Chapter Text
Tsukishima Kei was never one to pay too much attention to people.
He observed, yes, but observing wasn't the same as caring. At least that's what he told himself. He analyzed movements on the court, obvious mistakes, repetitive patterns. People were just… people. Noisy, predictable, tiresome.
Except for one.
Yamaguchi Tadashi was always there.
Not in a flashy or impossible-to-ignore way like Hinata, nor in an imposing way like Kageyama. Yamaguchi existed discreetly, constantly, like something you only notice when it disappears.
Tsukishima realized this too late—or perhaps too early, early enough to never question it.
They had walked to school together forever. Not because they had arranged it, but because that's how things were. Yamaguchi would appear at the same time, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his pace slightly quickened when he saw Tsukishima already waiting.
"Good morning, Tsukki."
The voice was soft, a little more animated than necessary for that time of the morning.
"Hm."
Tsukishima never gave a proper answer. Even so, Yamaguchi smiled.
Always smiled.
That day, the sky was too clear. Too blue, too bright. The kind of day that made Hinata electrified and Yachi restless. The kind of day that made Yamaguchi seem… more alive.
Tsukishima noticed—unintentionally—the freckles.
It wasn't the first time. They had always been there, scattered across Yamaguchi's face like small constellations. Some lighter, others more visible depending on the light. That day, the sun seemed determined to highlight them—all 24 freckles, yes, he had counted.
Tsukishima looked away too quickly.
That didn't mean anything.
"Training today is going to be tough," Yamaguchi commented, breaking the comfortable silence. "Daichi said he wants to focus on reception."
"Hm." Tsukishima adjusted his glasses. “You'll manage.”
It wasn't an explicit compliment. Tsukishima rarely gave those. But Yamaguchi stopped walking for a second.
”I'll try.”
He didn't say thank you, but the way he said it—with a small but real confidence—made something stir in Tsukishima's chest.
It didn't mean anything either.
The Karasuno gym was noisy as always. Nishinoya was laughing too loudly, Tanaka was yelling something irrelevant about motivation, and Kageyama was complaining to everyone at the same time. Yachi watched everything with a mixture of nervousness and fascination, holding his clipboard as if it were a shield.
Tsukishima liked that controlled chaos. It was predictable. Comforting, even.
Yamaguchi was beside him during the warm-up, adjusting his knee pads, taking a deep breath before standing up.
”Tsukki” he called hesitantly. "Can you… check my serve later?"
"I always do that."
The answer came out automatically, almost curtly. Yamaguchi blinked, surprised, and then chuckled softly.
"That's true."
Tsukishima hated—deeply—the way that laugh made his chest tighten.
During practice, he observed.
He watched Yamaguchi miss, hit, adjust his posture, take a deep breath before serving. He observed how Yachi discreetly clapped when he hit, how Hinata celebrated excessively, how Sugawara offered overly kind words to someone who still seemed not to fully believe in himself.
And he observed—against his own will—when someone new started paying attention.
A first-year girl who was watching the practice praised Yamaguchi's serve. It was simple. Harmless.
"Yamaguchi-san, that was incredible."
Yamaguchi blushed. His freckles seemed to stand out even more.
”Ah… thank you.”
Tsukishima felt something strange.
A small, unsettling, nameless irritation.
Ridiculous.
Yamaguchi was always praised. There was nothing wrong with that. Tsukishima knew that. He understood it rationally. Even so, when the boy laughed, scratching the back of his neck, and that other girl stayed nearby, asking questions, something inside Tsukishima closed up.
He looked away.
Jealousy was too big a word for something so… silly.
”Tsukishima-kun.”
Yachi approached cautiously, as she always did when talking to him.
”Hi.”
”Are you… okay?”
”Sure.”
Yachi tilted her head, clearly unconvinced.
”It's just that you've been staring at Yamaguchi for a while now.”
Tsukishima almost choked.
”What? No.”
”Yes, he is” Hinata appeared out of nowhere, smiling. “He even looks jealous!”
”Shut up.”
