#prolixposts

Kei shrugs. “What do you think people like, gift-wise?”

Tadashi furrows his brows. “What--”

“I’m not making chocolate and I can’t afford something big and expensive, so I’m asking your opinion.”

Tadashi almost asks why, until a small thought comes to his head. It’s near Christmas Eve. He wants an alternative to chocolate gifts. Tadashi gasps.

“Tsukki, who is she?”

http://archiveofourown.org/works/13138359

WIP #3: Here’s a yearbook au idea I had going on a long while back! I’m not sure I really like this one, tbh -- it’s definitely not my best, but I’m posting it anyway. enjoy!

---

He had been too busy, too afraid, to even consider joining the Yearbook staff in his first year of High School.

Added to that, he actually found he couldn't join until at least taking a class on Journalistic writing beforehand, so really, what was he even doing here, standing in front of a wooden door at the corner of the school, reading ‘Yearbook and Newspaper Clubs first meeting today at 3:00 p.m. sharp!’?

Yamaguchi Tadashi waited until his last year to stand in front of this door, had mustered the courage to speak with the supervisor of the club at the last second when being handed a flyer, and had even almost forgotten to turn in his application form out of nerves.

WIP #2: This one is set up to be a Bridge to Terabithia AU. Another kid fic, but with small changes here and there. (Like, does this have the same ending as BtT? who knows???) Also, warning for minor depictions of bullying. (It’s more of an implied than an explicit sense)

---

Chapter one

It started off with another sleepless night.

His eyes didn't even feel droopy. His stomach was making this weird gurgling noise. Yet he felt no hunger. And his mind was clear.

Well. Save for the jumbling thoughts bouncing around in his head, going off like firecrackers.

He figured it was no use to lay in bed and wait for sleep. So, Tsukishima (fucking) Kei did what he’s done every sleepless night before school: he reached for his glasses and flicked on his light to find his headphones.

His eyes glanced at his bedside clock as he placed his glasses atop his nose and pushed them up toward his incredibly not tired eyes. 3 a.m. He barely blinked at it, unsurprised.

The window on the other side of his room was slightly open, bringing in a drift of wind and the dark, dark blue sky. Perched above dark, dark green grass hills.

He could only make the outline of some distant horizon by the illumination of the moon, which really wasn't lit at all, he knew this from his grade school science class that it was reflecting some light from the sun. Really, the sun ran everything, the moon just used some of its power to illuminate those dark, dark places when it could. That, and it created the waves of the ocean, but Kei was unsure of what else the moon worked so hard for. He hadn't learned those parts yet. Or maybe he just forgot that information.

Maybe he just never really cared, unless it was at 3 a.m. and he couldn't sleep, drowning himself in an endless stream of thoughts.

He brought his headphones near him and plugged them into his phone, scrolled his finger over a playlist and sat back on his bed as the music flooded into his ears. He waited a moment, eyes staring into an empty space of the room until he blinked and came into focus again.

He sat with his back against his headboard, and as the music thrummed with his heartbeats, he picked up a book near his bedside table and started to flip through it, though he could barely read through one sentence without forgetting the entire thing. He just needed to pass the time until an appropriate hour came along where he could walk into the kitchen downstairs without disturbing anyone.

Again, his mind wandered. Though he thought the music would maybe be the cure for his perpetual stream of consciousness, it only served as a battery.

Kei’s mind was on school. He’d barely started junior high a few days prior, and there was nothing particularly unusual about that, he did spend a third of his day in school anyway. But it wasn't the building nor his classmates or even those three kids who would choose a new victim to bully at lunch break. It was strictly the material.

And, maybe, also the new kid. Now that he thought of it.

They were learning about biological processes in plants. Really, such an invigorating lesson, it put half the class into an open-eyed coma. The teacher was too lenient for Kei’s tastes, but really, he didn't care that much about it.

What he did care for was what the lesson entailed for him and how much effort he had to put into it. Kei found out at a young age that you really didn't have to put too much effort into a school project. As long as you knew the basics of what you were talking about in straight bullet point form and could provide a display that looked like time was spent on it, an easy A was granted usually every time.

But there he was, getting off track. What his mind rounded back to was the new boy in his class. And for a rural part of the country, it was sort of some big deal news at the school if there was ever a new kid.

