Archive of Our Own

It probably started with a single cough, back in second year.

Tadashi coughed once and cleared his throat, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Oh! Are you okay, Yamaguchi?!” Hinata cried, at first shrinking away from Tadashi’s right side, and then leaning closer again to peer at Tadashi’s face. “You’re not getting sick, are you? It’s the beginning of the school year so we need to work hard to make sure we have good first years but also so we don’t lose to the first years so we can go back to nationals and we can’t start off on the right foot if you get sick!”

Dramatic as always, and singularly focused on volleyball. Tadashi cracked a grin and nudged Hinata with his hip.

“Calm down, Hinata, it’s nothing!”

“Probably.” Tsukki’s tone chipped in wryly from his other side. He was using Tadashi as a buffer between himself and Hinata, but he’d still been heckling Hinata on their walk to the club room. “It could be something, though.”

“Ugh,” Hinata groaned, but then forged into, “Grumpyshima’s right, Yamaguchi!” The decoy elbowed Tadashi in return. “Drink some extra water just in case your throat’s dry, and take some medicine when you get home! Just in case!”

“What are you, his mother?” Tsukki deadpanned. “He has one already, he doesn’t need another.”

“I wasn’t talking to you!” Hinata stuck his tongue out at Tsukki in defiance. Tadashi had to try his best not to laugh at his two best friends, despite how hard it was not to.

“Let’s just get to practice before the captain starts thinking we aren’t going to show up,” Tadashi interjected, to help save face and to keep them from eating up more time on the way to practice.

The full-body shudder from Hinata was well worth ruining Tsukki’s fun, at least this once.

“You’re right! I’m going on ahead!” he yelped, and then he took off at full speed towards the club room. Tsukki snickered but continued walking at their current pace, so Tadashi didn’t bother to pick up his own speed, either.

“Why wasn’t he walking with the King, anyway?” Tsukki asked, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. “Aren’t they joined at the hip or something?”

“Or something,” Tadashi snorted. “We’ve still got about ten minutes before practice starts, so there’s plenty of time for him to catch up.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Tsukki’s tone was flat. “I just wish he’d been there to distract the other idiot from the start so I didn’t have to deal with him before the club starts.”

The next snort made his throat itch, but Tadashi ignored it and nudged Tsukki.

“They’re your friends, Tsukki.”

“Not a chance.”

Tadashi laughed and teased, “You’re just lying to yourself, Tsukki!”

“Maybe I don’t have any friends,” this time his tone held a warning, and he couldn’t help another laugh.

“Alright, alright. Sorry, Tsukki!” he waved his hand dismissively at his friend, turning his attention forward again. They were nearing the stairs to the club room when Hinata sprinted back down them, already changed into practice clothes, shouting at the taller form in front of him.

“Idiots,” Tsukki murmured under his breath, almost as if they’d offended him. Long years of friendship with Tsukishima Kei, however, granted Tadashi the ability to read between the lines. Or, rather, to hear the underlying fondness buried beneath a thick facade of sarcasm.

Instead of commenting on it this time, Tadashi just hummed noncommittally to himself and started up the stairs. He heard Tsukki start to follow, filing up behind him so that two of their new first years could descend. The first years greeted Tadashi and Tsukki as they passed, though Tadashi’s greeting from them was slightly warmer.

The year was new, and the first years still looked wide-eyed and horrified between their seniors whenever any of them poked fun at Tsukki or Kageyama, and some of them had yet to see through Tanaka’s bravado. As the most intimidating, it was taking a bit of time for the newbies to warm up to them.

“Who do you think will be the official starters this year?” Tadashi asked, glancing over his shoulder as he crested the top of the stairs and turned towards the club room. “You and Tanaka and Hinata and Kageyama, for sure. Noya too, of course, but he’s a libero so he doesn’t count on the normal rotation. I’m thinking it’ll probably be Ennoshita and Narita, though, unless one of the first years steps up.”

“I think we’ll find out when we actually play our first practice matches,” the answer was dry. Tadashi sighed.

“It doesn’t hurt to speculate, Tsukki.”

“Then what about you?”

Tadashi’s chest squeezed.

Of course he wanted to be a starter. He’d wanted to since day one, or even since he began playing volleyball in general. In middle school it had been easy–he was decently tall and he was decent at the game. But high school...this was where it mattered more, and Tsukki probably knew how much it meant to Tadashi better than anyone else did. He wondered if his friend was asking in a rare attempt to be nice, or because he actually believed that Tadashi had a real chance at being a starter this year.

Since Tsukishima Kei was the realistic type, Tadashi was kind of hopeful.

Out loud, though, he laughed and asked, “What about me?”

Tsukki scoffed as they entered the club room, which was vacant after Tadashi held the door open for another first year to file out. “You have just as much of a chance as the others.”

Tadashi felt himself flush a little, sincerely flattered, then allowed a flare of pride to rush through him momentarily. He grinned sheepishly but waved his hand again, saying instead, “I’ve still got a lot to learn, Tsukki! My serve is still about the only solid weapon I’ve got, Tsukki, and Karasuno’s attacks are where everything’s at right now. It’s honestly probably a better tactic to keep me as a pinch server, so I can sub in for Hinata.”

Tsukki scoffed, but didn’t actually remark. Tadashi knew that Tsukki wasn’t pleased with the way he was avoiding the idea, but it wasn’t even a lie. Tadashi’s strongest–and only weapon, so far–was his jump floater. And he knew that Tsukki could understand the tactical advantage of having a pinch server waiting in the wings. He’d made it hard for Tsukki to argue back.

Besides...Tadashi was a middle blocker, and Karasuno already had two very capable middle blockers in Tsukki and Hinata. Narita could always stand in, too, and Ennoshita was a sure thing as a wing spiker, the more Tadashi thought about it–he was the only person capable of filling the big shoes left by Daichi.

There was no spot for him to fill, or at the very least there wasn’t one he thought he could fill well. He tried to tell himself he’d be content with that, even as they finished getting ready for practice and made their way down towards the gym.

Tadashi caught Tsukki glancing over at him, brow furrowed in thought, and turned to stifle another cough in his elbow.

“The first years won’t learn anything if you get sick,” Tsukki pointed out, as if their earlier conversation with Hinata had never ceased. “They’re too scared of the King and me, and Hinata only describes things in sound effects. Noya and Tanaka are basically the same type as Hinata. You’re the only one patient enough with them.”

“Don’t count out our other third years,” Tadashi laughed, “Captain Ennoshita in particular. They’re perfectly capable of keeping the first years in line.”

“They have to keep Tanaka, Noya, Hinata, and the King in line. There’s no room for taking care of anyone else.”

Don’t get sick, he was saying, and Tadashi appreciated it. Warmth bubbled up in his chest, and he smiled to himself even as he rolled his eyes at Tsukki’s specific brand of dramatics.

“They’re not that bad, Tsukki.”

“Hmph.”

A thought occurred to Tadashi, and he grinned when he asked, “Is this about the time you had to take a bike out and ride along with Hinata and Kageyama so that they didn’t run too far or get lost or something?” he raised a brow. “You do realize they’ve gotten better since our first few training camps, don’t you?”

“I will never put it past any of them to return to the depths of unfathomable stupidity.”

He couldn’t help a short bark of laughter at the serious tone of voice and matching expression, even though he knew that the outward expressions weren’t a true representation of how Tsukki really felt on the matter.

“These are your friends, Tsukki. Remember?”

“I remember that I don’t have any friends, anymore,” he scoffed in return. He couldn’t hide the ghost of a grin, though.

It was hard to get Tsukki to admit to anything he thought was uncool, and that included being friends with the idiot duo and even sometimes the rest of their somewhat excitable volleyball club. Tadashi had him pretty well figured out, though, so Tsukki could deny it all he wanted and Tadashi would still know. At least where the Karasuno Volleyball Club were concerned, they were all on the short list of people that he really did consider his friends or were, at the very least, people he believed he could rely on.

Tadashi just shook his head at Tsukki and lost the opportunity to push him any further as Hinata yelled at them from the open doorway of the gym to hurry up. He let the topic slip to the wayside, knowing he’d have other opportunities to tease his best friend.

It didn’t really matter either way, though, Tadashi decided. It was fine, as long as he knew the truth, and the others knew, too, even though Tsukki would never admit it.

His cough persisted intermittently throughout the next year, though it wasn’t until later that he connected it all together.

Tadashi did his best, whenever the cough resurfaced, to make sure no one freaked out about it like Hinata had when Kageyama caught a cold. At least if anyone did ask, Tadashi could usually brush it off as allergies, even though he’d never really been one to be bothered by them. Things changed as you got older, after all, and Tadashi figured his body had just changed again. He still didn’t get them as bad as Tsukki did, though. Tsukki was just good at hiding it, now.

