Haikyuu One Shots

tsukkiyama

before i start id like to mention that the font size of the words when i write stories is ridiculously big for no reason despite my actual screen font and wattpad read size font being much smaller and im so irked --
also i felt sad and lonely yet inspired so i produced this

Alone.

That was precisely how Tsukishima felt.

Alone. Craving the warmth of another, waiting, waiting, waiting, everyday in anticipation of Yamaguchi, Yamaguchi with his beautiful half tanned skin, olive eyes, freckles which dot his cheekbones, nose, forehead, collarbones, arms and legs like constellations in the sky, and Tsukishima swore he found a few on his left arm once. So beautiful, and yet his personality was exactly the opposite of the sky, instead resembling a small but resilient star glowing in the sky. Often overshadowed by the moon, the sun, draped in dark shadows by the night, but forever shining.

Tsukishima wondered when he began feeling this way for Yamaguchi. It couldn't have been when he first met Yamaguchi, could it? A small frown creeps onto his face. He ought to have helped Yamaguchi out more that day, and done more than just a passive "Lame" to his bullies.

Yamaguchi radiated positive and bubbly starlight, his smile ever radiant, although outshone by Hinata's, Tsukishima wasn't one for the exceedingly sparkling and outstanding people; he preferred to blend in, although Yamaguchi says his looks would never allow that. Tsukishima always scoffs, but he knows that his looks were above average, and he knows Yamaguchi feels a little below him, a little worse at everything compared to his best friend, a little lower in statistics, a little shorter, falling behind a little more. He notices the little things about Yamaguchi, and each time he mentions it, Yamaguchi makes even more of an attempt to cover it up the next time.

There was a time in college, Yamaguchi got bullied and called, "Dirt-Face" with his freckles being the dirt specks on his face, and he got red marker coloured all over his face when the bullies tried to 'help' Yamaguchi conceal the 'dirt' on his face. Tsukishima always called Yamaguchi beautiful. Always. Yamaguchi always smiled at him ever brightly, and said, "You're prettier than me!" Tsukishima had reported them and gotten those assholes expelled, since it wasn't the first time they'd bullied Yamaguchi. "I got rid of them." Yamaguchi had smiled at Tsukishima, but Tsukishima got inklings of unrest from that smile. And he was right to feel unrest.

Alone.

That was precisely how Yamaguchi felt.

Yamaguchi sat in a corner in his room, with the lights off, cradling himself, holding to himself all the confession letters he and other girls who'd asked him to pass something to Tsukishima had written. Tsukishima. Golden, beautiful, sparkling, Tsukishima. Tsukishima with his double-lidded, golden eyes with platinum lashes, the colour of expensive gold. His hair in medium length locks, waves running free but beautifully amock his head. His long and lean limbs which many girls wanted him to hold them in. Yamaguchi felt his heart strain with the need to express his feelings, but he couldn't. He was below Tsukishima. Way out of Tsukishima's league. He didn't belong with the elf-like beautiful Tsukishima, with his smart wittiness and quick reflexes. Yamaguchi felt like dirt. His blotchy skin, a little tanned and a little not, felt like it was poor quality soil. Tsukishima had milky white skin. His skin and complexion were perfect. Yamaguchi wasn't able to match that.

Yamaguchi rocked himself, back, and front, and back, and front, trying his best to suppress the overwhelming load of emotions, a cacophony of voices surrounding him amidst this silent and dark room, insecurity, fear, wrapping their dark tendrils of smoke around his heart and squeezing it tighter, controlling his brain and polluting his thoughts, his mindset. An orb of water formed at the corner of his eye, and he took deep and long breaths, breathing in the the smell of his deodorant, lightly diffused over the room.

He closed his olive eyes, as he rests his head on his knee, tears falling onto the mat on his floor. He felt isolated, alone, quarantined to this little mindspace he was currently experiencing, hyperventilating, a solitary figure draped by the darkness around him, and an impulse decision hit him for the second time. He stood up and retrieved the scissors from the table; he didn't retrieve them to do any self-harm, no.

He was going to cut it all off. His hair. He wiped his red eyes, straightened out his wobbly mouth, and raised the scissors, poised to cut.

Snip.

Snip.

Snip.

Each snip was less hesitant than the last, and Yamaguchi felt liberated, like he was in control for once, and he cut more, and more, and more. Finally, he waseft with short and choppy locks that covered his whole scalp, and he smiled a little when he realised he looked like Iwaizumi but green. But then the tendrils of smog reached for him, his insecurities, his fear- He wasn't safe, not now, not ever, he thought, as if accepting his fate. The air smelt salty, and he realised that was another onslaught of tears. His core felt shaky, and as he tried to move from the mirror he couldn't tear his eyes away.

Why?

Why?
Why? Why? Why? Why did he cut his hair? He entered a state of panic, collapsing to the ground, grasping for what used to be his long locks of green, what Tsukishima used to caress and help him tie into little ponytails with braids. He felt as though he'd cut off part of his connection with Tsukishima- All my fault. All my fault. All my fault. That thought mindlessly barged into Yamaguchi's mind as he sat and sobbed, a solitary figure, darkness snaking around him.

After what felt like an eternity, he felt enough sense to pick up his phone. He dialled the first number that came to his mind, Tsukki, he vaguely thought, before he fainted.

-

When he woke up he was safe. He felt safe. Whose arms were these? So long, they held the entire of Yamaguchi's upper half in them, one entwined, clasping onto his fingers, lean, long, intertwined with his pathetically rough freckled hands.

"Yamaguchi."

Yamaguchi jolted awake.

"Ts-Tsukishima! I--" He frantically reached for a blanket and covered himself in it, whole. Tsukishima gently tugged, at the blanket, to find a sobbing snivelling mess underneath it.

"I-I didn't mean t-to cut our connection!"

"What?"

"Hair, I, I'm sorry, I just-" Tsukishima inferred and understood, and he wished he could do more than just physically hold Yamaguchi, he wished he could calm him down mentally, and pass on his love, so that the trembling boy would become more confident. Tsukishima pulled the mess of emotions to himself, holding him tightly, and hushed Yamaguchi, told him not to let the stars fall from his eyes, not to cry. He told Yamaguchi that Yamaguchi was the prettiest and of all the constellations he found before on Yamaguchi's nightsky map of freckles. Just for that moment, two lonely souls connected and as they held each other, relaxing into each other's hold and warmth, as two people who loved the other, but would never confess.

As friends.

"Yamaguchi, do you like me?" A soft whisper, almost blown away by the wind amongst the stillness of the night, a cicada singing occasionally outsife the window, a few leaves tumbling and falling to the earth, peaceful and comfortable silence otherwise enveloping the two as they stayed in the messy orientation they were in.

Yamaguchi waited a beat before he responded softly by slightly nodding his head. Tsukishima felt satisfied and a soft smile, the smallest one, graced his features.

"I like you too."

"I'm sorry, Tsukishima." The smaller boy waited a while, and no reply came except constant breathing, and Yamaguchi only snuggled deeper into the other's embrace when he realised Tsukishima had slept.