Work Text:
When Tsukishima stirs from his slumber, the first thing he sees is the empty space beside him. It's a disorienting scene, but he is more concerned over the fact that he managed to get any sleep at all. The pillows scatter and the blankets rumple underneath and around him, and when he glances at the time he feels a certain rush fill him. It is seven in the morning. Yamaguchi would've left for work by then. Tsukishima squints, and even then the glare of the sun still makes his eyes sting. He heaves a sigh and tugs the sheets over his body, forcing the fabric to shield his face.
Sleep teases him as he sinks further into the futon. Just as he reaches the brink of unconsciousness, his head begins to vibrate. The disturbance is followed by a sound that is loud, harsh, and annoying — akin to the reality his mind reacquaints him with. Tsukishima knits his brows and scrambles for the source of the alarm, smashing the phone’s keys to silence it.
His temples throb. He drags himself out of bed anyway.
He makes a beeline for the kitchen and prepares a mug of coffee. He keeps his face blank as he takes a sip, but he couldn't deny the bitterness that overwhelms him. The warmth of the liquid is at least comforting, if only because he associates it with the other boy. It almost makes him feel like he could function again.
Tsukishima gulps down the last of his beverage with a steel expression, and his eyes shift to the wall calendar despite his better judgement. It’s an unnecessary confirmation. He has the date memorized almost as well as he’s committed Yamaguchi’s laughter to memory. It's been haunting him.
He forces down the last drops of caffeine before he steps into the apartment’s bathroom.
The first thing he does is slip off the clothes from his back. The shirt is an odd size on him — rather loose around the collar and also lacking in terms of length — but it comes as no surprise.
The shower area hosts a small graveyard of half-used bottles, boasting scents of flowers and herbs and fruity desserts. Tsukishima reaches over to a coconut variant — one of Yamaguchi’s — and squeezes a decent amount onto his palm. He lathers the shampoo in his hands until it spills onto his forearms. He massages the foam onto his blond hair and closes his eyes. The bubbles trail down his face and run over his eyelids, like tears threatening to fall. He tries his best not to scrape his scalp raw.
He quickly scrubs his body and rinses the soap off his skin. His flesh burns with pinpricks and red marks as he pats himself dry, but he manages to conceal his scars with each article of clothing he layers on. He buttons on a shirt and fixes on some collar links, fumbling with his black tie as he appraises his reflection on the mirror. He looks decent for once. He almost smiles, but he settles for a disgruntled noise.
None would be the wiser. He almost fools himself.
Tsukishima grabs his black coat and wraps a dark scarf around his neck, and he puts on some gloves as an afterthought. He isn’t particular about his hands getting cold, but the emptiness between his fingers don't need to be emphasized any further. He'd much rather focus his energy on other things, like figuring out how to face Yamaguchi at the end of the day.
Tsukishima feels his heart catch in his throat. He takes in a deep breath.
There’s no need to feel nervous. Right?
He crouches down to tie the laces of his shoes and he wills his mind to float elsewhere, but to no avail. It’s grown increasingly difficult to think of anything but the freckled boy, especially in the recent days. The blond makes an attempt to at least keep the thoughts from consuming him.
It works. Almost.
He steps out onto the street with a scowl on his face, shoulders burdened from the small bag he slings on at the last minute. The faces blur in his vision despite the eyeglasses that rest by his nose bridge. The sights and sounds are busy and piercing and all too much, and he finds refuge in a small and quaint flower shop. The clerk greets him with a smile.
“Welcome back.”
“Yeah,” he says simply.
“A new delivery arrived just in time for us to complete your order,” the florist comments once they emerge from the back room.
“Oh,” Tsukishima says as he accepts the arrangement — white lilies and alstroemeria artfully mixed in with chrysanthemums. He smiles politely at the florist. “Thanks. It’s better than I expected.”
“I'm sure he'd like this one as well," the florist assures.
"Probably," Tsukishima shrugs.
He leaves the florist a generous tip, to which they comment, “Your constant purchases are enough to keep my business afloat.”
"Really," he replies dryly.
