Work Text:
Yamaguchi arrived with someone. Kei can see them through the small crowds of people mingling; they’re laughing, clearly close. Kei hasn’t seen this person before, why would Yamaguchi bring a stranger? This event was for the Sendai Frogs and business associates, not Yamaguchi and whichever date he chooses to bring along.
Yamaguchi throws his head back in a full-bodied laugh, cheeks flushed, smile glittering in the warm light. Kei feels himself crumpling up as Yamaguchi lifts the hand that isn’t wrapped around a champagne glass to rest momentarily on the stranger’s shoulder, steadying himself as his laughing pulls him forward. He bows into the stranger’s space, face hidden from Kei’s view, shoulders hunched and shaking with mirth. Yamaguchi finally pulls back his hand from the stranger’s shoulder and wipes an invisible tear from his eye. Kei watches his lips move, his voice inaudible over the sounds of the party. The stranger flushes and Kei feels bile burn his throat. He wants to throw up.
His drink is cool in his hand, condensation dripping down the glass and bleeding onto his fingers. Yamaguchi had no reason to not bring a date; he’s well within his rights as a single man in his twenties. Kei knew this, but that didn’t stop the knife he’d planted in his own chest years ago from twisting further into his lungs. Whatever. If Yamaguchi was going to ignore him the entire night, he might as well find someone to drown his sorrows in. He threw the rest of his drink back and turned away from the happy couple.
—
There is a balcony that overlooks the city skyline— it was the main reason the event is hosted at this venue. Kei sets his glass down on a standing table and leans on the concrete barrier that separates him from the empty night air. Awkward attempts at flirting with acquaintances have ruined whatever chance he could’ve had at forgetting about Yamaguchi and his lame date. He wants to leave.
Footsteps break the soft quiet of his reprieve. He turns around, and before anything resembling hope can bloom, the non-existent bud is squashed when he sees Kyoutani standing a few feet away, looking askance.
“I didn’t see anyone out here,” Kyoutani says.
“Well, I am.”
“I can see that now, asshole.”
Kyoutani grumbles and situates himself next to Kei, back to the concrete barrier, facing the warm glow of the party. He looks… more troubled than usual.
“Is he here?”
Kyoutani’s expression scrunches like he’s constipated. “Yeah.”
Kei nods in understanding.
Kyoutani, Kei reasons, is probably the one person in his immediate social circle that can recognise what his current situation regarding Yamaguchi is like. Which is why, against his better judgement, he decides to reach out for Kyoutani’s collar and pull him into a rough kiss. It’s sloppy, uncoordinated. Kyoutani slides his hand up and into Kei’s hair and pulls him down to deepen it. There’s too much tongue and not enough warmth, but Kei tilts his head and wraps his arm around Kyoutani’s waist. Blood is rushing in his ears, the sound almost deafening in the quiet. Almost.
“Tsukki?”
He closes his eyes tighter and presses further, pretending he doesn’t hear the catch of hurt in the voice. Footsteps, harsh against tiled flooring. Hands on his arm pull him from his misguided embrace. Anger.
“Kei, what the fuck?”
Yamaguchi stares at him with brows low and eyes wide, the face of furious incredulity. The hands on Kei’s arm hold him in a vice grip. Yamaguchi is waiting for him to speak.
“You’re interrupting us.”
Yamaguchi’s nostrils flare, and he rips his hand from Kei like he’s been burned. He finally turns to Kyoutani like he can’t look at Kei for a second longer. Kei follows his gaze to see Kyoutani focused on something past Yamaguchi’s shoulder, something Kei can’t see when he glances to the party indoors. Silently, Kyoutani shoves past Kei and Yamaguchi and disappears into the yellow glow. Kei looks down to see Yamaguchi’s eyes back on him, flames licking at his neck.
“What the hell was that?” Yamaguchi looks like he’s searching for something. Kei is too.
“You saw what it was.” His voice sounds hollow to his ears. He knows what it was. Yamaguchi can’t.
The man before him sighs and presses his fingers into his brow, like he’s trying to prevent an oncoming headache. Kei knows this is his doing, he’s driving the knife deeper. Yamaguchi’s eyes harden, the previous emotions swimming in them slipping away to reveal a stone base.