He remembered how shy he'd looked as he was introduced. The teacher wrapped her hands around his shoulders, long red fingernails seeming to enrapture his limbs. The boy’s eyes were wide as she smiled with her red, red lips and adjusted her half-moon glasses, placing a hand out to the class.

‘Everyone, I want you to give a warm welcome to our new student. His name is-- what's your name, sweetie?’ The teacher had smiled down at him and the boy looked positively stark. He whispered something near her and the sound seemed like barely a breath of air, even to Kei, who was assigned to sit up front.

The teacher had nodded. ‘His name is Yamaguchi Tadashi and he'll be joining our class for the rest of the year.’

Kei remembered thinking how obvious that was and how the teacher usually had a habit of pointing out obvious things.

‘Now, why don't you take a seat over there, honey. Far right.’

The boy nodded and moved for his seat, but nearly tripped (over nothing, it seemed) and burned red. About as red as the red, red of their teacher's lips.

Kei watched him out of the corner of his eyes as he took the empty seat by the window with plants hanging from the sill. The boy wrung his hands together beneath his desk, head bowed a little, brown hair falling around his face a bit, save for the patch that seemed to stick up at the top. But Kei had turned around too soon after that, toward the diagram of a plant cell on the board, mind settling on that instead.

Kei remembered seeing the boy briefly at their lunch break, watched how he'd scurried to the restroom after the three kids that poked fun at things started to surround his desk.

Then, once more on the bus ride home. Yamaguchi sat at the back, fingers curled around the straps of his backpack and eyes toward the window. He wiped the back of his sleeve over his eye. Kei sat at the near front where it was easier to get off of the bus and briefly met eyes with the boy, a split second of awkward noticing. And that was the last of it.

He wasn't sure why the new kid was clouding his thoughts. Then again, he couldn't say he was altogether surprised by it. When new things happened in a quiet town, they stuck in your head, and he didn't need to know psychology to know at least that.

He guessed the thing that seemed to widdle away at his mind was that bus ride home. He wasn't exactly sure, not being the most observant person while walking home with headphones on, but he could have sworn he'd seen the boy get off at his area as well.

He could have sworn there was something off color, purple, the same as their teacher's dress, on his left cheek. Engulfing his eye.

But, then again, maybe it was something else.

He looked at the clock after a while of sitting. 5 a.m. Two hours seemed to fly by so easily.

He sat up, took the headphones from his ears and placed them back on his bedside table. The sun was still hiding from view, the dark, dark hills and grass as obscure as before, but at least he could start getting ready without his mother finding him and telling him to get back to bed.

The morning rushed by after that. Which was weird, how time seemed to fly and stretch. How it stretched between wafts of cooked eggs and flew as he tugged at his shoelaces and was pushed out the door with his older brother.

They walked down the long hill to the edge of the road to catch the bus. And there, he could see a familiar brown head of hair, the small tufts at the top catching up in the shifting wind. Kei furrowed his brows, touching his brother's sleeve.

“That's him,” he said.

Akiteru looked down at Kei with absentminded confusion, previously humming a tune of his favorite video game theme.

“What?”

Kei turned his head and pushed his glasses up. He gazed at Akiteru.

“We have a new kid in our class.”

“Oh, that's cool. And you think that's him down there?”

“That's him.”

Akiteru smiled. “Well, we should say hi--”

“I think he's fine,” Kei interjected, lowering his voice as they were coming within earshot of the boy.

Akiteru only smiled, scrunched his brows,  and shook his head.

“Okay. I'm just saying it would be neighborly. Maybe you guys could be friends.”

Kei pursed his lips. Akiteru then took a hold of his head and ruffled his hair about. Kei thrashed at him and pushed away.

“Stop!” He scowled.

“No need to be embarrassed, baby brother!”

“Get away from me. You still smell like after-school practice.”

Akiteru only laughed and gave one last pat on his shoulder before walking ahead of him.

“Well, if you don’t say hi. I’m going to. He looks lonely.”

Kei only rolled his eyes and walked slower. Akiteru jogged down the incline until slowing as he came to their stop. Kei watched as his brother grinned down at the boy sitting there, welcoming him to the neighborhood. He saw his brows furrow, but he kept his smile. Kei wondered why, until Akiteru pointed to him and waved and the boy turned his head.

It was a bruise. That’s what he’d seen yesterday. A fading purple on his left eye.