”Definitely jealous” Kageyama commented, without looking up.
”You guys are idiots.”
Tsukishima walked away, too irritated to justify anything.
Jealousy.
What an absurd idea.
He didn't feel that way. He didn't need that. Yamaguchi was just… Yamaguchi. His childhood friend. His teammate. Someone constant.
Nothing more than that.
But when practice ended and Yamaguchi approached, sweaty and smiling, asking if he wanted to leave with him, Tsukishima answered too quickly:
”Sure.”
As if there was any possibility of another answer.
On the way back, the silence between them was as comfortable as ever.
Yamaguchi talked about small things—training, school, Yachi, Hinata—and Tsukishima listened, responding with occasional murmurs. At some point, Yamaguchi stumbled slightly on the uneven sidewalk.
Before he could even think, Tsukishima grabbed his arm.
"Be careful."
"Ah," Yamaguchi laughed, a little embarrassed. "Thanks, Tsukki."
He didn't let go of his arm immediately.
It was a simple touch. Nothing much. Still, Tsukishima felt like he had done something forbidden. He let go quickly, adjusting his glasses to disguise it.
Yamaguchi didn't comment.
But he walked a little closer after that.
And Tsukishima didn't move away.
That night, lying in bed, Tsukishima stared at the ceiling.
He thought about training. He thought about Hinata's idiotic comment. He thought about the freckles. He thought about the smile. He thought about the way Yamaguchi always came back to him.
And, for the first time, something formed in his mind—not a conclusion, not a clear feeling, but an unsettling question:
What if it had never been just friendship?
Tsukishima turned away, annoyed with himself.
Questions like that led nowhere.
Still, the next day, when Yamaguchi was waiting for him in the same place as always, Tsukishima arrived early.
Just to be sure.
Tsukishima realized something was wrong when he started noticing too much.
It wasn't like before, when Yamaguchi simply existed beside him, fitting naturally into his days. Now, Tsukishima noticed the way he held his backpack strap when he was nervous, how he bit his lower lip before drawing his weapon, how his freckles seemed more evident in the summer—and that open, insecure laugh.
It was irritating.
Not because there was anything wrong with Yamaguchi, but because Tsukishima couldn't switch it off. He watched even when he didn't want to. He thought about it even when it didn't make sense. And, even worse, other people were starting to notice too.
During that week's practice, Yamaguchi hit three serves in a row. The sound of the ball hitting the opponent's floor echoed in the gym, and Hinata practically shouted with excitement.
"Yamaguchi, that was incredible!"
"You're getting good at this," Nishinoya commented.
"Good job." Daichi added, with that serious tone that made any compliment seem ten times more important.
Yamaguchi smiled, blushing, taking a deep breath as if he were still trying to convince himself that it was real.
Tsukishima felt his chest tighten.
It wasn't pride. Or maybe it was, but there was something strange mixed in there. Something that didn't match the silent satisfaction he usually felt when seeing a teammate improve.
It was… unsettling.
“You should celebrate more,” Sugawara told Yamaguchi afterward, putting an arm around his shoulders. “Your serve is a weapon now.”
“Yeah,” Yamaguchi replied, laughing nervously. “I still miss a lot.”
“Even so.”
Tsukishima looked away, adjusting his glasses more forcefully than necessary.
Why did that bother him so much?
Yachi was the first to notice.
She always noticed these things before others, perhaps from observing from the outside, perhaps from feeling too much.
“Tsukishima-kun,” she said softly, while organizing her notes. “You’ve been acting strange lately.”
“Strange how?”
“Quieter. And…” she hesitated. “Kind of angry?”
“I’m always quiet.”
“Yes, but now it seems different.”
Tsukishima sighed.
“It’s nothing.”
Yachi glanced toward Yamaguchi, who was chatting animatedly with Hinata near the net.
"Are you sure?"
Tsukishima didn't answer.
On the way home, Yamaguchi spoke about training with restrained but visible enthusiasm.
"Sugawara-san said my serve time has improved," he commented, almost incredulous. "I still get nervous, but I think I'm starting to feel more confident."
