Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There are unwashed dishes in the sink, a few plates of leftover rice and bad stew from a few nights before sitting along the red composite surface. Tadashi dumps another bowl into the steadily growing pile of chores he has listed at the back of his head, but the looming disaster that has manifested under the guise of his recent break-up continuously tugs at the corners of his ribcage. He finds that breathing is becoming more and more difficult to do.

Their small apartment is quiet. It has been for a few days now. With Kei preoccupied with his volleyball practices and his being plagued with a constant state of depression, there is nothing else but the constant whirring of the electric fan from Tadashi’s unkempt room to keep him company. A small gust of wind whistles past the balcony adjacent to the small living room, the cool breeze creeping along the floors only to kiss his already freezing toes. He wiggles them against the surface, a shudder escaping through his shoulders.

“Cold,” he mutters, more to nobody rather than himself. He moves, albeit sluggishly, to slide the door to the balcony close. 

Autumn is almost always too relentless for Tadashi’s liking. A fever coupled with allergies are inevitable once the air grows colder over the nights. And this time of the year tends to make him blue, now bluer than usual after he got dumped by his now ex-boyfriend over the short weekend. Great.

He’s broken away from his sulking with a blaring phone call. Koganegawa-san (Frogs), the screen reads. He moves toward the kitchen counter before tapping the green button.

“Hel—“

“Yamaguchi-san!”

Tadashi winces at Kanji’s shrieking voice. A muffled gruff voice can be heard cursing at him for being too loud. Mad Dog, maybe? Tadashi briefly checks the time from his watch. A quarter past five in the afternoon. They should be at practice by now.

“Koganegawa-san,” he greets, trying to mask the strain in his voice. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“It’s Tsukki! He—“

Tadashi strains his head to the side to make sense of what Kanji is saying. He hears a faint thud followed by rushing footsteps and more unfamiliar voices. After a while, a voice finally speaks up, but it wasn’t Kanji this time around.

“Sorry about that,” Mad Dog—or Kentaro, rather—grumbles through the other line. “He’s freaking out about what happened.”

“Ah,” Tadashi replies, a bit confused now. “It’s alright, Kyoutani-san. Can I ask why you’re calling me, though?”

A few seconds of silence pass by, and Tadashi starts to briefly wonder if Kentaro had ended the call. From annoyance maybe? He can hear him shuffling a few steps before he speaks up again.

“It’s about your friend—“

Tadashi almost stiffens. “Tsukki? What happened?”

“Well—“ a pause, “we were having a practice match with another team from the prefecture, and I guess he landed on his bad foot? I don’t know what happened exactly, but we’re at the hospital right now ‘cause he fell pretty badly. His knee, I think it’s his left knee that got injured. Probably a torn ACL, I’m not really sure, but it’s bad. You’re his only immediate contact here in Sendai so we had to let you know.”

Tadashi blinks at his jagged reflection on the kitchen counter. There are bags hanging heavily under his eyes from lack of sleep. Silence seeps deeper into the walls to take root in every single corner of their apartment. Autumn has grown bluer.

“Thank you,” he finally manages to croak, “I’ll be there shortly. Please forward me the address of the hospital.”

“Okay, I’ll send it now. I’ll let our coach know you’ll be visiting. Sorry for the trouble, Yamaguchi-san.”

Tadashi swallows. “It’s fine,” he says. “Thank you, Kyoutani-san.”

The phone call ends just as swiftly as it came. Tadashi runs a hand through his hair, fiddling his fingers through the knots that have formed over the last few days. He makes sure to wash the dishes before leaving.

Kei stirs to the sound of two distinct voices, one rougher than the other who seemingly belongs to a troubled man of many years. A faint chuckle follows the clashing of two voices, somewhat familiar through the grogginess of the pain medication they administered prior to his sleep. There’s a dull ache coming from his left leg. 

“Tsukki?” 

The familiar voice grows louder, as if creeping near. Kei opens his eyes only to see Tadashi looming over the hospitable bed where he’s resting. He squints, mentally counting the freckles on Tadashi’s cheeks, a habit he’s grown to have during their middle school years. One, two, three, four…they litter across the side of his neck before disappearing underneath his sweatshirt. His eyes trail back onto Tadashi’s face.

“You look tired,” he mutters. The ache from his knee has traveled onto the back of his head. With closed eyes, he continues, “Have you been eating?”

A surprised yelp escapes Tadashi’s mouth. Behind him, two more familiar figures emerge, one out of worry and one more out of curiosity. Kanji’s bright highlight catches Kei’s attention after he opens his eyes again. His headache throbs against his temples, making his eyes gloss with tears.

“You’re alive!” Kanji dramatically shouts.

“It’s a knee injury, not a death sentence,” Kyoutani deadpans before nodding at Kei. “You good?”

There’s a pause before he responds, the dull ache from his left leg becoming more and more distinct as he rids himself of sleep. “Yeah, I’m good. Just—“ he gestures vaguely at his injury, wincing not from the pain but more from the sheer vulnerability of his current state. A blue cast is wrapped around his left leg to prevent him from any further movements, but it barely helps in suppressing the pain.

Kyoutani nods. “We’ll get going then,” he says, nudging Kanji at his ribcage. “Coach said he’ll visit you tomorrow after practice.”

“Okay,” Kei sighs. He pinches at the bridge of his nose.

Kanji takes another worried look at his leg before waving a hand goodbye. “Sorry about this, Tsukki.”

Kei shakes his head. “It’s not your fault, Koganegawa-san.”

Tadashi sees them out of the hospital room with a timid smile. Silence, it seems, is the companion of autumn’s arrival. Kei stares blankly at the needle lodged at the back of his hand as Tadashi shuffles around the room in the background. It’s always been like this with the two of them; Kei stays still, while Tadashi drags his seemingly bland routine to stir and collect memories on its own. 

“I already contacted your mom and your brother.”

Tadashi drags a chair from across the room towards the hospital bed. Kei turns to look at him, still quiet. He tries his best not to squint without his glasses, but Tadashi’s small grin as he does only proves his effort to be futile. He reaches over the small table resting beside the headboard before handing him his eyewear.

“They’re going to check up on you some time next week. Auntie asked me for a list of what you might need for recovery, but I wasn’t sure so I just asked her to bring over some of the usual supplies we’re running out of. I hope you don’t mind.”

Kei adjusts his eyes at the clearer view of Tadashi. “It’s alright.” 

He quietly notes the bags hanging heavily underneath Tadashi’s eyes, as well as his unkempt hair that is usually styled or neatly kept in a low ponytail. The last time they’ve seen or talked to each other was a week ago, partly due to their conflicting schedules, but more so from the fact that ever since Tadashi got a boyfriend, they’ve been seeing each other less and less.

Kei would be a chronic liar if he said the distance between them didn’t bother him. Because it did. A lot. He supposes it’s what eventually happens later on in life—friends will find lovers in place of the once constant presence comforting them throughout childhood, and the one left behind will cope through silence until what was lost is eventually gained back. He remembers his mother’s words before, about gaining friends and losing them; about losing pieces of them as they take bits from other unfamiliar people. Soon, silence will be replaced with grief, and grudge will only eat away at walls until familiarity is lost underneath piles of unwashed dishes and dirty clothes. Kei used to think the two of them are different, but maybe he became too confident with what they had before.

They were young boys together after all.

“What’s wrong?” Tadashi asks, a few moments after noticing Kei’s incessant staring. “Do I have something on my face?”

Kei blinks. “You look awful.”

“Ah,” Tadashi shifts in his seat. “Do I?”

“Yeah.”

Tadashi seems to think for a moment before finally supplying an answer. “I got dumped.”

“Oh,” Kei blinks again. The dull ache in his leg returns. He doesn’t know what to say. “My knee’s fucked up pretty bad,” he says a matter-of-factly.

“I can see that, Tsukki.”

“I fell,” he shares, “on my bad foot. The one that got sprained before our last nationals in Karasuno.”

“You slipped on ice,” Tadashi recalls, vaguely remembering the memory of seeing Kei’s swollen ankle before training. He had been called by a frantic Shoyo and an angry Tobio then, both too emotional to provide a proper explanation for Kei’s injured foot. Hinata was more worried after seeing Kei slip on ice himself, while Tobio’s plagued with the thought of losing their core blocker’s presence right before nationals. “Takeda-sensei forced you to take a two week break, but you were too stubborn.”

“It was a minor sprain.”

Tadashi stares at Kei’s cast. “Sure.”

Kei shakes his head, an amused smile on his lips. “Shut up.”

Their familiar rhythm thumps through the air. They both fall into place like two remaining jigsaw puzzles. A familiar tune hums along the walls, permeating through the floor and creeping up against the flowing curtains covering the windows. 

Kei watches as Tadashi gently plays with the hem of his sweatshirt. They don’t talk about the days they have lost, nor about the quiet months and the previous year in which their paths diverged. Not yet. Instead, Kei stays still while Tadashi moves in the background, picking up bits and pieces of memories they lost along the way.

When they were in their 2nd year in Karasuno, Kei and Tadashi agreed to be roommates for college. It seemed fitting and practical. Tadashi knows Kei like the back of his hand, and Kei doesn’t mind the balance Tadashi provides in his dull and stagnant routine.

The idea of moving to a bigger city for college is thrilling. For Tadashi, their new found independence will signify an unexplored chapter in their lives. Kei is indifferent to it all, but Tadashi is always a force that pulls; he leads them to collect memories along empty roads, like lost strangers wandering barefoot on barren lands. Tadashi tugs and tugs, ebbing and flowing while Kei lets himself get carried away. 

“Moss green,” Tadashi supplies after telling Kei about getting a green couch for their future apartment. “Or emerald green?”

Kei winces. “Let’s just stick to neutral colors. Cream?”

“You’re so boring.”

Kei sticks up his middle finger. Tadashi grins in delight, his freckles a plethora against the summer heat. Tadashi seems to glow brighter during this time of the year, his cheeks flushed bright against his tan, coating him in warmth. More freckles litter the expanse of his forearms. One, two, three, four…round jagged spots fill Kei’s vision as he continues to count in his head, noting the ones that seem special enough to pique his interest—like the one just below Tadashi’s adam’s apple or the one sitting on his mouth, almost a darker shade from the rest from his lip’s pinkish hue. What would happen if he takes it in between his fingers? Would it grow and fester against his skin? Tadashi would mark him as his, but the thought of it only rattles him, not yet too comfortable with the idea, but perhaps almost there. He satisfies himself with counting for now. One, two, three, four…

Tadashi’s growing out his hair. They’re thin and built upon unending layers, but they’re soft to touch and almost whimsical when the wind flows through. Kei wonders if Tadashi would grow it long enough for a ponytail in college. The idea of his inescapable future is almost unsettling, but Tadashi grounds him, just as he always does, pulling and pulling, always ebbing and flowing and carrying them away.

“Moss green,” Tadashi repeats as they’re walking home.

Kei hums. Moss green it is.

