Two Step Closer /// tsukiyama

Yamaguchi Tadashi had always been good at reading the room. Good at sensing when someone was about to cry, even when they smiled. Good at noticing when someone looked tired — not the yawn-and-stretch kind, but the kind that settled in the bones. And right now, Tsukishima Kei looked tired. Not in the way that made him yawn during class or rub his eyes during breaks, but in that… other way. The kind that made him stare too long at his phone with no expression. The kind that made him sigh before speaking. The kind that made Yamaguchi want to reach out, even if he didn’t know what to say. They walked side by side after practice, the evening sky bleeding into shades of orange and lavender. Kei’s hands were stuffed into the pockets of his coat, and his breath came out in small white clouds. Yamaguchi tilted his head toward him. “Cold?” “I’m fine.” “Hmm.” It wasn’t much of a conversation, but it wasn’t silence either. With Tsukki, this counted as a good day. They passed the bookstore near the station, and Yamaguchi’s gaze drifted to the display window. A new dinosaur encyclopedia was on the front stand, and he hesitated before pointing. “You saw that one yet?” Tsukishima slowed down. He didn’t say anything at first, but his eyes softened as they landed on the book. “Yeah. That one’s got some decent fossil reconstructions.” “That your way of saying you want it?” Yamaguchi teased, nudging him lightly. Kei looked at him, expression unreadable for a beat too long. Then—“Maybe.” They went inside. The shop was warm, quiet. The kind of place that made you want to whisper, even if no one was there. Tsukishima immediately found the science section while Yamaguchi hung back, hands in his pockets, watching him from a few shelves away. Kei had always looked at books like they were puzzle pieces — something he had to decode, understand, conquer. He tilted his head, adjusted his glasses, and flipped pages with long, careful fingers. And Yamaguchi… watched. He hated how long he’d been watching lately. Not just today — not just now. But for weeks. Maybe even months. Watching Tsukishima walk ahead of him, watching him laugh more with other people (not a lot, but more), watching him stay later at practice with people like Koganegawa. Like he didn’t need Yamaguchi beside him anymore. “You’re staring,” Kei said without looking up. Yamaguchi blinked. “You’re imagining things.” “You’re terrible at hiding it.” A soft smile tugged at Yamaguchi’s lips. “Maybe I just missed your face.” That got Tsukishima’s attention. He closed the book and looked up, one brow raised. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “I don’t know.” Yamaguchi shrugged, trying to sound casual. “You’ve been busy lately.” “I’ve always been busy.” “No, but—” He hesitated. “You don’t talk to me as much anymore.” The words came out quieter than he intended. Almost too soft for the moment. He regretted saying them immediately, wanted to stuff them back into his mouth and pretend he never felt that way. But Kei didn’t laugh. Didn’t scoff. Didn’t change the subject. Instead, he said, “I didn’t know you noticed.” “How could I not?” There was a beat of silence between them, one that felt heavier than the one outside. Kei sighed and looked away. “I guess I figured… you were fine.” “I’m not,” Yamaguchi said before he could stop himself. “At least not when you keep walking ahead like you don’t care if I follow.” Tsukishima looked at him again. Really looked this time. “You’re not following,” he said, voice quieter. “You’ve been standing still.” Yamaguchi’s breath caught in his throat. He wanted to ask what that meant. Wanted to ask why Kei was pulling away if he still noticed him — still saw him. But maybe some answers needed to wait. So he did something else instead. He took a step forward. Just one. And Tsukishima… didn’t move away. They left the bookstore with no books, but something had shifted in the silence between them. Yamaguchi didn’t try to fill it. Neither did Tsukishima. But they walked slower now. Closer. That night, Yamaguchi lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The words he said at the bookstore kept replaying in his head. “You’ve been busy lately.” He hadn’t meant for it to sound needy. But it did. It sounded like he missed Tsukki. Which… wasn’t wrong. Because he did. He missed the way they used to talk for hours about nothing. Missed the way Tsukki would send him a stupid meme at 2AM. Missed the version of Tsukishima that wasn’t too tired to look him in the eyes. His phone buzzed. Tsukki [10:53PM] > Do you still want to come to the music thing tomorrow? Yamaguchi stared. They hadn’t talked about it in over a week. It was some string ensemble performance Tsukishima mentioned offhandedly — something he said he’d go to “just to get out of the house.” Yamaguchi had agreed. But that was before things got weird. Before they stopped walking home together. Before Koganegawa started waiting for Tsukki after practice instead of him. He thought Tsukishima had forgotten. Yamaguchi [10:54PM] > You still