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There is a faint crackling noise when Tsukishima wakes up, the faded sounds of passing vehicles drawing him from a pleasant dream that he cannot remember, and with great reluctance, Tsukishima rolls over, opening his eyes. There’s a stocking over the fireplace with his name on it, red and green and full of uneven stripes and cut-out felt shapes. Tsukishima doesn’t need to look twice to know it’s the one they’d made three years ago, at that dreadful Christmas party with the garrish mustard-coloured tree.
Oh, he thinks, warm and comfortable and practically melted into his pillow. So that’s where it went.
Two seconds later, he sits up abruptly and nearly falls out of the couch.
“Good morning!” Kuroo calls from the kitchen, and Tsukishima actually falls then, going down in a tangle of blankets and long limbs.
“Not so good now, I guess.” Kuroo says after a pause.
Tsukishima wrenches himself out from the blankets, tossing them back onto the couch. He’s not in his bed. He’s not even at home. Disheveled, he fumbles around the coffee table until his hands find his glasses and he puts them on, sending a withering look towards the kitchen. “You let me fall asleep on the couch again? What time is it?”
“Almost nine. I was going to wake you up in five minutes.” Kuroo says, taking another long sip of his coffee. He has plates and cutlery spread out all over the table, worthy of a full buffet rather than an eight a.m. breakfast. Tsukishima scowls at the piles of eggs and sausages and French toast as he shoves past the kitchen and towards the bathroom.
The bathroom door opens just as Tsukishima reaches for the handle and Kenma steps out, towel hanging around his neck and smelling like his new green tea shower gift set. Kenma moves out of the way, taking an instinctive step back when he sees Tsukishima towering over him.
“Sorry!” Tsukishima says, sidestepping Kenma into the bathroom. “I’ve a nine-thirty class!”
Tsukishima takes a shower in record time, rolling his eyes at Kuroo’s new Christmas peppermint-scented everything, and borrows Kenma’s shampoo instead. In seven minutes, he’s out of the bathroom, wide-awake and aware that he only has twenty minutes to go back to his dorm to grab his notes and get to class on time.
Fuck his notes.
“Kuroo, I told you I had a class last night!” Tsukishima shouts towards the kitchen as he grabs his bag, hanging on the coat rack beneath an array of multi-coloured scarves and no coats whatsoever. “Where’s my jacket?”
“It’s hanging with the mistletoe!” Kuroo calls.
Tsukishima looks over at the window, and sure enough, his new jacket is hooked onto a nail right next to the mistletoe. The mistletoe, which at long last, Kuroo has moved from the doorway to the window because ever since all their friends got into relationships, everyone keeps making out at his front door and after the first few minutes it’s impossible to get in or out of the apartment.
Tsukishima hauls his jacket off the nail and puts it on, nearly knocking Kenma over as he turns back towards the door.
“Good morning, you’re quiet today.” Tsukishima says. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Kenma says. “Just tired. We packed you breakfast.” He holds out a small lunchbox, tied with a red ribbon and more mistletoe. Kenma pokes a finger at the plant. “Kuroo put that there.”
“Of course he did.” Tsukishima says, carefully packing the food away into his bag. “Thanks. You still want to go get pastries at that new place later today?”
“Okay.” Kenma says. “I should be done by five.”
“You’ll be at Mocha today right? I’ll come pick you up.” Tsukishima says. “Get some rest before you head out. Kuroo, I’m going to be late for class because of you!”
Kuroo just laughs and raises his mug towards Tsukishima. “Damn right you are. Get out of here!”
Scowling at Kuroo one last time, Tsukishima yanks the door open and a huge gust of icy wind whips into the apartment. Kenma makes an unhappy noise and vanishes into the kitchens. Pulling his jacket tighter around his body, Tsukishima heads out into the bitter cold.
Hello again, December.
-
Tsukishima throws himself into his seat two minutes before the lecture is due to start, fingers numb and frozen. His professor is already writing on the blackboard, and Tsukishima looks around as he tries to work the feeling back into his fingers.
Turning to the girl in the desk next to him, Tsukishima opens his mouth to ask for a torn out sheet or two from her notebook when a very familiar notebook appears in front of his face.
“Kuroo called me this morning.” Yamaguchi says, dropping Tsukishima’s notes onto his desk. “You’re welcome.”
With relief, Tsukishima flips through the notes to make sure he has everything he needs. It’s all there, if a bit scattered. “You’re the best.”
“Obviously.” Yamaguchi says, taking off his coat and hanging it on the back of his seat. He runs a hand through his hair, still damp from the morning shower, and Tsukishima can sympathize. He's pretty sure there are ice crystals in his own hair. “Did you forget we had a class today?”
Tsukishima covers his face with a hand. “No, I wasn’t going to stay over last night, but I fell asleep on the couch again. Oikawa had this baking competition thing—don’t even ask— do you know Kageyama’s a secret cupcake connoisseur?”
Yamaguchi pats Tsukishima comfortingly on the back. “I saw the pictures. We’re more like a baking club at this point, Yachi says.”
“Yachi says.” Tsukishima says. “How would she know? She’s never baked a single edible thing in her lifetime.”
“Don’t be rude.” Yamaguchi says. “Her gingerbread cookies last week weren’t that bad.”
“Oh, did you not have to go to the hospital this time?” Tsukishima says crookedly. Yamaguchi just flicks Tsukishima on the arm and slides back into his seat as their professor starts to take roll.
It was that one time! He hears Yachi’s voice shriek defensively in his head, and Tsukishima holds back a laugh.
-
“May your troubles soon be out of sight—” Kuroo’s voice precedes him two seconds before the front door opens, and Tsukishima just has enough time to yank his hand out of his Christmas stocking and pretend to be inspecting the picture frames on the counter before Kuroo’s standing in the doorway. The older boy finishes his song with a flourish, tosses his coat onto the couch and throws himself after it.
“Classy.” Tsukishima says, as Kuroo flops bonelessly across the couch trying to get comfortable, holding a bundle of fur in his arms. Tsukishima frowns at it. “What is that?”
“I borrowed a cat for Christmas!” Kuroo says cheerfully, holding up the tiny creature to Tsukishima, soft white and all paws. Tsukishima promptly sneezes, as if on cue. Kuroo laughs.
Tsukishima shakes his head. “Whose cat did you steal?”
“Borrowed!” Kuroo says. “He’s Mika’s. She’s gone home for the holidays and she needs someone to look after him for two weeks.”
“Thanks for asking first.” Tsukishima says dryly.
“Oh please.” Kuroo says, crossing his legs and sliding farther back on the couch. “You wanted to get Kenma a cat for his birthday even though you wouldn’t stop sneezing all day after we went to the shelter.”
“There’s a plan.” Tsukishima says absently, and casts a subtle, regretful look at his stocking.
“Were you here all day?” Kuroo asks, letting the kitten crawl up his jeans and onto the couch. Tsukishima gives up any hope of sitting on that couch for the next two weeks.
“I came in after lunch. Kenma was here for a couple of hours, but he had another shoot.” Tsukishima says, and settles instead at the tall bar counter, navigating through the handful of sweets scattered on the tabletop and picking one.
“Speaking of which,” Kuroo says, “did Kenma tell you about the party?”
“What party?” Tsukishima asks.
“Some winter line launch Christmas party. Ikeda Amaya, I think. The magazine’s somewhere—” Kuroo waves a hand uselessly, considering the whole apartment is full of magazines. “It’s next Friday.”