Tadashi couldn’t deny that it was still amusing–and kind of adorable, though he’d never tell Tsukki that–when Tsukki reverted to being grumpy and childish when they studied together after practice when he was being accosted by all his allergies. And Tadashi was usually the only one that got to see that side of him, so it felt...special, somehow.

“You okay, Yamaguchi?”

He jumped at the hand that clapped him lightly between his shoulder blades. Noya arched a brow at him and Tadashi laughed, sheepishly, and raised a hand to scratch at the back of his head.

“Yeah, sorry. Just overthinking again, probably.”

Noya glanced out across the gym, where some of the first years were playing a pretty rough three-on-three against Hinata, Kageyama, and Tsukki.

“Nah, you’re not overthinking. That matchup is totally unfair.”

Tadashi snickered along with Noya, readily agreeing. It wasn’t what he’d been thinking about, but he was grateful for the topic shift.

“We could have at least split up the monster duo to help even it out, or something.”

“Which monster duo?” Noya asked with a laugh. “The middle blocker monster duo? The king and his sword? Or the King and his shield? No matter which way you cut that cake, Yamaguchi, they’ve still got a monster duo.”

“Well,” Tadashi snorted, “If we split up Kageyama and Hinata, at least they wouldn’t have to try to deal with the freak quick.”

He neglected to mention that Tsukki would still be there with read-blocks that were fast approaching god-tier, but Noya knew that just as well as he did. At this point, it didn’t bear mentioning that the other three second years were demons in their respective positions.

“Yeah, that’s true!” Noya laughed, hands on his hips and his head tossed back. Tadashi chuckled with him, but had to pause to cough again. One turned into two, and Noya turned back to Tadashi with his brow furrowed and asked, concerned, “Hey, are you sure you’re okay?”

Tadashi felt his senpai’s hand on his back, a warm weight resting there. He cleared his throat quickly, uncapping his water as he answered, “Yeah, I’ll be fine. My allergies have been acting up again today.”

“You said the same thing last week, too,” Noya sounded skeptical. “You’re sure you’re not getting sick…?”

“No, I’m not!” he laughed lightly, taking a swig from his water. “It’s really fine, senpai, I promise!”

The secret weapon–calling Noya a senpai.

“Well, it’d better be fine,” he declared, putting his hands on his hips. “I’ll let you get back to practicing your serves. I’m gonna go bug Ryuu and Chikara for a minute, but then I’ll be pack to receive some jump floaters, yeah?”

“Don’t receive too many, or I might get discouraged,” Tadashi teased, steadfastly ignoring the itch in his throat. “I’ll definitely do my best to get them past you!”

“That’s all I ask!” Noya beamed, then bounced off.

Tadashi distracted himself, briefly, by watching Tsukki score a block point and smirk at the first year that swore as he failed to reach it. Pride welled up in his chest, warm and effusive, and then he turned away quickly to cough again. This one actually hurt, clenching deep in his throat and making his eyes water. Tadashi took another drink from his water as soon as the coughs ceased, and then allowed himself a few moments for his breathing to even out again before glancing around nervously. No one else was close, so maybe he’d avoided worrying anyone else over his silly little allergies.

Tadashi grabbed a ball to continue his self-practice again, breathing slowly but not quite as deeply as before for fear of exacerbating the itch in his now sore throat.

Please don’t get sick, he pleaded with himself. I can’t afford to fall any further behind.

He didn’t fall any further behind.

In fact, after Narita left the club to study for entrance exams, Yamaguchi Tadashi became the new starter, and it remained that way into their third year.

“Told you so,” Tsukki told him, immediately after learning that Tadashi would be starting.

“That was so long ago it doesn’t even count,” Tadashi laughed, but he felt all warm and fuzzy inside. Tsukki made a face at him, but he didn’t deliver a snarky comment like he would’ve to anyone else. At least that was something still exclusively Tadashi’s privilege.

That slight feeling, the one where he felt special because of all the different sides of Tsukki he got to see, eased a little as their third year went on, now that Tsukki was finally more open with Hinata and Kageyama and Yachi, too. Tadashi was still always a step ahead of the others in that sense, but it was hard watching them all grow closer when he felt like he and Tsukki had stayed the same for years.

His throat always tightened uncomfortably when he thought about it, and he forced the thoughts away. He told himself the feeling would pass soon, and if that itch in his throat persisted very long for any reason, he’d buy some throat lozenges. His best medicine was to think of anything but how far behind he felt he was falling, and reasoning it out in a different way.

The one that worked best was always to reflect. Of course he wasn’t making as much progress with Tsukki as they were–he’d already known him longer, so Tadashi didn’t have as far to climb.

Tadashi threw his focus into practice. He had to work hard to keep up with everyone else, even the new first years, and yet he still had to watch how Hinata rapidly improved. Hinata was pulling further and further ahead, and in the shadows he cast loomed Tsukki. But Tsukki wasn’t passive either.

“It’s just a game,” he used to say, but Tadashi remembered the pivotal blocks in their matches against Shiratorizawa, against Nekoma, against Inarizaki, or any team they’d ever faced. He remembered the sudden evolution of Tsukki’s already shrewd observation, and how quickly his read blocking had improved by leaps and bounds after Kuroo from Nekoma had dragged him to extra practices with Bokuto and Akaashi from Fukurodani.

He was used to watching Tsukki’s back, ever since they were little. He was used to it, but this felt different. This was new. Tsukki was moving ahead, farther and faster than Tadashi could keep up with.

My serves aren’t enough anymore, he remembered thinking, even near the end of first year. The thought persisted into every practice in second year, up to and even after Narita left the club and Tadashi moved up to a starting position. And so Tadashi had worked harder and tried to catch up, but it still felt like he was always, always chasing Tsukki’s back.

His throat itched some more, and he coughed for a week or two after he came to that realization before it just faded, like every other summer cold he’d ever had, and he made sure to drink plenty of water at practice just to prevent it from coming back if he could. Tadashi knew he couldn’t afford to fall any further behind than he already had, and he didn’t want to lose his new starting position or even his usefulness as a pinch server to someone among the new first years. That would just be rubbing salt in his wounds, as he watched Hinata and Tsukki and Kageyama and whoever else go ahead of him.

No matter how much progress he made, he was always falling behind.

“You aren’t falling behind, you know,” Tsukki observed once at training camp in third year, a towel draped around his neck as he offered Tadashi a water bottle that he took gratefully. “Don’t overthink it.”

“You’re one to talk,” Tadashi shot back, grinning. Tsukki grimaced at him, and Tadashi laughed even though it made his throat itch.

With a sigh, Tsukki fanned the collar of his shirt a little, taking a few deep breaths. He looked like he’d just finished with the extra practice that Hinata and Lev and some of the younger Fukurodani and Nekoma members had dragged him into. Tsukki always complained, but Tadashi could see how pleased he always was after spending time like that.

He sometimes wished he was more involved.

It made his throat itch, and Tadashi had started to view that as a sign of his own jealousy rather than allergies as he had in previous years. It was a little selfish to want so much of Tsukki’s time to himself, though, and he was trying to be better about it.

“You should come tomorrow.”

Tadashi dropped the ball he was considering serving, but ignored it for a moment to look at Tsukki in surprised.

“Hah?”

“To practice with us. Inuoka already said that one of the Nekoma first years wouldn’t be coming to extra practice with us tomorrow because he had to work on his receives, so I told Lev and Hinata we’d invite you, if you wanted,” Tsukki wiped his brow. “You don’t have to, though.”

“No, no! I’ll come!” he grinned, and Tsukki offered a little grin back. It was fleeting, so Tadashi held the brief memory to his chest and treasured it, even as Tsukki groaned and said he was going off for a shower now, then bed. Tadashi waved him off with a laugh and a promise to only do a few more serves before he turned in, himself. He was working on jump serves, now, though he’d never get half as much power as Kageyama had.

That didn’t matter to him as much as the warmth that blossomed through him when he made Tsukki smile at him, even a little. It tingled in his fingertips and spread through his toes, and made him feel like he was standing on top of the world.

“Don’t hold your breath for anything great,” Tsukki said on his way out of the gym. “It’s just a group of first years who all think they can learn to jump like Hinata if they try.”

Tadashi snorted. “C’mon, Tsukki, don’t you think they want to learn to block like you and read Hinata like Lev?”

“They’d do better learning to serve and receive like you have,” he quipped back, and then raised a hand as he stepped out of the gym.