“I’m taking you home, Tsukishima.” He tugs at Kei’s sleeve, like he doesn’t want to touch him anymore. He’s still burnt.
“Sorry,” Kei murmurs. He lets himself be dragged back into the yellow, back into the party where, no doubt, Yamaguchi’s date would be.
“Whatever.” Yamaguchi continues to the exit, not bothering to search for his date. Kei takes it as a win, even as Yamaguchi’s hand claws around his cuff, giving away his anger at Kei.
Before he’s pulled into the lobby, Kei catches a glimpse of shaved blond and light brown, a hand balled on a chest, an argument. The knife twists with Yamaguchi’s hand as he pulls Kei from the yellow-lit room into the burgundy hall, into the old elevator and out into the crisp night air. He tries to breathe it in, to find momentary peace but Yamaguchi yanks him into a cab and gives directions to his own apartment; it’s closer than Kei’s. He wishes this scene were under different circumstances.
Yamaguchi is pressed against the opposite door, elbow planted on the armrest and chin on his hand. His fingers are cupped around his mouth but does nothing to hide the scrunch of his brows and narrowed eyes. Yamaguchi’s other hand is draped over his crossed legs, hidden from Kei’s view. His body is turned away, like he’d rather fall out the car than share it with Kei.
Kei’s head lolls against the cool window. The city lights cast alternating oranges and whites as the cab navigates his way to the less busy downtown. Yamaguchi’s neighbourhood was always quiet. Peaceful.
“‘M sorry,” Kei mumbles to the glass. He hears Yamaguchi shift.
“You’re drunk.” Kei doesn’t know what that has to do with anything. Yamaguchi hasn’t finished.
“You’re also an idiot,” he says softly. If Yamaguchi spoke louder, Kei thinks he’d be able to hear whatever emotion simmered beneath the statement. But he can’t. Yamaguchi’s voice is soft.
“You don’t even know what you’re apologising for, do you?” Kei tracks the trees that line the passing footpath. Yamaguchi’s voice is soft and Kei hates himself.
He doesn’t reply and Yamaguchi shifts again, turning away from Kei.
—
Koshiro Mori is one of Tadashi Yamaguchi’s closest work friends. That is to say, Tadashi and Koshiro-kun work in the same department and they get lunch three times a week because their breaks line up so, obviously, they’d spend it together rather than eat alone. Tadashi likes to think that he and Koshiro-kun get along swimmingly— during lunch they talk about that week’s episode of whichever show they’ve decided to pick up, they both like similar music, have the same sense of humour.
Upon first meeting, Koshiro-kun reminded Tadashi a lot of Shoyo, with his sunny personality and seemingly endless optimism. He is a lot taller, though, with neat brown hair that could never match the orange chaos that sits atop Shoyo’s head. All in all, Koshiro-kun is a cool guy. So, when a company email had gone around their sector notifying everyone of a Iris Koyama-Sendai Frogs Corporate Soirée, of course Tadashi didn’t hesitate when he offered to accompany Koshiro-kun to the evening, considering Tsukki would most likely be busy dealing with his own coworkers and other party-goers wanting to spend time with Sendai’s own Clever Middle Blocker.
They’ve been at the party for at least an hour by now, having arrived somewhat late to avoid the awkward trickle in. The evening is currently in full swing and Tadashi hasn’t caught so much as a glimpse of Tsukishima. He’d briefly seen him hanging around the bar a few minutes ago, but the blond was dragged off by one of his teammates before Tadashi had the chance to reintroduce Koshiro-kun. He’d tried to wave to Tsukishima too, when they first spotted each other through the crowd but he must not have seen the movement. At least Koshiro-kun is having a good time.
“Tadashi-kun! A drink for you!” Koshiro-kun breaks through the crowd to hold out a bubbling champagne flute for Tadashi to take, which he does gladly. Koshiro-kun takes a sip of his martini. “And for me! Hey, thanks again for coming with me, I didn’t realise how intimidating the Frogs associates would be.” He laughs lightly. “I think they can smell fear, you have no idea how much I was sweating during the wait at the bar.”
Tadashi smiles and sips at his champagne. He leans slightly to look at the bar where Koshiro-kun had come from. He spots a few Koyama employees and recognises some of Tsukishima’s teammates mingling under the lowlight. At the corner of the bar, someone— one of the newer Frogs players, he realises— is nervously stealing glances at Koshiro-kun’s back. Tadashi looks back to his friend.
