Chapter Text
From the day Yamaguchi Tadashi's captaincy was made official, things changed. Not just the starting lineup, or the team's plays, but especially his schedule and commitments.
Commitments that Tsukishima Kei had once thought were set in stone.
The captain was always the last one out. Sure, that interfered with their ritual of walking home together a bit, but he didn't mind the compromise. Hell, sometimes he'd uncharacteristically offer to close up when Yamaguchi had too much on his plate.
But Yamaguchi, ever sensitive to his growing tiredness (like their friends always said, it was as if he was attuned far more to Tsukishima than himself) at the end of each practice session, started sending him off early.
“You should go on ahead, Tsukki,” he said one day, all while a clueless first year failed to receive. “I need to help these ones here.”
He was attentive—Tsukishima knew that firsthand. Good thing for the first years, he supposed.
“Alright. I'll see you in the morning.”
The squeaking of shoes and yells still followed him as he left the gymnasium. He was confident he heard one of the newbies trip over himself, though he couldn't recall if Yamaguchi had returned his goodbye.
Oh, but what did he care? Gone were the days that it was just the two of them—all the better for Yamaguchi, actually—but he couldn't help but remember how Yamaguchi tried to ease that habit out of him, that nasty tendency of his to dismiss his care.
He wasn't around to correct it. Hadn't been, for the past few weeks, not even to laugh too loud at something Tsukishima said or to enthusiastically point out his height to those who asked (that died out in the 2nd year).
As Tsukishima approached Sakanoshita, a familiar figure—tall, black-haired, and a constant expression of irritation—approached.
“Tsukishima,” an impassive, yet begrudgingly respectful Kageyama Tobio greeted. “Are you leaving already?”
Already? “You're still staying?”
“Well, of course. Yamaguchi wants to get the newbies into shape.”
“Ah, right. Vice captain duties.” His tone curled in such a disgustingly bitter way that even he was caught off guard.
“We've prepared a whole new training regime for them. Yamaguchi and Hinata prepared it.”
“Oh, really? I hope it goes well.”
He noticed the two meat buns in the setter's hand. “Is Hinata staying late, too?”
“Him? Oh, no. These are for me and Yamaguchi.”
That sounded so wrong to him. He wouldn't call himself a control freak of a friend, but just think of it—Yamaguchi and Kageyama? Not Tsukishima and Yamaguchi? As far as he was concerned, it wasn't—or it didn't feel personal: it was just evidently wrong to him and he thought that maybe, Yamaguchi would think so too—as he always did.
“Well, I'll be off. Tell Yamaguchi…”
The words died on his tongue. He shook his head. “Nevermind. He knows already.”
Kageyama looked at him weird as he left. “No need to be cryptic, Wearyshima.”
He hadn't even bought a drink. The walk back home was the same as always. The same turns, the same scenery. It was a lot shorter, though—not as many detours taken. Far more peaceful and quiet. Tsukishima found himself a little perplexed, maybe even annoyed.
It felt off.
That's just how routine goes, he tried to conclude, but even then he'd always been adaptable. He didn't need fuss, he knew where to place himself without waiting for the world to acquiesce to him. So why did this compromise—or compromises, because they'd been slowly piling up for weeks and now snowballed into this—start to get to him? Why was the serenity, the stillness of the night so impossible to fathom for him, as if it was just… wrong?
He didn't know. And he didn't want to ponder it for any longer, now that his house was half a turn away.