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Tadashi loves to sleep. A red box, worn at the edges, sits atop his mother’s nightstand. A sticky label curls at the edges, carefully handwritten: Tadashi, 6-9 months. He doesn’t look through it often; usually only on the off chance that he needs to unearth a baby picture, he’ll rifle through and pick a suitable one.
In almost all—roughly three quarters of them—he’s asleep. (On a completely separate note, his ahoge still sticks up in all of them, as it always does.)
Summer sun induces sleep, but Tadashi is fighting a valiant battle against it. His eyes squint, and while it may be wise to turn so that his back faces the sun instead, he doesn’t.
Sun induces sleep, but sun also tans Tadashi, brings his freckles into clearer view. They dust his shoulders, cheeks, and back. In the winter, they fade if slightly, offering a reprieve from the sun and from the teasing. (Tsukishima admires his freckles, though, and when he does Tadashi wishes that it could be summer always.)
Tsukishima leans so that his back presses up against the side of the house. The wind blows its quiet greeting, ruffling Tadashi’s hair as it comes and goes.
“It’s so warm, Tsukki,” Tadashi sighs. Between his thumb and pointer finger, he admires the bright green stalk of the potted aloe plant, then lets it fall back into place.
He stretches his legs out in front of him, end of his shorts riding up against the concrete to reveal the edge where his tan begins. If Kei responds, he doesn’t hear it.
A distraction from nothing in particular, Akiteru emerges from the sliding glass door with too much fervor for a sixteen year old. (Not too much fervor for Akiteru, though.) When it reverberates against the track at the end, Akiteru winces. (Tadashi does, too.)
“It’s your turn to set the table, Kei.”
“It is not,” Kei challenges. Tadashi knows this is true. Akiteru also knows this is true.
“It’s your turn. And I’m older, so it’s extra your turn.”
Kei sighs, unmoving. "That doesn't make sense, nii-chan," he says.
“I’ll help you, Tsukki!” Tadashi chirps. “We’ll do it faster than he could, definitely.”
Affronted, Akiteru lies his palm over his heart. “You will absolutely not.” His wicked grin says that he thinks otherwise, but he doesn’t let on to this verbally.
Halfway in the door already, Kei quickly calls back, “come on, Yamaguchi!”
Tadashi and Akiteru exchange knowing glances, but neither speaks up, and Tadashi quickly follows after his friend nonetheless.
The home that the Tsukishima family has rented for vacation has two bedrooms. The inhabitants of said two bedroom house include Tsukishima Kei, Akiteru, their parents, and Tadashi, which isn’t a problem, necessarily. They all make do.
Akiteru is sixteen, and even if Tadashi hadn’t been invited along, he would have likely elected to sleep on the sofa bed. There’s a small television there and the internet connection is stronger, so it’s the obvious choice.
Tadashi knows that he has won in his own right, though, because he and Kei sleep in the loft upstairs. It’s a soft twin mattress with no bed frame, worn slightly from years of use, and piled high with knitted blankets. (Kei hogs them while he sleeps, and Tadashi perpetually tries to steal them back.)
Falling asleep feels like a crime since it’s their last night on vacation. Tomorrow morning, they’ll have breakfast, and Kei’s parents will get everyone into the car for the three hour long trip back to Miyagi prefecture.
They still have two weeks and three days left before school begins. It’s not a question how Tadashi will spend those days. His mom is a nurse, working long hours during the day, and since he prefers not to be alone, he spends the vast majority of his time at the Tsukishima house.
Tadashi directs his eyes upwards towards the vaulted ceiling that they sleep under. The window is cracked slightly open and the cicadas sing somewhere in the distance. Kei’s glasses still sit on the bridge of his nose; Tadashi wonders if he’ll fall asleep with them on. (It’s doubtful, because Tadashi has never seen Kei do that for all of the sleepovers they’ve had. Still, he wonders.)
“Don’t you wish we could stay here forever?” Tadashi asks. Logically at some point, he’d definitely want to return home to his mom and his cat, but logic has no place in this idea. “We could just hide tomorrow instead of leaving. Don’t you think the closet in here is big enough, Tsukki?”
Kei laughs sharply, shaking his head. “My mom would definitely find us.”
Though Tadashi pouts, he supposes Kei is right. The Tsukishimas would definitely not leave without their son and his friend. Tadashi’s mom would worry, too. And, at ten years old each, they’d have no way to support themselves, logistically. Of course Kei is right—but Tadashi still smiles at the idea.
“Guess you’re right, Tsukki.”