“I think you might have an admirer, Koshiro-kun,” Tadashi teases, nodding to the bar.
Koshiro’s eyes go wide and he whips around to search the bar, meeting the gaze of the man who looks startled to have been noticed. He ducks his head down, cheeks visibly red from where Tadashi is standing. Koshiro-kun turns back, equally red and clearly shell-shocked. Tadashi grins.
“…I thought he was just being nice,” Koshiro-kun mumbles. Tadashi leans in to hear him better. “…He offered to pay for my drink, Tadashi-kun!”
Tadashi throws his head back in laughter at the absolute remorse in Koshiro-kun’s voice, perhaps it was the alcohol in his system but Koshiro-kun’s unwaveringly kind heart and somewhat oblivious nature is undoubtedly his best and worst feature, and a never-ending source of entertainment for Tadashi. He grasps Koshiro-kun’s shoulder for support, hearing the flustered Koshiro-kun mumble, “Oh my god, I’m so dumb, Tadashi-kun!” and let out his own embarrassed giggles.
“Oh—” Tadashi finally steadies himself, pulling his hand back to wipe the tears forming in the corner of his eye. “Oh, Koshiro-kun…” He laughs again. “You should definitely go talk to him, he’s been checking out your ass for at least five minutes now.”
Koshiro-kun flushes up to his ears. “Really?” he squeaks. Tadashi shoves at his arm.
“Yes! Go, go, I’ll just hang out with Tsukki.” He pushes Koshiro-kun by the shoulder, ushering him to the direction of the bar. He feels Koshiro-kun’s shoulder tense as the love birds make eye contact again.
“You know you want to…” he lilts.
“Okay! Okay, I’m going! Say hi to Tsukishima-san for me, please!”
“Will do! Have fun!” Tadashi cheers to Koshiro-kun’s retreating back. He rocks on his heels, cheeks warm from laughing. He waits a moment just to make sure his friend is in good hands.
Koshiro-kun shyly approaches the man at the bar, sliding his empty glass towards him. Tadashi can see him say something to the man, who smiles warmly in response. Koshiro-kun must have taken up the drink offer. Good for him. Tadashi turns away to seek out Tsukishima, thinking he caught a glimpse of a towering blond in his periphery.
The thing about this event being partly for Sendai Frogs associates is that, despite his height, Tadashi is definitely not the tallest in the room. He feels like a teenager again as he ducks and weaves through groups of towering volleyball players left and right, searching for the distinctive corn silk tone of Tsukishima’s hair.
As he narrowly avoids being run over by a waiter, Tadashi catches sight of the towering glass windows leading out to a dimly lit balcony where Tsukishima…
Tsukishima is kissing Kyoutani.
Tadashi feels heat rise up his neck and bleed into his cheeks. His heart drops to his stomach and something adjacent to shock swirls through his chest. Millions of questions rush through his head but he can’t seem to pay attention to them as he pushes through the remaining crowd and outside.
“Tsukki?” The fragile twang to his own voice breaks him from his daze. Tsukishima pretends he doesn’t hear him. He feels anger pique in the growing storm of his chest. He makes his steps fall hard against the tiles— he wants Tsukishima to pay attention to him. He reaches out and pulls Tsukishima away from the kiss, away from Kyoutani, clutching his arm desperately.
“Kei, what the fuck?” Anger shakes his voice and for a second, he sees Tsukishima’s eyes widen before they narrow. Mask on. Tadashi wants to scream.
“You’re interrupting us.”
He’s trying to be cold, emotionless. Tadashi can tell there’s something beneath it. It infuriates him. He rips his hand from Tsukishima’s arm, sick of his shit. He turns to Kyoutani who has yet to do anything.
Kyoutani isn’t paying attention to them, Tadashi quickly realises. His gaze is focused somewhere past him, toward the mingling crowds. Tadashi watches as Kyoutani tracks someone behind him, eyes widening in a rare show of worry before he wordlessly moves past Tadashi, past Tsukishima, and back into the party. Tadashi follows the movement, catching light brown hair and round eyes.