"It shows," Tsukishima replied.
Yamaguchi smiled, that small smile that always appeared when Tsukishima praised him, even indirectly.
"You always believed in me, didn't you?"
The question was asked casually. Simple.
Tsukishima froze.
"Obviously," he replied after a second longer than usual. "Someone had to be realistic."
Yamaguchi laughed.
"In your own twisted way, that's a compliment."
They walked in silence for a few minutes, until Yamaguchi stopped suddenly.
"Tsukki… are you really okay?"
Tsukishima frowned.
"Why does everyone keep asking that?"
"Because you seem… distant."
Distant.
The word echoed unpleasantly.
"I'm not," Tsukishima replied too quickly. "You're imagining things."
Yamaguchi stared at him for a moment. There was something different in his gaze—not hurt, but attentive. As if he were trying to understand something he had never needed to question before.
"Okay," he said finally, smiling slightly.
"If you say so."
But the distance remained.
In the following days, Tsukishima began to notice small, but constant changes.
Yamaguchi talked more with the others. He laughed louder. He walked a little ahead sometimes. None of that was wrong. None of that was a betrayal of their friendship. Even so, Tsukishima felt like he was missing something.
It was ridiculous. He knew it.
He had no right to feel that way. And yet, when he saw Yamaguchi sitting on the bench after practice, chatting animatedly with that freshman from before—the same one—something inside him broke a little.
"Tsukishima." Kageyama appeared beside him, serious as always.
"What?"
"If you're going to stare, at least try to hide it, dude."
"I'm not staring."
"Yes, you are."
Tsukishima snorted.
"You're different too," Kageyama continued bluntly. "More irritable."
"And you're more talkative. The world is strange today."
Kageyama ignored him.
"Do you like him?"
The question landed like a direct hit.
"No," Tsukishima replied immediately.
Too fast.
"Hm."
"That 'hm' doesn't mean anything."
"It means you're lying to yourself," Kageyama said, already walking away. "Sort this out before you ruin everything."
Tsukishima stood still.
Ruin everything.
He ran a hand over his face, frustrated.
He couldn't like Yamaguchi. Not like that. It didn't make sense. They had always been like this. They had always functioned like this.
Changing that meant taking a risk.
And Tsukishima hated emotional risks.
That night, Tsukishima stayed up late.
He thought about the freckles. He thought about the laugh. He thought about the way Yamaguchi always looked at him as if he were someone reliable, safe.
He thought about the sudden fear of no longer being this place.
When did this start to hurt? The next day, Tsukishima arrived at the meeting point as usual.
But Yamaguchi wasn't there yet.
He waited.
One minute. Two. Five.
When Yamaguchi finally appeared, he was talking on the phone, smiling.
"Ah, yes, maybe tomorrow," he said, excitedly. "I'll let Tsukiki know."
Tsukishima's heart sank.
Let him know about what?
When he hung up, Yamaguchi noticed his gaze.
"Good morning!"
"Good morning," Tsukishima replied, too dryly.
"Ah," Yamaguchi seemed to hesitate. "Hinata invited me to practice serve tomorrow after class. Maybe I'll arrive a little later."
Maybe.
Tsukishima nodded.
"Whatever."
It wasn't true.
Tsukishima began to understand something he didn't want to accept:
He wasn't afraid of losing Yamaguchi to someone specific. He was afraid of no longer being the chosen one. And that… that meant much more than friendship.
Tsukishima realized something was wrong when he began to feel out of place within his own routine.
Nothing had drastically changed. The gym remained the same, noisy and chaotic. Hinata still yelled too much, Nishinoya still laughed too loudly, Kageyama still complained about everything. Yamaguchi was still there. And yet, he seemed distant.
Not physically. Yamaguchi continued training in the same place, talking to the same people, smiling in the same polite way as always. But there was something subtle—a new caution, as if he were avoiding stepping on unstable ground.
Tsukishima hated that.