Tadashi doesn’t mind being alone, per se, but he doesn’t understand why somebody would choose to when they had the option to be with somebody. Companionship seems to be the obvious choice between solitude, and he thinks that Kei must feel the same; surely if he didn’t, he would have long since abandoned this friendship.
But he hasn’t, and Tadashi is still here, still just by Kei’s side what feels like 24/7. Part of it is out of ease; since his mom works such long hours and so often, he’s often left under the care of the Tsukishima parents. (At thirteen, he’s more than capable of caring for himself, but his mother is perpetually concerned for the well-being of her only child. She’s caring if not overprotective.)
Tadashi certainly doesn’t mind being dropped off with the Tsukishima family, though, not at all. He and Kei split away from Kei’s parents more often than not, especially since Akiteru left for college. Luckily, Kei’s parents seem to understand that it’s nothing personal, just that the two prefer to spend their time alone.
Tadashi had had to do a substantial amount of convincing in order to make Kei agree to spending a night outside—it’s far from the wilderness, just a tent pitched under the night sky in the confines of Kei’s fenced in back yard, but it somehow feels adventurous.
It’s not like they need to do anything significant, but with the start of school quickly approaching, it felt more appropriate to sleep here rather than the tiny twin mattress in Kei’s room, or even the futon that Kei’s parents make up for Tadashi to sleep on. (It’s a kind gesture, but it always goes unused.)
“This is surprisingly soft. Isn't it, Tsukki!” Tadashi asks, letting his chin rest in the palm of his hand, supported by his elbows pressing into the pillow. The two had recruited almost every spare blanket and pillow in the house, including the comforters from Akiteru and Kei’s bed, the knitted blanket that Kei’s grandmother gifted him when he was a baby, and several of the pillows from the Tsukishima’s living room couch.
“Hm,” Kei hums, unconvinced. “You can still feel the ground underneath.”
“It’s part of the appeal,” Tadashi says definitively. The unevenness of the ground is very little, if any, of the appeal, but he definitely won’t admit this. There’s plenty of other things to appeal to them—the April breeze, even through the tent, cools them off and relieves some humidity. Grasshoppers and cicadas trill their songs, and a multitude of stars twinkle bright above them. Kei might not admit it, but Tadashi has a sneaking suspicion he likes it, too.
Tadashi shifts underneath the blanket, underneath Akiteru’s old comforter, and sits up against an impressive mound of pillows. A red flashlight sits at the entrance of the tent, casting a barely-there beam of light. Kei’s mother had placed it there after helping them set the tent up in the back yard, and though the batteries seem to be dimming by the minute, it still provides some light.
“I really am glad we’re doing this, Tsukki,” Tadashi says, giving his friend a quick glance. Kei’s glasses sit atop his head, and since his eyesight rivals that of a bat or a mole or… Some other animal with poor eyesight, Tadashi knows he can’t make out his face as much more than a blur.
“We’re not doing this during the school year,” Kei intones, settling under his own blanket. “So, hopefully you don’t get too used to it.”
Not missing a beat, Tadashi says, “that’s why we’re doing this before school.” There’s no question that next week, when school has begun, they’ll find themselves sleeping back in Kei’s bed, but for now this is enjoyable, more so on Tadashi’s part.
In the distance, a bullfrog croaks. For a moment, Tadashi toys with the idea of getting up and searching for said bullfrog, but decides it isn’t worth it in the long run—it’s likely to run away before he reaches it, and he knows that Tsukishima won’t tag along. So, he stays put.
They sit in somewhat silence for the next few minutes. Tadashi finds himself wondering if Kei is asleep yet—he doesn’t know the time, but he’d guess it to be about 10:30, which is about as late as they tend to stay up.
The silence is broken a moment later when Kei’s mother steps out into the back yard, announcing her presence with a quiet greeting.
“It’s 9:45,” she tells them, crouching at the entrance of the tent. She’s still in her clothes from work, and her perfume lingers subtly in the air. “You don’t want to sleep in too late, so I’d suggest getting some sleep soon.”
To Kei’s dismay, she presses a kiss to her son’s forehead before he can pull away, and leaves a small pink print from her lipstick. Always concerned, she asks “and you boys have enough pillows? Blankets?”
Two voices intone, “yes, thank you,” which seems to be enough to please her, because she makes her way back into the house, leaving the back yard lights on.
When they were younger, Tadashi used to wonder why he didn’t have Kei over—or, as often as Kei had him over, but had come to the understanding that his mother just wasn’t home as often. Kei’s mother has become like his own in the years that the two boys had been friends. And, since Akiteru has gone off to college, it seems as if Kei’s mother and father enjoy having him over even more.