Fire fuelled, he looks back to Tsukishima, whose gaze is more despairing than he probably thinks it is. He doesn’t look down to Tadashi immediately and, for a moment, Tadashi can observe Tsukishima in the glow emanating from inside. His eyes look molten, like they’re seconds away from pooling and flowing down his rosy cheeks. Tsukishima looks down at him and Tadashi feels hot anger rise once more.
“What the hell was that?” He scans Tsukishima’s face, hoping he’ll give something away.
Tsukishima swallows minutely. “You saw what it was.”
Tadashi knows exactly what this is. He rubs at an oncoming headache; he is not doing this tonight. He steals himself, not letting the gold of Tsukishima’s eyes bleed into him.
“I’m taking you home, Tsukishima.” He tugs on Tsukishima’s sleeve, not wanting to indulge in the warmth of his arm.
“Sorry…” Tsukishima mumbles like a child in trouble.
“Whatever.”
Tadashi pulls him back through the party and outside. He texts an apology to Koshiro-kun before entering the elevator, who takes it in the best possible way and replies, “have fun!” with a winky face. Tadashi rolls his eyes and texts back the same before pocketing his phone. He pulls Tsukishima’s heavy body into the elevator, leaning him against the wall like a sack of potatoes.
Tadashi sits back opposite Tsukishima, observing his drunkenly calm state. Tsukishima has his head tilted back, resting against the metal wall, eyes closed and chest rising and falling steadily with slow breaths. He looks halfway asleep, ignorant to Tadashi’s churning storm of emotions. The elevator dings and Tadashi drags the sack of potatoes outside to the cab bay.
Out in the cool evening air, Tadashi allows himself a brief pause. He can hear the quiet sounds of the city humming around him. He takes a breath and waves to one of the waiting taxis.
“Thank you,” he mumbles when he opens the backdoor, climbing in before realising Tsukishima is still standing outside. “Ah, sorry,” he says to the driver, climbing back out to drag Tsukishima in by the arm. He closes the door once Tsukishima is seated. He tells the driver the address of his apartment before settling down into the surprisingly soft seat.
He doesn’t look at Tsukishima— he doesn’t want to look at him and risk seeing those big golden eyes, full of something between confused guilt and absolute sadness. He presses himself into the car door, wishing he didn’t have to be here, sharing the small back seat with Tsukishima. The car was too small for one, let alone two overgrown men. He can feel Tsukishima looking at him. He hates it.
He hears a soft thud of a head against glass, and Tsukishima speaks.
“‘M sorry…” His voice is muffled. Tadashi turns to look at him, seeing his face pressed into the window. Under different circumstances, he would have laughed.
“You’re drunk,” he replies, not sure if Tsukishima even knows what he’s apologising for. Tadashi certainly doesn’t, despite a few things coming to mind. Tsukishima pouts sadly at the passing street. Tadashi sighs.
“You’re also an idiot,” he feels his voice shake, vexation clawing at his throat. He swallows it down, hoping Tsukishima doesn’t hear how close he is to breaking. “You don’t even know what you’re apologising for, do you?”
Tsukishima is silent. The sounds of passing cars fill up the space where his answer should be. Tadashi turns back to his window. His street is coming up.
—
Getting Tsukishima back into an elevator and past the threshold of Tadashi’s apartment was much more of a challenge than Tadashi had hoped it would be. Tsukishima, near limp with alcohol and self-pity, flops down heavily onto Tadashi’s still too small couch. He’s half asleep as Tadashi pulls shiny dress shoes off of hanging feet. Tsukishima rolls into the throw pillow, glasses smushing up against his cheek.
“Oh, Tsukki. Here.” Tadashi takes the delicate frames off Tsukishima’s drooping face. He receives a barely audible “thank you” from the blond. Tadashi sighs as he puts them on the coffee table.
He heads to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water and some painkillers for Tsukishima’s probable hangover, absently wondering how much exactly he’d had to drink. When he returns, Tsukishima is staring at the ceiling.
“Sorry,” he mumbles once again and Tadashi feels something dislodge in his chest.
“Tsukki, for fuck’s sake, stop apologising to me!”
Tsukishima startles, like he hadn’t noticed Tadashi’s return. He sits up on his elbows, eyes wide and the most focused Tadashi has seen that night. He sets the glass of water and painkillers down beside Tsukishima’s glasses, avoiding meeting his golden gaze.
