Work Text:
Tsukishima Kei is what most people would call “stoic” or sometimes even “an impassive asshole”.
Tsukishima has never actually has an issue with people saying this, they think what they think, and it’s not like they’re far off. Kei doesn’t normally show the right expression for the right place.
He thinks it’s ridiculous how people are expected to have to feel so much about such little things that they should have to change the way their face moves. Needless to say, practically since birth hes been less expressive then other children.
This— along with the sharp way he learned to interact with others meant that Kei never actually had any friends through preschool, or high school. No friends except Yamaguchi.
Yamaguchi was the closest thing to a friend that Kei had ever had, and in fact, probably by regular friendship scales they’re surpassed ‘buddies’ and ‘friends’. Yamaguchi is Keis favourite person, which is saying quite a bit considering that he’s irritated by most people, barely tolerating the people closest to him.
He loves his family, obviously. But that’s mostly it. And even they irritate him soemtimes.
Tsukishima is rarely rarely actually bothered by anything about Yamaguchi. He’s funny, he’s tidy, he understand Tsukishima, and he likes to watch Jurassic park—even though Akiteru says it’s childish for 17 year olds to watch children’s movies.
Yamaguchi seems to like hanging out with Kei, despite how cold other people say he is sometimes, and despite the rumours of how he’s unfeeling, and doesn’t love things.
He does love things, lots. He loves bitter milk tea, and zero sugar-zero flavour chewing gum, he loves volleyball, and he loves science class, the stack of prehistoric textbooks by his bedsides, his mothers quilted apron, gingerbread cookies, squeaky gym shoes, the smell of his dads chewing Tabacco. And mostly, Kei loves being with Yamaguchi.
“Tsukki.” A voice pipes up beside him, Kei looks up from the cards he’d been staring at quietly.
“It’s your turn.” Yamaguchi smiles. They’re laying on the cold floor of Keis room, playing Uno No Mercy to distract themselves from the sweltering heat outside.
The windows and curtains are shut to keep the sun out, and there’s a whirring box fan on the floor next to them—which occasionally blows the cards in the ‘played’ pile every which way.
Yamaguchi brought a mixtape he made over, and it’s playing through the CD player next to them, one that Kei got from his dad for his last birthday. It’s a mix of shared favourites and ones Yamaguchi had thought he’d like (and he does like them).
“I know that, idiot. I’m thinking.” Kei responds, even though he actually hadn’t even known that Yamaguchi had already had his turn. He mulls over his cards, placing a pick up a pick-up-four. “Changing it to red.”
Yamaguchi groans and rolls on his back in annoyance. Kei could see his cards if he tilted his head just right, but instead he finds himself glancing awkwardly to where Yamaguchis shirt has ridden up.
“You jerk!”
“I don’t! It’s the point of the game, idiot. Just pick them up.”
“I don’t want to play anymore. It’s too hot.” Yamaguchi complains. Kei frowns. “You’re only saying that because I have two cards left.”
“So what?” I always lose at Uno against you, let’s do something else.”
Kei collects the cards and shuffles them before putting them in the box. Yamaguchi rolls back on his stomach, staring at the box with irritation.
“Why shuffle them now, if you’ll shuffle them before we play again anyway?”
Kei furrows his eyes, he slides the box back under his bed with his other games and DVDs. “Why not?”
“You’re weird.” Yamaguchi laughs like the sun.
“Not too weird for you to hang out with.” Kei retorts. He shifts to sit up, leaning against the bed.
“Just weird enough.”
Yamaguchi never expects Kei to fake his expressions, or hide the ones he feels. Yamaguchi sometimes is the closest Kei thinks he’ll ever be to complete peace, peace he doesn’t feel with anyone else, even himself.
Kei hums and looks down at him. “You’re in a cotton t shirt. No wonder you’re hot, it’s too thick for this weather.” Kei scoffs. He throws a clearly worn tank top off his bed at Yamaguchi.
“Wear this.”
“You just wore it! I don’t want your sweaty sport germs.” Yamaguchi complains, even though Kei knows he doesn’t care. He covers his eyes as Yamaguchis shirt comes off and the tank top comes on.
“Only to sleep. Besides, you’ve worn worse, like that shirt, which is ugly and I’m glad it’s coming off.” Kei grunts behind his fingers. Warm hands pull his hands away.
“I’m done. You don’t have to hide like a Victorian virgin. You see me change all the time at volleyball. Besides, tie dye isn’t ugly, it’s totally coming back in style! And when it does everyone else will remember me liking it when it was uncool.”