“Is he going?” Tsukishima asks, surprised. Despite how many parties and launches Kenma is invited to, fancy, cultured events that some people would kill to get into, he almost never goes for any of them.
“He has to.” Kuroo says. “You know how big these year-end parties are. And Ikeda Amaya is supposedly one of the most promising names of the year. If he wants to keep working with them, he’ll have to show up all pretty and impress some people.”
“Didn’t he go for the Ikeda Amaya party in the summer? The one with the infinity pool?” Tsukishima asks.
Kuroo makes a face. “I don’t know. Who even keeps track of all these things? I don’t know for a fact that this party is Ikeda Amaya. Maybe it’s Morihana. Or Paper Rain.” Tsukishima takes all the names in stride, despite the fact that in a different life, this conversation would have flown completely over his head. Hanging out almost twenty-four-seven with a rising model was doing wonders to Tsukishima’s knowledge on fashion trends and labels.
“Paper Rain can’t afford a party.” Tsukishima reminds Kuroo. “They blew their budget on the Halloween ghost town.”
“And what a party that was.” Kuroo says, a grin gracing his features even though he was the only one who’d enjoyed it. Tsukishima would never admit it, but after he’d lost Kuroo and Kenma halfway through the made-up ghost town, he’d been scared out of his wits by the various ghosts in high-fashion outfits that followed him up and down the street, howling and dancing. Kenma had thought the whole thing boring, and gone off to play volleyball with Hinata at a nearby park wearing a thirty-thousand yen shirt.
“Anyway,” Kuroo says, as the snow white kitten slips off the edge of a pillow and dangles upside down, paws outstretched to the sky. “Kenma wants to know if you’ll come with.”
“What date is that? The eleventh?” Tsukishima says. “Yeah, I’ll go. I have a test that morning, so I’ll probably be sleep-deprived as hell, but I’ll go if he wants.”
“Wonderful.” Kuroo says. “It’s not like we can tell if you’re sleep deprived anyway, you always look like you’re about to kill something. I don’t know why Kenma wants you at these parties, you’re hardly the type of polite company that can be impressive.”
Tsukishima doesn’t bother to reply. Yamaguchi has texted him something too long for him to bother reading, but Tsukishima surmises that he is needed at once. Tsukishima isn’t sure he wants to know, but he stands to go anyway.
Kuroo looks over at him in surprise. “Are you leaving? I thought we were going to get dinner.”
“I’m not eating hamburgers with you again this week.” Tsukishima says. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack. And I’m going to Yachi’s.”
“Kenma’s not going to come with me.” Kuroo whines pitifully. “He ordered pizza for us the other night and there was broccoli on it.”
“Good.” Tsukishima tells him. “Maybe you’ll live to see the new year after all.”
“Have you seen our fridge?” Kuroo complains, rolling off the couch as he follows Kuroo to the door, picking up the kitten with one hand as he goes. “It’s full of fruits and green things in jars.”
Tsukishima knows. He’d put half those fruits there just yesterday, knowing Kenma hadn’t had time to go grocery shopping in awhile, and Kuroo would just tempt him into desserts and fast food.
“Hey, Tsukki.” Kuroo says suddenly, nuzzling the kitten and draping it over one shoulder. “Guess what her name is?”
“What?” Tsukishima says, already halfway out the door.
“Luna.” Kuroo says, entirely too cheerfully.
Tsukishima, who can sense a sailor moon joke coming from a mile away, slams the door in Kuroo’s face.
Five minutes later, his phone goes off in his pocket.
‘What about lunch tomorrow?’
Tsukishima sighs. ‘No hamburgers.’ He types.
There is a brief pause, and Kuroo texts back, ‘Grilled Mack?’
Again? Tsukishima thinks, but decides there are worse things in life than Kuroo single-handedly funding the new seafood restaurant two blocks from their apartment.
‘Fine,’ he replies, and Kuroo’s next text message has a dancing sticker with Kenma’s likeness on it. A few months ago, an artist who was a huge fan of Kenma’s had released a pack of gifs featuring Kenma, including dancing Kenma, Kenma climbing a tree, Kenma wearing a cat headband, Kenma in his Nekoma uniform, Kenma in a bed of flowers, Kenma wearing a party hat, among various others. Kenma had been mortified, and when the sticker pack had hit ten-thousand downloads in the first week, had refused to leave the house for days.
Kenma is going to be so furious when he finds out that Kuroo had downloaded the sticker pack. Grinning, Tsukishima takes a screenshot of the message and forwards the picture to Kenma.
Almost immediately, Kenma texts their group chat with a, ‘What the hell, Kuroo.’
Tsukishima smiles. ‘Lunch tomorrow?’ he asks Kenma.
‘Okay.’ Kenma says. ‘Kuroo won’t be coming. He’ll be dead.’
‘Ok.’ Tsukishima says.
‘Tsukki, you bastard.’ Kuroo says.
-
“Cheeks are the first part of your body to feel the cold during winter.” Yachi announces, shaking hair out of her face as another gust of wind blows past. “Why hasn’t anyone invented cheek-muffs?”
“Not this again.” Yamaguchi says, long legs somehow still struggling to keep up with Yachi’s stride. “I told you, I’ve seen some in Ginza, but you’re never interested in checking them out.”
“I saw the picture you sent me.” Yachi says, reaching over Yamaguchi to wave Tsukishima into a side alley. “They looked like they would eat me! Whose cheeks are that big? It’s down this way, Tsukki.”
Tsukishima groans as Yamaguchi tries to search for the photo in his phone and starts arguing with Yachi about comfort versus aesthetic. He shades his eyes from the midday sun with a cupped hand, and finally spots the signboard of the bookstore they are looking for.
Leaving the two behind, he pushes through the front door to the sound of chimes, Yamaguchi following blindly behind him, face still buried in the screen of his phone.
“Here. Hinata said that Kageyama found them in one of the end aisles, so let’s spread out and search.” Yachi says, waving towards the endless shelves, books packed together tightly, concert posters and other event flyers pasted on every opportune surface.
“Or we could ask.” Tsukishima points out.
Yachi considers it, but Tsukishima knows that she just really wants a reason to traipse into the fantasy corner and laugh at the poorly illustrated book covers. He waves her towards the shelves and goes to the counter by himself.
The old woman working at the counter barely glances at the title of the text before she’s digging through the piles beneath her desk. “We just got a new shipment today, it’s been a long time since schools picked up new titles like this. I hope it’ll do you well.”
Tsukishima hums in agreement, knowing she’s not looking for an answer. Her head is barely visible from between the stacks, and he looks up at the posters tacked to the wall behind her. There’s an old Yellow Magic Orchestra poster that Tsukishima recognizes, an announcement for a poetry reading, as well as several more recent music names lined up for concerts throughout the rest of the month. Tsukishima follows the trail of posters downwards, and suddenly breaks into a smile.
“Famous face, isn’t he?” the old woman says, putting down three copies of the text onto the counter. She waves at the hanging magazine cover, where Kenma is peeking out from amongst a row of pine trees, beanie askew over his head. Kuroo’s long-since claimed the item for his own, but Tsukishima must admit that it looks breathtakingly lovely on Kenma. “It’s a good picture, that one. Very lovely pages in the magazine too, it’s been selling almost as quickly as this here book you’re buying.”