“Just… go to sleep, Tsukki.”
Tsukishima lies back down, still staring openly at Tadashi as he moves around the room.
“I didn’t know you were dating someone,” Tsukishima murmurs when Tadashi places a fluffy blanket over him. Tadashi stills, thinking he might have misheard. He continues tucking the blanket around Tsukishima’s broad form. Tsukishima speaks up again.
“You could’ve told me.” Tsukishima rolls to face the back of the couch, eyes dipping with oncoming sleep. Tadashi pulls the blanket up under Tsukishima’s chin, kneeling down next to the couch. He fiddles with a loose thread, frowning.
“Tsukki, I’m not— You think I’m seeing someone?” He looks at the slow rise and fall of Tsukishima’s chest under the blanket. It’s quiet for a moment. Tsukishima shifts, rolling to face Tadashi, who is now at eye level with him. He blinks blearily at him.
“‘re not?” His mouth is partially obstructed by the pillow. His eyes are so wide, Tadashi almost forgets he’s been upset at the owner of those eyes for most of the night. He drops his hand from the loose thread, folding it in his lap. He can feel something bubbling up through his chest.
“I’m not, Tsukki,” he whispers, the thing bubbling up to the back of his throat and eyes. He feels it push. His vision blurs. “Is— is that why you— Um—” His voice catches on Tsukishima’s open gaze. He feels warmth trail down his cheek. “I’m going to bed, we can— uh, if you bring it up, we’ll talk. Goodnight, Tsukishima.”
He gets to his feet far too hastily for his own liking or dignity, not bothering to glance back at the semi-conscious man on his couch. As he enters his room, he hears the faint murmur of Tsukishima’s voice from down the hall. He shuts the door.
—
When he wakes up, Kei’s brain feels like it’s pounding against his skull. There’s a glass of water and some pills on the coffee table next to his head. He sits up, looking around Yamaguchi’s barely lit apartment.
Wait. When did he…
Oh. Right. The memories of the previous night flood back into Kei’s mind like a burst dam. Did he make Tadashi cry? God, he feels like an ass.
The small living room is cold, the first light of dawn creeping in through the half-closed blinds. Kei sits against the back of the couch, knees up with the blanket still pulled up to his chin as he tries to organise his thoughts before Yamaguchi inevitably wakes up and walks into the living room.
“If you bring it up, we’ll talk,” Yamaguchi had said, and Kei remembers seeing the glitter of a tear fall from his chin as he stood from the floor. He remembers watching Yamaguchi retreat down the hall to his bedroom.
“Goodnight,” he had murmured to the barely visible silhouette of Yamaguchi’s back, just before he disappeared for the night.
He had fallen asleep not long after that, mental and physical exhaustion from the night finally kicking in.
And now, here he was, coming to the realisation that he had probably fucked a few things up. Yamaguchi probably figured out that he was a jealous asshole and now never wanted to speak to him again, justifiably so. He doesn’t even want to think about what happened with Kyoutani. He’ll text him after Yamaguchi cuts him off, apologise for potentially ruining his weird unspoken thing with Yahaba, maybe quit the Frogs while he’s at it, move out to Kyoto or Fukuoka, somewhere far away from everyone he’s ever known. Start fresh, change his name to—
“Ah, you’re already awake…”
Yamaguchi is standing at the threshold of the living room, like he’d halted just before entering upon seeing Kei’s conscious state. Kei swallows.
“Um.”
Yamaguchi sighs and finally crosses the threshold, walking to the kitchen. Kei tracks his movements from the couch. He looks tired; Kei thinks it has something to do with him. Yamaguchi clicks on the kettle before turning to the cabinet behind him. Kei watches as he automatically reaches for two mugs, one of which has a fossil pattern wrapped around it. Kei’s mug. Yamaguchi pauses when he notices the two mugs in his hands, the kettle clicks off and he shakes his head.
“Did you— I’m making coffee, if you want one.”
Kei puts the blanket aside and makes his way to the counter, sitting across from Yamaguchi. He’s already pouring two drinks. He slides the fossil mug over to Kei.
“Thanks,” he says. He takes a sip, milk and sugar. Even when he’s about to end their friendship, Yamaguchi is still thoughtful. Kei wishes he just gave him scalding black coffee— it would hurt less. Emotionally, at least.