“Whatever… I like this song. Who is it?”
“The Cure.”
“It’s nice.”
“That’s why I picked it, Tsukki.”
Kei hums, leaning back on his hands. His eyes glide over Yamaguchis tanned skin, the only good thing about the dreadful sun is that it brings out new freckles on him every day. Two new ones on his neck, a few on his hands, a heavy smattering on his shoulders.
“You’ve got new freckles.” Kei comments.
“I do.”
“Remember in elementary school I tried to count them all?”
“I bet I have nine times that many.” Yamaguchi scowls, Kei remembers suddenly that he never liked his own freckles.
“It would take me a millennia to count them all.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Don’t make that face then. There’s no reason to not like them. They’re… pretty, I guess.”
Yamaguchi looks up, his whole face worse than the heat of the sun was. He licks his lips nervously. “You think they’re pretty?”
Kei shrugs. “Other people do. Girls will.”
Yamaguchi furrows his eyes. “Don’t be silly. Girls don’t like freckles.”
Kei scoffs. “Of course they do. Everyone likes freckles.” He says obviously, because how could anyone not like freckles?
“Girls have told me they’re ugly. The older guys at school do too.”
Yamaguchi twists his hands together nervously. He keeps talking, probably taking Keis silence as agreement even though he just told him it was wrong.
“I mean, it’s not a big deal or anything, just forget I brought it up, sorry.”
How could anyone not love freckles? How could anyone not love his freckles? How could there be anyone in the world who couldn’t love every little thing about Yamaguchi.
Kei doesn’t say that. He doesn’t say any of it, he usually tries to say as little as possible while still getting the point across.
“Who cares what other people think.” He says instead. “They look fine.” His clammy hands rub against the polyester of his shorts.
Yamaguchi beams, “Thanks, Tsukk.”
“Tch. Whatever.” The fan gets turned up, and as the day turns to night Tsukishima opens his curtains back up, letting the moon shine her face onto his floorboards and bedsheets, he flicks the light off.
Kei sits next to Yamaguchi on the ground. He clears his throat. Reaching his hand out and pressing his thumb to a lone freckle behind Yamaguchis ear, barely visible in the low light. “This one’s my favourite.”
“You have a favourite?” Yamaguchi breaths out quietly.
“I guess.” Kei brushes Yamaguchis hair behind his ear with fingers as light as dandelion seeds.
Yamaguchi let’s out a quiet shudder, goosebumps shooting up his bare arms like ripples on water.
“Are you cold? It’s like 40° outside.”
“I’m not cold.”
“You’ve got goosebumps.”
Yamaguchi looks down at his arms, rubbing his palm over them to warm them up.
“Huh.”
Kei frowns and reaches out to touch him again, brushing his knuckle over the curve of Yamaguchis bare shoulder.
They both hold their breath as the hair on Yamaguchis arms and neck stand up.
“Woah. I’m not even cold. You’ve got magic hands, Tsukki!” Yamaguchi rubs the back of his neck nervously, and his spotlight smile rivals the moon and the dreaded sun, again.
“Hmph. As if.”
“Do it again.” He murmurs and Kei complies, reaching out to slide his palm over Yamaguchis bicep. Yamaguchi bites his lip, his eyes are screwed shut.
Kei doesn’t stop. His hands slide down to Yamaguchis hands, back up, over his shoulders, featherlight on his collarbones, up his neck, the underside of his soft jaw.
“You’ve got soft skin.” Kei whispers, as if speaking any louder might shatter the moment. The music plays softly beside them. The sound of Foo Fighters practically vibrating under the floors even at the low volume.
“It’s my sisters lotion. You’ve got nice hands.” Yamaguchi sighs back, and he catches them in his grasp, his strong warm hands encasing Keis colder slimmer ones.
Kei let’s out a a light breath, and Yamaguchi shifts to sit with his feet tucked under him. “Can I— can I try it with you?”
Kei nods, desperately almost, he needs this more than he needs anything else in the moment, he’d give up breathing to have Yamaguchis solid palms on his skin.
Yamaguchis breath hitches and his hands steadily stretch out. “I don’t… I don’t know to do.”
Kei wets his lips. He carefully pulls Yamaguchis hands closer. “Just do… what you want.”
Yamaguchi takes a deep breath. “I want to touch you.”
Kei leans backwards on his hands, Yamaguchi— no, Tadashi, is looking down at him through his dark eyelashes, his soft bottom lip is pulled between his teeth.