Tadashi, speechless, watched Tsukki leave with a volleyball in his hands. His heart lodged in his throat again, like it had been doing too often lately, and he tried to push the thought away. I can’t block like you, though, he thought he could have shouted after him, or I can’t get pivotal points as a spiker like you can. Tadashi felt himself laugh instead, even though Tsukki was already gone and wouldn’t hear, and then he took a deep breath and swallowed that lump down.

Rinse and repeat and pretend that he didn't know why his heart ached when he thought of where Tsukishima Kei would go next or how far behind Tadashi would fall.

Tokyo was different.

Honestly, everything about heading off to university was different, but mostly because he didn’t have Tsukki at his side all the time anymore. He was glad for what he did have, though, which was Tsukki going to the very same university that Tadashi was going to, still living in the same city, with classes that lined up well enough that they got to get lunch together or study together at least three or four times a week.

“How’s Akiteru?” Tadashi asked on one such occasion, taking a sip of his drink. Tsukki was living with his brother, now, and Tadashi was happy to see it. He himself lived in a little studio apartment that his Mom found and rented.

“Annoying, as always,” Tsukki grunted, taking a bite out of his riceball. “He wants to see you, by the way. He keeps asking when you’re going to come over again.”

Tadashi laughed. “I’ll come over whenever he wants.”

“After the first time? The two of you in the same room?” Tsukki sounded scandalized. Tadashi deserved that, probably, after he had joined Akiteru in a solid hour of ribbing Tsukki about volleyball and the fact that he was actually still on the college team. He kept threatening to quit, but they both knew he liked the sport too much.

If Tadashi were braver, he would’ve tried to be on the team, too. He hadn’t been invited, like Tsukki had, so he hadn’t even tried.

“We’re not that bad,” Tadashi tried, changing his train of thought forcefully. “It just shows we care!”

“Sure,” he scoffed. “If you mean you both care to annoy me.”

He laughed, and saw the ghost of a smile cross Tsukki’s lips, too. His heart fluttered, and Tadashi squashed that feeling back, just like he’d been doing for the last several months. Or longer, probably.

“If thinking of it that way makes you feel better,” Tadashi teased, turning back to his food so that he didn’t get caught watching.

Tsukki just huffed, and Tadashi grinned to himself. They continued eating in comfortable silence for a while longer while Tsukki flipped through his chemistry textbook and Tadashi made his way through another page or two of the book he'd been assigned for English literature.

Tadashi probably let his gaze linger on Tsukki longer than he should, and more times than even he knew, but that was a new part of being in university, too. The realization that was creeping up on him, slowly but surely, making itself known with lingering stares and punctuated with an ache deep in his chest.

Tadashi swallowed some of his sandwich and then had to clear his throat. It felt kind of scratchy, and he wondered if his bite had been too big. He dismissed the thought and brought his focus back when Tsukki asked if he wanted to study at the café near Tadashi's apartment later.

"Yes! I've been craving a matcha latte for days!"

Tsukki snorted. "You can go there without me. It's close by."

"Yeah, but it's no fun to go alone," Tadashi whined a bit more than he meant to. "When I went alone last Monday, the barista asked where you were, anyway."

"Then maybe you should go without me more often and not less," he sounded amused, and when Tadashi dared a glance he could see the smirk tugging at his lips. He groaned.

"Tsukki, it's obvious why the barista wants to see you. It's awkward to keep telling her I'm alone and then see the way she frowns before her customer service face kicks in "

"I don't see why. You're a lot nicer to her than I am." He quirked a brow. "Isn't that what girls are supposed to like?"

"How should I know?" Tadashi snorted, averting his eyes from the way Tsukki was looking at him and coughing into his napkin when his throat itched again. "I'm not a girl, Tsukki."

"Neither am I," he crawled, reaching for his drink. "It's just something Hinata used to always screech at me."

Yeah, well, he's not a girl either, Tadashi thought. He didn't say it out loud, though. It would be too close to saying the other thing he was slowly realizing and doing his best to push back.

"What makes you think Hinata knows any better than either of us?" Tadashi demanded instead.

"True," Tsukki snorted. Tadashi reached for a drink to soothe his itching throat, and also to force himself to look away.

He was starting to feel like fighting his blossoming epiphany was a losing battle, whenever he saw amusement twinkle in his best friend's eyes.

It had been a long time since he’d seen Tsukki laugh so freely, and Tadashi couldn’t even remember what he’d said. It had been something snarky in response to Hinata’s text in the group chat about how Bakageyama had done so badly on an English exam that he was probably going to get put on academic probation.

All Tadashi really knew was warmth that crept from the top of his head all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes.

“I knew you still had it in you,” Tsukki snorted after a moment, and Tadashi blinked.

“Tsukki?” he asked blankly after a moment, clearing his throat awkwardly. He’d taken to wearing a mask in public because his allergies were getting worse, or maybe he was catching a cold.

He chuckled once more, then ran a hand through his hair–now just a tad longer than Tadashi thought he’d ever seen it, with a slight natural curl that made him want to touch–before glancing up to a spot somewhere to Tadashi’s right.

“Ugh, it’s late,” he groaned, still with a slight grin. Tadashi watched as his friend stretched, and then dared a glance to his own phone.

Nearly one in the morning.

It was very late, and Tsukki had been up since at least six and had been to practice twice that day. It was no wonder he was slipping a little, but Tadashi wouldn’t complain. It was the weekend, now, and even though Tsukki had practice, it wasn’t until a little later than usual. And it wasn’t often anymore that he got to see the slightly uninhibited side, where Tsukki laughed a little easier and smiled more genuinely.

Tadashi had always been the one to see it more, but it was still rare. He wanted to treasure the moment while he could.

“At least we made progress on the assignments due next week,” he offered, pulling his attention away from the way Tsukki’s hair was sticking up in different directions. It was kind of adorable, so Tadashi had to force himself to look back down at the rough draft of his literature paper. “I think it would’ve taken me a lot longer on that calculus assignment if you hadn’t been able to help me on it, Tsukki.”

“And The King would’ve definitely benefited from your help on his English,” Tsukki snorted again, grinning. “Instead, I got your help on my paper.”

Tadashi couldn’t help snorting, ignoring the warmth settling in his chest. His next breath caught strangely in his throat, and he coughed lightly into his hand. He cleared his throat and reached for his water, and Tsukki closed his textbook with a groan.

“I should get back,” he said, almost reluctantly. “If Akiteru somehow notices it’s this late and I’m not back, he’d never let me forget about it. He’d pretend I have some kind of curfew, or something.”

“You know you can stay here if you need to, right?” Tadashi asked, arching a brow. “I know it’s lumpy, but I do have a couch. Or you could take my bed, and I’d take the couch.”

“I’d have to get up earlier if I did that, so I could go get my practice gear from home,” Tsukki scowled. “I should’ve brought it with me and just told him I wouldn’t come back tonight.”

It was kind of childish, but Tadashi found it kind of adorable.

“Are you sure you’ll be fine heading home?” he asked, trying to distract himself from the way Tsukki’s hair was even messier, after he’d run another hand through it. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, ignoring the way his throat burned a little. He’d have to make some tea or something. “It’s really no trouble if you need to stay. I’ll even get up with you.”

Tsukki looked up, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a way that made Tadashi’s heart leap.

“You? Getting up early when you don’t have to? Please, Yamaguchi, I know you better than that.”

He was pretty much done packing, and pushed himself to his feet as Tadashi protested. “Tsukki, I’m not that bad–”

A quick, disbelieving glance from Tsukki snapped Tadashi’s mouth closed and he groaned.

“See? That’s what I thought.”

“Don’t gloat, Tsukki, that’s not very nice.”

“I’m not trying to be,” he shrugged, tugging on his coat. “Just being honest.”

“Tsukki!” Tadashi whined, drawing out the last syllable far longer than necessary. Tsukki just snorted and made his way towards the door to slide his shoes back on. Tadashi gathered his wits enough to follow his friend to the door, and then asked again, “Really, Tsukki, are you sure you’re fine going back so late?”

“I’ll be fine, Tadashi.”

Tsukki’s voice was a lot softer than Tadashi heard very often, and it caught him off guard. A moment passed as he reveled in the tone, in how lucky he was to get to hear it, and then Tadashi had to try not to choke. He managed fairly well, stifling a single cough into his hand, as the words replayed in his head.

Tadashi.

“I-if you’re sure,” he said, trying to ignore the way his heart raced a little. He watched as Tsukki’s hand rested on the handle of the door and swallowed down both the itch in his throat and the urge to cough again. “Text me when you get back home, then.”

“You’ll probably already be asleep,” he teased, pulling the door open. He glanced back over his shoulder at Tadashi, and if it wasn’t wishful thinking, Tadashi thought he saw pink high in Tsukki’s cheeks.