“I don’t feel tired,” Tadashi confesses into the darkness of the tent, sighing. He shifts to lean his weight onto his elbows, lying opposite Tsukishima.
“You should try, at least,” Tsukishima tells him. Tadashi can hear him fold the arms of his glasses down, and the small noise as he sets them down beside his comforter. “I think my mom is going to take us down to the park tomorrow morning since she has off.”
Tadashi hums his acknowledgement, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he can attempt to sleep. If anything, morning will come faster if he does manage to sleep, so that’s motivation enough.
It doesn’t take him long to get there.
Back when they were younger, before Akiteru left for college and before Kei’s relationship with his sibling began to falter, the three of them had a habit of piling up on the Tsukishimas’ tan leather couch and watching whatever movie Akiteru had happened to bring home with him from the library. Sometimes, they were science fiction, sometimes documentaries, and sometimes thrillers. Always, it was difficult and uncomfortable for the three of them to squeeze onto the couch.
If that had been a cramped situation for three of them to fit, cramped didn’t even begin to encompass Tadashi’s current situation. Sawamura’s house is not small, quite the opposite, but as twelve boys attempt to fit in the living room, all piled up or around the two couches, the space begins to feel much smaller than it is.
It’s no small feat that Tsukishima has shown up to the team sleepover at Sawamura’s house—it had taken copious amounts of coaxing on Tadashi’s part for him to agree to come, and he’d really only given in in the two days prior.
The whole point of this team sleepover is bonding, as Sawamura had explained one day after practice, but it seems to be mostly futile, since everybody is still grouped up, as much as they can be, with those they are closest to. Hinata and Kageyama are sitting towards the edge of the couch farthest from Tadashi. Hinata’s head is leaned against the setter’s shoulder in a way that is certain to leave him with a sore neck upon waking up, and Kageyama’s focus has shifted elsewhere, to the movie playing in front of them. On the opposite end of the couch, Tanaka and Nishinoya loudly discuss what they think that Shimizu is doing at home.
“She’s definitely thinking about me,” Tanaka proclaims, pointing a thumb at his chest.
“Or me!” Nishinoya interjects, equally proud.
“She’s not thinking of either of you,” Tsukishima tells them, tutting slightly. “I can guarantee that.”
Tadashi hides a snicker behind his hands, poorly disguised as a cough. Nobody buys it, probably, but nobody says anything either.
Before either of the second years can defend themselves, Sawamura shoots a disapproving look in Tsukishima’s direction. And, before long, Nishinoya and Tanaka are back to a rather lively discussion, this time about the heroine of the movie they’re all watching, and exactly how they’d romance her.
“Tsukki?” Tadashi says this much quieter than he usually would, since he’s reasonably certain that the rest of their teammates are asleep. Nobody has made a sound for quite some time, save for the rustling of sleeping bags and the occasional snore or half-mumbled sleep talk, so it only makes sense.
“Hm?”
“You’re still awake?” he asks, though he already knows this.
“I am,” Tsukishima answers, stifling a yawn. “Not for too much longer, I don’t think.”
“Hinata owes both of us popsicles after practice tomorrow, either way,” Tadashi says, grinning. It’d been an unfair bet, really, because there had never been any doubt that Hinata would fall asleep before both of them, but he’d willingly taken it.
“As long as we don’t have to eat them with him,” Tsukishima says, not a hint of joking in his tone.
Tadashi can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from his chest at that, and they fall back into silence shortly thereafter, both far too tired to keep up any more conversation.
Still, Tadashi says, “night, Tsukki,” as he settles into his sleeping bag, gazing up at Sawamura’s ceiling.
The answer of “goodnight, Yamaguchi,” is enough to let him sleep peacefully for the next ten years, probably.
Tadashi’s hair curls towards the bottoms, brushing up against the nape of his neck. He’s made a poor attempt to tie it up into a low bun with a hair tie borrowed from Yachi, but a few strands still escape at the bottom.
He tans, too, distinct lines fall mid-thigh where his shorts end, no doubt the result of several hours of running outside in the grass and the track alongside his teammates. There’s a slight sunburn on his nose, a pinkish tint that’s just slightly tender. If they spent more time in the air conditioned gym, he might be less weathered by the summer sun, but as a result of several losses, the season has taken effect on his body.
He doesn’t mind, not really; training camp is an excuse to push himself towards becoming a better player, towards the idea of being a regular, eventually, and standing on the court with Tsukishima and his other friends. It’s an opportunity to better himself, to play alongside other teams with other techniques, teams he might one day find himself facing.