Kenma’s profile peers down at Tsukishima, glitter barely visible above his long lashes, and Tsukishima says, “I’ll take a copy of that magazine, then.”
-
Tsukishima meets Kuroo and Kenma for a quick dinner one evening when they’re in the vicinity of his school library. Kenma shoots him an invite and Tsukishima drags himself away from his books, meeting them at the ramen shop around the corner.
“We ordered for you.” Kenma says, when Tsukishima joins them at their table. The surface is littered with documents, charts and lists, and Kuroo’s on the phone, talking in an undertone.
“Busy day?” Tsukishima asks Kenma.
“Busy month.” Kenma corrects. “The usual.”
Kuroo pauses to give him a quick hello once he hangs up the phone, but goes back to his papers within moments. Many fields pick up towards the end of the year, but few of them are as busy as Kuroo’s, whose work at a combined marketing and event-planning company means that he has a party or ceremony to oversee almost every day of December, not to mention the amount of planning, balancing and phone calls required beforehand.
Kuroo doesn’t stop working until their food arrives, and he carefully organizes his papers and puts them back into his briefcase. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m on the verge of a mental breakdown, figured I’d take you both out for a meal to apologize for it in advance.”
Tsukishima snorts. “Anything in particular?”
Kuroo inhales a mouthful of soup. “Well, it’s more of— um. Remember the donation drive for the children’s homes that we ran last week?”
“Yeah.” Tsukishima says slowly.
“Remember how I collected lists from the homes, trying to figure out what everyone wanted?”
It wasn’t just lists, either. There had been handwritten, misspelled letters addressed to a Santa who would never receive them. Kuroo had read and reread them all, and vanished entirely for the next two days.
“You got gifts, then?” Tsukishima hazards a guess.
Kuroo grimaces. “Not quite. I mean, it’ll do, and it’s everyone has been really generous,but— I went by the homes, you know, last week. People keep donating the same few things: stuffed toys, old books, misshapen clothes, canned food.”
“Your posters specifically said you’d appreciated more clothes and non-perishable foods.”
“I know, I know. And it’s useful, really." Kuroo says hastily. He frowns, letting his spoon sink into the finished bowl of soup. "I’d just hoped, maybe, something a little more extravagant would come through once in awhile. The children were pretty specific with their own lists, and it wasn’t impossible.”
“Sorry.” Kenma offers, and Kuroo shrugs with a small smile.
“It’s alright. Anyway, I was thinking if we couldn’t get them gifts, we could organize a small party for them. Food, drinks, carols, party games, that kind of thing. I’m trying to talk to the department heads about it.”
“Sounds good.” Tsukishima says. “I hope it’ll work out.”
“Mm.” Kuroo agrees.
-
The apartment’s littered with wrapping paper, ribbons, an assortment of toys and plastic bags the next time Tsukishima swings by. Luna is batting at the end of a crumpled sheet of giftwrap, and no one else is in sight.
Cautiously, Tsukishima navigates through the mess.
He’s successfully made it halfway through the room when he brushes too close to a stack of boxes. The entire pile goes down in a painful clatter. There’s a loud yelp from just behind the couch, and Kuroo sits up in the mess, having been dozing on the floor for reasons Tsukishima cannot fathom.
“Kuroo.” Tsukishima says. “What are you doing now?”
“So.” Kuroo says. “My plan for the party has been deemed A-plus, great idea, full steam ahead, do anything you’d like— but in your own time, here’s five-thousand yen and some wrapping paper.”
“It’s pretty nice wrapping paper.” Tsukishima says tentatively.
Kuroo pushes himself to his feet, picking Luna up and depositing her on a chair. “It should be. I may as well have spent the five-thousand yen on wrapping paper. That’s an exaggeration, by the way.” he says, in case Tsukishima couldn’t tell.
Tsukishima thinks the clarification is well appreciated. Paper Rain had spent over fifty-thousand on wrapping paper one year— but then again, that’s probably why Paper Rain is always on the verge of declaring bankruptcy.
“The wrapping paper they gave me was from Halloween.” Kuroo says, pointing to the rolls of paper beneath the table. Even from a distance Tsukishima can tell that they’re black and orange and impossible to mistake for anything other than exactly what they are.
“I went out and bought these, then.” Kuroo says, resting his hands on one knee, legs drawn up to his chest. There’s the fancy wrapping paper, but there’s also a box of silver ornaments, glass snowflakes, tinsel and a wreath. Combing through the packages, Tsukishima finds himself staring at a brand-new music box, swathed among the bundles. Eyes narrowing, he makes out a robot figurine, a DIY garden kit and a clear box of shiny jewelry before Kuroo sweeps his hand over the pile, covering the gifts with a sheet of unwrapped kraft paper.
“You couldn’t have bought all this with five-thousand yen.” Tsukishima says.
“Surprise.” Kuroo says tiredly. “I didn’t.”
He looks guilty, and Tsukishima has no idea why he should. Kuroo’s never been one to let an idea rest, especially if it has the potential to make others happy. It’s one of the reasons he’d been hired in the first place, even if his company occasionally forgets that.
“Don’t. Look, if you want to do it, then do it, okay?” Tsukishima says. He folds his legs underneath him as he sits down beside Kuroo to pick up a new roll of wrapping paper and some tape.
-
Tsukishima wakes up one morning to a long text from Suga, thanking him for his kind wishes, commending his tremendous growth, wishing him well for his final semester at university and full of hopes that they can meet up more frequently after the new year. Tsukishima reads it several times, and passes it off as Suga being Suga.
When Tanaka calls with an equally unexpected, sappy message, Tsukishima figures that the other had probably received Suga’s message and was feeling sentimental.
It takes two more occurrences, one from Aone Takanobu, and another from Yamaguchi (“why did you send me a Christmas card? I live with you.”) before Tsukishima begins to suspect that something is up.
When Yamaguchi produces the card, a very familiar handwriting on the envelope, Tsukishima feels a strong sense of foreboding.
“Dear Yamaguchi, thank you for being a good friend for so many years! Thank you for sticking with us, year after year, we know we can count on you for anything! We love you and your determination to see any bad situation through, and don’t forget—” Tsukishima stops reading then, because he definitely wants to forget.
He looks up at Yamaguchi, whose lips are twitching at the corners. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard this much appreciation from you.” he says.
It’s Kenma’s handwriting, but the tone is decidedly not-Kenma, and with a notable amount of apprehension, Tsukishima directs his vision down to the signature at the bottom.
“Love,” it reads, decorated with little hearts and stars, “Kuroo, Kenma and Tsukki.”
“What.” Tsukishima manages. “Why would they do this to me?”
-
“You don’t send Christmas cards out, so I thought I’d put your name on ours. You should be kind to your friends on Christmas.” Kuroo tells him, when Tsukishima shows up at the front door, brandishing Yamaguchi’s card. There’s a stack of unsent ones sitting on the kitchen counter, and Tsukishima looks through them with horror, picking up a card to Oikawa that reads “Dear Wonderful Grand King of My Heart.”
It’s exactly the sort of thing Oikawa would appreciate, and Tsukishima would never say.
“Maybe there’s a reason I don’t send cards out.” Tsukishima says. “I don’t really like any of them enough, or want them to think that I do. Did you really have to write them like that?”
“How do you think I feel?” Kenma says. “It’s my handwriting.”