Two familiar faces visit their apartment after discharge from the hospital. Tobio swats the couch pillow with his elbow, earning him a slap on the arm from Tadashi while Hitoka helps Kei in adjusting his legs along the couch. Kei is flustered again, but there is warmth thumping in his chest for their efforts at helping him recover. This is better than being alone.

“In two weeks?” Tobio asks. He sits right beside Kei but with a few inches of space standing in between their shoulders, a sense of wariness from their youth that eventually evolved into a habit. “Why couldn’t they schedule it sooner?”

“They said the swelling needs to subside first. The tear has a chance of worsening if I go into surgery too early.”

Hitoka carefully places an ice pack onto Kei’s left knee. “Does this mean you’ll take the season off?”

Tobio physically recoils at the thought. Kei only shrugs. He hasn’t thought about it yet.

“How long will recovery take?” Tobio asks.

“Three to twelve months.”

“Damn.”

“Six months if I rehabilitate quickly.”

Tadashi purses his lips. “It’s not guaranteed though.”

“I know,” Kei sighs, allowing a beat of silence to pass by before adjusting the ice pack on his knee. “Can we talk about something else? I don’t want to think about anything yet.”

Tadashi pulls away at his rejection. The four of them swiftly fall into old habits. People from high school were brought up with discussions about past memories in Karasuno. Tobio stiffens at Shoyo’s name; Tadashi catches him sharing a glance with Kei, as if secrets between former rivals are now kept in a bulletproof safe. He wonders what it might be, if they have grown closer over the months. Does Kei keep secrets from him now? 

“He dumped you?” Hitoka screeches. “When?”

Tadashi bites the inside of his cheek, almost drawing blood. “Just last week.”

Kei lowers his head, listening quietly to Tadashi’s reluctant reiteration of his recent break-up. Mismatched priorities, he hears him say. 

“But I’m fine,” Tadashi says unconvincingly.

Tobio snorts. “You look awful.”

“What I said,” Kei adds.

Tadashi shakes his head at them. He talks about his ex-boyfriend with a lilt in his voice, as if he still longs for the bastard that barely had the decency to provide him a decent break-up. Kei tunes out his voice after a few minutes while refusing to look at him. He takes interest at the ice pack on his knee, his skin already numb underneath the cold fabric. He digs his thumb against his palm, misplaced irritation gnawing at the back of his head. If he moves, he’ll erupt into flames and scorch everyone else. Their apartment would burn into ash, but maybe he’ll choose to save the goddamned moss green couch. Or maybe he won’t. 

When he snaps back into reality, Tobio and Hitoka have already left.

Tadashi moves quietly along their living room as if all that surrounds him will break into tiny pieces if he creates a sound louder than the whirring of the ceiling fan. Kei is fast asleep on the couch, his face scrunched up in a perpetual scowl, an expression that replaced his usual deadpan stare from years ago ever since…ever since when?

Silence has taken root in their small living room too. It’s almost unseen from the color of their couch, but Tadashi is no stranger to it. He knows how drifting apart looks between friends, he’s seen it on Tobio and Shoyo before. But it shouldn’t be the same for them—and yet it is. Pushing and pulling, ebbing and flowing, like the waves of Okinawa that licked at their toes during their summer before college. Their skin was salty and littered with grains of sand, rough around the edges and never ending, but the waves returned shortly after drifting away. How long have they been at sea now?

Tadashi watches as Kei stirs around the moss colored couch, wincing awake when he accidentally bends his left leg to situate himself more comfortably along the space too small for him. Tadashi crouches to support him, one hand cupping behind his injured knee.

“It’s fine, Yamaguchi,” Kei mutters under his breath, still groggy.

Tadashi doesn’t respond. Kei quietly surrenders to his touch, noting how warm Tadashi’s palm is against his cold skin. Autumn always makes him blue.

“There,” Tadashi’s voice is almost a whisper. He places a throw pillow underneath Kei’s leg. “All good?”

Kei hums. His cheeks are almost rosy from Tadashi’s touch. Their apartment bleeds blue through the night.

Later, when Tadashi helps Kei walk into his room, a question stumps at their already drowning faith.

“Tsukki.”

“Hm?”

“We’re good, right?”

“Yeah,” a pause, reluctant, “of course.”

“Okay.”

Another pause. The door frame creaks, a high pitched sound that trembles and breaks all that surrounds them into tiny pieces.

“I miss you—“

“Goodnight, Yamaguchi.”

The room around them festers and breaks. The moss colored couch ignites, bright enough to let others know that they have been lost at sea for a while. Their apartment bleeds through fire, but autumn grows bluer.

Chapter Text

Paper thin book pages crinkle against the silence. Kei’s vision is swimming with words almost too indiscernible to comprehend. The living room sits still, stagnant in his presence.

A half empty bowl of instant noodles rests on the small coffee table in the middle of the room. It’s ceramic and glistening under a strip of afternoon sun peeking from the curtains covering the small balcony. Silently, Kei continues to read some novel about an artist and its muse, almost too desperate to keep his brain working as he recovers away from school. Being alone has always been familiar and welcomed for him, and yet the silence in their apartment seems to only be tipping him off the edge.

He thinks about Tadashi and guilt pools at the base of his feet. Another page flips onto the next, but nothing seems to be making any sense. Words after words jumble together in his vision, but nothing is making any sense. Is he cruel the same way Tadashi is kind? Is his pride worth the loss of his youth? 

We’re good, right?

I miss—

Kei slams his book shut. The sound reverberates throughout the entire apartment, rattling the silence that has taken over half of their beings. Its roots retract, slowly inching away from the moss green couch and Kei’s ankles—it almost frees him a new man. But just as quickly as they crept away, a new seed plants itself along the ceiling to take root within the home they have built. It whispers to him, a quiet lull, an unsettling voice, urging him to pull and pull, to ebb and to flow.

The ache in his knee returns. A new strip of sunlight licks at their curtains, bleeding along the barren floor.

Akiteru was the one who suggested they go on a short vacation to Okinawa before they set off for college. Naturally, he came on the trip to accompany them. Kei thinks it was his own way of getting what he wants. He knows there’s a pamphlet of Okinawan beaches lying somewhere inside Akiteru’s room, waiting for its chance to be pulled out and feel the sticky air of the seaside.

“Our hotel’s right by the sea!” Akiteru beams. He’s already flushed from the heat, a trail of glistening sweat at the side of his head. “They offer different water activities during the day too if you enjoy any of that.”

Tadashi perks up. “Like what?”

“Paragliding, snorkeling, the likes. I think they also have that jet water thing.”

“Oh! Tsukki, let’s try that!”

Kei frowns. “I’d rather drown.”

Tadashi deflates, but a smile decorates his face the same way Kei stands tall—natural and unassuming. Tadashi always smiles at Kei, a beam of warmth licking at his cold, pale skin, and Kei receives what Tadashi has to offer with open arms. Kei’s eyes linger on Tadashi’s lips and the freckle on his mouth. 

From a distance, ocean waves ebb and flow, pushing and pulling, taking grains of sand along the shore only to reintroduce them to one another with new memories from the seas. They don’t stay long inside their hotel room after checking in. Tadashi vibrates with the heat as the bright beach calls out for him. He pulls at Kei, tugging at his wrist while Akiteru pulls out a pamphlet from the pocket of his backpack. Kei snorts when he sees it. Tadashi continues to pull.

“Look!” He exclaims, pointing at a nearby rock formation a few feet away from the shoreline. The water is shallow along its path. “We can take pictures there, Tsukki.”

Gently, Kei pulls away. Marks fade away from his wrist, a testament to Tadashi’s presence. He stares at his own pale skin, how it contrasts beside Tadashi’s tan, wondering if Tadashi would ever be selfless enough to bleed against his blankness. The sea attempts to lick their toes. Tadashi removes one of his sandals to dig his foot into the sand. 

“We can do it tomorrow,” he offers. 

“Okay!” Tadashi takes a step towards the water, testing its patience. He now holds both of his sandals in his hand. A lick of wave welcomes him, cold despite the heat, and almost unfamiliar.

Kei watches him, just as he always does, but he doesn’t follow. Not yet. Instead, he breathes in the warm, salty air and allows himself to relax against the grains of sand urging him to melt along the shorelines. Tadashi is now knee deep into the water, his shorts already wet as more and more waves flood in. Kei removes his sandals, a matching pair with Tadashi’s, before taking his first steps.

The sand welcomes him, sticky air pelting against his pale skin. He burns underneath the sun, but its warmth is almost too familiar. Tadashi sees him following and extends a hand, laughing as he almost stumbles from the pushing waves. Kei holds him, anchors him in his grip, steady and unassuming, just as he always does.

From across the shoreline, Akiteru watches them.

Quietly, Tadashi removes his shoes by the door. Quick yet light footsteps approach him. The small entryway presents him two familiar faces from their hometown. Akiteru stands tall beside his mother, grinning from ear to ear at the sight of him. His neatly cut hair is swept to the side, styled by a layer of gel that Kei used to hate back in high school but has eventually surrendered to during their freshman year in college. The memory aches in his chest.

“Tadashi-kun! Welcome home!”

Tadashi bows. Kei’s mother welcomes him with a light hug, slender arms wrapping around his broad shoulders. Grinning, she pulls away. Tadashi greets her enthusiasm with a curt smile.

“Auntie,” he says, “how have you been?”

“Good,” she smiles, the lines around her eyes growing more prominent as they pass underneath the entryway’s light. “I’ve brought some of the supplies you asked for. It’s on the kitchen counter.”

“Thank you, Auntie.”

“It’s the least we could do for you after taking care of our Kei. He’s been eating well hasn’t he?”

Tadashi nods. “I cook for him before I leave for school.”

The three of them slip into the living room just as Kei is adjusting himself against the couch, gripping the sides of his cast with his fingertips to keep the material in place. The swelling in his knee has subsided now, the occasional ache replaced with lingering pressure. A few days ago, he finally managed to walk around the apartment again without taking breaks.

Kei’s mother takes the seat beside her injured son. Tadashi steps aside to let Akiteru pass, but he only urges him to sit on his brother’s other side, grinning knowingly as if he’s aware of…something. Tadashi shrugs away his lingering gaze. The few inches of space beside him and Kei doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Nii-san,” Kei calls. “Sit down.”

“Okay, okay.” Akiteru surrenders, grinning like a wildcat.

Tadashi thinks Akiteru looks most like their mother, with the same ash brown hair and the same smile that makes their eyes disappear into crescents. His features are softer than Kei’s, but his loudness is always misplaced within his family. While Akiteru looks more like their mother, Tadashi thinks, Kei has definitely taken more after her. Quiet and almost unassuming, a certain softness to their edges smoothed out by passing years. Tadashi used to get pricked by his sharpness, always bleeding and aching along his skin, but he’s learned to smooth him out, spread him out against the sun and gently melt his sharp edges into lines.

“So, Tadashi-kun,” Akiteru starts as he takes a seat on a small beanbag, “I heard from Kei that you broke up with your partner?”