During training, Yamaguchi was praised again. It was enough to make him smile, scratching the back of his neck, his freckles standing out under the bright light of the gym.
Tsukishima looked away.
The feeling in his chest returned—that uncomfortable mix of pride and something stranger, which he didn't want to name.
"Are you going to keep pretending you don't notice?" Kageyama commented dryly, while drinking water.
"Pretending what?"
"That you're bothered."
Tsukishima snorted.
"I'm not."
Kageyama stared at him for a second that was far too long.
"Then you've always been terrible at lying."
At the end of practice, Yamaguchi approached hesitantly.
"Tsukki… are you leaving now?"
"I am."
"Can I go with you?"
The question was simple. Familiar. And yet, Tsukishima felt something tighten.
"Weren't you going to practice with Hinata?" he asked, without thinking, in a more ironic tone than usual.
Yamaguchi blinked.
"Not today." I thought we could go together, like before.
Like before.
Tsukishima nodded, perhaps too quickly.
"Whatever."
Yamaguchi frowned, but said nothing.
They began walking side by side, but the silence wasn't as comfortable as it usually was. It was tense, full of little things Tsukishima had been swallowing for days.
"You've been different," Tsukishima said finally.
"Different how?"
"Busier. Always with someone. Always…" he stopped, annoyed with himself. "Forget it."
"No," Yamaguchi replied, stopping walking. "Keep going."
Tsukishima stopped too.
"I just think you don't realize when things change," he said, trying to sound rational. "To you, it all seems simple."
Yamaguchi blinked, confused.
"Simple?"
"You don't really care much about these things," Tsukishima continued, his words coming out awkwardly. "About this kind of… expectation. Of feeling. While everyone else is complicating everything."
A heavy silence fell between them.
"Are you saying I don't care?" Yamaguchi asked quietly.
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what was it?"
Tsukishima opened his mouth, closed it, took a deep breath.
"It's not my fault if you don't…" he hesitated, his brow furrowed, "if you don't feel these things the same way others do."
The sentence came out wrong the instant it was spoken.
Yamaguchi stood still.
"These things…?" he asked, too carefully.
Tsukishima realized too late what he had implied.
"I just meant that you seem… distant from all of that," he tried to correct himself. "From dating, from liking someone, from those things."
Yamaguchi swallowed hard.
"And why does that bother you so much, Tsukki?"
The question was calm. Honest. Too direct.
Tsukishima didn't answer.
Because the answer was dangerously close to the truth.
"I thought you knew me better," Yamaguchi said after a moment. "I thought that with you, I didn't need to explain these things."
That hurt more than any accusation.
"Yamaguchi…" Tsukishima began.
"It's okay," he interrupted, forcing a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe I've changed too. Sorry if that bothered you."
He took a step back.
"See you tomorrow at practice."
And he left.
Tsukishima stood on the sidewalk, feeling his chest tighten in a strange and uncomfortable way.
He didn't mean to say it that way. But he also couldn't deny that there was something there—something he had been avoiding facing.
That night, lying in bed, Tsukishima thought about the tone of Yamaguchi's voice. The way he didn't raise his voice. The way he carefully moved away, as if protecting something fragile. "You've always been special," he thought.
And he realized, with an almost physical discomfort, that perhaps he had just hurt the only person who had never made him feel alone.
The next day, Yamaguchi was polite.
Gentle.
Distant.
And Tsukishima understood, for the first time, that silence could also be a form of loss.
Tsukishima spent two whole days avoiding thinking. Not because he was good at it, but because it was the only defense he knew. He immersed himself in exercises, tasks, readings that he didn't truly absorb. All to avoid facing the persistent image of Yamaguchi walking away, with that forced smile that hurt more than any shout.
On the third day, it became clear that this wouldn't work.
Yamaguchi didn't speak to him beyond what was necessary. They no longer walked together. They didn't share the comfortable silence. All that remained was a careful, distant politeness—as if they were treading on fragile ground.
And Tsukishima hated that. During practice, he made more mistakes than usual. Blocks out of time. Distractions. Daichi called him out once, then again.