“Kenma wrote the one to Hinata all by himself.” Kuroo says. “I’m overwhelmingly proud. It was very touching, you should expect a gift basket anytime soon.”
Tsukishima riffles through the cards. “This is a disaster. Who exactly is Nakano Sakura and how did she, I quote, ‘change my life for the better since the day we met’?”
“Just let us post this last batch.” Kuroo promises. “You can help us write them next year.”
-
The chime of bells above the door rings out as a couple of fluffily-dressed girls enter the izakaya, cheeks pink with cold. They take their time moving towards the front desk, talking away excitedly, bumping up against each other and shuffling away again.
Tsukishima cradles his glass of sake in his hands and takes another sip. They’re been here for about two hours now, and Tsukishima is three glasses in and feeling pleasantly buzzed. The others are talking about some new movie that none of them have watched, but somehow have a lot to say about, and Tsukishima rests his head back against the booth in contentment.
Bokuto clinks his glass against Tsukishima’s a takes a long sip. “The explosion was a bit overdone, don’t you think? What kind of love story needs that many car chase scenes?”
“That’s such an outdated way of thinking.” Yachi says, far too polite to sound like she actually means it. “It was a explosive movie with a love story, not a love story with explosions.”
“I don’t know, most films I’ve watched recently are pretty good at getting the two mixed up.” Yamaguchi says, and seizes another fry from the basket. “Seems a bit off, though, to be making out in a car when you could be driving to safety.”
“I’m sure in the actual film they would be trying to do a bit of both.” Yachi says, and Tsukishima excuses himself to go to the bathroom.
Hold the days close to your heart, it’s Christmas and you are loved, says the restaurant music in the quiet of the bathroom. Tsukishima stares at himself in the reflection of the mirror as he washes his hands, noting that he hasn’t felt this relaxed in a long time. He rolls his shoulders back, unwinding his frame, and steps back out into the noise.
At their table, Bokuto leans over to say something to Yamaguchi, who looks outraged for all of five seconds before dissolving into laughter. Kuroo’s arm snakes around Kenma’s shoulder, tugging at the blond locks, Kenma doesn’t even look up from his conversation with Akaashi.
Tsukishima’s watching them, helplessly fond and doesn’t know how he’s come to this. He has no idea how it happened but somehow it has, and they’ve been doing this for almost two years now, meeting every other week just for the sake of good company and conversation.
And while the number of people who show up fluctuates often, the feeling remains the same— comfortable, warm and safe. Caught up in it, for a moment his heart stops in his throat and he forgets how to breathe.
Someone accidentally elbows him while passing by, bringing him back to reality and Tsukishima shakes his head, going back to the table. As he sits, Kuroo’s hand brushes against his arm in a silent greeting and he involuntarily shivers.
“You cold?” Kuroo asks, eyes concerned.
“No.” Tsukishima says, and to his horror, his voice is thick. Thankfully, Kuroo doesn’t seem to notice, distracted by new gossip from Bokuto’s office, and with one last look at Tsukishima, turns back to the discussion.
Tsukishima takes a long sip of his drink, trying to calm his beating heart.
He’s not cold the slightest. The table bursts out into laughter again, and Tsukishima can feel the warmth suffusing through his entire body. He breathes it in deeply.
He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this, but he hopes he does it again, every lifetime.
-
As the year draws closer to an end, Tsukishima finds himself busier than ever. His exams are slated for just several days before Christmas, and with everything going on around him, finding the time to sit down to study is an actual luxury.
He visits home a couple of times, timed with Akiteru’s own visits so that their family home is livelier than usual. He has a dozen aunts and uncles to catch up with, all of whom want to know about his plans after graduation and if he’s on the brink of marriage. In the thick of things, his mother tells him to follow her upstairs, where she has a gift for him.
Tsukishima pauses, breakfast omelette halfway into his mouth and reluctantly takes one last bite before putting his fork down. Akiteru blows him a kiss and seizes the rest of his plate.
Tsukishima follows his mother up to the bedroom, where she tells him to sit down on the bed. He does obediently, smelling the familiar scent of cherry blossom and wheat that his parents have been wearing for as long as he can remember.
“I want to give you something very important today.” His mother says, and turns her back on him to rummage in the chest of drawers. After a few moments, she takes out a tiny jewelry box and Tsukishima smiles at her wanly.
Tsukishima hopes it’s not another hairpin. They’re beautiful, made of copper and embedded with pieces of stained glass, but as one might suspect, Tsukishima doesn’t actually have much use for them. He’s given the last four antique butterfly pins to Kenma, but there’s only so much hair Kenma has, and Tsukishima’s always accidentally sitting on them when he goes over.
Smiling back at him fondly, his mother puts the box in his hand. “Here you are, Kei. Open it.”
Trying to muster up all the excitement he can for the fifth hairpin, Tsukishima flips the box open.
And nearly drops it.
Slowly, he chances a look back up at his mother, who reaches out to ruffle his hair, and takes a seat on the bed next to him.
“This was my engagement ring. I was engaged to your father when I was just a little older than you are now, you know.” She says. “I know you’re still young, and I’m definitely not rushing you into anything, but still, I wanted you to have this. With the year ending, an old woman’s sentimental about these kinds of things.”
“Engagement ring.” Tsukishima repeats, voice little more than a croak. “Am I supposed to be proposing to someone?”
“Oh, don’t be silly, darling.” She says, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’ll know when the time is right.”
-
“You knew.” Tsukishima hisses at Akiteru when he returns downstairs. Akiteru has polished off the last of Tsukishima’s breakfast and is humming happily in the kitchen while he does the dishes. “Why didn’t mom give it to you? You’re a lot older than I am!”
Akiteru’s grin promises nothing good. “She gave me a choice between her wedding dress or engagement ring. I’m not sure what to do with either, honestly, but I didn’t think you’d have much use for a wedding dress, would you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Tsukishima declares flatly, and then adds, “I’m sure you’ll look beautiful in mom’s dress.”
-
Tsukishima carries the velvet box in his coat pocket for the next few days and can’t stop thinking about it. By the time he returns to Tokyo, his head is spinning, and he’s looking forward to talking to someone who won’t send his brain into a panicked frenzy.
Yamaguchi isn’t home when he enters the apartment, but his and Yachi’s bags sitting on the dining table tells Tsukishima that they hadn’t gone very far. Kenma’s somewhere in Chiba on assignment for the day, but Kuroo’s workplace is about twenty minutes away from Tsukishima’s place.
He cooks himself some gyudon for a quick bite and texts Kuroo to see if he has eaten. He hasn’t, so Tsukishima offers to bring some food over.
Sure, Kuroo replies. Thank you! There’s no sight of the Kenma sticker for thanks.
Tsukishima doesn’t visit Kuroo at work as often as he picks up Kenma, but that’s because Kuroo’s hours have always been irregular, and he’s always too busy running around like he’s on fire to pay attention to anything other than the campaign he’s currently working on. Regardless, when Tsukishima shows up at the front desk of Kuroo’s firm, the receptionist lights up immediately, eyes going wide.
“Kuroo-san! Tsukishima-san is here!” she calls over her shoulder, instead of into the phone like she’s supposed to. To Tsukishima, she says, “You can go on in! Where’s Kozume-san today?”
The phone rings before Tsukishima can answer, and he shuffles off as she picks up the call.