“Well, text me anyway!” Tadashi demanded, feeling his own cheeks heat up. He tried to put his hands on his hips in an intimidating manner, but Tsukki just chuckled lightly.

“Alright, I will. See you later,” he stepped through the door and waved a hand in farewell. Tadashi stepped up to the door and raised a hand in return.

“See you later, Tsukki!”

It was cold in the doorway, but Tadashi didn’t close his door until Tsukki had reached the stairs at the end of the walkway. Only then did he slip back inside and lean against the door, a hand over his face as it started to burn.

Tadashi.

“I’ll never get that out of my head,” he muttered, sliding down to sit on the floor.

It was the final nail in the coffin. Hearing his given name from Tsukki’s lips solidified the suspicion he’d had all along–the way his heart raced, the way Tsukki’s happy face made him warm, the way he always feared that Tsukki would eventually move on and leave him behind–they all led to the same conclusion.

“I like him,” he buried his face in both hands and inhaled slowly. “I really do.”

After a few moments of pitying himself for falling for his best friend–who does that, Tadashi, who?!–he had to cough again, and his throat remained sore and itchy. He remembered his intent to make tea, and pushed himself back to his feet and locked the door. It was nearly two in the morning now, but he had nothing to do for the weekend, aside from a handful of assignments. A cup of tea would probably help him to fall asleep, too.

After that night, his cold didn’t get any better. It was the worst cold he’d had in several years, and he’d had no shortage of small colds or even just coughs and sore throats. No medicine seemed to help, either, and Tadashi was spending half his money on tea and honey. After about a week, even Tsukki started showing his concern more openly.

It was kind of sweet, when Tsukki made Tadashi sit back down at the table so he could go make the tea instead. Tadashi may have watched him in the kitchen, his mind a fog from his head cold, and barely avoided Tsukki catching him when he turned back around.

The blunt way he said, “You look like shit, Tadashi,” was softened by the fondness Tadashi felt at how casually Tsukki had started calling his name.

“I feel like shit,” he answered with a hoarse laugh as Tsukki placed a teacup down in front of him.

“You sure you want to study, then?” Tsukki arched a brow. Are you sure you don’t want to rest, instead? he heard, unspoken.

“I can’t afford to fall behind,” Tadashi answered, gingerly cupping his tea between his hands and blowing across the surface. “Thanks, Tsukki.”

“You’re not behind,” Tsukki pointed out, but didn’t say anything else as he took his seat at Tadashi’s small table. He didn’t need to say anything more to show his concern, and Tadashi hid another grin in his teacup. It wouldn’t do for Tsukki to see that he was amused, because then he’d probably declare that Tadashi was losing it and needed to rest, and then leave early.

He didn’t want Tsukki to leave. His chest ached and he was probably imagining it, but it always felt harder to breathe when he wasn’t at Tsukki’s side.

They fell into a familiar routine for studying together, in silence punctuated only by the turning of pages or scratching of pens and pencils, and only occasionally by words. In an hour, Tsukki had refilled Tadashi’s tea for him before Tadashi could even move to get up, and had passed him a throat lozenge after he’d coughed several times consecutively.

“You’re too nice to me, Tsukki,” he teased, when his next cup was placed next to him. He’d made half the progress in his assignments than he normally would.

He snorted. “I can stop.”

“Don’t,” Tadashi responded instantly, then, reaching for the fresh cup of tea, added, “Please.”

“Thought so,” came the smug tone, and Tsukki took his seat once more. He picked up his pencil, then paused and looked back at Tadashi. Tadashi knew this much, because he had been carefully eyeing the blond over the rim of his cup, and felt his cheeks warm at being caught.

“Something wrong?” his voice cracked, but he could blame the cold and he would, if asked. Tadashi wasn’t actually sure whether it was his cold or because he’d been caught staring at the way Tsukki’s fringe curled forward against his forehead.

Tsukki just stared for a moment, then asked, “Are you sure you shouldn’t rest?”

Getting him to verbalize concern was new, and Tadashi blinked at him, surprised, then coughed a time or two before realizing that Tsukki might take that as a sign to leave. While he was coughing, he raised his hand in a frantic hold on. He had to explain–he was fine, he could keep working, he didn’t need to rest right now.

His throat was raw and sore, and he took a careful sip of his tea once his coughing fit was through.

“Tadashi?” Tsukki’s tone was sharp, and a hand grasped his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“F-fine, fine!” he managed, weakly. “I really need to at least finish one of these assignments. I’m close to done!” the last sounded more hopeful than sure, and Tsukki’s fingers tightened on his shoulder briefly.

“Next time you start coughing like that, I’m making you go to bed.”

The contact was gone, and Tsukki was sitting down again. Tadashi smiled fondly at him when he tilted his head down to his textbook, turning his own attention down so that Tsukki didn’t notice. He couldn’t keep his eyes from trailing back up, catching the way Tsukki’s brow was furrowed, and he couldn’t help feeling a little bad for causing it. He wanted to reach out and smooth the crease with the pad of his thumb–stop it, Tadashi–and make it go away.

He cleared his throat, reading a question and jotting down the first answer that his bleary mind had processed. If he felt up to it, he could review it Sunday night before class.

Half an hour later, just as he shuffled his latest English assignment to the side and tried to decide what subject to start next, he heard a book snapping closed.

“You finished it, right?” Tsukki asked, glancing down at the packet Tadashi had set aside. “That’s one. Now I’ll go home, and you can get some rest.”

“Tsukki–”

“Rest, Tadashi.”

His chest ached, and he stifled another cough in his hand as he slumped back in his chair in defeat. Tadashi could never win against Tsukki, and he knew it, but it didn’t stop him from trying sometimes.

“Just head to bed, I’ll see myself out,” Tsukki added, stacking both of their plates from dinner and taking them over to the kitchenette.

“You don’t have to–”

Tsukki clicked his tongue, a tch that sounded loudly in Tadashi’s ears and was enough to glue him to his seat. He rested an elbow on the table and his chin in his hand and let his eyes follow Tsukki in the small kitchen as he prepared Tadashi one last cup of tea. Tadashi wasn’t sure how much of the fog in his mind was his cold or how much of it was the overwhelming warmth at the evidence of how much Tsukki cared.

When he brought the tea over to Tadashi, Tsukki squeezed his shoulder again. “Drink that and go to sleep.”

“Text me when you get back,” Tadashi said in lieu of answering or agreeing with his mothering tone. Ha, Hinata would never believe that Tsukki has a mothering tone. Somehow, that errant thought gave him far more joy than he felt it should have.

A firmer grip, and then Tsukki’s hand left his shoulder and moved to pick up his bag instead. “I’d better not get a response right away, but I’ll send it.”

Tadashi laughed, almost breathlessly. “Thanks. Be safe, Tsukki.”

“Take care, Tadashi.”

The tone was warm, and as the door snapped closed behind him, Tadashi felt it grow. It spread like wildfire through him, warming his cheeks and making him wonder how he’d ever missed this feeling in the first place.

After a moment, he felt his throat constricting. He held it, waiting for Tsukki to be gone so that he didn’t hear and immediately come back in to potentially fuss over Tadashi some more, and then first one cough, then two, and then several more burst free.

They were guttural and wet, and his already raw throat ached at the force behind them. He was having a little trouble breathing in the interval between coughs and he thought of reaching for his tea and decided not to–not until his whole body stopped shaking from the force.

Something about this cold was different, he felt, and the thought made his blood run cold.

And the petals that tumbled from his lips after he coughed hardly came as a surprise–rather, Tadashi wondered why now, why they hadn't fallen sooner. Maybe he hadn't been hopelessly in love enough back then, though he found it hard to believe he could fall any harder than he had done from the start. Maybe it was because he hadn’t been aware, back then, but he hardly thought that would have made a difference.

The few tattered petals in his palm, then, served as a long-awaited reminder of everything that Tsukki meant to him. It had to be Tsukki, after all: there was no one else who held a candle to him in Tadashi’s chest. There probably wasn’t anyone else as important to him at Tsukishima Kei, and there hadn’t been for a long time.

Tadashi coughed again and caught spit-slick petals in his hand, then clenched his fist and pressed his forehead against it, shakily breathing out.

“Well, I guess it’s not just a cold, this time,” he murmured weakly into his empty apartment.

Not that anyone else needed to know, for now.

Now that he knew, Tadashi’s condition continued to worsen. It was a gradual decline–but, really, hadn’t it been all along? He wasn’t really surprised by it. He just had to be more careful when he coughed, because now he could end up accidentally showing the world that he loved someone with all his heart...who didn’t love him back.

Tsukki cared, at least. That was all that really mattered to Tadashi.