The beginnings of sunlight start to filter in, painting the hardwood floors in orange stripes. Kei supposes there’s no other way to go about this.
“Who did you bring last night?” he asks, voice still rough with sleep and non-use. Yamaguchi nearly chokes on his drink, coughing harshly. He holds up a hand before Kei can even move to help.
“Gimme a second—” He coughs once more before settling. “Straight into it, huh. Okay.” He moves around to the other side of the counter, sitting next to Kei. He fiddles with the handle of the mug.
“Do you remember Koshiro-kun? You met him briefly at that barbecue last year.” Kei had been too busy paying attention to Yamaguchi in his tropical shirt and shorts to retain any social information from that July barbecue.
“Oh.”
Yamaguchi continues, “He was already planning to go, we just went together so we’d have someone to hang out with— I guessed you’d be off with your— uh teammates or something for most of the night. I didn’t think you’d be with them in that way but— uh—” He’s out of breath from speaking too quickly or from nerves, either way, Kei is accepting his position as the worst friend anyone could have. He waits for Yamaguchi.
“I’m just… Tsukki, I’m confused. I know alcohol can make someone act weird but you— last night you were so… It was like you wanted to be mean to me, and then you didn’t. You just kept saying sorry.” Yamaguchi is frowning at his coffee. Kei looks at the light on the floor. “There’s no point in apologising when you won’t tell me what you’re sorry for, Tsukki.” Yamaguchi’s voice is hard. Kei thinks it’s final. There’s a pause.
“What were you sorry for?” Yamaguchi adds softly, turning to look at Kei, the sunlight behind him creating a halo of sorts. Kei blinks the image away, trying to piece together his drunken logic of the night before.
“I could tell you were angry with me, and I wanted to make it better. I couldn’t, though. I don’t think I can, still,” he confesses, knowing that’s not the full truth.
Yamaguchi tilts his head, frowning inquisitively. “You didn’t do anything to me, aside from being an ass.” He shifts in his seat, continuing, “You should probably apologise to Yahaba of all people. I think he wanted to finally make a move.”
“Ah.” Kyoutani was prone to being somewhat self-sabotaging, a trait he and Kei frustratingly share. “I didn’t realise…”
Yamaguchi huffs through his nose. “Well, yeah, I figured. Still a bad move, though…” he trails off, waiting for Kei to give him a real answer to his question.
“I was jealous,” he whispers to his cooling coffee. Yamaguchi doesn’t react initially and Kei hopes he didn’t hear him. He risks a glance at Yamaguchi. He’s staring straight ahead, facing the stove top attached to the kitchen wall. His brows crease together, mouth turned down, processing what Kei had said. He turns slightly to Kei, eyes downcast and expression turning troubled.
“I don’t understand, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi says softly, nervously.
The air feels dense, weighing down on Kei as he realises where exactly this conversation has to go. It’s his own doing, he accepts, there’s no other way it could go after what he’s said these last 12 hours. The apartment is brighter now, the sun fully streaming in through the blinds, right into Kei’s eye if he looks past Yamaguchi’s anxious form. The dense air presses down on his lungs and forces his words out.
“Yamaguchi— Tadashi, I’ve been in love with you for years,” he says, the words drift away from him. He watches them float around Yamaguchi’s head. Yamaguchi looks at him with wide eyes, mouth slightly open. Kei braces himself for polite rejection, uttered softly and sweetly as Yamaguchi ushers him out of his home, never to be seen again, but leaving a jacket behind so that some part of him will remain to be shoved away into the back of a closet, or thrown out into a charity basket.
“…So you were jealous of Koshiro-kun… because you thought we were on a date… and instead of coming to talk to me, ev— even just to say, ‘Hello, Yamaguchi’— You didn’t even greet me last night, by the way!” Yamaguchi’s nostrils flare as his breathing becomes rapid. “So, in— instead of any of that! You go out and you kiss your teammate, who, I thought, you weren’t even on that great of terms with! When was the last time you and Kentaro Kyoutani, of all people, I don’t know, got lunch? A beer, even! And then, then, you finally acknowledge me— and you— you said I was interrupting you!”
Yamaguchi stands, storming away from Kei and toward the armchair that had Kei’s jacket. He begins mumbling angrily as he folds it.