He reaches forward with his fingertips as if to stroke Keis jaw, at the last second he chickens out, moving to trace his thick rimmed glasses. He plucks them gently off, folding them neatly and setting them on the bed, where Kei is sure he’ll accidentally sit on them later.
Kei sits tight as Tadashi strokes his knuckle over his eyebrow, then down his sharp cheekbone, over the shell of his ear. Kei almost slumps down at the gentle touch, instead he reaches out to tug Tadashi closer by the belt loops on his jean shorts.
“Hm?” Tadashi looks up at him.
“Here, sit, we— we can do it at the same time.” Kei whispers, pulling Tadashi to sit on his lap. His ears flush and he sits down, continuing to run his hands over Keis face, then his neck. Kei pulls him closer, closer, never close enough, his cheek practically pressed to Tadashis, his mouth by his ear.
It feels so right. But Kei knows other people don’t think it is. How can this be wrong? There’s rumours a sour Tadashi, always has been, about how he’s wrong. Wrong for liking things like this.
Someone will make rumours of Kei someday, he’s sure. He doesn’t care.
He turns Tadashis head with gentle hands, carefully nosing at the special freckle behind his ear. Tadashi hums a moan out, tipping his head back.
Kei should be confused and terrified and scared that he’s doing all this with the only friend he’s ever had, instead he feels fine, it’s a moment of peace, and Kei won’t ruin it by thinking too hard. Tadashi’s lovely, his hands are warmer than Keis skin, but not in a bad way, not like the sickly heat outside.
Kei feels fine because this is Tadashi, he feels fine because he knows everything is always okay with Tadashi, he loves him and everything will be okay.
He tells him as much, whispered quietly against the freckle. Tadashi squirms closer, his bare knees bracketing Keis thighs, his weight is a heavy quilt and Kei dying of hypothermia in 30° heat.
“You what?”
“I love you,” he repeats, his hands sliding up the fabric of his own tank top on Tadashi. “and everything will be okay.”
“Oh. I—I don’t— how do you love me? In what way?” He swallows thickly and Kei feels it against his skin more than he hears it through his ears.
“All the ways. Every way possible, and more than that. Infinity plus one.”
“You’re a nerd. And you’re wonderful. And I really do love you too, in all the ways. Infinity plus two.” Tadashi confirms.
They breathe huffs of laughter into each others veins.
“That’s good. I’m glad.” Tadashis hands are on his shoulders, strong as sin and twice as warm, burning through Keis thick walls and digging into his soul like the flesh of a ripe grapefruit, splitting him in half.
Kei slides his hand under Tadashis shirt and up his bare back, fingers stroking the skin lightly. Tadashi shivers and his own hands cup Tsukishimas jaw, gently coaxing him closer.
Kei meets him halfway, pressing his lips to Tadashis. Tadashis hands are all over him, under his shirt, gentle with his porcelain skin, fragile as if his life depended on it.
Yamaguchis lips are a sliver of heaven on earth. He’s a breath of fresh air, and now that Tsukishima is here, kissing him, he knows it’s all he’s ever wanted out of any ridiculous romance, all he’ll ever want out of one.
Tadashi is good at kissing, better than Kei, no doubt. He tilts his head nicely and he does this pleasant thing with his tongue against Keis lip.
“Tsukki…” he mumbles against Tsukishimas mouth.
Kei pulls out of the kiss to look at Tadashi, taking in his pretty eyes, the flush on his face, taking in the way he’s eye to eye with Tsukishima when he sits in his lap. Kei eases his hand into Tadashis hair, pulling him closer so he can press the faintest kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“Tadashi.” He murmurs there, right against the soft corner, where he knows no one else has pressed their own lips.
Tadashi hums, his legs tightening around Keis thighs. “Will you say that again?”
Tsukishima slides his hands around Yamaguchis waist, kissing chastely behind his ear, and staying there to whisper. “Tadashi.” Again. Then he says it with his lips to Tadashis temple, and again against his throat, and then between his fingers, and then whispered right into his clavical.
Tadashi squirms under him, hands carding through his short hair tenderly. “I love you, Tsukki. You’re wonderful.”
And Tsukishima feels his heart turn inside out, exposing raw nerves and arteries, his blood dark as the night sky, with glass veins and moss chambers. Tadashi kisses his eyebrow, his hands ever feeling, travelling up and down and behind, as if he can’t get his fill of Kei.
“I love you, and everything will be okay.” Kei repeats into the gentle slope of his cheek.