He’d jog thousands of kilometers, he thinks, to become a better, more reliable player. So, he runs—not thousands of kilometers, but a considerable amount. Dutifully, loss after loss, he hikes himself outside to run uphill, or to practice dives, or whatever the penalty is. He’s improving, dutifully.
He plucks a dandelion from where it sits on the grass and blows so that the seeds disperse, carried through the breeze, and sets the stem down in the grass, sighing.
“Are you tired, Tsukki?” he asks then, after a moment. He knows that Tsukishima must be—they’re all working hard to compensate for their losses. In the matches, too, they give it their all, put up an admirable fight time and time again.
“A little,” Tsukishima answers thoughtfully, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger. “I think I’ll probably go in soon.”
The heat is unrelenting. It’s 9:45 and still sweltering underneath the stars. It’s not as humid as it’d been that afternoon, but it’s wildly unpleasant. Grass sticks to the back of Tadashi’s knees, and he knows there will be imprints of it as soon as he stands up. No doubt, they’ll fade by the time he and Tsukishima arrive at their sleeping quarters, but he’s kind of fond of them, in a silly way.
He and Tsukishima break apart from their team often, usually whenever the opportunity. Eight of them—Sawamura and Sugawara broke apart too, for a nighttime stroll. Sugawara had mentioned, as vice captain, wanting to talk to Sawamura privately, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that they just wanted the alone time.
Presumably, the other eight are playing truth or dare. Tadashi knows this because he has received a number of humiliating texts from their other teammates. Additionally, he’d been able to make out Tanaka yelling some obscenity in the nighttime.
He doesn’t want to join them. Instead, he links his pinky with Tsukishima’s. His friend stiffens momentarily and then relaxes into the touch, sighing through his nose. Tsukishima is rarely one for initiating physical closeness, though whenever Tadashi initiates it, he doesn’t seem to mind. The arrangement is a nice one, works for them.
Tadashi shifts so that the other four of each of their fingers intertwine, too. His heart hammers against his chest, and he wonders if Tsukishima suspects this, if he can feel Tadashi’s hands clamming up.
It should be—is nothing, and yet it’s not really that at all. He’d never dare do anything here at training camp, could never dream of that, but he’s finding that as of late, he can’t get enough of this closeness to Tsukishima. That scares him half to death, but rather than reacting adversely, he dives headfirst in. Sometimes, he doesn’t think that’s the exact right choice.
“We should head back,” Tsukishima tells him. “I think they’re done.”
“Probably, Tsukki,” Tadashi chirps, not letting go of his hand. As they walk back towards the building, their steps quickly fall into unison and their hands swing slightly, mostly because of Tadashi’s pace.
The lights are mostly off when they approach, though there’s a fit of giggles that Tadashi can reasonably assume belong to Hinata, so he knows that their friends must not be asleep yet. It’s not a letdown, exactly, because he and Tsukishima would have just gone to sleep anyway, but he knows that they’ll be interrogated about their whereabouts.
As soon as they enter, there’s a chorus of “where were you?” and “You guys missed truth or dare!” among others. Tadashi feels proud that he guessed their game correctly, and just shrugs as he settles down on his mat, legs crossed.
“We just went on a walk,” he informs them, arms stretching above his head. “I wanted some fresh air.”
Tsukishima snorts, almost blows their cover, but nonetheless pulls a pale blanket over his legs. He’s tall, and the blanket either doesn’t cover his toes or his upper chest. He sighs, pulls it up to his chest, and lies his head against his pillow.
“You can have my blanket if you want!” Hinata offers, a loud voice from across the room. “Kageyama will share his with me!”
There’s an irritated growl of “Dumbass! You always steal the blanket. I’m not—” and then an irritated sound on Hinata’s part, cutting his friend off.
Tadashi hides another snicker behind his elbow at the small argument breaking out towards the back corner. It dissipates, though, when Sugawara steps through the threshold with a disapproving click of his tongue, prompting Hinata to whine, “I didn’t do anything, Sugawara-san!”
Just listening to the bickering exhausts Tadashi, and he knows Tsukishima feels the same, because his glasses are already off and set to the side in their case. They’ll both sleep well that night, but Tadashi thinks they’ll sleep even better if—
He reaches over for a second time, interlocking their fingers, and can’t help the small smile when Tsukishima doesn’t pull away or stiffen. He just gives Tadashi’s hand a quick squeeze and lets his eyes drift shut.
Tadashi does the same.