The longer it went on, though, the more he knew he needed to go see a doctor about it. He’d read a lot of things about hanahaki disease, and none of it was good if left unattended. If he let it go on for too long, there’d be further damage to his lungs, and a higher risk of further side effects.

There was a higher risk of losing those related memories, too.

He didn’t like that he couldn’t really find a reason why his memories and feelings could be adversely affected by the surgery, though. It was just a fact, and even the most prolific experts on the hanahaki disease hadn’t been able to turn up any information. Tadashi remembered Tsukki clicking his tongue at seeing tattered petals in the hallway in high school, even one time a rhetorical question from the blond about why can’t they just confess and get it over with? and remembered a brief health class where they discussed it and how common it was among teenagers. But no definitive information on why the flowers that bloomed in the lungs could taint or take away precious memories involving the person they were there for in the first place, if they were removed after it had progressed past a certain stage.

Tadashi sighed a little and fell back on his bed, trying to take even breaths. They were ragged, and he knew he’d start coughing soon. He tried to stave it off as long as possible, glancing at the time.

Two hours until Tsukki was supposed to come over to study.

Tadashi was so, so tired...but no, if he fell asleep and somehow coughed or something and Tsukki arrived, and Tadashi answered the door without realizing there were petals or something all over, it could be bad. So he groaned and pushed himself up, though the exertion itself caused him to start coughing. His throat constricted at first and he sucked in a breath, and then that was all he needed. He hunched over with first one cough, and when that knocked something free, more followed.

By the time he was done, Tadashi was curled in on himself in bed, a handful of petals, tattered and blood-flecked, clenched in his clammy palm. He felt shaky and weak, and took a slow breath in.

“It’s fine,” he told himself, his voice raspy as he slowly pushed back into a sitting position. He dropped the handful of flower petals into the bin next to his bed, fumbling for the bottle of water on the table nearby, and tried to believe that.

When Tsukki arrived, he took one look at Tadashi, who was fresh off of another coughing fit shortly before the time they’d agreed upon, and refused to study with him.

He made Tadashi climb in bed and made him porridge, and sat there until Tadashi reluctantly drifted off to sleep, studying at the table.

When Tadashi woke, it was late at night, and there was a note tucked under the edge of the bottle of water next to his bed.

I went online and set up an appointment for you on Monday, with the details listed below. Tadashi went to the clinic’s website and glanced through their information. He didn’t expect much–typical colds and sprains and the like. But in the list of information that they had specific doctors for, he was caught by surprise.

Ogata Ririko, Hanahaki Specialist.

He wondered who he’d end up getting, with Tsukki’s appointment. The information he’d written down just said “general checkup”, so it was pretty unlikely that Tadashi would end up with the woman who’d actually know how to help.

If they saw his petals, though, anyone would know exactly who he needed to see.

Tadashi groaned, downed half the bottle of water, sent a quick thanks to Tsukki via text, and then curled up in bed again, already prepared to spend most of his weekend there trying to recuperate.

On Monday, he had a coughing fit in front of the first doctor they sent him to, and immediately finagled him in to speak with Ogata-sensei before she took in the next person in the waiting room.

Three months.

Three months had passed since then, and Tadashi had seen Ogata-sensei several times. His condition worsened, but it was so mild for so long that only recently had she started urging him to make a decision soon. A confession, preferably, but at the last appointment he’d been to, she’d started to describe the surgery.

A sign that it was finally getting worse, maybe. Or did that mean he was about to the breaking point?

She’d been less pushy because of how gentle his symptoms seemed to be, aside from occasional fits that left him wheezing with petals in his hand. She had several thoughts–maybe it was slow because his feelings weren’t as strong? Maybe Tadashi had an unprecedented resistance to the condition? She had definitely taken blood tests for examination, but nothing turned up. He hadn’t really expected anything to, because Tadashi had another hypothesis.

Maybe his flowers were growing and blooming and choking him so slowly as a reflection of how gradually he’d fallen to start with. Perhaps, also, as evidence of how gradually he’d realized it, too. Be that as it may, they were still taking their toll, and Tadashi knew he needed to go back to the doctor.

After her recent press towards decision-making and the brochures she’d pressed into his hands about the surgery and the side effects, Tadashi had missed his last appointment.

It hadn’t even been an accident.

Tadashi knew it was foolish. He knew he was being foolish, but he couldn’t help himself.

The thought of forgetting...it was scary. Forgetting everything that Tsukki meant to him and everything Tsukki had done for him? Forgetting the things that made their relationship what it was, even before his traitorous heart tried to interfere with that? Tadashi was scared.

He was scared when he had fits now, too, because they were getting more and more frequent and the evidence was getting even harder to hide. And as he shuddered through his most recent fit, he just knew that Tsukki would be giving him that look–the one that he only wore when he thought something or someone was really uncool.

I know, Tadashi thought.

He coughed, hard, and the lump constricting his throat finally dislodged. It came up, a peach-colored blossom speckled red, warm and damp in the palm of his hand. His stomach gave a lurch and he surged forward and retched into the toilet bowl. There was nothing of substance to come up, since he’d hardly eaten in the last couple of days. All that came up were a few more tattered petals and copper-tasting bile, and he pressed his head against the cabinet under the sink, taking a slow breath before he tried to stand.

“I’m an idiot,” he admitted out loud, laughing at himself dryly. He coughed lightly into his hand. Speaking chafed at his already raw throat, and the laugh had only served to agitate it further. Instead of repeating himself, he just thought silently, I know I’m an idiot.

Tadashi took a few ragged breaths, careful not to breathe too quickly or too harshly, and glanced into the toilet bowl. His breath nearly hitched when he saw the flower he’d discarded, among all the other petals.

It was nearly fully bloomed, this time.

His time was running out.

“Tadashi–” Tsukki’s tone held a warning. An exasperated warning, borne of how many times he’d said the words, but still.

“My doctor said it’ll clear up soon!” Tadashi waved his hand at Tsukki, almost dismissively, as he cleared his throat. “Don’t worry about it so much!” he tried, but the effect was ruined when he was forced to cough lightly into his hand.

“I don’t care what your doctor’s been telling you,” Tsukki scowled darkly at his insistence. Tadashi was starting to suspect that Tsukki knew something was up.

“C’mon, Tsukki,” Tadashi laughed weakly, stepping carefully around a patch of ice on the sidewalk. His legs were weak, and he didn’t trust himself to step over it without stepping onto it. He didn’t want to worry Tsukki more by falling on his ass because of ice...and he was sure falling like that would him draw in a breath sharp enough to cause a coughing fit, so it wasn’t worth the risk. “Don’t be like that,” he added.

Tsukki, in typical Tsukishima fashion, ignored Tadashi’s attempts at placation and got straight to the point.

“Did you actually even go to your appointment last week?”

Tadashi flinched, but he was lagging slightly behind, so he hoped that maybe Tsukki hadn’t noticed it. But Tsukki would know if he was lying, so Tadashi sighed softly.

“I fell asleep and missed that appointment,” he admitted sheepishly. It wasn’t an outright lie, like when he missed the appointment the week before and told Tsukki that he’d been, but there were certain details Tadashi would omit if he could avoid them. Namely, the fact that he wasn’t actually sure he’d fallen asleep so much as passed out from exhaustion after the worst coughing fit he’d had to date.

Tsukki, however, stopped short and turned slowly to face Tadashi. His eyes narrowed, and his brows furrowed. Tadashi couldn’t help but freeze in his tracks, under that piercing gaze he’d grown so fond of.

“And your next appointment?”

His tone made Tadashi flinch again, and this time he knew that Tsukki saw it. He laughed, as carefully as he could, and reached to rub at the back of his head, sheepish.

“I’ll make it to the next one, Tsukki.”

Tsukki just looked at him, eyes sharp and unreadable. He always seemed to know more than Tadashi wanted him to, and he was starting to think that this instance was no different.

And then he spoke, words carefully calculated to shoot daggers into Tadashi’s heart.

“I thought you told me everything,” he delivered, in a tone clipped and as venomous as any Tadashi had heard directed at him in years.

“Tsukki–” he started, and he was almost glad for the interruption, since Tadashi had no idea what he was going to say after that. But the words sent ice through his veins.

“When did you start lying to me?”

The statement alone stole the breath from Tadashi’s lungs, and it took a monumental effort on his behalf not to fall to his knees and spill everything right then and there.

When did I…?

Tadashi wondered vaguely, as if he was further apart from the conversation. And he was horrified to realize that he couldn’t pinpoint when or exactly why this trend had started. It was true, though. He used to tell Tsukki everything, but he’d been omitting details and outright lying to him for...for how long?

Was it when I realized I liked him? When iIstarted to realize I liked him? When I realized it was even more than that? Or when the flowers that proved it started tumbling from his lips?