Kuroo’s sitting on the floor of the glass meeting room, large sheets of papers strewn about the floor. He’s wearing his glasses, and it makes Tsukishima smile.
“How was your trip?” Kuroo asks, eagerly accepting the box of food and sitting at the moved-aside conference table instead.
“Alright.” Tsukishima says, taking out his own box and sitting across from Kuroo. “Too many people.”
Kuroo laughs. “I feel you. I was at a fundraiser last night and I had to escape after two hours, some days it’s just too much.” He takes a huge bite of rice and makes a sound of satisfaction. “How’s your family?”
Tsukishima’s finger instinctively go to his pocket, where the ring is. He’s about to take the box out and show it to Kuroo. They can both laugh about it, and Tsukishima can rest at ease. His fingers clutch around the hard case, but for some reason he finds that his hand won’t move to pull it out.
“Tsukki? What’s up?” Kuroo asks.
Tsukishima jerks back to attention. His hand is frozen in his pocket, and only comes when Tsukishima finally lets go of the ring box. “Oh. It’s nothing.”
Kuroo arches an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Tsukishima says, and ducks his head back to his food so Kuroo cannot see the blush creeping across his cheeks.
-
“We’re buying a tree.” Kenma tells him when Tsukishima meets him after work the next day.
“We are?” Tsukishima asks. The apartment, or rather, the various apartments that Kuroo and Kenma have lived in, were never short in quantity of mistletoe, tinsel and blinking lights, but as far as Tsukishima can remember, they’ve never had a tree.
“We are.” Kenma confirms, shaking his hair out to tousle it. Kenma’s hair is generally perfect after a shoot, something he always deems necessary to correct the moment he leaves the building. Today it takes three firm shakes and several comb-throughs with Kenma’s fingers before the silky strands fall loose again.
“Why are we buying a tree?” Tsukishima asks.
“Because Kuroo needs a tree for his party, and he’s never going to be able to afford one, not with the money he’s already putting in for everything else.” Kenma says. “Come on.”
The streets are overflowing with Christmas decoration, silver bows tied to lampposts and artificial snowflakes hanging in every storefront window. Kenma wanders up to each glittering display, and Tsukishima nearly loses him in the crowd numerous times.
While there is no shortage of Christmas trees for sale, they visit about ten different stores before they settle on a tree. They view trees of all colours and sizes, trees folded in like origami, trees with ornaments, trees without, trees with LED lights blinking at the tips, trees that sing, trees that talk, and trees that don’t look much like trees at all.
“I think we’d do best with a normal one.” Kenma says, as they stand before a Christmas tree that could pass for a small home. The needles are dark green at the bottom and fade to a lighter shade at the top, and while it’s beautiful, it’s a luxury neither of them can afford.
They return to one of their earlier shops to purchase a classic pine tree, standing somewhere in between Tsukishima and Kenma in terms of height. They take another hour to pick out ornaments, a series of bells and paper fans.
Kenma pays for the tree and won’t let Tsukishima offer a cent, and in retaliation Tsukishima buys them both dinner at a fancy sushi restaurant. By the time they’re back at the station, it’s many hours later than either of them were expected home. Kuroo has not messaged, and Tsukishima briefly wonders if he’s still at the office.
“I think I’ll walk.” Tsukishima says, as they wait for Kenma’s train to arrive. The station is packed even at this late hour, and Tsukishima’s not looking forward to being pressed up against more people, even though it’s a short ride home. “It’s a couple of stations for me, and I could do with a peaceful stroll after all this."
There’s a pause as Kenma considers this. Kenma’s often halting, sometimes in between sentences that barely require any thought. It took Tsukishima a long time to get used to it, but it’s natural to him, now, the space. Tsukishima thinks it fits him.
“It’s going to be cold.” Kenma grumbles eventually, and Tsukishima smiles, having expected something to that effect. Kenma’s clearly dreaming impatiently of the heated train compartment, alternating between pressing himself into Tsukishima’s side, or bouncing on his heels to warm himself up.
Tsukishima shrugs. “It’s not that bad. I’m sure I’ll survive. Some fresh air would be a nice change.”
Kenma makes a face at him, but brightens at the rattling sound of an oncoming train. Tsukishima laughs at him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” he says, waving, hefting the tree up under his arm again. Kenma takes two steps towards the approaching train before he pauses, turning back to Tsukishima and closing the distance between them, fingers flying to unwind the scarf he’s wearing.
“I have too many scarves anyway.” he says, and before Tsukishima can react, he’s up on his tiptoes, looping the woolly scarf around Tsukishima’s neck, fluffing it and pulling it tight.
It’s such a domestic thing to do that Tsukishima freezes, blinking down at the former setter. He suddenly feels like the main character in a romance anime. Episode five.
Kenma pats Tsukishima’s arm. “Enjoy your walk.” he says, and hurries onboard the waiting train.
The feeling follows Tsukishima his entire journey home.
-
Tsukishima is in over his head. He knows his mother meant well, but he fervently wishes that he had never seen the engagement ring. Now that he has, he can’t stop thinking about it and Akiteru’s underhand comment. That in turn brings him back to every other time he’s heard someone say something about him and Kuroo, or Kenma. The weird thing is, no one seems to be sure who he’s dating, except that he must be. The weirder thing is, when Tsukishima thinks about it, he’s also sure that people often mistake Kuroo and Kenma as a couple. And the more Tsukishima thinks about it, the more it starts to make sense that they might be.
Then Tsukishima realizes that he doesn’t want Kuroo and Kenma to start dating, and immediately feels like a terrible friend.
But does he want Kenma for himself? Or Kuroo?
The three of them, their relationship is so intertwined that it’s impossible to tell. Tsukishima picks Kenma up from work at least four times a week. Kuroo swings by the university with home-cooked meals and coffee when Tsukishima’s busy with exams, and Tsukishima does the same for him when he’s in the middle of a huge project. Kuroo and Kenma fall into bed together when the night is too cold to sleep alone, and some nights, though Tsukishima will never admit it, he joins them.
Tsukishima shakes his head, clearing his muddled thoughts. This is just how they are, how they’ve always been. It doesn’t mean anything.
But it’s not that easy, just because Tsukishima’s told himself that it doesn’t mean anything. He’s hyperaware of every single interaction, finds himself flushing uncomfortably when Kuroo rests his feet in Tsukishima’s lap while they’re watching television, tensing when he takes a shower at their place and smells Kenma’s scent lingering on his skin.
He can’t help notice the way Kenma fits perfectly into his side. How Kuroo looks when he wakes up in the morning, hair all askew, and his soft, sleepy smile. It’s hard to pretend none of it matters, when now, every single moment suddenly matters far too much.
-
Tsukishima deals with it. He deals with it by pretending it doesn’t exist, a method which he’s occasionally seen Kenma employ to great success, and for the next couple of days, it does him well.
He goes by Kuroo’s and Kenma’s still, but never stays too long, never holds eye contact, never enters their apartment at night in fear of not leaving until the next morning. Kuroo and Kenma shoot him confused looks but keep their distance, and Tsukishima congratulates himself. It’s a week of this success before Tsukishima wonders if his victory isn’t more of a tragedy instead, and ceases all efforts abruptly.
He sets out from his apartment on Christmas Eve, determined not to spend another day pretending to be busy and hiding in his room instead. They’re friends, and Tsukishima will keep it that way, none of this falling-in-love business that his heart seems intent on pursuing.