Kei found his eyes lingering at it, and the boy became flustered, immediately staring at the dirt road again, swinging his legs back and forth in a jittery motion. Akiteru noted the silence and took upon himself to fill it, asking the boy where he was from, giving him a warm smile. And Kei? He stared at the trees beside them, at the birds fighting over a meal in the dirt patch by a tree stump.

Thank you so much for sending a prompt! (Really, though, thank you Yuki, you’re a beautiful soul!) 

(Okay, okay, I tried to write something other than tsukkiyama but i think we all know by now i’m too weak for those two.)

—

He runs to class with his shoes half on and his books covering his head from the rain. Sliding, nearly slipping, when he enters the doors of the school building, Tadashi shakes the droplets off his hair and frowns. There’s odd ends of the brown mess sticking out on top, and he doesn’t have time to smooth anything down. He changes shoes, fumbles with his locker. There’s a few stragglers, but none seem as flustered as his own shakiness. 

He takes the stairs two at a time, ducks around two people walking in the halls and finally makes it to class. There’s probably only a minute to spare. He’s a little out of breath, but mostly relieved.

“Made it,” he says as he slides into his seat.

“You’re dripping water everywhere.”

“I didn’t check the weather.” He groans in reply to his best friend. Kei considers him with a glance and a roll of his eyes.

“Yeah. Even though I told you yesterday–”

Tadashi isn’t listening as his eyes shoot open, and he turns in his seat, searching all over. 

“Oh no.”

“’Oh no’ what? What ‘oh no’?”

Tadashi gives a pleading look. “Hey Tsukki,” Kei nods at him, raising a brow. “You’re my best friend, right?”

“What do you want?”

“Can I borrow a pencil,” Tadashi pauses, gives a sheepish smile. “And your homework.”

“Goodness,” Kei mutters under his breath, but is already fetching in his bag, albeit with a how of annoyance. Tadashi watches the time and bounces his knee as water droplets land on his hand. There’s a thunder clash outside.

“Hurry, hurry–”

“Here.” Kei hands him a mechanical pencil, and his homework, a golden ticket in Tadashi’s gaze.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Tadashi says all in one breath, as the teacher walks in. His eyes grow wider, his head ducks low behind the student in front of him, he wishes Kei sat in front of him for only this moment in time, then fumbles his hands all over his desk, realizing an important thing with a small gasp. He slowly looks toward Kei once more.

“Um…”

Kei looks at him with a tired gaze, expecting this.

“And some paper?”

“I’ll pay for your lunch.”

“Don’t bother.” he says as he hands him some paper a moment later, after writing something on the top corner.

Tadashi takes it gratefully, tries his best to get enough on the page as quickly as possible before reading what Kei wrote. Look at the board.

Tadashi looks up, scrunches his brows, then realizes another thing this morning. He puts his head on the desk. Math doesn’t start until the afternoon. This is English. 

A bolt of lightning flashes outside the window, and the sky grumbles. He can hear a snort from Kei as he passes back his homework without a word.

WIP #1. Here’s a music AU sort of! The gist: Tsukki is a wealthy kid who is basically a cellist prodigy. Yama is on the other end of that spectrum and believes he excels at nothing. His mother becomes a nanny over the summer for Tsukishima which leads to a blossoming friendship. (well, it’s supposed to)

---

Yamaguchi Tadashi heard the music as a quiet murmur through the door, the soft vibrations of something heartbreaking tearing through the muffled barrier.

The boy stood by it, his fingers barely touching the wood, just reaching to the knob. He sucked in a breath, feeling the small gust of wind from the room as it opened.

Tadashi, two months from his twelfth birthday, counting the days with eager breaths, had felt he’d never seen something more beautiful, felt he couldn’t possibly be allowed to ever see something more beautiful than the sight he witnessed with the opening of the large, oak wood door.

A quartet played.

Piano, violin, and viola all took a somber cue at the mark of the next page. A cellist played beside them though he found his place at no one’s side as he stood out on his own. The pianist boy shifted in his seat as the melody drolled out, the violin’s rhythm becoming slower as the viola and cello seemed to meld together on cue, the cellist bobbing his head of blonde hair ever so slightly, the slightest yet the most elegant of movements, and began his solo of the piece.

The air seemed to chill and only the intoxicating sound of a hushed, velvet whisper of a bow against string filled the hall. The piano quieted, falling into a slow and light pattern with the two string accompaniments only switching from two notes. The cellist wound his arm tightly around the beautiful instrument.