"Concentration, Tsukishima."
"Sorry."
On the other side of the court, Yamaguchi served. The movement was precise. The gaze focused. The ball crossed the net perfectly.
Everyone cheered.
Tsukishima couldn't. Not out of envy. But because that confident version of Yamaguchi seemed different… away from him.
"Are you going to keep pretending you don't know what's going on?"
Sugawara appeared beside him after practice, throwing his towel over his shoulder.
"I know what happened," Tsukishima replied.
"Then why don't you fix it?"
"It's not that simple."
Sugawara chuckled softly.
"It never is. But doing nothing is also a choice."
Tsukishima remained silent.
“Have you ever considered,” Sugawara continued carefully, “that maybe you’re afraid to say something because you’re afraid of the response?”
Tsukishima closed his eyes for a moment.
Fear of the response.
Fear of losing.
Fear of gaining something he wouldn’t know how to handle.
“I said something wrong,” Tsukishima finally said. “Very wrong.”
“And do you intend to apologize?”
“I don’t know how.”
Sugawara stared at him for a few seconds.
“Then learn.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, man, but you spoke without thinking again and hurt him.”
The same word as Kageyama.
Learn.
Tsukishima hated things that didn’t come with a manual.
Yachi was less subtle.
“You hurt him,” she said, sitting on the bench, swinging her feet. “Really.”
“I know.”
“Then why don’t you go after him?”
— Because I don't know what to say.
Yachi tilted his head.
— Sometimes, it's not about saying something perfect. It's about telling the truth, I know he'll understand.
The truth.
Tsukishima thought about this the whole way home.
He thought about how Yamaguchi had always been there. How he had never asked for anything more than presence. How he himself had always felt too safe in that comfortable place called friendship.
Until comfort turned to fear.
He stopped in front of a small flower shop, almost hidden between buildings. He had never noticed it before. The flowers were arranged chaotically, too colorful for his taste. He stood there for too long.
Flowers are idiots, he thought.
And yet, he went in.
The lady behind the counter looked at him with curiosity.
"Can I help?"
"I…" Tsukishima stammered. "I need flowers."
"For whom?"
The question seemed too simple.
"For someone… important."
The woman smiled, as if she understood everything.
"And what do you mean by them?"
Tsukishima thought of Yamaguchi. Of the freckles. Of the smile. Of the silence.
"That I was an idiot," he replied.
"Ah," she laughed. "Then you need something sincere."
They chose together. Nothing flashy. Simple flowers, in a soft yellow tone. A bouquet that didn't shout, but said enough for anyone who paid attention.
Tsukishima left the shop with his heart racing.
He was doing this.
Really.
That night, he rehearsed words he didn't say aloud. He offered imaginary apologies. He confessed nonexistent feelings—or perhaps not so nonexistent after all.
As he slept, he dreamed of Yamaguchi smiling.
He woke up with a tightness in his chest.
The next day, Tsukishima arrived at the gym early. The bouquet was carefully wrapped, hidden inside his backpack. His heart was beating too fast for someone who had feigned indifference his whole life.
Yamaguchi arrived shortly after.
He seemed surprised to see him there.
"Tsukki?"
"Can we… talk after practice?" Tsukishima asked, his voice strangely low.
Yamaguchi hesitated.
"Sure."
That was the most hope Tsukishima allowed himself to feel.
The practice seemed to last longer than usual.
Tsukishima couldn't concentrate properly. The weight of the backpack against the wall—and what was inside it—seemed to pull him off balance. Every block came late, every reception miscalculated. Daichi gave him a serious look more than once, but said nothing.
On the other side of the court, Yamaguchi trained as always. Focused. Confident. Distant.
This hurt more than Tsukishima wanted to admit.
When practice finally ended, the gym began to empty slowly. Nishinoya and Tanaka left laughing loudly, Hinata was animatedly discussing something with Kageyama, Sugawara was saying goodbye to everyone with that gentle smile that seemed to know more than he said.
Yachi stayed.
Sitting on the bench, she watched Tsukishima with too much attention.