Kei stiffens. “Nii-san.”

“Oh!” Kei’s mother gasps, turning her attention to a flustered Tadashi. “What happened, Tadashi-kun? I thought you two were still together?”

Slowly, Tadashi shakes his head. “We broke up almost two weeks ago, Auntie.”

Akiteru cocks his head to the side. “How long were you with him anyway? A year?”

“Almost two years.”

Kei shifts uncomfortably. Here they go again. He tunes them out, blatantly ignoring Tadashi’s reiteration of his recent break-up for the second time. His voice is drowned amidst the attempt to dissociate. Instead, Kei focuses on the pressure on his knee, willing for it to ache so that he can have his own valid reason to disband their discussion and excuse himself. He digs the heel of his hand against the couch. Tadashi shifts ever so lightly, his hip grazing Kei’s knuckles, and it almost burns them, singeing the moss colored fabric of their couch. They almost ignite, but Kei pulls away, just as he always does, growing rougher along his rounded edges.

Kei’s mother reaches out to place a hand on Tadashi’s lap. “There will be others, Tadashi-kun,” she tells him, smiling knowingly, her eyes turning into small crescents. 

Tadashi tugs at the hem of his shirt and smiles at her. The small gap between him and Kei remains throughout the rest of the day, stretching until nighttime. It hangs heavily between the two of them, but they refuse to speak about it. They don’t speak at all. Instead, they revisit old memories to ease the tension that’s been burning through their solemn days, acting as if their makeshift home is not pestered with overgrown roots from the silence they refuse to cure. They visit Karasuno and volleyball from their youth, the azure waters of Okinawa and the rocks they took home to use as decoration for their apartment. The heat was merciless but the ocean remained kind. 

Tadashi spares a glance at the old rocks lined up along one of their bookshelves in the living room. Kei refuses to see them, opting to stay quiet and still, just as he always does. The memories ebb and flow, pulling and pulling, but they both stand still in silence. 

From a distance, Akiteru watches.

The room festers and breaks, but Kei desperately tries to fill the void with his lonely presence. It makes him mad. He wants to scream at the walls, at the ceiling and the moss-colored couch that taunts him with childlike memories from a few years ago, but he would only drown in flames and bring them all down if he does. And so he moves instead. Along the living room, along the kitchen and the balcony, along empty hallways lined with a thin layer of dust. He collects them with his feet and turns them into memories of lost days. He fills the cracks with dust, each one a makeshift raft. They are unbalanced and unstable to touch, but it is enough—almost.

Mornings without Tadashi are quiet. Their home is full of dust, festering and breaking. But Kei moves to repair the damages brought upon by their silence. He almost breaks, too, but warm food always waits for him by the kitchen counter, untouched by the brokenness of their walls.

He eats in silence.

There is a permanent stain etched on one of their rugs—the one that welcomes them by the entrance and sees them out during mornings. The story behind it is simple. They were freshmen when it happened, a pair of two eager college students coming home from their first party, both too drunk to comprehend the incoming ache in their temples. They stopped by a convenience store to purchase themselves a cheap bottle of iced coffee; Tadashi was the one who picked it out for them because Kei rarely drinks any type of coffee, so he’s mostly clueless about which brands taste the best. Unfortunately, they never got to drink any of it after Kei clumsily tripped on his feet by the entryway of their apartment. The stain was forgotten the next morning and the days after that.

Tadashi’s mouth almost tastes bitter. He removes his shoes by the door, the stain on the rug branded almost like a single continent on the world map. Its corners are jagged and some broken. He bites back a sigh. 12:37 AM, the wall clock reads.

He rounds the corner quietly, slipping past the living room to help himself with a glass of water. His throat is dry and almost aching. These past few days, he can’t seem to place where the ache is coming from—his limbs, his chest, his stomach—but he ignores it instead. The kitchen light flickers. There are unwashed dishes in the sink.

“Tadashi?”

Kei breaks the roots pinning them to the ground. Tadashi yields, following Kei’s voice into the living. He floats through the crawling silence along their walls. It grabs and bites into the air to fight for their place in their makeshift home. A ball rests inside Tadashi’s throat—why does it seem like he’s about to cry?

“Can we talk?”

Tadashi stills. “About?”

Kei blinks, almost too afraid to continue in fear of breaking apart the already festering home they have built. Tadashi returns his gaze, and they both stay still, staring back at each other in silence. Kei can see the freckles on Tadashi’s cheeks. One, two, three, four…they’re slowly fading away as autumn grows colder by the day. What would happen if he cups Tadashi’s freckles in his hands? Would they brand themselves against his skin? Or would they disappear as the days grow blue? He wants to pick them off with a careful hand. One, two, three, four…steadily, carefully, he would pick the freckle on his lip last.

Tadashi pulls him back. “Tsukki? What is it?”

Kei digs the heel of his hands against his thigh. “I wanted to apologize.” He swallows. “About what happened. Last week, I mean.”

“It’s fine, Tsukki—“

Kei shakes his head, cutting him off. “No,” he says, clenching his jaw. “I—It’s just—I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

Kei opens his mouth. He struggles to speak about the heaviness in his chest. Their silence stretches on and on. Tadashi used to be able to pull them together, but lately he’s found that it’s getting more and more difficult to move. Their memories are scattered across root infested floors. The more he tries to pick them back up, the more silence swallows them whole. 

“I was—“ Kei’s breath hitches in his throat, looking right at Tadashi. He starts to count his freckles again. Onetwothreefour—“I was angry.”

“At me?”

Kei nods.

“You should’ve told me.”

“I know. But I can’t—I couldn’t.”

Tadashi starts shaking his head. “I don’t understand you, Tsukki. You’re not making any sense.”

Kei stares at him indignantly. “I was angry at you—“

“But why?”

“You left.”

Tadashi staggers. He left? He stares at Kei. His eyes roam around his face; the way his eye twitches beneath his glasses, the way his cheeks flush red, shadowed by the light overhead, the way his lips part almost in awe. He dissects Kei’s words slowly. Each letter molds into daggers digging against his skin. He left? A laugh threatens to rip out of his throat. A heavy ball drops in his stomach. The room festers and glows. 

“You stopped talking to me.” Tadashi breathes as if he’s struggling to speak. He remembers the quiet nights that slowly creeped their way into their apartment; days where they barely looked into each other’s eyes. They used to be boys together until one day it stopped. 

“You stopped coming home.”

Tadashi almost breaks. He stopped coming home…why? It was suffocating, the silence. And so he left and turned to the only person he had. At least then his boyfriend provided half the comfort Kei used to give. He turned his back and ran away and let himself succumb to falling in love, or whatever else it meant at that time. It’s more or less irrelevant now.

“Don’t be unfair,” Tadashi almost gasps. “What else did you want me to do, Tsukki? You couldn’t even look at me in the eye. We could’ve talked.”

Kei abruptly shakes his head. He didn’t want that. No. What he wanted was too out of reach, too unrealistic even for him. He knows he can’t risk it, can’t risk their friendship. And so he let Tadashi find love somewhere else. But he didn’t know it would come to this—silence taking root inside the makeshift home they’ve dreamed of and built, pushing and pushing until they’re both tired enough to resist. He stares at Tadashi again. One, two, three, four…fading marks rest below his sunken cheeks. It shouldn’t have come to this.

“I—“ Kei starts, moving his leg slightly. Tadashi watches his discomfort. Without another word, he kneels by the couch and inserts a supporting hand under his injured knee, grabbing a throw pillow from the side with his free hand and placing it underneath for support. Kei almost leans into him. “I’m sorry.”

Tadashi doesn’t pull away from him. “Me too, Tsukki.”

Roots slowly retract. Dust filled cracks along their walls are no longer. Tomorrow, they will both clean what was left behind, but tonight, they let their silence heal them, bit by bit. Tadashi rests his head against Kei’s leg. 

“I think I was hurt,” Kei murmurs, one hand moving to thread along Tadashi’s hair. Tadashi closes his eyes at the familiar gesture. It’s almost comforting. “I’m not used to it. Not being around you. I think I was…”

“Jealous?” Tadashi lifts his head, grinning.

Kei glares at him. “Shut up.”

Denial doesn’t come. Tadashi knows there is more to it than what Kei is letting on, but he doesn’t peel away the layers that cover his unspoken secrets. Now is not the time for it. Not yet. Kei’s fingers trail along the side of Tadashi’s neck. 

“I missed you.” Tadashi sighs against his touch.

“I know,” Kei mutters. “I missed you, too.”

Roots slowly retract from their home. A bowl of warm soup welcomes Kei in the morning, their kitchen sink free of unwashed dishes. 

Chapter Text

The first time Tobio opened up to him, they were in their second year in Karasuno.

“Hinata’s leaving,” Tobio tells him. His announcement came so suddenly that Kei almost had a hard time digesting his statement. He turns to Tobio, the damp towel in his hands forgotten. “He said he’s moving to Brazil after graduation to switch to beach volleyball.”

Kei couldn’t think of a better word to say, so he states, “That’s dumb.”

Tobio hums, low and almost indiscernible. Of course it’s dumb, and very much impulsive too. But Hinata has a way with willing things to happen no matter how far-fetched they may seem. Tobio’s eyes move swiftly across the gym where the others are practicing. Kie mirrors him. Tadashi is standing with his right foot in front of him while he holds the ball above his head with one hand, preparing to do his jump float serve. 

“That’s what I said.” Tobio comments.

Tadashi’s palm hits the ball with a loud thud! The ball rapidly floats through the air, refusing to spin. From the other side of the court, Shoyo waits. There’s a certain glint in his eyes, one that refuses to let his determination waver despite their losses. He takes a step to the right, holding his arms out and planting his feet in place just in time for him to hit the swerving ball. It spins through the air as it bounces off his outstretched arms, and cheers erupt. Kei spares a curious glance at Tobio.

“Why don’t you try stopping him, then?”

Tobio shrugs, lowering his gaze to the ground. Kei swipes the damp towel over his forehead.

“I don’t think I should.”

“You’re actually thinking about your decisions now? That’s a first.”

“Fuck you. This is why I hate talking to you.”

Kei mockingly smiles at him. Tobio’s shoulders tense up, preparing to shout profanities at him, but the obnoxious cheering from the other side of the gym—Shoyo’s loud voice and his shameless comments about Brazil—stumps at the fire in his chest. Kei recognizes the edge in the way Tobio is carrying himself; the way his irritation bubbles up for some unknown reason, except there is a reason behind it, he just wouldn’t accept it. It’s the type of irritation rooted below their shuffling feet. It eats away at their flesh, consuming their hatred until the core is exposed, and their grief is laid out flat for everyone to see. Would he be just like Tobio if Tadashi’s the one who’s leaving? A life without Tadashi feels almost like a betrayal—something worse than a samurai mercilessly beheading his opponent. He shakes the thought away.

“You know,” Kei starts. A small gap rests in between their shoulders, “it’ll probably make you feel better if you try talking to him. At least let him know your opinion about his stupid decision instead of sulking away and bothering me.”