Tadashi noted that the boy’s eyes were closed and a peaceful, yet haunting expression fell over his exposed features.

Something tugged at the nearly twelve year old boy’s heart.

Then, something actually tugged at his sleeve.

He looked up and found his mother’s smile and light brown eyes as she crouched down beside him. She seemed to take stock of her son’s lingering gaze as his brows creased in a saddened expression of their soon departure. He wanted to hear the rest of the song.

She lifted her hand to the side of his cheek, rubbing her thumb at a patch of freckles, wiping a smudge of dirt.

“We have to go now.”

Tadashi looked down at his shoes, his ears still following the strokes of the cello’s tone.

“Is that the boy, mom?” He asked, a little nervous, anxious, and afraid all at once. He flickered his eyes up again as the music flooded around them, quieter this time, allowing the pianist to leave the closing statement of their somber lullaby. Tadashi yearned for more of the cellist’s melody.

“Yes, that’s him,” She replied as Tadashi looked over to the blonde haired boy again, who’s eyes were still closed in his own world. He heard the sigh of his mother above him, realized she had stood and was waiting for him to come along.

“Will we live with them?” He asked, shuffling his feet toward the doorway. His mother made a small laugh.

“No, honey. I’m only going to be a temporary nanny. Three months and they’ll shift me out.”

“Oh, okay,” Tadashi thought out loud as he finally walked out of the door, feeling a rush of disappointment as he heard the echoing thud of its closing behind him, then the click of his mother’s heels against the tile as they made their way out of the large, posh building.

“Oh?” His mother questioned, patting his hair gently. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking about something…”

“About what?”

Tadashi shook his head, a little unsure. Then, he shook it again, realizing he remembered the thought that made him sad.

“He looks a little lonely… Little scary too,” He looked up to his mother who, in turn, looked into the confines of her purse for her keys which jangled somewhere within.

Tadashi sighed to himself as he stood by the car, kicked his shoe at a small rock.

“I don’t think he’ll like me.”

He knew he'd have to see the boy more often, his mother had to take Tadashi with her to most of her jobs, if they allowed it, afraid of leaving him home alone. Since Summer was coming, he'd have nowhere else to be.

His mother gave him a tender scrunch of her brow as if to ride off that ridiculous statement.

“Of course he’ll like you,” She said under her breath as she finally found the keys and ushered her son into the car. He did so with small movements and once they were settled, she looked over to him and drew out a breath.

“His mother told me he doesn’t have a lot of friends.”

Tadashi chewed at his lip, kicking his legs beneath him.

“Those weren’t his friends?”

“Who?”

“The people. Those kids playing?”

His mother smiled gently. “Maybe. She says other children aren’t used to him. Buckle up.”

“How come? He plays the cello really good,” Tadashi remarked, placing his seatbelt on, wondering that if he had a special talent, anything special about him, then he wouldn’t be as lonely as he was. Special people had friends, unlike him. They deserved to have friends because they had something that Tadashi didn’t. He wasn’t unique. He wasn’t special at all.

Sometimes he felt like he was bullied in order to push something out of himself, maybe a bit of courage or some ambition he never knew he had. His mother liked to say he was a late bloomer. But that just felt a little weird and uncomforting to him. He wanted to shine, not bloom. He wanted to shine like that boy with the blonde hair and comfortable expression, the boy who he bet had friends.

---

The clinking of fork against plate seemed to irritate their maid, her eyes narrowed in the young blonde's direction.

“Kei, you need to eat,” she said with a forced politeness.

The boy shook his shoulders.

“I don’t like it.”

She sighed and looked at the older boy sitting across from him, raising her eyebrows with a half-tired smile. The older boy smiled back, wiped at his chin, and looked at his younger brother who rolled a piece of broccoli along the edge of his plate in complete concentration.

“Hey, remember that story in the paper the other day? That whole controversy with that athlete on steroids one.”

“Sure. You kept talking about it. I couldn't not know,” the younger brother answered immediately, although was unwavering. Akiteru raised a brow at him with a small nod, though the boy couldn’t see.

“Yeah, so, turns out the guy-- completely innocent. Can you believe it? Huge as a boulder with that body mass index.”