Realistically, it’s a bit comical how little of Tadashi’s bed they use when they sleep there. It’s becoming increasingly more likely that he and Tsukishima will choose to spend their time at the Yamaguchi house. While Tadashi has a double bed, and while they always whine about Tsukishima’s twin sized mattress, they probably only wind up using about that much area of it, due to how close they—Tadashi, especially—likes to be.
When they were younger, they used to love being at the Tsukishima house. They loved to spend time around Tsukishima’s brother and parents, loved that somebody was always home. In the years since, they’ve developed an affinity for the Yamaguchi’s considerably smaller two bedroom house, since Tadashi’s mother works her notoriously long shifts at the hospital.
They still spend time at the Tsukishima house, of course, but since the Tsukishima parents have realized that their son and Tadashi are far more than friends, he’s been banished to the futon in Tsukishima’s room, or worse yet, Akiteru’s room, or the couch, on an entirely different floor of the house.
There’s far less supervision and far less separation at the Yamaguchi house, so they stay here, mostly. Tadashi is more than okay with that.
Tsukishima sleeps beside him, forehead sporting a small line. He’s developed it just recently, likely as a result of the stress from their final few weeks of first year. He must be dreaming, because he worries his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before letting go. Tadashi just observes, quiet.
Tsukishima’s arm is around him, palm splayed out on Tadashi’s bare shoulder. Some of the freckles that dot his shoulders during the summer have disappeared, though a few of the darker ones persist, staying year round. No doubt, they’ll start to make themselves visible again in the coming few months. Tsukishima always comments on them; on the dusting across his nose, his cheeks, the few stray freckles along his knees, shoulder blades, and back.
When they were younger, it used to embarrass Tadashi, but he’s grown very much used to it. He likes it, even.
“Tsukki,” he hums, quiet, as if not to wake his boyfriend. He looks peaceful in his sleep, a stark contrast to the somewhat frantic demeanor he held during their study session last night. Tadashi doesn’t dare wake him.
Instead, he presses a few delicate kisses to the pads of his fingertips. Tsukishima shifts in his sleep, but settles back against the pillow. Tadashi does contemplate going back to sleep for a few moments afterwards, but he’d take all the exhaustion in the world to watch Tsukishima sleep, so vulnerable and quiet. He doesn’t go back to sleep, then.
Tsukishima wakes three minutes or three hours later, Tadashi can’t discern, when Tadashi’s mother arrives home from work and parks in their driveway. The beep from her car lock startles him slightly, and golden eyes slowly open.
“Sleep well, Tsukki?” is the first thing Tadashi asks, once Tsukishima has had a few moments.
Tsukishima rubs at his eyes, not bothering to cover up his yawn. He nods, then, and asks “glasses?”
Dutifully, Tadashi hands them over, letting himself shift slightly closer to the warmth of Tsukishima’s body next to his own. He can’t help himself—he cranes his head up slightly, meeting Tsukishima in a languid kiss, as if to ease him into being awake. Nothing comes of it, no real arousal, no ulterior motive. Tadashi just loves Tsukishima, loves him so completely, loves having him here. They kiss like this until Tadashi’s mother knocks at her son’s bedroom door.
Both of them quickly scramble to pull the blankets higher up, and Tadashi croaks “come in, mom!” He hopes embarrassment is not evident, but he suspects it must be.
Since she’s his mother, and generally unbothered, she takes a step towards his bed and ruffles his hair, pressing a small kiss of her own to the top of his head. Thankfully, she doesn’t point anything out if she notices it. She does, however, inform them that she brought breakfast for the both of them, and that if they want to eat it while it’s warm, it’s in their best interest to head downstairs soon.
Tadashi groans upon her exit, the door left open in her wake. He’d stay in bed for an eternity, but the open door is going to bother him for all of that eternity, so he pushes up on the mattress and lets his feet hit the floor, giving a yawn of his own.
Tsukishima lies there still, gazing up at the ceiling. As much as Tadashi loves to sleep, Tsukishima has his moments of difficulty when it comes to waking up, too. It’s just one of tens, hundreds, thousands of endearing things about Tsukishima, if you’d ask Tadashi.
By the time he finds a suitable shirt, Tsukishima has mustered the strength to get up and pads down the hallway towards the bathroom, eyes still closed with half-sleep.
When he returns to Tadashi’s bedroom, shoulders slightly slumped from sleep, and reaches two fingers under Tadashi’s chin, guiding him in for another kiss, Tadashi doesn’t dare hesitate.
In fact, he debates pulling Tsukishima back to bed, but decides against it when his stomach rumbles, reminding him that he is, in fact, incredibly hungry.
(That doesn’t stop him from dragging Tsukishima back to bed after breakfast, though, and Tadashi does exactly that once they’ve finished.)