“I–”

Tsukki huffed and turned away. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”

The words were stiff–as stiff as Tsukki’s posture, his movements as he took a few steps away. Tadashi’s heart squeezed and he panicked, reaching a hand out for Tsukki only to realize that he couldn’t see, and then lowered it.

“Tsukki–” he tried again, but his throat tightened and he realized that this was more than just the ever-present soreness he’d been experiencing for weeks now. He coughed once, hard, and then twice, and Tsukki paused, glancing back.

Not now, Tadashi willed with all his might, swallowing hard.

“I–I want to tell you,” he said hurriedly, before he could back down, before he started coughing again. His chest hurt from the effort, from how hard he was trying to hold back his coughs. “I’ve wanted to tell you for ages. I just...I–” he coughed again, then, unable to keep it held back. He felt the petals creeping up his esophagus.

“What’s keeping you, then?”

His tone was petulant, but also curious. Concerned, even.

“It’s–” he cleared his throat carefully. “It’s not an easy conversation,” he wheezed, forcing the words out. He’d been very foolish for a long time, now, and Tsukki had noticed. Of course Tsukki had noticed. He’d been watching, like always, and he was worried. Tadashi couldn’t keep letting him think that he didn’t have Tadashi’s trust like he used to. He couldn’t let Tsukki think that he’d meant to keep lying to him for this long.

“Well, then, uncomplicate it. Make it easy.”

I’m waiting, Tadashi heard, unspoken.

Tadashi was probably the only person that could get away with having a conversation about unrequited love with Tsukishima Kei and not get a sneer or snide comment in return. Even so, the thought of actually having said conversation was terrifying. Several long and enduring years of friendship, the steady and easy camaraderie they’d built up, those days of laughing together and playing volleyball together and spending damn near all their free time together? That was all on the line.

Yeah...the very idea of talking to Tsukki was incredibly daunting. He felt even more put on the spot than any time he’d ever subbed in as a pinch server, but with every day he tasted petals on his tongue, Tadashi was growing weaker and weaker and he knew it. With every moment he put this conversation off, the disease rooted in his lungs had sprouted even more.

In spite of it all, though, it was strangely satisfying to know that he loved someone so deeply it could kill him. In a way, it made it feel more real than any number of flowers in his lungs ever could.

Tsukki had been patient, but he wouldn’t be for long. So Tadashi mustered his courage, just before he thought Tsukki was going to speak again.

“Tonight!” he forced out, his throat nearly constricted from the effort of holding it in. He swallowed, praying that he could stave it off long enough to finish this conversation, and forged on. “I’ll tell you everything tonight, if you’re still coming over during our normal study time, Kei!”

The name slipped–but it felt so natural, and it made his chest squeeze.

Tonight, I’ll tell you I’m in love with you, and that I don’t expect anything from you. I’ll prepare to get the surgery, if it’s not already too late, and try to prepare myself to forget how important you are to me.

“What makes tonight any different from the other times we’ve studied together since you got sick?” Tsukki was still frustrated, and understandably so. What Tadashi had been doing, unknowingly, was causing a rift he never meant to cause.

He coughed once, then twice, and then he doubled over to try to contain it better.

Just a little longer, dammit.

He swallowed again, harder than he should have. His throat throbbed.

“Tadashi–”

“I’m running out of time, Tsukki,” the words sounded more desperate than he’d intended as the rush of Tsukki’s voice saying his name flooded him again. They weren’t even words he’d meant to say, and when he realized he’d said them it was hard not to panic immediately. He coughed into his hand again and tried to ignore the look of alarm on Tsukki’s face that was barely disguised. He clenched his fingers around the petals at his lips and croaked out, “Please. I’ll tell you everything tonight, Kei, I promise.”

He was done. He was done lying to Tsukki, and though he hadn’t initially intended to phrase it as he had, it was true that his time was running out. It was only the first step in telling Tsukki the truth, as he should have done from the start. But, for the time being, Tadashi had bigger things to worry about.

His voice cracked as he spoke, and then he coughed again. It wouldn’t be good if he spilled flowers all over the sidewalk now, so he hastily ducked his head in apology and rushed for the nearest academic building.

“Tadashi, wait–” he heard, but Tsukki wasn’t immediately behind him, and he made his way to the nearest men’s restroom and into a stall. And then he coughed–retched–until tears streamed down his cheeks and his throat was raw and he thought he might choke. He coughed until he felt like another bud had lodged in his throat, larger and more restrictive than any had been before.

Distantly, he heard voices in the bathroom, and he silently apologized for interrupting their business, but it came with a certain sense of disconnect. Tadashi didn’t feel like this was entirely real, almost like he was observing the situation from afar, and his logical side knew it was the lack of oxygen to his brain. His disease, slowly but steadily cutting off his air supply.

Instinctively, Tadashi tried to draw in a panicked, desperate breath, and choked on the lump in his throat. He hacked again, and again, and felt lightheaded and dizzy and so, so afraid. There had been other buds in the last few weeks that had kept him from breathing for a few moments, others that had made him wheeze for minutes on end, but none quite like this one. No others that made him honestly wonder if he’d even be able to cough this one up, or if it was his fate to die in a bathroom with a flower lodged in his throat.

A knock, as if from a distance, sounded. Even if Tadashi had wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to answer.

He tried to suck in another gasping breath, and just a bit of air made it past the growth in his throat. It didn’t help, and spots swam before his eyes. Tadashi tried, desperately, to gather his scattered thoughts enough to muster the energy for a single, forceful cough. It was his best bet to get the flower dislodged, he thought, but when he had no breath to spare it was hard. But he managed, after a few wheezing tries, to get one solid cough, strong enough to wrack his entire body with the force, and he finally felt it shift. A few more painful coughs and then he wheezed, slumping heavily against the toilet paper dispenser as he sucked in gasping breaths of air and started to slowly take in his surroundings.

Tadashi was on the floor, knees smarting from the force with which he’d fallen, and there was a persistent banging. Idly, he wondered if that was the sound of his brain against his skull, throbbing like everything else, until he realized that the dispenser he was leaning against–and the wall it was attached to–were shaking in time with the sound.

It wasn’t until he heard the voice, though, that he realized it was his stall door.

“So help me, Yamaguchi Tadashi–” his voice cracked and it sounded like someone slammed an open palm against the door, “–if you don’t answer me this instant, I will break this door–”

“Tsu...kki,” he croaked, voice nearly gone, but the banging stopped.

“Tadashi, open the door,” he demanded. And after a moment, when Tadashi didn’t answer, “Don’t make me break it. Or crawl underneath. Open the door.”

Tadashi didn’t even have the strength to argue, or to try wiping the tears from his face. He just blindly fumbled for the sliding lock, and then fumbled with it when he found it, and then there was a second body in the all too cramped space, closing the door behind himself as he knelt down and immediately pressed his hand to Tadashi’s forehead.

“What the fuck, Tadashi,” he growled, vehemently, and Tadashi just closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the stall wall, and breathed slowly in, trying not to wheeze.

“I said...I’d tell you...later,” he choked out, trying to think past the ache in his throat and the throbbing in his skull.

“You’re still explaining later,” Tsukki assured him, reaching behind Tadashi to pull some toilet paper and scrub, not exactly gently but not too roughly, at the streaks on Tadashi’s cheeks. When Tadashi waved him away, albeit weakly, and took the paper himself, he watched as Tsukki glanced down into the toilet bowl. Those same peach blooms, only there was a strand of three together. It was no wonder he’d been choking, with flower atop flower atop flower resting in his esophagus, scratching and irritating and limiting his ability to breathe.

Gladiolus, Tadashi realized, finally. That’s what they are.

“You’re still explaining,” Tsukki repeated, reaching to flush the toilet before grabbing Tadashi under the arm to pull him to his feet, “but not until you eat something and take a nap. We’re going back to your place.”

“Classes–”

“Aren’t important right now,” Tsukki cut him off. “Just shut up and put your arm around me, Tadashi. I’m taking you home.”

“Your classes–your morning practice–” he tried, weakly. He almost protested further, saying that he could take himself home, but his legs felt a little like jello, weak and hardly capable of holding his weight.

“I don’t care,” he tugged Tadashi’s arm firmly over his shoulder and pushed out of the stall, navigating to the sink and ignoring the stares from one or two other people in the restroom. “Wash your hands and rinse your mouth, then I’m taking you home. Don’t argue.”

Tadashi just nodded, pulling himself away to get at the sinks, and accepting when Tsukki passed him paper towels. He hadn’t realized, but Tsukki had Tadashi’s bag thrown over his shoulder as well as his own. Tadashi started to say something about it, but one almost glare from his friend made the words die in his throat.