"But this one was quite sudden, wasn't it?" the clerk asks. “Did something happen?"
"I'm sure he has his reasons," the florist hurriedly replies with a pointed look.
Tsukishima turns away. “Well. Thanks again for the flowers, Iwaizumi-san.”
As he walks out of the shop, his phone begins to buzz in his pocket. He balances the vase of flowers in one arm before he answers the call with a dull, "Hello?"
"T-Tsukishima-kun! You answered?" a light voice speaks.
"You called," he drones.
"I-I know. I just didn't expect you to. I've been trying for so long, I hope you're doing okay —"
"I don't know, Yachi-san."
"Right. Right... I'm sorry," the girl apologizes. "Is there anything that I could do for you, maybe?"
"It's fine. You don't have to."
"Okay," she trails off. "You'd be visiting Yamaguchi with us today, right? We’ve been kind of worried since you haven’t gone at all, and it’s already the seventh day and —“
"I'm on my way to see him right now," he explains.
"Eh? Ah, okay. I understand. The old team would be going together later in the afternoon though, so would you be okay with joining us by then?”
Tsukishima bites the inside of his cheek. He wants to say no, but he considers what Yamaguchi would tell him in that situation.
"I'll think about it."
He hears the girl let out a sigh of relief. “Good. Let me know, okay?”
"All right," he says before they exchange goodbyes.
He hails a cab shortly after. The cityscape around him thins out to make way for trees and various shrubbery, and the scenery evokes a sense of peace and anxiety. It's unfamiliar territory, and Tsukishima has to check his phone to reconfirm the directions.
He alights by a large, imposing gate.
The ground makes way for both gray and greenery, and Tsukishima set his feet on the tiled path. He weaves his way through the garden, only half-minding the other visitors that move around him. His heart paces as he nears his destination, but as he is welcomed by a lone gust of wind, he is instead flooded with a feeling of calm.
The stone sprouts from the ground like a hardened blossom, too pale and lifeless for his tastes. He adorns the space with his offering of flowers. He lowers to a squat, the faint smell of crushed grass and damp dirt hinting at his senses.
He reaches into his bag and takes out a small glass. He drops a small candle inside it, and with a flick of his lighter, a hopeful flicker dances on its wick.
"Do you remember how our last date went?" he says to no one in particular. He takes out a few sticks of incense and brings them over the flame. “I still can't believe you didn't think it was a proper date at first. It was a candlelit dinner. That was pretty date-like, right?"
He chuckles to himself as the aroma of spice nearly chokes him. "I almost burnt my shirt because of those fucking candles. It was a good thing you noticed it, because I would've only kept my eyes on you for that whole night."
The blond sighs. He places the incense inside one of the containers before him. He gongs a bell and completes his prayer in silence.
"It already feels so long ago, Tadashi," he murmurs with a shake of his head. "I kind of wish it didn't feel so far away."
In his hand, he starts to fumble with a small jewelry box. When he opens it, it reveals a thin silver band that glints under the light.
"I wish I’d planned to say it sooner. I'm sorry. I’m sorry I waited too long. I don't know. I thought the timing would be right. I've been planning for so long, but this all happened so fast,” he says as he weighed the ring in his hand. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."
Tsukishima trails his fingers over the monument, slowly tracing the characters of Yamaguchi’s name. The engraving looks polished yet misplaced at the same time, still stiff from the fresh handiwork.
“It’s a bit late, but happy birthday. If anything, I wish you felt the least amount of pain," he whispers, voice breaking from the vivid memory of Yamaguchi falling limp in his arms. He bites lower lip. "I... I wish you didn't have to go yet. I miss you.”
On his way home, Tsukishima decides to stop by a bakeshop. The cashier acknowledges him with fondness, and they pack a colourful set of birthday candles along with the blond's order. He smiles to himself. He'd picked the gooiest, most chocolatey cake available on display, the icing dripping like sin down onto its base. Just imagining its taste makes his throat feel dry. He brings it along with him when he meets up with his old high school volleyball teammates, and they leave the cake out by the freckled boy's headstone. It’s what Yamaguchi would’ve wanted.