wanna go? Tsukki > I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t. Yamaguchi smiled at his screen. Yamaguchi > Then yeah. I’ll come. The next day was colder. The kind of cold that made your breath visible and your fingers numb through gloves. Yamaguchi waited at the station, bouncing slightly on his heels. Tsukishima arrived five minutes late, earbuds in, glasses fogged slightly from the chill. He looked… calm. Distant. Like usual. But when he spotted Yamaguchi, something flickered in his eyes. Not a smile. But something close. “Ready?” Kei asked. “Are you ever not early?” Yamaguchi teased. “You’ll live,” Tsukishima replied. And just like that, the awkwardness from the last few weeks seemed to pull back—only slightly—but enough for Yamaguchi to breathe easier. The train ride was quiet. They shared one earbud each. Tsukishima had chosen some instrumental playlist — slow piano and violin, the kind that made your heart ache a little even if you didn’t know why. They didn’t talk much. But somehow, it felt like enough. At the venue, they sat near the back, side by side. The lights dimmed. The music started. Halfway through the second song, Yamaguchi turned his head slightly and caught Tsukki staring—not at the stage, but at him. Their eyes met. Kei didn’t look away. Yamaguchi opened his mouth to say something, but the music swelled, loud and aching. So instead… he stayed quiet. After the concert, they walked through the quiet streets. Their shadows stretched behind them under the orange glow of the lamps. “I didn’t know you liked this kind of music,” Yamaguchi said softly. “I don’t,” Tsukishima replied. “I just knew you would.” Yamaguchi stopped walking. Tsukki took another step before realizing. He looked back, expression unreadable. “You brought me here… for me?” “Don’t make it weird.” “It’s already weird,” Yamaguchi said, laughing nervously. “You haven’t texted me properly in a week and now you’re dragging me to concerts because you knew I’d like it?” Kei looked away. Yamaguchi’s smile faded. “…Why are you pulling away?” he asked, voice small. Tsukishima didn’t answer right away. When he finally spoke, it wasn’t what Yamaguchi expected. “I thought you’d outgrow me.” “What?” “You’ve been getting better. On court. Off court. People notice you more.” His voice was low. “You don’t need me the way you used to.” Yamaguchi stared at him, stunned. “You thought I’d leave you, so you decided to leave me first?” Kei didn’t deny it. “You idiot.” That made Tsukishima flinch — barely. Yamaguchi stepped forward, frustration and something else bubbling inside him. “I’ve never needed you because I was weak,” he said. “I needed you because you’re you. Because I like being around you.” “Even now?” “Yes, especially now.” Tsukishima looked at him, lips parted, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. Yamaguchi’s voice dropped. “But if you keep pushing me away, one day I might stop trying.” That landed heavy in the cold air between them. “I don’t want that,” Tsukki said quietly. “Then stop acting like you don’t care.” “I care.” “Then show me.” They stood there — too close, too raw, too real. Yamaguchi’s heart beat loudly in his chest. He didn’t know what he expected next. A hug? A confession? Instead… Tsukishima just nodded. And took one step closer. -Flashback Scene- Three years ago. Yamaguchi was crying in the locker room. Quietly, in the corner, when he thought no one could hear. He’d missed all his serves that match. Gotten subbed out. Coach didn’t even look at him after. He thought everyone had left already. But then— “You done?” He looked up. Tsukishima was standing by the door. “W-what?” “Crying. Are you done?” Yamaguchi wanted to snap, to tell him to go away. But instead, Kei walked over and sat beside him. They didn’t talk. Tsukishima pulled out his phone and played music. Then offered him one earbud. They sat like that for twenty minutes. No words. Just presence. Yamaguchi had never forgotten. That memory clung to Yamaguchi as they waited at the train station again. Tsukishima was scrolling on his phone. But his foot was tapping — a small sign of nervousness only someone like Yamaguchi would notice. “I’m not going anywhere, you know,” Tadashi said. Tsukki looked up. “I mean it,” Yamaguchi continued. “Even if I get better. Even if more people start talking to me. That doesn’t change how I feel about… about this.” “…This?” “You and me.” Silence. Long. Heavy. Then Tsukki said: “I don’t know how to do this.” “I know.” “I’m afraid of messing it up.” Yamaguchi smiled gently. “Then let’s mess it up together.” Tsukishima didn’t smile. But he nodded. And for the first time in weeks, Yamaguchi felt him take that second step closer. They got off the train. It was late. Cold. They stood at the split in the road — Yamaguchi’s street to the left, Tsukishima’s to the right. Kei hesitated. “Walk me home?” he asked. Yamaguchi blinked. “What?” “I mean…” Tsukki stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Just until the corner.” Yamaguchi grinned. “Sure.” They walked. Side by side. Two steps closer.