. Tadashi began to lean on it. He could ask Kei anything and know he’d get a straight answer, even if it came in the form of a grumble or an eye-roll.
And Tadashi, without meaning to, softened Kei. He asked Kei’s opinions on things Kei never thought anyone cared about. He dragged him into small adventures: trying new snacks from the store near Tadashi’s house, watching cartoons from Mexico with subtitles, catching beetles behind the gym. It gave Kei’s world color he didn’t know was missing.
One afternoon it all clicked.
They were sitting on the grass, sheltering themselves from the sun under a maple tree at the park near Tsukishima’s house. The silence between them wasn’t heavy; it was the kind of silence that felt earned, like a warm blanket they could both sit under. They watched insects drift in lazy circles, watched dried maple seeds spiral to the ground like tiny helicopters falling in slow motion.
Kei broke the silence.
“How do you pronounce your second name?”
Tadashi’s fingers froze in the grass. He felt that familiar pinch in his stomach—the one that came every time someone brought up his name, or where he came from, or anything that made him different. He didn’t look at Kei. He didn’t trust himself not to flinch.
“M-my… my second name?” Tadashi asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah,” Kei said simply.
Tadashi swallowed. Most kids asked so they could laugh. Or stumble over it. Or make some joke about how “people like him” always had weird names. Tadashi braced himself for the sting he had learned to expect.
“It’s… Alejandro,” he said slowly, shaping the syllables with care, “Ah-le-jan-dro.”
Kei nodded like he’d just been told the weather forecast. “Say it again.”
Tadashi blinked. “Why?”
“I want to say it right,” Kei said, as if it were the plainest thing in the world.
Tadashi’s chest tightened. He looked at Kei out of the corner of his eye, searching for mockery and finding none. Kei wasn’t smiling, but his expression was open. Curious, not cruel.
“Alejandro,” Tadashi whispered.
Kei repeated it under his breath, testing the shape of it. “Ale… jan… dro. Hm.”
Tadashi felt his ears burning. “It’s stupid. People don’t need to use it.”
“It’s your name,” Kei said. “Why wouldn’t I use it?”
Tadashi stared at the grass, picking at a blade until it tore. He felt something warm bloom in his chest, as strange and fragile as a new wing.
Kei leaned back against the tree trunk. “Ale,” he said again, more confident this time. “Yeah. That 's not hard.”
Tadashi let out a small breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “You’re the first person who tried to say it right.”
Kei shrugged. “Then everyone else is just stupid.”
Tadashi looked at him—really looked—and for the first time, he didn’t feel ashamed of the name his mother had given him, or the country he was born in, or the parts of him that didn’t fit neatly anywhere.
Kei made it sound simple.
And simplicity felt like acceptance.
After a stretch of quiet, Tsukishima spoke again.
“How do you pronounce your second surname?”
Tadashi looked at him for a second before breaking into a fit of giggles.
“You’re really not ready for that,” he said, cheeks pink and smile bright.
Tsukishima stared back, a little shocked, a little flustered. “Try me.”
Tadashi tried to calm himself, though the smile never left his face. “Castañeda de la Vega.”
Kei blinked.
“…Yeah, I’m not ready for that,” he admitted, pushing his glasses up to hide the growing blush.
Tadashi burst into giggles again, leaning forward like the laughter was too big to hold in. The maple leaves shivered above them, sunlight flickering through the branches, and Kei felt a warmth he couldn’t blame on the sun at all.