Tobio grunts. “That’s easy for you to say, you stupid four-eyed freak.”

“How?” Kei raises an eyebrow, ignoring his poorly-worded insult. 

“It’s not like you have to worry about these things with Yamaguchi.”

“What’s he got to do with this?”

“Because,” Tobio carefully says, pondering over his words as if he’s threading a needle. “Yamaguchi cares about you enough to not be like Hinata and leave. And it’s not like you’ll let him.”

Tobio shifts on his feet. His hands are stuffed inside the pockets of his Karasuno jacket, but Kei can see how tense his balled fists are from the inside. A few inches of space remain in between the two of them. Despite the gap, an understanding passes through their silence; an agreement of sorts. Tobio may be better than Kei in a lot of things concerning talent and skills, but perhaps Kei is braver than him—brave enough to realize that staying is synonymous to commitment, and falling in love means to push and to pull, ebbing and flowing. Tadashi may move mountains for them, but it is Kei who pulls the waves, anchoring them in his grip and never letting go. Tobio is not like him.

A beat of silence passes by. “Why are you telling me this?” Kei asks almost incredulously. “Go back to being a jerk. You’re much better that way.”

“Shut up,” Tobio bites. “You’re probably the only one who can understand whatever the fuck I’m feeling. I would’ve strangled you already by now if that wasn’t the case.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Fuck you.”

Ryunosuke and Yuu guffaw loudly while interrogating one of their new first-year recruits. Shoyo joins in on their chaos, and Tobio’s eyes linger on his back. Tadashi takes a few steps behind to detach himself from the group. He turns to where Kei and Tobio are standing side by side and jogs over to them. Kei watches him quietly. One, two, three, four…he shifts his weight from one foot to another. Tadashi returns to his side with a smile, his skin damp with a thin layer of sweat, but Kei still welcomes his heat. Tobio turns to him. He tilts his head as if to say see? and Kei almost breaks into a grin. 

He anchors Tadashi closer to him, always steady and unassuming.

“I’m taking the season off.”

Kei’s voice is muffled, his words bouncing off every wall until they flow into the kitchen where Tadashi’s washing the dishes. Carefully, he picks up their glasswares and places them in a neat line across the stainless drying rack. Small droplets of water drip along the composite sink. He doesn’t respond. Ache pulsates through the air where Kei’s voice traveled, and Tadashi absorbs them into his skin like a dish sponge. He squeezes himself tight, lets himself drip along the composite tile to dispose of the grief.

Kei would never admit it, but his unfortunate injury bothers him more than he lets on. Tadashi sees it with the way he would stare off in the distance after dinner, his eyes almost hollow and empty. After he woke up from his surgery a few days ago, Tadashi could barely hold a proper conversation with him. A neat horizontal line of stitches now embeds itself above Kei’s left knee. There is mild redness around the incision, his skin almost swollen from the tenderness of the wound. 

Tadashi wipes his hands with a clean towel. He drags himself into their small living room.

“The entire season?” he clarifies.

Kei nods, the hollow feeling in his chest multiplying tenfold. It’s weird for him to feel this much grief over not being able to play a sport in a small amount of time. He wonders if this is what Shoyo felt during their first trip to the nationals, when he had to be pulled out from their match against Kamomedai due to a raging fever that stripped him of his ability to jump. Was it as painful as this? As hollow as this? Did the ache travel through his skin and wrapped itself around his voice? Was it hard to speak as well? Did things ever go back to the way it was?

Tadashi reaches down to pick some of his textbooks from the coffee table, rearranging them at the side before moving Kei’s crutches to occupy the rest of the space. Quietly, Kei watches him. Silence still trails behind them during passing moments, but it’s not as gripping as before. Kei wonders if the certain awkwardness in their limbs would ever allow them to relax again, just as they were before when they were younger. They were awkward as kids, too, but curiosity and a certain type of grief molded them together to become an inseparable pair. Would it be the same now? Would this awkwardness bloom into loyalty once again? Would grief in the form of ruptured ligaments and muscles give way to more memories they can pick up from the ground?

“Tadashi.”

“Hm?”

Heat spreads across Tadashi’s chest. It’s not everyday that Kei calls him by his first name. They’re certainly close enough to be on the first name basis, but there is always a certain type of intimacy to it when they do. Tadashi used to dream about it when they were still in high school—disposing of Tsukki in place of Kei—but the boldness of it made his fingers numb.

“I think I’m not okay.”

Tadashi lets out a small huff of breath. He stares at Kei—at the lines below his eyes, at the rim of his eyeglasses and the reflections in them, at his chest that rises and falls rhythmically, at the braces wrapped around his left leg, at the line of stitches embedded on his skin—but he seems so far away. His candidness sinks into their couch. It almost takes root into their walls, but Tadashi moves closer to him to fill in the gaps that threaten to grow. He sits beside Kei, one hand resting on his thigh. The cotton fabric of his shorts is soft to touch. 

“Tsukki,” Tadashi leans into him. His voice dips into a whisper. “It’s alright.”

Kei nods, swallowing thickly. He knows. “I know.”

“You can still play.”

“I know. But—“

“But?”

Kei looks at him. Years of their youth come slamming all at once like tires breaking along the highway. Kei’s eyes are almost brimming with unshed tears, but they all refuse to fall and caress his cheeks in fear of slicing him open. He looks almost like the little boy that once sunk beneath the grief of betrayal—he looks almost like himself in middle school, wide-eyed and swimming in grief as Akiteru burns a hole right through him. Tadashi takes his fingers in his hold.

“I think I’m scared.”

“It’s alright to be scared, Tsukki. It’s normal to feel scared. But you’ll recover eventually as long as you do as you’re told. You have to trust the doctors and your trainers.”

Kei relaxes his palm against Tadashi’s fingers. They’re so close to each other now, their noses almost touching. Kei swallows thickly. One, two, three, four, five, six…his eyes trail along Tadashi’s neck. The expanse of his skin is littered with more freckles. It’s as if a few of them disappeared from the bridge of his nose to escape autumn’s chill and migrated to someplace warm—the heat of his neck. Tadashi runs a finger against his cold palm.

“Were you scared, too?” Kei lowers his gaze to their hands. Tadashi’s fingers are rougher and wider than his. If they press them together, Tadashi’s entire palm would almost engulf Kei’s slender fingers. “When…when he left you, I mean.”

Tadashi shifts against the couch. Slowly, he pulls away. Kei immediately aches at the loss of contact, but he doesn’t show. 

“Kaito?”

“Mhm.”

Tadashi thinks for a moment, measuring the amount of information he’s willing to give now that Kei is asking. They’ve always been open to each other, laying each of their flaws and worries bare on the ground. They’ve bloomed and wilted all the same, but the familiarity that walks along barren soil remains constant. Still, this has always been an uncharted territory for them. Kei is almost always to set ablaze at the thought of Tadashi’s old love; Tadashi is almost always too ashamed to admit that he chose wrong when he decided to look for love elsewhere.

“I think so,” Tadashi half-heartedly supplies. “I mean, it felt like shit when he…when he left. But—I don’t know. I wasn’t really able to think or process the break-up that well. You got injured immediately afterwards so…”

“You loved him,” Kei mutters.

Tadashi could only hum. Yes? Maybe? He shrugs, scooting closer to Kei.

“He was kind to me,” he says instead. “And he kept me company when we, uh, kind of stopped talking to each other. So—yeah.”

“Yeah…” 

Tadashi turns to him. “You never liked him.”

“I tried to,” Kei tenses up slightly in defense. “I thought you were too good for him.”

“You met him once, Tsukki.”

“That’s all I needed to render judgment on his character.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

“I’m not,” Kei scowls, then he meets Tadashi’s searching eyes, slowly relaxing against his warmth. “He laughs at you. Whenever you get emotional. Sometimes I would hear you talking to him then on the phone, and he would always laugh at you when you’re trying to open up about your feelings. It didn’t sit right with me. I—I guess I hated it. Hated you too for letting yourself get treated like that. That’s why I, you know…left.”

“It hurt.”

“I know.”

“I think that scared me more. When we stopped talking to each other. It felt like nothing would ever go back to the way it once was.”

Kei takes a pause, gathering himself by weaving Tadashi’s words into the hollow space in his chest. Tadashi releases his hand. Grief stains his voice the same way store-bought coffee stained their front door rug; there is an edge to it, a scratch that can’t be cleaned away by rigid sponges. Kei knows of his worries; he’s familiar with them, he’s had them the moment he decided he couldn’t look Tadashi in the eyes. It was necessary because it made everything hurt less. But things were never the same as before. 

Kei shifts slightly on the couch. “I—“ he starts, but his words are drowned inside the hollow space of his chest. Letters tumble rapidly into his stomach, sinking down hole after hole until they disappear into a stretch of abyss. Should he apologize again? Tell him that he was cruel because he was hurting? That the only way for him to save himself from the pain of falling love is by leaving? 

They stare at each other for a few passing seconds. Tadashi smiles—gentle and understanding, just as he always is. He takes Kei’s fingers into his hand once again, pulling him closer despite his rough edges. He pulls and pulls, and the waves quietly return, ebbing and flowing, pushing and pulling against their skin. The sun is warm and almost painful to the touch, but Kei’s edges grow rounder and gentler. He melts against Tadashi’s hold, grounding him and steadying their feet along the shore. Summer melts into a small puddle, taking root beneath their moss-colored couch, and autumn arrives with a whisper. They are cold and blue, but there are much better things to worry about.

Kei starts to count again. One, two, three, four…Tadashi squeezes his hand. He supplies a quiet smile, as if to say that he knows, that he’s always known. But today, there are much better things to worry about. Kei nods, hopeful yet understanding. Slowly, he pulls away, but not far enough to lose sight of Tadashi out in the sea. He stays this time, limbs and muscles aching from the slight unfamiliarity in their touch. 

“Nevermind,” he says. “It’s nothing.”

Tadashi nods. He knows.

Kei lies on his bed with a low grunt. Tadashi places his crutches near the foot of his bed frame. Kei removes his glasses before placing them on his desk. The lights are off; Tadashi did not bother to open them.

“I didn’t mean it,” Kei tells him while his eyes adjust to the dark. He cannot see Tadashi, so he continues, “when I said I hated you. At that time, I think I was hurt, too. And scared. I don’t know. I thought you abandoned me.”

“You know I would never do that.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I undertsand, Tsukki.”

“I don’t think I could ever hate you.”

Tadashi smiles. Kei doesn’t see. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

They ignore the possibility his statement might entail. After all, there are much better things to worry about now.

Chapter Text

Kei traces his index finger along the stitches on his knee. 

“Phase one more or less deals with the restoration of your mobility so you won’t be doing any heavy liftings yet,” Chikara informs him as he examines Kei’s knee. He moves closer to observe if there are swellings around his wound. “As far as the first phase goes, you can do light walking exercises first. What did your doctor say about using crutches?”

“I can walk without them now,” Kei tells him. “But I still have to have my braces on.”