“Fascinating. And what next? You’re going to tell me it was all because he ate his veggies as a kid and grew into a meaty giant?” Kei retorted, but regardless, lifted the piece of green broccoli to his lips and chewed. “That’s almost as bad as the Popeye the Sailor Man story.”

He continued to stab at his plate, ignoring the way the maid sighed below her breath, the way his brother gave a small shift of quiet laughter. He ignored the silence he left in the room.

“Can I eat in my room?”

“No, you can’t.”

“Why?” He swiveled his fork around his spaghetti in disinterest.

“Because you're having a family dinner, Kei,” she said patiently. Akiteru glanced between them briefly. He wanted to release a large breath but felt it would disrupt the already tense atmosphere. He looked carefully at his brother.

Kei stared at his plate.

“Well, I’m not hungry for ‘family dinner’.” He said under his breath, making small quotation marks with his fingers.

Before their maid had a chance for a reply, Akiteru piped up, clearing his throat dramatically and snapping his fingers as if he had just remembered the most incredible of coincidental circumstances for conversation.

“Hey, they’re playing your piece, right? At the concert hall?”

Kei averted his eyes, making no expression.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“That’s incredible!”

“Not really. Lots of kids have been chosen before.”

Akiteru laughed and shook his head vehemently, watching as his brother shrunk into the seat.

“It wasn’t ‘lots of kids’, Kei. You’re only one of five adolescents to ever be chosen to play their piece at that concert hall. That’s exciting, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, one in five out of five applicants for classical composition. Real exciting stuff.”

His brother rolled his eyes with a grin as he poked the end of his fork in Kei’s direction, pointing at him.

“Well, mom and I are excited. Can’t wait to hear when it’s finished.”

Kei felt a prickling irritation bubble in his stomach and fought a grimace.

“Cool. Can I go to my room now?”

He waited only a moment, glancing between his brother and the maid, both with brows furrowed, wanting to understand the boy who barely understood his own anger.

“I'm just... tired. Nervous. End of year exams are coming and all,” Kei excused, gave a small shrug of his shoulders to avert their watchful attention.

Akiteru took the bait, smiled with a nod.

“You'll do well. You always do. Summer’s coming soon, too.”

Kei forced a tight smile, scooted from his chair, and started to make his way to his room, when:

“Maybe dad will be back by then, too,” Akiteru said. Kei paused. “Mom’s going to visit him after her interview with the nanny on Saturday.”

Kei shuffled his feet to a stop on the cold, linoleum floor. He looked down at it.

“Cool.”

Akiteru turned in his seat to gaze at his brother softly.

“Hey… don't worry. I'm sure he'll keep his promise this time. I know she's assigned a nanny but that's just Mom with her backups, just in case flights go wrong, meetings are shifted, plans--”

“Plans get canceled. Expect the worse. I know,” Kei retorted.

Akiteru furrowed his brows, looked to the side.

“You know he doesn't mean to be so absent, Kei. It's his job. We all got jobs to do, sacrifices to make,” He said gently, trying to make him understand. But the boy stood with his back facing him, silent and fuming.

“Mhmm. I'm going to bed,” He looked back at him, gave his brother a small smile, then looked away. “Goodnight.”

Without another word, Kei ascended the stairs, reached his bedroom at the end of the hall, and closed the door tight. He scanned his eyes around the space, sought his white headphones at his bed, and immediately set them on.

The tune of a frantic symphony rang in his eardrums. He let it fill his heart, flood his mind, calm his nerves.

Tapping his fingers at his phone, he sat at the edge of his bed and drew out a long breath. His eyes scanned the room, large windows framing one end of it, where his white desk sat against it and his cello rested in its corner, a notable presence.

He stood up, padded to the space, and reached into the top drawer of his dresser, fingers flitting over clothing until touching the edge of something stiff. He reached for the object and withdrew a framed photo.

It was old, and he wiped the dust from his fingers in distraction as his gaze fell on two smiling faces. One, a bright grin of a blonde man with crinkles at his eyes. The other, a younger version of himself, smile soft, and if pictures could produce sound, he would hear an eruption of giggles.

But that was then.

He pushed the photo back under the clothing where it belonged. Out of sight, but always at the back of his mind. Just like the man in the photo. Just like his dad.

He felt his heart hammer. His throat was burning, neck itchy.

He reached for his cello, withdrew it from the warm comfort of its case and set himself up at the corner of his room, forgetting the sheets of music stacked on his desk, as he placed bow to string.