Tsukishima will be a good friend, the best friend, and they’ll be friends for years and years to come— Tsukishima’s being rallies against this line of thought so violently that he physically stumbles.
“Are you okay?” a passerby asks, concerned. He’s carrying a large wire deer around with him, the kind rich people deck in lights and leave in their gardens, and normal people squeeze into their living room. It’s currently sitting by his side while they wait for the light, a pet on a morning walk.
“I’m fine.” Tsukishima reassures the man, even though he’s starting to see that he most definitely is not fine. Friends, he insists, but his brain is not getting the memo.
The crosswalk sign blinks green, but all of a sudden Tsukishima has no intention of continuing on to his destination. He yanks his phone out of his pocket, pulling away from the road.
“Take care, then.” The man says, and picks up the wire-frame deer again, hefting it over one shoulder as he turns to leave. “Have a good day!”
“You too.” Tsukishima mumbles weakly, and dials Yachi’s number.
-
He bursts into Yachi’s living room twenty minutes later, stomach in twists. His brain has been supplying him with the most unhelpful examples of their friendship the entire time, and Tsukishima wishes there was an off button. Yamaguchi lets him in, and his expression immediately goes worried as he catches sight of Tsukishima.
“What on earth happened to you, Tsukki?” he asks, and Yachi takes the stairs down two at once in her haste to get to him.
“Oh, you’re here too, great, I need you both to help me.” Tsukishima says to Yamaguchi, and lets Yachi drag him over to the couch, falling into soft cushions.
“Calm down.” Yachi says, panic rising herself. “Biscuits. And tea, we just boiled a pot of tea, hold up.”
The patter of her socked feet vanishes into the kitchen.
“Kuroo’s party is tonight.” Tsukishima remembers, and turns beseechingly to Yamaguchi. “I can’t go. I can’t see them. I’ll just stay here, it’ll be fine. Call him and tell him you’re having a baking breakdown, Yachi— or that you sent Yamaguchi to the hospital again— I can’t go tonight—”
Yachi shoves two gingerbread biscuits into his mouth, and the rest of his worries dissolve into a shower of cookie crumbs.
“Calm down and eat.” Yachi demands.
“I think I’m dating Kuroo and Kenma.” Tsukishima says around a mouthful of biscuit. To himself he says, “I think I really want to.”
Yachi jerks upright, nearly spilling the tea all over herself. “Are you really?” she asks excitedly.
“Congratulations!” Yamaguchi says. “It’s about time! I thought you guys were never going to—”
Tsukishima turns slowly to stare at them. “You knew. All this time, everyone kept saying we were dating, and I thought they were being ridiculous, but you’re my best friends, and you knew, you never said anything.”
There is a pause.
“So,” Yamaguchi sighs, “You’re not dating Kuroo and Kenma?”
-
The sky is dark by the time Tsukishima shows up outside the children’s home. Yamaguchi and Yachi having abandoned him for their own Christmas event, dinner at an expensive Italian bistro with a live band and unlimited alcohol.
“You don’t even like wine.” Yachi says, when Tsukishima gapes at them. “And get going, you need to be at Kuroo’s party, he expects you there and it’s the least you can do, even if as a friend.”
Tsukishima knows this, and in the past few hours since the breakdown he’d still known it, that he would show up at the party regardless. He knows how much this party means to Kuroo, and no matter how much Tsukishima wants to stay home and feed his misery, he won’t.
The sound of laughter greets him at the door, and a woman wearing a Santa hat ushers him through the door after checking his name. He enters the hallway just as Kuroo makes his way out, squeezing past Tsukishima in the doorway, a hand over his arm that sears through Tsukishima’s skin.
“I’m glad you’re here.” Kuroo murmurs as he brushes by, “I’ve got to find out where the singing reindeer went, but Kenma’s inside, go on in.”
He’s gone in the blink of an eye, and Tsukishima hears him thunder up the stairs, looking for the missing songstress. Apprehensively, he steps into the living area, immediately spotting Kenma beneath the tree, conversing seriously with a group of young children.
Tsukishima hesitates halfway towards them, but then Kenma looks up, as though drawn by Tsukishima’s presence, and beckons him over. “We’re talking about high school.” Kenma says in a voice that suggests he thinks much more highly of it than Tsukishima knows he does.
“The uniforms are prettier.” one of the girls says. She’s about ten years old, with little dark green ribbons in her hair. “And all the boys are so very tall.”
“I wasn’t very tall. I’m still not, either.” Kenma says. “But Tsukki was really tall, even then. Look, he’s almost as tall as the tree.”
Tsukishima straightens again, allowing all the children to gaze up at him in fascination.
“I bet he could put the star up without standing on a ladder.” A boy says enviously. “One day I’m going to be able to do that. Put stars on trees without a ladder.”
“Is it true that you’re allowed to eat lunch in the classroom?” Another boy asks. “At our school we have to leave our food outside, in little lockers. Haru is always forgetting his locker number, so the teacher made him set it to 1-1-1.”
“Three ones is a perfectly good number.” Kenma says solemnly. “Though not particularly useful for a locker combination, if there’s anything important in there.”
Immediately the children start clamouring about what kind of lunch is the most valuable, and whether an octopus sausage is considered more important than an uncut one. Surprisingly, Kenma leans into the conversation, hands over his knees, offering his input to the adoring circle of steadily growing children. It’s impossibly cute, especially when one of the girls climbs into Kenma’s lap and he absently starts plaiting her hair.
“How precious.” A voice says into Tsukishima’s ear, startling him. He flinches, albeit barely noticeable, when he realizes it is Kuroo. He catches the slight furrow in Kuroo’s brow at his reaction, but before the older boy can ask, Tsukishima cuts in.
“Is there anything I can help with?”
Kuroo’s sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, body emanating heat from all the running around he’s been doing, but the way he’s dressed is absolutely flawless. Tsukishima’s used to seeing Kenma dressed up, but Kuroo more often opts for T-shirts and gym clothes, and the change is making Tsukishima’s stomach do no-handed cartwheels.
“I found the reindeer.” Kuroo says. “Wanna help me with some trays? Kenma’s doing a great job of entertaining our esteemed guests.”
Kenma glances over at the sound of his name, and Kuroo winks at him. Frazzled, Tsukishima expects Kenma to rolls his eyes or blush, but Kenma winks back easily before turning away, and Tsukishima can feel himself dissolving into the carpet.
Kuroo laughs, delighted, and drags Tsukishima into the kitchen. He immediately inhales a lungful of cider and gingerbread, and meets the rear end of a reindeer costume helping itself to a handful of jam cookies.
Kuroo drums his fingers against the door of a cabinet.
“Hiroo, fingers off the tray. I don’t need you spitting crumbs everywhere when it’s time to sing.” he says, and it’s so easy, familiar. This is what Kuroo had been doing for the past month, Tsukishima realizes. It’s not just the gifts, the planning, the impossible balancing act of funds to make a party just-right. It runs much deeper than that, Tsukishima sees at once— when the reindeer-bottom, Hiroo, withdraws his hand to smile guiltily at Kuroo, and then jumps up to press a sticky jam-kiss onto Kuroo’s cheek.
“Sticky, messy reindeer.” Kuroo whines, wiping the jam off his cheek with his fingers. He reaches out to swipe it against the back of the reindeer costume, and seems to remember the rental cost of the outfit, or something, for he pulls back and cleans his fingers on a candy-striped napkin. “You’re lucky you can sing.”