Chikara nods. “You’ll have to wear them until next month if I remember correctly. Did your therapist provide you with your leg exercises?”

“Yamaguchi has a list.”

Chikara breaks into a grin. “Of course,” he says, nodding. “I’m assuming he’s been taking care of you well? Based on the minimal swelling of your knee.”

Kei nods. He wasn’t supposed to be here, but Tadashi insisted on calling Chikara for additional help the other night after his official therapist and doctor gave the green light to start the rehabilitation process for his knee. At the same time, Tadashi emphasized how this might be a great learning opportunity for their senior considering he’s just started his internship a few weeks ago. Kei is not even that close to Chikara. If anything, he’s closer to Yuu despite his obnoxious habits after the former libero dedicated his spare time teaching him more about the fundamentals of receiving as some sort of a parting gift during his senior year in Karasuno. 

“He’s been, uhm, researching a lot,” Kei informs him, “about my injury. But there’s only so much he can do. So.”

“Yeah, I get that. The process can be complicated. Not to mention all the unfamiliar terminologies probably thrown at you during check-ups.”

“Yeah…”

Kei dips his head and starts to fiddle with his fingers. It’s a habit he’s refused to outgrow after Tadashi once commented about how the gesture is comforting to him. It’s familiar, he said. Kei bites the inside of his cheek. 

Chikara moves to the other side of the room. The interior is the same as any other hospital rooms. The only difference now is the amount of anatomy and physiology posters plastered across the wall. They’re much more colorful and vibrant than the ones in his physical therapist’s office. Kei stares at the poster about the skeletal system, finding the skeleton oddly amusing.

“Before I forget, if your knee starts to swell up again and an ice pack doesn’t work, there’s a couple of exercises you can do to manage he swelling such as—“

“Ankle pumps?”

Chikara grins widely. “Yes! How’d you know?”

“It’s in Yamaguchi’s notes.”

Chikara lets out an amused chuckle before shaking his head. “Of course.” He walks over to Kei and hands him a gel ice pack. He tugs at his knee brace’s strap, checking to see if everything is in place. “How is he by the way? Kaito told me about their break-up.”

Kei’s eyebrows furrow. “He told you?”

“Yeah,” Chikara nods, tilting his head slightly to look at him. His eyes are kind, the same way they have always been back in high school. But there is always an edge to them; a type of roughness that seeks to know more. On the surface, he’s your typical responsible friend that always chooses to stay on the right path, but Kei has always been slightly uncomfortable around him. It’s always as if he knows something about Kei that should only be kept inside a locked safe. “Almost all of us are well acquainted with him. Yamaguchi would always bring him to our weekly lunches when they were still together.”

“Ah.” Kei nods. Was he ever invited to those? He used to be. But he stopped coming after the second get together. That was over a year ago. 

A beat of silence brushes past them. Kei shifts his legs against his seat while Chikara burns a hole right through him. He’s always been too quiet and too observant for Kei’s personal liking.

“What about you, Tsukishima? How have you been?”

“Good,” Kei quips. He gestures at his knee. “As good as this can get.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“You should give it time.” Chikara says. “To heal,” he adds.

“I know, Ennoshita-san.”

“Him, too.”

“What?”

“Yamaguchi.”

Kei breaks eye contact with him. His heart hums against his ears. He shifts his limbs, trying his best to get rid of Chikara’s burning stare. Instead, he focuses on the tiled floor. A sense of wariness fleets its way into the room. He tries his best not to stiffen under his gaze.

“Uhm…” he trails off. “Sure, Ennoshita-san.”

Chikara puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing the base of his neck. “Not now, Tsukishima. Hm?”

Kei nods. Whatever that means.

“We should take the elevator.”

“Come on, Tsukki. This is good exercise! It’s just a few steps, I promise. Now, one, two, three—“

“This is too unnecessary.”

Tadashi takes a step back to look at him. Kei returns his deadpan stare; the two of them stand side by side, both stubborn and unrelenting in their wants. 

Tadashi points a finger at Kei’s uninjured knee. “Right leg first,” he states before gesturing at the flight of stairs in front of them. 

From the building’s lobby, a group of laughing teenagers wait patiently in front of the elevator. Kei spares them a quick glance to signal his thoughts. A loud ding! echoes through the hall, the young crowd disappearing in his line of sight. He sighs.

“You know my stamina is bad, Yamaguchi.”

Tadashi makes a face at him. “You’re a professional volleyball player, Tsukki.”

“I’m injured.”

“Recovering.” Tadashi corrects as if it makes a difference. “Now go on. Right foot first. Make sure to support your left knee when you take a step.”

Kei adjusts his stance before slowly ascending onto the short flights of stairs, surrendering quietly to Tadashi’s demand. All the while, Tadashi supports him from behind. His arm is warm against Kei’s back, the tips of his fingers brushing lightly against the side of his waist. It’s almost feather-like, the way Tadashi touches him. As if he’s ready to fall, break, and shatter into pieces any time. He makes sure to steady himself, so that Tadashi would at least be spared from going back to retrieve pieces of him along the path they have taken together.

“Does it hurt?” Tadashi asks as they reach the end of the first flight of stairs. “Tell me when it hurts.”

Kei purses his lips. “It’s fine,” he tells him. He grunts at their slow pace. Tadashi’s arm continues to support him. “We would’ve been at our apartment by now if we took the elevator, you know.”

“Shh, Tsukki.” Tadashi’s grinning when Kei looks at him. “You’re talking too much.”

“Just saying.”

“It wouldn’t be as fun as this, would it?”

Kei grunts as he takes another step, the routine of lifting his uninjured leg first to support his left knee becoming more and more familiar the more he repeats the action. “Does it look like I’m having fun to you?” He asks through gritted teeth.

Tadashi’s fingertips flutter against his waist. Kei almost stiffens. He stops midway, almost losing his balance, but Tadashi still manages to steady him, just as he always does. Kei remains steady and unassuming under Tadashi’s touch. He would’ve let himself melt underneath his touch, his skin bleeding ichor against the plain fabric of his clothes, but propriety pulls him back. It molds him to remain just as he always is—steady and unassuming. Chikara’s words return to him. You should give it time to heal. Tadashi nudges him.

“Tsukki? Come on. We’re almost there.”

“Ah,” Kei blinks through his glasses. “Sorry. I was just thinking about something.”

Tadashi’s grip tightens around his waist as they continue to walk up the last flight of stairs. Kei tries his best to not catch his breath. He’s almost suffocating; Tadashi is too near.

“About what?”

“You didn’t tell me Ennoshita-san’s friends with your boy—uh, ex. Your ex.”

Tadashi’s chuckle squeezed its way into their tight gaps. “Are you jealous, Tsukki?”

“No.” Kei quips. He pushes himself away from Tadashi’s grip as they reach the end of the stairs. “I was just asking. Ennoshita-san mentioned it when I had my check up with him. I was just curious. That’s it.”

“Okay, Tsukki. No need to get so defensive—“

“I’m not.”

Tadash hums, a tiny smile blossoming against his lips. Kei observes him by the corner of the staircase. One, two, three, four…is he jealous? Should he be jealous? He wonders if Kaito did the same thing as he does. He wonders if he ever counted Tadashi’s freckles, too, or if he were indifferent to them and ignored them whenever they would kiss. Does he know every little mark embedded on Tadashi’s skin? Did he bother to memorize all of Tadashi including his freckles the same way Kei did? Does that make Kei better than him?

Kei shakes his head before limping towards their doorway. He looks behind him for Tadashi, holding out his hand to ask for their keys. But Tadashi is a few steps behind him, and for a moment, the distance between them seemed to bring back roots of silence that once pestered their home. They crawl out from underneath the door, but Kei is quick to stomp at them.

“Keys?” 

Tadashi watches him quietly before stating, “They’re friends with Kaito, you know. Almost all of them.”

Kei raises an eyebrow. “Even Kageyama?”

“No,” Tadashi shakes his head before walking up to him and opening the door himself. “But that’s only because he’s busy.”

“Sure.”

Tadashi pushes himself inside. “And he likes you better,” he adds.

Kei stares at him incredulously. “What?”

Tadashi shrugs. “That’s what he said after I introduced them to each other for the first time. He said he likes you better.”

Damn that stupid volleyball freak. 

“He’s weird. Don’t listen to him.”

The two of them fleet across the hallway and into the small living room. Tadashi flicks open the light while Kei moves in the background. He settles on the couch with another grunt, grateful for the comfort. The foam dips underneath his weight. Finally.

“For the record,“ Tadashi’s voice is muffled from the kitchen. The soft pitch travels through their walls. It’s airy and light, almost velvet to touch. Kei rests his head against the back pillows, “I think Kageyama’s right.”

Kei blinks at their ceiling. Whatever that means.

Autumn during their freshman year in college was rough. It was when everything turned blue. It was when Kei fell and hit the ground with a quiet thud! 

“I met someone, Tsukki.”

Silence plants itself underneath the moss colored couch. Thin layers of dust settle above the rocks taken from Okinawan beaches. But they both don’t notice. Kei steadies himself like a true knight, steady and unassuming. His armor grows heavier and pricks at his skin. Loneliness grows over the chill autumn breeze.

“Good for you.”

Tadashi stares at him. He waits for another response, a longer prose to fall from his lips. There should be a confession somewhere in between, but words of passion and a declaration are lost underneath layers of silence and dust. Nothing else comes.

“That’s it?”

Kei blinks, his usual deadpan stare forming into a scowl. “What do you want me to say?”

Tadashi shakes his head. Kei turns away, biting his tongue to stop himself from confessing his feelings. He can’t do this to them. 

“That you’re happy for me?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

Autumn’s chill linger. 

Chapter Text

Kei’s car is a few years old. It was a high school graduation gift from both his mother and Akiteru. It’s gray and a bit too simple looking, but it fits quite nicely into Sendai’s almost monochromatic sceneries. It melts like ice along the pavement, disappearing into the dense traffic in front of their university during rush hour. 

Tadashi always blasts the aircon inside the car despite his aversion to the cold. Low, quiet humming fills the vehicle almost too instantly as they settle in their seats—Tadashi on the driver’s side and Kei as the passenger. It’s not always like this, but given Kei’s current disposition and Tadashi’s persistence, they both agreed on swapping their usual roles until Kei can go back to driving again. Kei does not hate it when Tadashi drives, but he would prefer if he’s the one behind the wheel instead. Tadashi drives like he’s always in a rush—as if speed limits do not exist in his vernacular, and the law is only there to serve as a concept to him and not as a requirement to be met. Kei figures it fits his personality: always rushing and moving too instantaneously. 

Tadashi repeatedly taps his index finger against the steering wheel, his knee bouncing lightly as minutes grow longer amidst the traffic. Kei is busy reading his book beside him when he speaks.

“Road rage is real and it’s what I’m feeling right now.”

Kei flips onto the next page. Thin paper crinkles through the condensed air. “Be patient.”

“It’s been ten minutes. We’re going to be late.”