"Go," she said softly. "Before you give up."
Tsukishima didn't answer. He just took a deep breath.
Yamaguchi was near the exit, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders, clearly ready to leave alone again. Tsukishima swallowed hard.
"Yamaguchi."
He turned around.
"You said you wanted to talk."
His voice was neutral. Polite. That tightened Tsukishima's chest in an almost unbearable way.
"Yes," he replied. "Not here… let's go outside."
Yamaguchi nodded.
The walk to the courtyard was silent. The kind of silence that wasn't comfortable—full of unspoken things, of contained expectations.
When they stopped, the afternoon sun was already low, tinging everything with warm hues. The light hit Yamaguchi's face in a way that highlighted his soft, familiar freckles.
Tsukishima closed his eyes for a second.
Now or never.
"I was an idiot," he said.
Yamaguchi blinked, surprised.
"Tsukki…"
"No, let me finish," Tsukishima interrupted, too quickly, afraid of losing his courage. "What I said that day… I didn't think. I said it because I was angry. And confused. And scared."
"Scared of what?"
The question came softly, without accusation.
Tsukishima tightened his fingers against the strap of his backpack.
"About losing you."
The silence that followed was unlike any other. Not heavy. Not painful. Just attentive.
"I never thought you didn't care about anyone," Tsukishima continued. "That was a lie. You always cared. More than anyone else. I just…" he sighed, frustrated. "I'm terrible with this kind of thing, you know… feelings. Everything I told you was about me."
Yamaguchi took a small step forward.
"Tsukki…"
"I don't like it when other people get too close to you," Tsukishima blurted out, as if ripping it from his chest. "I get annoyed for no reason. I notice stupid things, like…" he stopped, his face heating up. "Like your freckles."
Yamaguchi's eyes widened slightly.
"You… notice that?"
Tsukishima looked away.
"Always."
Yamaguchi's heart seemed to beat too loudly in his chest.
"So…" he began hesitantly. "What are you trying to tell me?"
Tsukishima pulled his backpack forcefully, unzipped it, and took out the bouquet, extending it awkwardly, almost aggressively.
"I don't know how to do this right," he said, his voice tense. "But I like you. More than as a friend. It's been a long time. I was just too cowardly to realize it."
Yamaguchi stood motionless, his mouth slightly open.
The flowers trembled slightly in Tsukishima's hands.
"If this is strange," Tsukishima continued, "or if you don't feel the same way, I'll understand. I just… didn't want to pretend anymore."
For a second, Tsukishima thought he had ruined everything.
Then Yamaguchi laughed.
A small, emotional laugh, his eyes welling up with tears.
“You’re unbelievable," he said, bringing his hand to his mouth.
"That's not a 'no,' is it?" Tsukishima asked, tense.
"No," Yamaguchi replied quickly. "Definitely not."
He accepted the flowers carefully, as if they were too precious.
"I thought…" Yamaguchi took a deep breath. "I thought you'd never look at me like that."
Tsukishima looked up, serious.
"I always have."
Yamaguchi smiled—that open, genuine smile that made the world seem lighter.
"So… we're doing this?"
Tsukishima nodded stiffly.
"I guess so."
Yamaguchi took another step forward, resting his forehead against Tsukishima's chest.
Tsukishima hesitated for a split second… and then hugged him.
It wasn't perfect. But it was warm. Safe. Familiar.
“I like you too,” Yamaguchi murmured. “For a long time.”
Tsukishima’s grip tightened.
“Good,” he said softly. “That makes it easier.”
The next day, no one was really surprised. Hinata celebrated too loudly. Nishinoya cried for no reason. Tanaka said he “already knew.” Sugawara smiled as if he had been waiting for it for weeks.
Yachi simply watched the two walking together—a little closer than before—and smiled.
Tsukishima was still terrible with feelings.
But now, when Yamaguchi smiled at him, when his freckles stood out in the sun, when their fingers touched “accidentally”… He no longer looked away.
Because some things had always been there.
They just needed to be said.