“I love you too, Kuroo nii-chan.” Hiroo says gleefully, and ducks out the door, tail swinging behind him.
Tsukishima’s heart is full, he’s so proud of Kuroo he’s bursting with it. “I’m really proud of you.” he says, leaving out the part about his heart. That, Tsukishima isn’t ready to deal with yet.
Kuroo smiles, jam dotting the corner of his cheek still. Tsukishima reaches out to thumb it away, and for a fleeting moment there is only that, the two of them standing in the kitchen and the feeling of Kuroo’s skin beneath his fingers.
Tsukishima yanks his hand back, staring wide-eyed at Kuroo, heartbeat racing. He clears his throat. “I’ll help you with those trays, then.” he says, and it comes across as a sorry croak.
The tray of cookies shiver in Tsukishima’s hands all the way out.
-
Hiroo is a marvelous singer, as is the head to his bottom— reunited as an entire reindeer, the two children sing a breathtaking harmony of Silent Night. The other children chime in after the second song, and it’s not perfect by any means, but surrounded by singing voices full of cheer, Tsukishima almost believes that it is.
He spends the majority of the night within arm’s reach of Kenma, who unlike Kuroo’s tumultuous presence, seems to wash a sense of calm over Tsukishima. Tsukishima is no less in love, no less speechless, but Kenma’s always been grounded, and this time it keeps Tsukishima grounded too.
Tsukishima sits through seven rounds of charades, helps two girls negotiate their way to the last cup of pudding, and chaperones a messy group of children who want to go outdoors to make wishes on stars and instead take at least half-an-hour to put on their boots. They spend all of ten minutes out in the snow, yelling wishes at the sky, before racing back indoors to the warmth again.
It’s only after Tsukishima’s made sure that every last child is accounted for, when he notices that Kenma is missing from his spot beside the tree. Instead, there are two young women reading aloud on the carpet, children sprawled around them, listening.
Matsuda, the coordinator of the home, waves Tsukishima over. “Have you seen Kuroo? We’re about to give out the presents, but we’d like him to give a small speech beforehand.”
“I can look for him.” Tsukishima offers. “Any idea where he might be?”
She gestures towards the back of the house, “I saw Kozume-san heading back that way, but I’m not sure if Kuroo was with him. Would you mind checking for me? I’ll get started rounding the kids up.”
Tsukishima assents, but before he can head off, she clasps both his hands in hers. It’s a warm, startling grip. “I’m really thankful to all three of you. Kuroo-san doesn’t like to talk about the work he’s put in, but I know it was no small feat, and the both of you have been such a great help throughout.”
“It’s such a blessing to have such amazing people around us.” she adds, and wraps him in a hug. “Do please retrieve Kuroo, don’t tell him, but the children have prepared a lovely surprise for him as well.”
“I’ll get him.” Tsukishima says, as she releases him from the hug. Matsuda smiles and leaves.
Tsukishima follows the L-shape of the kitchen towards the back, expecting to find Kenma and Kuroo in the storeroom, or the pantry, but instead the back door of the house is ajar and they’re both sitting on the steps, back facing Tsukishima. Kenma’s head is resting against Kuroo’s shoulder, and Kuroo has an arm around Kenma’s waist. Tsukishima stares for a very long moment, yearning to join them-- yearning to run away.
Reluctantly, he taps on the door twice before pushing it open. Kenma jumps, but immediately relaxes when he sees who it is, and it makes Tsukishima’s chest ache. It’s three of them together, the first time since Tsukishima’s revelation, and the silence is almost monumental, in a way.
“Matsuda-san’s looking for you, Kuroo.” Tsukishima says, at last. “She wants you to make a speech.”
“A speech?” Kuroo repeats, ushering Kenma back indoors and closing the door behind them. “Whatever for?”
Kenma plucks at Kuroo’s wrist. “Go on. I’m pretty sure I’ve talked more than you have today.”
“Have you?” Kuroo says, amused. He flips his palm face-up to catch Kenma’s wandering hand in his own. “Go out there and do me another favour? Tell her to give me a moment to write my speech.”
Kenma rolls his eyes, but turns towards the doorway. “Really,” he mutters as he leaves, “We all know you’re just going to wing it.”
Kuroo settles himself on the kitchen stool and helps himself to a leftover piece of sponge cake. Tsukishima keeps his eyes glued to the washcloth hanging just above the sink so that he doesn’t have to look at Kuroo.
“We’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.” Kuroo says, dusting the crumbs off his fingers. Not that Tsukishima’s looking. “You’ve been acting so strange lately, and don’t think we haven’t noticed that you’ve been avoiding us.”
Tsukishima swallows. “I saw you four times this week.” he says to the frosted glass of the window.
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“Is now really a good time?” Tsukishima asks. “You have a speech to prepare.”
“Look at me, Tsukki.” Kuroo says, and even with valiant effort to do the contrary, Tsukishima cannot deny him. Tsukishima turns slowly, and Kuroo’s gaze is dark, worried.
“If we did something wrong—” he begins, and Tsukishima curses himself.
“It’s not that.” he says sharply. Just beyond the door, he can see Matsuda speaking to the crowd of gathered guests. Her mouth is moving, and he should be able to hear her words, but all he can hear is the blood rushing past his ears.
“Tsukki, please.” Kuroo murmurs. “I don’t like fighting with you.”
“We’re not fighting.” Tsukishima says, but when Kuroo reaches for him, he yanks back. “We’re not fighting,” he insists, even as he backs away. “It’s not that, it’s just—”
“I think I’m in love with you.” Tsukishima blurts, and is instantly horrified. Kuroo’s eyes widen.
“Fuck.” Tsukishima says, scrabbling backwards, bumping against the back of the refrigerator and causing several magnets to fall. “I didn’t mean to— fuck. I’m sorry.”
Kuroo’s standing within seconds, grasping towards him, but all he succeeds in is catching his fingers around the end of Tsukishima’s scarf. Kenma’s scarf. Oh God, Tsukishima’s been wearing Kenma’s scarf for a week now, and he hadn’t even realized it.
“For a very special guest today, Kuroo Tetsurou!” a voice says from the living room. “Where is Kuroo-san?”
Kuroo startles, but doesn’t move towards the waiting audience. “Tsukki.” he murmurs.
“You should go.” Tsukishima says, batting his hands away.
“Please, Tsukki. Kei.” Kuroo begs, and the sound is grating. Tsukishima never wants to hear Kuroo beg for anything ever again.
“Don’t.” he says, at once, shoving Kuroo impossibly hard for someone he just claimed he loved. His breath is coming out in heaves, and if he doesn’t leave now, Tsukishima knows he’ll fall apart. “I’ll come over tomorrow and we can talk, I swear, please, just let me go.
Kuroo meets his eyes steadily, and to Tsukishima’s relief, finally relinquishes his grip on Tsukishima’s arm. “Tomorrow,” he murmurs, and his voice is so deep it rattles Tsukishima’s very soul.
Tsukishima nods. There’s another call for Kuroo, this time closer, and the older boy finally turns around. Tsukishima seizes the opportunity and stumbles for the door, out into the cold, crisp night. There is a wire angel on the lawn, flapping glimmering wings in the bitter wind. The air is too sharp, and Tsukishima realizes he’s left his gloves in the living room.