“I’m going to be late,” Kei says, looking at him. “It’s fine. They know it’s the rush hour, Yamaguchi.”

Tadashi hunches over the steering wheel. He stares at the abundance of lights along the congested road. Somewhere along the distance, the traffic light glows from red to green. Slowly, cars in front of them breathe back into life. Tadashi straightens his back before shifting the gear. Kei glances at his hand, hiding his smirk as he flips onto the next page of his book. Tadashi hates driving manuals.

The rest of the short trip is smoother—quieter, even. Book pages flip one after another, its fragile melody cracking through the air around them. The aircon continues to hum between the space of their seats. Along the way, as the image of a bustling city is left behind in place for a quieter, more balanced space, Kei finds himself listening to Tadashi’s soft singing. His velvet voice caresses the steady hum of the aircon, winding itself around the dust particles lightly floating above their eyelashes. Kei can see them when he blinks. He keeps their image in his memories, keeping them locked away where he stores pieces of Tadashi he’s been allowed to keep. Tadashi’s soft singing envelopes them—it coats them in warmth despite the cold blast of the aircon, despite the chill of autumn and the blue that trails behind them. Kei gently closes his book.

The clinic is almost empty when they arrive. Kei apologizes for their tardiness while Tadashi follows a few steps behind. The smell of alcohol is still unfamiliar; so is the unsteadiness of Kei’s knee. Tadashi watches from the side as Kei surrenders himself to his physical therapist. He grows more and more rigid as they work through his exercises, and Tadashi sits still with him. He doesn’t move when Kei is being hooked on the stimulator for his leg muscles—he stares at the floor just as Kei winces at the pressure. His injury hangs like heavy weights around his ankles; he can’t jump. 

“It takes time,” his physical therapist states. “But once you get used to it overtime, it becomes easier.”

It is a familiar feeling, not being able to jump, but Kei never welcomed it the same way he allowed himself to love volleyball again years back. He remembers slipping on the ice when he was 18 years old. He remembers how he fell, like a twig snapping in two, his broken ankle echoing through the empty forest. He hit the ground with a deafening crack. The ice dug against the fabric of his gym clothes, licking his skin wet as if to taunt him and pin him to the ground. He almost choked on air. Maybe he did. The school nurse told him it would never be the same; that the pressure in his ankle will remain and his bones will wear and tear if the same injury happens again. But nobody told him it would be this hard—this lonely.

Will he stay like this forever? Will he recover enough to move again but never on court? How did Shoyo get through this pain when they were in their first year? No one told him it would be like this—chained to the ground and never moving, never leaving the place that broke his bones and almost shattered him to pieces. Would he forever stay like this—bones and muscles aching at night, his once flushed skin now branded with a permanent, vertical scar? 

When they arrive home, Tadashi doesn’t ask him how much it hurt. They move around their apartment like two pieces of cloud floating over everyone’s head. They’re fleeting and gentle, the soft autumn breeze cold against their skin. Kei returns his book where he found it—on one of their shelves where Okinawan rocks rest in a neat line. He makes sure to blow away the dust. His book’s cracked spine collects jagged, almost broken lines along the letters forming its identity. Kei stares at every line, steady and unmoving.

There are hundreds of reasons for his heart to remain broken—Tadashi, the love he refuses to admit, the silence that oftentimes follows them like a dog, the gaps in his long-distance friendships, the awkwardness that lingers when Akiteru talks about volleyball, the quiet, heavy sighs that accompany their single mother every time he and his brother would leave their little town, again and again and again—but it’s never this. It should not be this—knee aching from strain, muscles and tendons bleeding and bleeding, his skin scarred with the permanent reminder that things may never go back to the way they were.

It hurts.

Tadashi comes up from behind. “Dinner’s ready, Tsukki.”

His voice pulls him back, anchors him along the shore the same way Kei does for him. His velvet tone strings him together, keeping him in place, like tiny grains of sand being molded into a small home by childlike hands who roam and wander across the seas. Kei moves with the current; he doesn’t resist. Tadashi pulls him together, slow and steady across the water, and when they reach the shore, dust settles along their skin.

Tadashi hands him a bowl of rice. The autumn chill blows away dust and dirt.

For Tadashi, the ache comes in late—it hits him hard. A tsunami sweeps through his chest. He is hollow and empty despite the flooding in his veins. He reaches down to his chest, feels his blood turn into ice, before slowly melting along the shore. Their makeshift home is destroyed by the ocean save for the moss colored couch. He anchors himself against it, floating and floating.

He wakes up crying, the image of his old love pulling him awake. From the corner of his room, where his windowsill is cracked open, autumn air lingers. He finds that he is lonely.

He looks for attention somewhere else—somewhere far away from Kei. Tadashi knows he would never approve, that there are better things to do besides this—Kaito’s hands roaming all over his limbs, the rough fabric of their clothes entangled against the heat of their skin. Tadashi knows he shouldn’t have come back. He shouldn’t be the one craving for attention again. He should be at home with Kei, mending what is broken and cleaning the dust lined along the corners of their walls. But this—whatever this is—is much better than being quiet and alone.

He would keep it a secret. He tells Kaito this. 

“We can’t get back together, Tadashi,” Kaito whispers to him in the dark after they finish. “My decision was final.”

“I know,” Tadashi sighs. “It’s just—I don’t know. I was lonely.”

Kaito scoffs, the tips of his hair brushing past his eyebrows. They’re dark and wispy and so much unlike Kei’s thick and light strands. 

“You called me for sex?”

Tadashi stays quiet, letting his statement hang in the air. He shouldn’t be here, and yet he is. All because he’s lonely. He turns away from Kaito, sinking into his cold skin, and he thinks about how his night would’ve been so much different if he came home to Kei instead. But their apartment is too lonely; he would rather be doing this than wait for something to happen inside their makeshift home. After all, they have much better things to worry about now.

But he still thinks about Kei as he falls asleep. Would he be as rough as Kaito is when they’re being intimate? Tadashi used to enjoy it that way. But Kei is never rough despite his appearance—he’s almost too soft to touch, almost fleeting along their halls and quietly padding across the living room with his gentle footsteps. Would it be Kei he’s sleeping with instead if only he had confessed years ago—back in third year, a month before their last nationals? 

When he returns to their apartment the next day, Kei ignores the bruises on his collarbones. He doesn’t count the freckles on Tadashi’s skin. Instead, he welcomes him with a warm breakfast.

After all, they have much better things to worry about now.

Despite being a third year and competing on the national level twice, Kei still has a hard time wrapping his fingers in bandages. The material is flimsy and soft against the pads of his fingers. They always fall limply at the base. It takes him almost thirty minutes to secure them in place without any help—but it only takes three minutes when Tadashi does it for him.

The first minute of it is filled with Tadashi’s soft chatter. His velvet voice floats through the air around them, the stuffy gym retracting from the two figures hunched quietly in a lone corner. The first and second years would always watch them from a distance, curious at their daily activity. Why does the captain have to help Kei in bandaging his fingers halfway through their practices? Kei should know how to do it himself by now, and yet he doesn’t. Instead, he reserves three minutes of his time to do this—listen to Tadashi as he speaks, the passing seconds fleeting into the second minute, his voice lulling into quiet humming. Halfway through that mark, Kei would take his time to count the freckles on Tadashi’s skin.

One, two, three, four…like grains of sand across the beach, each piece holding the tumultuous waves and the memories they carry. They litter across Tadashi’s nose, his cheeks and the space below his eyebrows, his lips. Kei swallows, shifting his knees slightly. He imagines himself in the future—a few years from now, walking along the shore and maybe a bit sunburnt from the heat, but Tadashi’s touch is cold against his skin, cooling him off. Kei would count his freckles then, too.

The last minute is intimate—perhaps too intimate for friends. But they’ve never been just friends, at least not for a long time now. That unspoken fact always suspends itself in the air during moments like this. Tadashi’s fingertips are soft and fleeting as he secures the bandage around Kei’s hand. Their skin is warm—Kei feels like he’ll burn anytime soon. Tadashi leans forward and Kei almost meets him halfway. Their foreheads could touch, they could kiss right now and feel each other’s warmth against their mouths—they could change the trajectory of their friendship right then and there—but there are too many things to worry about right now, too many worries to face. And so they let their feelings remain as a backdrop for their youth. It exists with them at all times but never acknowledged. Not yet.

They lean back almost at the same time, Kei lagging a few seconds behind. Tadashi secures the bandage around his fingers. “There,” he says before looking straight at Kei, smiling. “Tell me if they come undone.”

Kei nods. “Thanks.”

Tadashi supplies him with a grin. He continues to stare for a few more seconds, and Kei wonders if he has something else to say. The entire gym fades away; Kei waits in anticipation. Is this it? 

Tadashi opens his mouth before closing it almost immediately as if changing his mind. “Practice,” he almost stutters. “We need to work on your serves, Tsukki.”

“Right.” Kei clears his throat.

Tadashi stands up and offers a hand to him. Kei grabs onto him, steadying himself. Anchoring them in place. 

Chapter Text

“Have you talked to him?”

“Who?”

“Hinata.”

Tobio grunts, dropping the weights beside his feet. Kei ignores the furrowing of his eyebrows and settles himself onto the stationary bike. He carefully bends his legs, trying to catch any feelings of strain or swelling, before resting his feet against the pedals. The gym smells mildly of sweat and protein powder; it’s not an entirely unpleasant smell, but it is a stark contrast to how volleyball gyms usually smell like—salonpas and rubber. He tugs at the hem of his compression shirt. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he misses being inside a volleyball gym. 

Tobio walks up to his side. Kei takes an experimental push against the pedal with his left foot. A dull ache persists. Or maybe he’s just imagining it? He pushes again, slower this time. Tobio crosses his arms over his chest. He watches Kei like a hawk. The perpetual scowl on his face morphs into concentration. Kei ignores him. Sweat forms at the side of his head, glistening under the gym’s bright lights. He falls into a steady rhythm, chest rising and falling along the flow of his legs. 

“I haven’t talked to him since our fight.”

Kei huffs. “Why not?”

“Why should I? He’s the one who blew up on me.”

The dull ache disappears from Kei’s knee. Maybe he was just imagining it. He continues to pedal faster this time. Tobio continues to frown.

“And it’s not like he’s making any efforts to reach out,” he says. “I’m not wasting my energy on him.”

Kei pauses briefly, slowing down into a halt. He blinks at Tobio. The intensity of his and Shoyo’s high school rivalry pools at their feet. Kei wants to laugh at him, but it would be too cruel now. There are too many feelings involved for him to mock Tobio the same way he did back when they were sixteen. He pushes his glasses up to his face. The irony of Tobio’s statement suspends itself along the space between them. 

“Sure,” Kei quips. “It’s not like you dedicated years of your volleyball career to him.”

“What?” Tobio sputters. “It’s not—I didn’t—Shut up!”

Kei rolls his eyes. “What was your fight about again? Something about the Olympics from last year?”