He didn’t know what Tsukki thought, or what he’d guessed, but Tsukki knew, now. Even before Tadashi had prepared himself to talk to him.

The walk towards the train station was silent, as was boarding the train to head back toward Tadashi’s apartment. Tsukki stayed almost obnoxiously close, and reached out a hand whenever he thought Tadashi might falter in his steps. He made Tadashi sit on the train and stood next to him, all tenseness and sternness that Tadashi wasn’t used to seeing from him. And that silence persisted until after they’d reached Tadashi’s apartment, when Tsukki closed the door behind them with a firm push, dropped both of their bags near the door, and made his way straight to the small kitchen.

And then, finally, Tsukki broke the silence that Tadashi was too nervous to dare.

“Take a nap. I’ll make some soup and wake you up, and then we can talk.”

He wanted to protest, but something in Tsukki’s tone made him lower his head. He’d worried Tsukki enough and despite that, despite the fact that Tadashi had lied to him and now he had realized, Tsukki was still caring for Tadashi. For Tsukishima Kei, actions had always spoken louder than words, so Tadashi knew not to take it for granted.

Instead, he managed a hoarse, “Okay,” and managed to climb into his bed without mustering too much guilt.

When Tadashi woke up, it was to another coughing fit. Harsh, abrupt, and choking–but not nearly as long as the fit in the bathroom earlier, and when the small lump dislodged it was a single bud in his hand, attached to a stem that would hold many more blooms.

His throat was raw, but just as he realized it, a hand descended into his slightly blurry line of vision, holding a cup.

“Tea, with honey and lemon,” Tsukki’s voice was tight, with concern and another emotion that Tadashi couldn’t quite place, dazed as he was with sleep and his cough. He pushed himself weakly into a sitting position and accepted the cup, curling his fingers around its warmth.

“Thanks,” he murmured, though he could barely manage to speak above a whisper. He let his eyes trail over to his clock, reluctantly, and noticed that several hours had passed. It didn’t look like Tsukki had left at all since Tadashi had fallen asleep, and based on the time he was already missing practice. He flinched but chose not to comment and, under Tsukki’s scrutinizing stare, lifted the cup of tea to his lips.

“I’ll reheat the soup. Can you make it to the table?”

Tadashi grunted an affirmative, and Tsukki nodded slowly, turning to the small kitchen. Tadashi slowly, dazedly, pulled back the covers and placed his teacup carefully on the table next to his bed to turn and place his feet on the floor. He grabbed the cup again when he stood and made his way toward the table. His legs were a bit weak but he made it fine, slumping heavily in a chair as he did so and coughing lightly into his hand from the effort.

His head hurt. His throat burned. His body ached. Tadashi wanted to curl back up under his covers and sleep it away, but he thought it was probably a bad idea. Not only that, he highly doubted Tsukki would let him. And...despite how scary the thought was, Tadashi was tired of running.

As Tsukki moved around in Tadashi’s small kitchen, reheating the soup he’d made earlier and probably purposely avoiding glancing back over at the table, Tadashi’s heart squeezed.

It was time, probably. Past time, even.

Tadashi leaned forward with a sigh and rested his forehead on the table.

It wasn’t long before the sounds of Tsukki in the kitchen ceased, and Tadashi felt the table shudder a little as something was placed next to him. He could feel warmth next to his arm, and lifted his head to see the pattern of one of his bowls. He pushed himself back up as the clatter of the other chair at his table sounded, and Tsukki took his own place there.

“Eat.”

The word was simple and short, but Tadashi nodded and reached for his bowl, slowly pulling it towards himself. He blew on the first spoonful, then started to eat. It was almost awkward, with eyes watching his every movement as if to make sure he was actually eating. And then, after a while, when the bowl was half empty, the tension in the air shifted.

Tsukki was done waiting, too, it seemed.

“How long?”

At least he didn’t go straight for who, Tadashi thought to himself. A small respite, this first question, though it opened the way for many more. He wondered if Tsukki had any ideas on who he thought Tadashi was so in love with it was killing him...but then again, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know who Tsukki thought it was. What if Tsukki thought it was Shimada? Or even Akiteru?

He was giving Tadashi a look, and he realized dazedly that he needed to actually answer.

“I’m not actually sure,” his voice came out hoarse but with more conviction than he’d expected, and he reached to curl his fingers around his teacup. A quick glance back at Tsukki proved that he wouldn’t be satisfied with just that answer. Tadashi had expected as much. “It started getting worse, I guess, about....four months ago? When we first thought I was catching a cold, I think.”

Thin brows arched high, close to blond fringe, and Tsukki asked, almost demanded, “And you haven’t done anything about it?”

You haven’t set up the surgery? Tried a confession? Yeah, that sounds about right.

He had a feeling Tsukki wouldn’t appreciate that, either.

“I’ve been consulting a specialist, ever since that first appointment,” he offered instead. That much was true...when he went to the appointments.

Tsukki seemed to have the same thought.

“And how many of those appointments have you missed lately?”

How many times have you lied to me?

Tadashi flinched at the thought.

“Three,” he answered honestly, his voice small.

He couldn’t bring himself to look directly at Tsukki, but he could feel the intense stare. It was almost like he was sizing up an opponent on the other side of the volleyball net.

Tsukki’s next question was only one word, tight and clipped. “Why?”

He squeezed his cup between his hands, hoping the warmth would give him strength. “The first was because I didn’t want her to lecture me again about considering the surgery,” he admitted slowly, staring down at his tea. “I didn’t want her to walk me through another brochure for another surgeon and talk about all the pros and cons of it. The second time, I forgot about it. I had a big test and had pulled a few all nighters to study, and when I did remember shortly before the appointment, I couldn’t bring myself to go.”

I was so, so tired, Tadashi thought, kind of like now.

“And you slept through the third one?”

Tadashi grimaced. “Well...in a way.”

He looked back up, and decided that was a mistake. Tsukki’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward, elbows on the table and hands clasped in front of his face, and demanded, “Elaborate.”

“I think I passed out in the bathroom? I woke up on the bathroom floor and just...went to bed. I’m not actually sure where I was during the appointment, but I was technically sleeping through it.”

“Tadashi.”

He looked back down, drawing his shoulders up. Tadashi felt like he wanted to hide.

“I know I’m an idiot,” he nearly whispered. He was one of the few that Tsukishima Kei might not scoff at in this situation, but he wouldn’t hold his breath. He was being stupid, and Tsukki was never the type that would let that slide. It was one of the best and simultaneously one of the worst things about being friends with him. Maybe about being in love with him, too.

The thought was kind of bittersweet.

“If you’re running from the surgery, then have you even tried talking to whoever it is?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Tadashi,” Tsukki’s tone was even harsher, a little more urgent.

“I know, Tsukki,” his voice cracked, and he lifted his hands to wind them into his own hair.

“If you know, then tell me why.”

His voice was tighter, even more strained than Tadashi ever recalled hearing from him. It was new, and probably a sign of how worried he was. For the infallible Tsukishima Kei to be unable to regulate his tone, Tadashi figured he was pretty upset. If he was in Tsukki’s place, he’d probably feel the same, though.

If he found out Tsukki had been lying to him, or telling half-truths, when his health was at stake? He’d be furious. And not only because of these feelings that were choking him to death.

“I’ve been afraid.”

The words were matter-of-fact, and for a moment Tadashi didn’t realize he’d said them. They were true, though.

“And when has that stopped you before?” the words cut through him, and Tadashi glanced back up at his friend. Tsukki frowned–not any sort of smirk nor any sort of sneer, but a genuine expression of concern.

“Tsukki—”

“You’ve never let your fears get the better of you before. At least not for this long. You’ve always found a way to get past all your hold ups before now, Tadashi–what makes this any different?”

Confessing isn’t easy when it could change everything we’ve built up for the last decade, he wanted to say.

“Sometimes I just need someone to knock some sense into me, first,” he tried for a grin.

Tsukki reached forward, and Tadashi tracked his hand with his eyes, startled. And then it shifted, right above Tadashi’s eye level, and it all made sense. Tadashi yelped when Tsukki flicked him, hard, in the center of his forehead.

“Ouch, Tsukki, what—” he coughed before he could finish, but thankfully was able to regain control after three or four coughs. He moved to wipe away the petals sticking to his hand and tried to ignore the feeling of more velvety petals in his throat, swallowing past them.

“Just knocking some sense into that thick skull of yours,” he said simply, eyes glued to the petals that Tadashi was still wiping off on a tissue.

Tadashi stared blankly at his best friend–his most important person, quite frankly–and then let out a short, hoarse laugh.