“‘Oh, hey there Yamaguchi, don’t mind me, just making out with my teammate. Don’t mind us! By the way, is that your date back there getting picked up by the new libero?’ Oh, okay Tsukki, no worries, thanks for handling this like a functioning adult. Funny you mention my date, considering I didn’t bring one! My lovely coworker, however, is getting picked up by your new libero— he seems like a great guy!”
He turns abruptly to Kei. “And now you just— you drop that bomb on me? How long is ‘years’, Tsukishima? Huh? Since we were kids? Since uni? You— were you planning to just hold onto something like that?” Yamaguchi sighs, bone-tired. “How long, Tsukki?”
Kei stares at Yamaguchi. No matter how long they’ve known each other, Kei will never get used to the manner in which Yamaguchi chooses to speak his mind. Frustration, hurt, anger bleed into his expression, his jaw clenching as he stares at Kei. Yamaguchi’s chest is rising and falling with each breath, the sound of air being forced from his nose loud enough to fill the near-silent apartment, its only contestant being the blood rushing through Kei’s ears. Yamaguchi waits, eyes shining with each passing second.
Kei tries to swallow the lump in his throat. The air buzzes. Yamaguchi gives him time.
“I—” His voice catches. He clears his throat. “I realised when we were sixteen,” he says quietly, averting his eyes to his jacket, now scrunched in Yamaguchi’s arm. “I’m sorry—”
“For what, Kei?” Yamaguchi cuts him off, slowly walking towards Kei.
Kei’s mind is fuzzy, his self-deprecating logic breaking to pieces as he prepares to speak it out loud. He can’t look away from Yamaguchi’s fiery gaze.
“I—”
“You didn’t even ask me!” Yamaguchi yells, eyes wide and face flushed. Kei is too stunned by the outburst to process what he said.
“What?”
Yamaguchi stills, blinking as embarrassment overtakes his previous anger. His eyes flick between the window and Kei, nervous. He takes a breath and looks at Kei.
“You didn’t even think about how I felt, did you? You— you just assumed I didn’t like you back, didn’t you?” Kei’s silence is all the proof he needs. He rubs at his forehead, definitely chasing away a headache Kei has caused. “Jesus Christ, you’re impossible, Tsukishima Kei! Of course this is how it would go, fuck!”
Kei sits, unsure of what to make of the things Yamaguchi is saying. How would what go?
Yamaguchi, seeing Kei’s blank confusion, closes the distance between them, placing his hands on both sides of his face, jacket falling to the floor.
“Kei, I love you! I’m in love with you! I’ve been in love with you since we were kids! Everyone knows!” Yamaguchi pauses to catch his breath. Kei stares at him, mouth agape. Yamaguchi’s hands slide down to rest on his shoulders, and he meets his eye.
“Kei, I— You’ve never said anything, about— liking anyone. Even when I came out, you didn’t act any different. I wasn’t subtle, Tsukki. You didn’t return any of it, I would’ve— I wanted to—”
“I didn’t want to hurt you, Tadashi,” Kei finally finds his voice, grasping at Tadashi’s shaky hand, holding it tightly. “I’m not good—”
“You’re an asshole who can’t regulate his emotions, I’m aware.” Tadashi rolls his eyes. “Do you really think I wouldn’t have stuck around if I didn’t think you were good for me? Romantic or not, you’re still my best friend, Kei,” he says softly, squeezing Kei’s hand.
“Oh.” It’s so simple.
“Yeah. Oh,” Tadashi mocks gently.
There’s a lull.
“Tadashi?” Kei asks.
“Yes, Kei?”
“Can I take you to dinner?” he breathes out. “Not right now. Maybe eventually? Soon? I don’t—”
Tadashi places a soft kiss on Kei’s forehead, smiling slightly.
“In a week?” Tadashi rubs circles into Kei’s shoulder with his thumb.
“Yeah,” he sighs, a weight lifting from his chest.
Tadashi moves forward, enveloping Kei in a tight hug, chin resting on his shoulder. Kei’s arms move automatically, wrapping around Tadashi’s waist to reciprocate. Tadashi sways Kei in his seat gently.
“Sorry for being an asshole,” Kei mumbles into Tadashi’s shoulder, letting himself sway.
“There it is,” Tadashi laughs lightly, breath tickling Kei’s ear.