Tobio shakes his head. “It’s not,” he tells him. He pauses briefly, his frown growing deeper into his face as if it’s difficult for him to speak at all. “He called me while he was drunk and said he was mad at me—“

“For what?”

“Can you let me speak?”

Kei rolls his eyes again. 

“He said I should’ve visited him last year when I was in Rio for the Olympics.”

“I thought it was him who didn’t want to meet you?”

“That’s what I said!” Tobio groans. He shrinks into the fabric of his Adlers windbreaker. “He told me to focus on the Olympics instead. I don’t get him.”

Kei pushes on the pedal again, slower this time. He regulates his breathing as he speaks. “Did you tell him you visited him? You watched one of his beach volleyball games before flying back to Tokyo.”

“I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because he said he didn’t want to see me.”

“So“—Kei huffs; once, twice—“he said he didn’t want to meet you when you were in Rio, for what reason exactly?”

Tobio stares at his shoes. “He said we can’t.”

“Why?”

Tobio shrugs. Kei huffs again. Another bead of sweat rolls down the side of his head. His glasses slip down the bridge of his nose.

“You didn’t tell him”—another huff—“that you visited him and watched one of his games?”

Tobio shakes his head.

“Why not?”

Tobio shrugs again.

Kei pushes into a quick halt. His left knee pulses against his skin. Irritation creeps along his neck, ears growing flushed from both heat and annoyance. He glares at Tobio. They stare at each other for a few seconds. Kei anchors himself against the stationary bike, one foot still resting on the pedal. Suddenly, they’re sixteen years old again and in a long standing war between who can get on each other’s nerves the most. Kei wants to claw his eyes out; he shouldn’t be worrying about this, about Tobio and Shoyo of all people. And yet.

“You’re pissing me off,” Kei grinds his teeth together. “What do you mean you don’t know? Just talk to him.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to.”

Kei bites back a curse; it’s not in him to curse. He hates cursing. He dislikes how each shameless syllable rolls off his tongue—it feels bitter and rough. But Tobio always manages to successfully strip him away from his usual coolness to soak him in his own rage. Maybe the space that rests between them is a barren road that serves to shield them away from each other’s heat. But they always attempt to tether on the edge, flicking each other with magma that cools underneath the ocean. 

“You came here to Sendai,” Kei pauses, blinking at him, “to bother me about this?”

“I needed somebody to talk to.”

Kei reels. Tobio’s face is clear—always honest and straight to the point. He doesn’t know why his statement shocked him. At this point, their friendship shouldn’t be something that surprises him anymore, and yet their footing still instills a sense of bewilderment in him whenever he is reminded of the bond they have formed throughout high school. Kageyama Tobio, no matter how stoic and steadfast he may seem, is still a lonely soul who seeks for love in between quiet days. Kei is lucky enough to receive his trust. He’s learned how to take care of it throughout the years despite his initial hesitancy. Tobio is not difficult to care for. Unlike in volleyball, where he stands loud and proud of his demands, Tobio only asks for the simplest things in his friendships no matter how peculiar they may seem. Kei has learned how to wrap Tobio’s delicate trust with his hands. He secures it with bandages and keeps it covered in spaces where no one else can see. Their friendship is not something for others to witness, they know this very well. This is what they do best, this is what Tobio had asked of him—to listen and stay quiet. Because who else knows the plight of falling in love with your best friend other than Kei?

“Right.” Kei straightens his posture before switching his focus to the stationary bike again. He takes another experimental push with his left leg. “What else did he say?”

Tobio releases a tiny smile. He continues to talk, and Kei listens.

Kei knows Tadashi is seeing Kaito again. He tells Tobio this as they part ways at the train station.

“Does it bother you?” Tobio asks.

Kei shrugs. Not really. Not anymore, at least.

“I don’t want to think about it,” he tells him. He gestures at his knee. “I’m still trying to heal my injury.”

Tobio nods. “Right.”

They part ways in silence. Kei leaves just as Tobio boards the train. They don’t say their goodbyes.

Their university’s halls are as dull as Sendai’s streets, but Kanji’s voice drips colors behind the muffled steps they’ve left behind. Kentaro neutralizes them into something more faint. He pulls the three of them together to avoid drowning in Kanji’s enthusiasm. 

“How’s therapy?” Kentaro asks after a while of silence. He peers at Kei’s left leg, noting his knee brace. “When can you remove this?”

“Next week,” Kei quips. “I can start using more gym equipment soon. I’m stuck with the stationary bike right now.”

Kanji tilts his head to the side, the dyed part of his hair falling across his eyebrows. “Is it fun?”

Kentaro scowls. “You think physical therapy is fun?”

Kanji shrugs. “That’s why I’m asking.”

“Recovering from an injury isn’t fun.”

“Who knows?”

Kentaro’s scowl deepens as they round the corner to where the sports gym is. Kei lets out a sigh, finding the conversation ridiculous. He wants to slip away, just as he always does when socializing with other people becomes too overwhelming. He wishes Tadashi was here. He knows how to deal with his fluctuating mood the most. 

It’s not that Kei hates spending time with other people, especially his friends. He’s learned how to navigate his relationships with other people and has crafted his own methods in knowing when and where to put his energy into when it matters. With Tadashi, he moves almost as still as a lone lamp post because he knows Tadashi is patient enough to stick around—like a moth to a flame, willed by nature itself. With Tobio, he adapts more into his simple demand. They stay at their own pace, but a mutual understanding traverses their dislike for each other. Kei doesn’t know Tobio like the back of his hand, but he recognizes his feelings enough to settle in a stalemate for when loneliness hits and Tobio becomes more humane in his eyes. It’s weird; it’s not like them to become friends, and yet they are. And for the others, he maintains his relationship with them well enough for them to continue sticking around.

Still, their presence can weigh heavily on his shoulders from time to time. He misses the comfort Tadashi brings him—the peace and quiet, the warm food served for breakfast every morning, the quiet, inaudible singing passing through their thin walls for when they settle at night. He used to imagine their future together—multiple times, back in second year during summer camp—and it’s exactly how they are now: a routine built upon layers of years guiding them through droughts and storms, peacefully living in a small apartment that witnessed their reborn. And yet, a nagging thought tugs at his ribs, breaking them into fine dust. He misses Tadashi, but why?

“When did they say you can return to practice?” His coach asks as they stand by the bench, watching as the Sendai Frogs team members split into two groups for a practice match, preparing for the upcoming season.

“By late December or January next year,” Kei tells him. He shifts his stance, pushing more of his weight onto his right leg. “But I’m not allowed to move around too much yet. My therapist said we still need to adjust the strength of my knee.”

His coach nods. “We can provide you with strengthening programs before you return to court. Are you monitoring your diet?”

“Yes,” Kei pauses. Then he says, “my roommate cooks for me.”

“The wispy haired boy?” His coach turns to him briefly. Kei nods. “That’s good. You need all the help you can get.”

“Right.”

Kei takes a swift inhale. It smells of rubber and salonpas, a mild scent that somehow always wraps itself around every volleyball gym he has visited. It soothes him, as much as he would like to deny it. 

From the end of the court, Kentaro throws the ball into the air—a jump serve. The sound of skin hitting rubber echoes through the hall. Kei stands still. He watches as hues of yellow and blue disappear through the air, its speed like rapidly fired gunshots. The ball goes out of bounds, hitting the railings near the bench. Kei shifts away as it rolls closer to where they stand. 

He doesn’t crouch down to take the ball; his knee brace still constricts his movements. He lets the others pick it up from the ground, a series of it’s okay following Kentaro’s apology for his failed serve.

When he meets Tadashi at the school’s parking lot, he expected a greeting from him or at least an acknowledgment of his arrival. He expected to board the passenger seat of his car and have Tadashi drive them back to their apartment quietly. What greeted him instead was irritation.

Kaito nods in his direction when he spots Kei walking over to them. Kei lags a few paces behind. Maybe jealousy?

Tadashi quickly turns to face him, almost stuttering. “Tsukki!”

His eyes are wide, as if he’s a deer caught in headlights. The parking lot shrinks around them. The air is cool against their skin. Goosebumps appear along Kei’s pale arms. Tadashi almost freezes himself, but Kei’s golden eyes reel him back into reality. His glare burns through the space between them.

Kei’s focus remains on him. “Hey,” he says, ignoring the presence standing beside Tadashi. “Let’s go home.”

The air is always damp during autumn. It sticks against their cheeks like chewed bubblegum. It always irritates Kei; it makes the lens of his eyeglasses moist and blurry, but Tadashi seems to like it a lot. Kei would never admit it out loud but part of the reason why he dislikes the coolness of autumn is because of how faint Tadashi’s freckles become. Kei takes one swift look at the expanse of his face and neck. One, two, three, four…

Kaito clears his throat before turning to Tadashi. “See you tomorrow, Dashi.”

Kei approaches the car and pulls open the door to the passenger seat. He frowns at the nickname. Each letter rips against his skin. He bleeds red along the sides of his face but he is quick to wipe away any traces of Kaito’s existence on himself. The parking lot continues to shrink around them. It cages them in, but Kei shuts himself inside the car before he’s trapped underneath its weight.

From the tinted window, Kei watches as Tadashi says a few words to Kaito before the latter finally leaves. A few seconds later, Tadashi enters the car. Kei hands him the keys. They sit in silence as Tadashi starts the engine.

Kei drops his hands to his lap. He hammers at their silence, breaking it into pieces. “Are you two back together?” He asks, voice careful and slow. As if each word will break underneath his tongue and the letters will be swallowed whole. 

Tadashi places his hands on the steering wheel. “No,” a pause. “He doesn’t want to.”

Kei teeters on the edge of his seat. “Do you?”

Tadashi shakes his head. “No, Tsukki,” he mutters, looking at him. “I don’t.”

“Why?”

Tadashi shrugs. “You know why.”

Kei melts into his seat. Tadashi adjusts the gear and pushes down on the gas. The ride home is quiet.

Chapter Text

The third gym of the training facility is quiet. Quieter now that it’s bare of Tetsuro and Kyoutaro’s usual rowdiness. Tadashi observes Keiji from a distance, watching from a corner his languid tosses against the wall while Shoyo and Lev practiced their receives behind him. The night grows cold outside despite the summer heat. Tadashi sighs, quiet and small. Tired limbs ache from underneath him. He pushes his legs forward, stretching his muscles in hopes for the ache to leave. Tomorrow, he will spend an extra five minutes in the bathroom nursing the soreness of his arms and thighs.

“Yamaguchi.”

A soft lilt pulls him away from the misplaced quietness of the third gym. Kei towers over his hunched form on the floor. 

Tadashi blinks up at him. “What is it, Tsukki?”

“I’m going back now,” Kei says, shifting on his feet.

“You’re not practicing your blocks with Lev?”

“No, I’m tired. My fingers are starting to hurt.”