“Ha, thanks, Tsukki,” he coughed once, into the tissue he held. A result of the petals still in his throat, he figured. “I think you’re the only one that can, anymore.”

“Then I have to do it right, because I don’t want to have to sit here and talk about this again,” his tone was clipped, and it made Tadashi really look at him. The determined look was familiar, but Tadashi was hardly ever on the receiving end and he found himself unable to tear his gaze away again. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this, Tadashi. Right now. You told me you’d tell me everything, so don’t play games this time. What are you so afraid of?”

A lot of things, probably.

Rejection? Definitely, but also overstepping his boundaries. Disappointing Tsukki. Well, he’d probably already done that last one. But mostly, he was terrified of losing his best friend entirely, whether it be through his reaction to Tadashi’s feelings or through the surgery and one of its many possible side effects.

“Tadashi,” Tsukki prompted, and he jumped. He’d let himself get dragged into his thoughts again, and at the sound of his friend’s voice he came back to the moment. It didn’t help that he was still getting used to hearing Tsukki say his name. He’d said it so many times, almost as if it had become his default way of calling out to Tadashi in the last several months, and yet it still sent warmth tingling through his body every time he heard it.

He swallowed and finally answered, “Change.”

“Change?” he sounded skeptical, and Tadashi didn’t really blame him. After all, Tadashi was the one that had pushed Tsukki to change in high school not only for the team, but for himself.

“No matter what I do, the dynamic will change. I’m afraid of losing what’s already there.”

It was close. Tadashi could feel it. It was almost time to tell him everything. Strangely, after all of this, it felt like it would be almost easy now. Somehow. He wasn’t sure why he felt that way, but it was probably something to do with how familiar Tsukki’s presence was, and how comfortable he was with him on a normal basis.

Maybe he’d been overthinking everything.

“Things change all the time. You change all the time,” Tsukki pointed out, brows furrowed. “Why are you so afraid of it now?”

Tadashi swallowed. Now or never, Tadashi. You can do it.

“We’ve never really changed much, have we, Kei?”

His voice was smaller than intended, but Tadashi managed to keep his head up and maintain eye contact. He didn’t hide or try to shy away, this time, no matter how much he wanted to. It was high time he faced the truth, as hard as it might be.

“Of course we have,” Tsukki’s words were almost dismissive, but his tone was calculated. He’d picked up on Tadashi’s implication for sure–he just might not believe what he was hearing. Tadashi wondered if he’d believe it, were the situation backwards.

“Yeah, but never like this,” Tadashi laughed weakly, maybe a bit forced. Definitely a bit forced. “No matter what happens now, what we’ve always had is going to change because of it...because of me. And I’m terrified.”

The silence was almost as palpable as the feeling of flowers creeping up his throat. He would start coughing soon, and it wouldn’t be pretty–Tadashi could feel that much. It was probably on the scale of this morning’s fit, or the one that kept him in bed all day when he missed a previous appointment with Ogata-sensei. He wanted to finish this conversation before then, but it wasn’t his turn to break the silence, no matter how badly he wanted Tsukki to say something.

Tadashi prided himself on being able to read the many expressions of Tsukishima Kei, but right now he wasn’t sure how to interpret them. His usual incredulous look, his you’re being an idiot look, one that reminded Tadashi of his expression when they lost in the semifinals last year...there were almost too many back to back. He wasn’t sure what it meant when they were all strung together like that.

“Tadashi.”

His voice cracked, and but Tadashi managed to hold his gaze as Tsukki struggled for more words. He waited rather than interrupt.

“You’re such an idiot,” he finally said, and the cups and bowl on the table clattered when he slammed his fist down. Tadashi couldn’t help it–he flinched, but managed to keep watching Tsukki. And then, when he looked back up, Tadashi tried to place the somewhat twisted expression–concern, frustration, relief?–before Tsukki spoke again. “I’m such an idiot.”

That was not what Tadashi expected to hear, and his eyes widened in surprise.

“Kei…?”

“I’m such an asshole, Tadashi,” he started to chuckle, but it was airy and light–not a heartfelt chuckle but something almost hysterical. “Why me?”

He was already in too far to back out now, so Tadashi decided to dive in head first.

“I’m not really sure,” he admitted, clasping his hands on the table in front of him. His tea and his soup were probably cold, now, or getting there. “I was already pretty much head over heels before I’d even realized it had started. It sounds kind of dumb, or like one of those movies Yachi asked if we’d all go see with her one time, but I still don’t think I’d change it, even if it is scary. Even though it’s going to change everything.”

He looked back up at Tsukki, who looked like he was debating with himself whether he was confused or wanted to keep laughing, and swallowed thickly again, then offered a small smile.

“Sorry, Tsukki.”

“For what?” he sounded flabbergasted, or maybe annoyed. Tadashi just grinned again.

“That it took all this for me to tell you I like you,” he said simply, then amended, “or that I love you, I guess.”

Maybe he’ll still help me pick out the best surgeon, once this is all said and done. The one with the best success rate, he thought, but cleared it as quickly as he could. He’d think about that later.

Tsukki was staring at him, but he didn’t look shocked, just...contemplative. The signs of the near hysterical laughter were gone, and Tadashi didn’t know how to read him in this moment. His eyes flicked across Tadashi’s face, searching and analyzing–maybe he wasn’t sure Tadashi was telling the truth? Tadashi wasn’t sure he’d believe it, either.

And then Tsukki took him by surprise, sighing and pulling his glasses off to pinch at the bridge of his nose.

“You’re an idiot, Tadashi,” he repeated, albeit weaker than before.

“I know.”

“I’m an idiot.”

“What...makes you say that?” Tadashi asked slowly. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know the answer to that question.

The laugh Tsukki forced out was mirthless, and followed with, “I really am an asshole, too.”

“Kei,” Tadashi tried, frowning and leaning forward. “What are you—”

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice, Tadashi,” he pressed his face into his hands and exhaled slowly, and Tadashi was growing even more confused by the moment. This was not usual behavior for Tsukishima Kei, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it at all. “I was always watching you...so how did I miss it?”

I was always watching you.

What…?

“What do you mean by that?” Tadashi was so, so confused. His throat was tight, and he knew that he’d start coughing soon–but he wanted to see this through. He had to see this through, no matter what the end would be.

“I thought I’d know the signs for sure,” Tsukki said, running a hand through his hair as he sat back, averting his gaze as he slid his glasses back on. Then he looked back over, pink high in his cheeks. “I know you better than anyone. I thought I’d see it, if you liked me back.”

Tadashi choked on air. He couldn’t help it. And then he realized that it was more of a combination between a sob and a laugh, and he finally dropped his gazy to press the heels of his palms against his eyelids.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he breathed, laughing. He recognized the same breathy quality in his own laughter as he’d heard from Tsukki earlier, and now he thought he might know how the blond felt.

“That’s my line, you idiot.”

“You’re an idiot, too,” Tadashi sniffled a little, letting a hand fall back to the table as he peered, almost shyly, back at Tsukki. Pink was still dusted almost prettily across his cheeks and his nose, but he had controlled his confused expression. “You said it yourself.”

Tsukki snorted. “You got me there, Tadashi.”

Tadashi looked down at the table, and in a brief moment of feeling a bit more brave than any other time lately, he reached out to cover Tsukki’s hand with his own. And Tsukki, from there, turned his hand so that their fingers slotted loosely together, and then he squeezed.

“I like you, Kei.”

The petals would still come up, Tadashi knew, even if he confessed and his feelings were returned. They had to run their course, but they’d stop growing if–since–Tsukki felt the same. He’d done enough research to know that much, at least. But the consistent itch, the need to cough and cough and cough until he’d finally expelled all the petals in his throat...that was gone. Or lessened, at least, though not entirely gone.

Maybe he’d still develop asthma or some occasional trouble breathing, like some extreme cases had done, but that was a thought for some other time.

“Tadashi—”

“I like you,” he interrupted, squeezing Tsukki’s hand back. “I like you. I love you.”

“You idiot,” Tsukki groaned, lifting their clasped hands and pressing the back of Tadashi’s hand to his forehead. His breath ghosted across Tadashi’s wrist, sending a shudder down Tadashi’s spine. His breath was warm and came in short bursts, and Tadashi realized that he was as nervous about this as Tadashi was. This was new to both of them, and in different ways it was something that had been terrifying for both of them. It could have gone very differently, all things considered.

And despite everything...Tadashi didn’t need to hear it back. He’d learned long ago that with Tsukishima Kei, actions always spoke louder than words. He was more than content with that and didn’t need anything more than this.

So it meant so much more when Tsukki breathed out slowly against Tadashi’s wrist, pressing their clasped hands even more tightly against his forehead, and then whispered, “I love you, too.”