Casting a backward glance at the lighted house behind him, Tsukishima flees.
-
Tsukishima lies in bed for a long time that night. He hears Yamaguchi come home a little past one a.m., but as he’s lying in complete darkness, the other probably thinks he’s asleep and walks past Tsukishima’s door into his own bedroom. Everything is moving too fast, Tsukishima thinks. Had it just been a week ago when Tsukishima woke up on their couch, ate breakfast and made plans for the new year? It had felt so right, being there, and Tsukishima was certain he’d never want to leave.
He feels none of it now, regretting with every passing moment that he’d let them come to this, that he couldn’t be strong enough to hold the words in, to bury them somewhere deep down where the truth did not hurt anyone. The worst part is, Tsukishima knows he could have done it.
Damn Kuroo and his party, his worried, searching gaze, and his ability to make Tsukishima crumble with only a handful of words. Tsukishima’s furious with himself.
Had the party not been tonight, had Tsukishima had the time to compose the facts, he could have done it. Could have pretended everything was alright, held himself at a distance and let himself be happy with their friendship.
Because Tsukishima is happy with their friendship. Nothing in the world made him happier, nothing in the world felt more natural, than falling asleep on their couch after a long night, picking up Kenma from work, sniping at Kuroo, just knowing that he has people he can count on for absolute anything.
And therein lies the problem.
Tsukishima has no idea when he’d let them get so close. He’s friendlier now, far nicer than he’d been during school, but he’ll never be as effortlessly generous with love the way so many of the people he knows are. Even after everything, he would still rather hold people at a distance. Friendships, he finds, are just the right amount of love, and for years he’d thought he would never want anything more.
When he closes his eyes he can sees Kenma’s smile, Kuroo’s sharp grin. Tsukishima didn’t think he even had it in him, to love someone this much, let alone two. He doesn’t know what to do with it.
The early morning light of Christmas Day is creeping up on the curtains by the time Tsukishima falls asleep, restless dreams plagued with memories of candy canes and confessions.
When he awakes six hours later, he forces himself out of bed, slowly, slowly. There is something he must do.
-
There’s a pile of letters sitting at the doorway when he lets himself into the apartment. About half of them are magazines, and he gathers the armful of mail and quietly drops it onto the coffee table.
The bedroom door is ajar and light is spilling through the crack. In the bathroom, he can hear Kuroo’s singing over the sound of running water, “Give me as usual, Yokohama, blue light Yokohama”.
Tsukishima is reminded of early December, first snow. Kuroo had spent an entire hour tracing Yutaka Ozaki lyrics across Kenma’s back, the three of them sprawled out on the carpet in front of the tv. Tsukishima can’t even remember what movie it had been, some sappy Christmas feel-good film probably, but he can remember the way Kuroo smiled at him, head thrown back, relaxed, happy and warm.
“Kuroo,” he hears Kenma whine from the bedroom. “Stop it.”
Kuroo sings louder.
The gloves he left at the party last night are sitting on the kitchen counter. There’s a new card sitting on the counter, addressed ‘dear Kuroo, Kenma and Tsukishima, Season’s Greetings’, and Tsukishima feels all the air being sucked out of his lungs, all at once. He drops the card back onto the marble counter, some unbidden feeling rising in the back of his throat, bubbling under his skin.
Kenma steps out of the bedroom, a halo of light illuminated around his hair. He goes still when he sees Tsukishima, fingers curling around the doorframe.
“Hello.” Kenma says, tilts his head, waits.
Tsukishima stands there for a very long moment, socked feet cold against the floorboards in between the living room and the kitchen. Kenma’s gaze is patient, and Tsukishima takes a deep breath, glancing away. There’s a scarf dragging off the back of the sofa onto the floor, an empty watering can sitting on the dining table and the whole house smells like green tea and peaches.
There’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom cupboard, except it’s not a spare, it’s Tsukishima’s, and one he’s been using far more often than the one at home. His notes from last week’s lecture are still stacked on top of Kuroo’s books and Kenma’s magazines on the kitchen table, and Tsukishima knows where every single ornament over the windowsills had come from, had been there for all the photos on the mantelpiece.
Kuroo appears in the doorway behind Kenma, and with a sudden, blinding, clarity, Tsukishima sees what everyone else has been seeing. In that one moment, Tsukishima just knows, and it seems silly to have ever doubted it, that this has never been a question of if, but simply of when.
He takes a deep breath.
“Hey.” Tsukishima says. “Can I talk to you both?”
He’s greeted by familiar, fond smiles. Kuroo steps out of the bedroom, leaving the door ajar, yellow light spilling onto the carpet. “Yeah.” Kuroo says quietly, “I think we have a conversation that’s long overdue.”
Tsukishima sits on the couch and Kenma sinks down beside him, pulling the knitted green blanket over their legs. A broad, warm hand places itself onto Tsukishima’s back, and he feels the rush of heat all the way to his toes.
There are three stockings hanging over the fireplace, and he knows, without looking, that he’s home.
-
Snow crunches beneath Tsukishima’s feet as they make their way towards the shrine, his face frozen stiff. There is a smattering of people milling around the grounds, talking and hugging, but they’re early enough that the crowd is friendly instead of overbearing.
“Happy new year!” Yachi calls as she turns around and spots him, lifting a hand in a delighted wave. She’s wearing a hat with the longest ear flaps Tsukishima has ever seen, one that goes all the way down past her cheeks.
“I see you solved your cold cheek problem.” Tsukishima says dryly, and Kenma presses back against Tsukishima as a freezing gust of wind tries to upend Yachi’s plans.
“Yamaguchi gave this to me.” She says, and to his astonishment, goes slightly pink. “You know what they say about New Year’s Day.”
Tsukishima stares at her, but Yachi doesn’t elaborate, just heads deeper into the grounds. Yamaguchi is standing just beyond the gates, watching enviously as two children share a bowl of yakisoba. As though sensing their presence, he looks over and waves a gloved hand, silk talisman jangling from his fingers. “Happy New Year! The others are up ahead, come on!”
“I’m happy for you.” Yachi says, as she finally stops, several feet from Yamaguchi, and turns back to look at Tsukishima, smiling. “I’m really happy for me, too.”
“I’m just happy, in general.” Kuroo offers, showing up over Tsukishima’s shoulder. “What are we talking about?”
Tsukishima can’t help it, he laughs, throwing an arm over Yachi’s shoulder and ruffling her hat-scarf. Kenma, whose fingers are laced around Tsukishima’s, is dragged along for the ride.
“Happy New Year, Yachi.” Tsukishima says, and she squeaks as she finally dislodges herself from under his arm, ear flaps askew. She shoves his arm and continues towards Yamaguchi, but not before a parting smile in Tsukishima’s direction.
Tsukishima watches them for a moment, then looks down at his hand, intertwined with Kenma’s. Kenma looks up at him, cheeks pink, and attempts to pull away. Tsukishima doesn’t let go.
“Come on.” Kuroo says, arm looping across Kenma’s neck so that his fingers tickle Tsukishima’s back.
There’s the weight of a small box in his pocket. It’s far too early to be worrying about it, but the thought no longer sends Tsukishima into a fit of unease. Maybe one day. He’ll know when the time is right.
Meanwhile, it’s going to be a good year, Tsukishima thinks, as they follow the group across the freshly-covered ground.
He can’t wait.