“Do you want me to tape them for you?”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

White light spills over Kei’s shoulders. He almost glows. For a brief moment, Tadashi staggers in his lonesomeness. Here is a boy whose skin is like ivory, whose eyes are as rich as the jewelry his mother used to wear around her neck. Tadashi blinks again, almost blinded by him. He is never religious; he thinks he doesn’t believe in a higher being unless the time calls for it. But he believes if divinity were to become real, if divinity were to adapt physical forms and walk the earth, Kei would look almost like them—steady and unassuming, sharp in places where strength should lie, and yet are still soft to touch. In his wildest dreams, Tadashi would revere Kei the same way devout believers kiss the feet of the virgin mother and her child: with utmost respect—and above all—love.

Tadashi wants to admit it, but he’s afraid it might be too soon. He knows it might be too soon—too soon to say his prayers, too soon to kneel and confess, too soon to tell Kei he thinks he might be in love with him. Because what is devotion if you’re asking for something in return? Tadashi wants to tell Kei he might be in love with him. That simple thought has been lingering at the back of his mind for the past few weeks. He doesn’t remember when or why or how it started, but it’s here and it’s staying. And it pains him. Tortures him. Kei is just as steady and as unassuming as before, but Tadashi feels himself tripping and falling in love. Maybe if he submerges himself under water, he would be born an entirely new person, free from the love he wishes to have and hold. 

Tadashi pulls back, inhaling a lungful of the gym’s warm air. His lungs expand. It fills him with memories from the past year—an argument under the moonlight and the turning of a new leaf. He lifts himself off the floor, grunting.

“I’m coming with you,” he says. “My legs are aching.”

Kei hums. “Have you tried doing an ice bath?”

“That sounds like hell, Tsukki.”

Kei shrugs, bumping his shoulder with Tadashi, and Tadashi almost beams. Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe the timing’s not yet right for them. Maybe in the future, in some place warm—a beach perhaps?—they would be able to come to terms with their feelings and surrender to loving each other. But for now…

Tadashi steps out of the gym first. He looks behind him. Kei follows a few steps behind. Tadashi pulls him closer, the warmth of summer melting their skin.

“Don’t go too far, Tsukki,” Tadashi says as he watches Kei from the poolside bench. “You might get leg cramps.”

Kei shakes his head. He’s submerged underwater from neck down. The university’s indoor pool is usually closed at this hour, but with a few strings pulled by the Sendai Frogs’ head coach to accommodate Kei’s rehabilitation program, they were granted an hour during lunch time for his leg exercises. Tadashi volunteered to accompany him today after his therapist and trainer had to bail out for their separate meetings with other clients.

“The water isn’t too deep,” Kei tells him, his voice echoing. “And it’s just flutter kicks.”

Tadashi signals him a thumbs up. He watches as Kei rests his hands against the edge of the pool, gripping the concrete steadily while he kicks his feet beneath him. Water splashes against his pale skin. Tadashi leaves the bench to take a closer look at Kei. He distances himself a few steps away from the pool, not wanting to get his slacks wet. He tucks his hair behind his ear.

“I thought you’re going to swim from end to end.” Tadashi chuckles. 

Kei’s feet continue to flutter under the water. He scoffs. “I’m not a professional swimmer, Yamaguchi.”

“Still,” Tadashi shrugs before pointing at one of the floating poles lying near the pool, “you could use that so you won’t have to use your arms. Just kick all around the pool, I guess.”

“I’ll ask my trainer about it first.”

“Okay.”

Tadashi plops down the dry floor and continues to observe Kei in the water. His shoulders are wet with glistening droplets. Small waves kiss his blushing knuckles against the edge of the pool. Tadashi swallows the heat in his throat. He looks away briefly before focusing on the gentle lapping of pool waves against the concrete edge. After a while, Kei speaks.

“Don’t you have classes after this?”

Tadashi turns to him. Their eyes meet; gold against the damp forest. A small droplet lands itself against one of Kei’s eyeglass lens. He removes it with a grunt, the figure of Tadashi sitting on the floor becoming almost too unrecognizable.

“Our professor’s on leave,” Tadashi says.

Kei sets his eyeglasses on the floor beside his hand. “What are you doing after this? I have class.”

“I thought you’re excused?”

“I was, but I can walk without my crutches and brace now. I need to catch up on our research paper.”

Tadashi shrugs. “I think I’ll stop by the grocery. We’re almost out of food.”

“After that?”

Tadashi shrugs again. Kei continues to kick his legs. One, two, one, two; push and pull, push and pull. His movements are slow and languid, just enough to let his knee adjust to the pressure of the water. It’s not enough to strain his muscles, but the constant movements seemed almost unfamiliar to his limbs. Tadashi tilts his head to the side. He watches as Kei tips his head down, watching the blurred water splash against his pale chest. Tadashi knows he can’t see his legs under the water. He wonders if he feels misplaced in the pool; if he yearns for the court the same way they used to yearn for victory together. Is Kei lonely? Is his pride bruised the same way his skin was when he first got out of surgery—bruised and almost bleeding, a dull ache continuing to persist despite their attempts at keeping his hurt at bay? He watches Kei from a distance. He wants to know him again.

Kei shifts his hold against the edge of the pool. He ceases his fluttering kicks. There are words that refuse to tumble out of his mouth. 

“What js it?” Tadashi asks when he notices Kei’s staring. 

Kei purses his lips. “Uh”—he kicks once under the water—“are you seeing him after this?”

Tadashi furrows his eyebrows. “Who?”

Kei swallows. Dammit. “Kaito.”

Oh. Tadashi straightens his back. The floor is warm and rough against his legs. He watches as pool water glistens against the bright lights overhead. Is Kei worried? Is it jealousy? Yearning?

Tadashi prides himself for being level headed. Between him and Kei, rationality is easier for him to grasp as contrast to Kei’s occasional impulsivity. He knows there are lingering feelings somewhere—he’s known it since Okinawa—but the circumstances against them cannot be tampered with by clumsy teenagers dipping their toes into adulthood. And so he hid his realization the same way he hid his confession when they were seventeen. He tucked himself beneath layers of sand in hopes that the ocean would be kinder than the possibility of their friendship crumbling into dust. These feelings—wherever they may be hidden—are too sharp to bear. Tadashi is rational enough to know this fact; they are not ready for it. But he still knows. He’s always known. 

Are they ready now?

Slowly, Tadashi shakes his head. “No,” he answers. “Why?”

“Nothing.” Kei quips.

But it’s not nothing, isn’t it? It’s always never nothing for Kei. This, Tadashi knows as well. Kei is impulsive and difficult to read, but Tadashi has always been an expert at deciphering him. Each letter, each space between unspoken words, each character that ends his statement, Tadashi knows deep in his heart. He has carved Kei along the walls of his chest. He knows. He will always know.

Whatever secrets they have—unspoken words and unspoken feelings and unspoken promises—are kept safely tucked underneath layers of memories Tadashi has collected for them. They grow warm during summers and cold during winters, but autumn is where they always threaten to burst. Leaves fall from trees the same way beads of sand are taken from the shore by selfish waves—they return with new memories that flourish under the heat of the sun. Maybe they will find their way back, too. Somewhere along the way, when all is well and confessions are easily accepted by strained muscles and aching hearts.

Tadashi picks at the sides of his index finger. “I’m not seeing him anymore. It was just—I don’t know. I think I was bored.”

Kei offers him no response. He proceeds to kick under the water again. One, two, one two.

“And I know you don’t like it. When I’m with him, I mean.”

Tadashi’s heart thrums in his chest. Kei blinks at him. He can’t see him at all. Maybe it’s better that way for now.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tadashi cracks a teasing grin. He shakes his head, almost laughing. “Nevermind, Tsukki.”

Kei feels his ears burning. His grip on the edge of the pool tightens instinctively. “Shut up, Yamaguchi.”

Pool water lap against the edge of the pool, glistening like crystals along Kei’s fingertips. They both know—and yet now is not the time.

The wall between their rooms is thin. If they’re loud enough, they would hear what each other might be doing. Tadashi hears Kei’s rustling footsteps an hour past midnight, steadily padding along the floor. He rouses from his bed, throwing the blankets off him, before walking over the wall and pressing his ear against it. He waits for a moment.

“Tsukki?” The footsteps stop. A muted thud follows. Tadashi listens closer. He asks again. “You okay?”

“Yup,” he hears Kei quip. “I’m looking for my glasses.”

Tadashi pulls himself away from the wall. When he arrives in front of Kei’s room, the door swings open. Tadashi takes a step back. He scans Kei’s red cheeks and unruly hair. They’re sticking out in every direction, now unrestrained by his hair styling gel. Tadashi almost laughs but he stops himself.

“Can’t sleep,” Kei tells him immediately before stifling a yawn. “I thought I’d drink some warm milk. Do we have milk?”

Tadashi nods. “I bought some earlier. I’ll heat it up for you.”

“Thanks.”

They fleet along the hallway and into the kitchen area. Kei pulls a chair for himself and sits along the dining table while Tadashi goes straight to the refrigerator. They don’t turn on the lights; the glow from the kitchen counter is enough to keep them company. 

“Why are you still awake?” Kei asks after Tadashi sets the pan of milk onto the stove. “You have morning classes tomorrow.”

“Same as you,” Tadashi pulls another chair to sit beside him. “I can’t sleep. It’s probably the coffee I had earlier.”

“You had coffee before going to sleep?”

“Why do I feel like you’re judging me right now?”

“I am.”

Tadashi grins, chuckling lightly at him. He shakes his head. “I feel like I’m too on edge lately.”

Kei raises an eyebrow at him. “Why?”

Tadashi shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t really feel like…moving much. Or talking. It feels like I’m missing out on something.”

Kei hums, low and steady. “You’ll be alright.”

“I hope so.”

Tadashi moves to take the pan off the stove. He pours the warm milk into one of Kei’s mugs, a small red cup with white polka dots and a leaf as its handle—a strawberry mug gifted by Shoyo before leaving for Brazil—before setting it on the table. 

“There,” Tadashi sits beside him again. “Tell me if it’s too hot.”

Kei blows over the steam. The lens of his eyeglasses fog. He ignores it and takes an experimental sip. “It’s fine,” he tells Tadashi. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Kei pushes the cup towards him. “You want some? I can’t finish all of this.”

“It’s okay, Tsukki.”

“It’ll help you sleep.”

“If it doesn’t?”

Kei shrugs. “It’s worth a try.”

Tadashi takes the cup from him. It’s warm against his palms, warm enough to rid of the shivers crawling up his spine. Kei pushes his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. Tadashi ignores his staring and takes a sip.

“That’s nice,” he hums. “Not too sweet.”

Kei nods. Their knees brush up against each other under the table. They don’t pull away. Tadashi ignores the ringing in his ears. Kei’s hair almost shines against the light coming from the kitchen counter. It contours the side of his face like the moon, bright against the darkness. Tadashi is reminded of the time when they were in their second year at summer camp. Kei looked like this then, too—steady and unassuming, a touch of divinity caressing his skin, as if his hair will turn into ichor and bleed along the crevices of his face. He almost confessed then.

Tadashi swallows before looking away. Now is not the time.