#teruyama

he has a towel slung over his shoulder, socks pushed down unevenly, and a bandage across one knuckle. yamaguchi thinks he looks like the kind of person who gets yelled at a lot by his coach.

“you play middle?” terushima asks.

“yeah. pinch server, too.”

“you’re the float serve guy!” teru snaps his fingers. “i remember you! you nailed us in the third set.”

“that was…one point.”

“yeah, but it was a sick serve. really clean. you’ve got great form.”

yamaguchi flushes slightly. he’s not used to praise outside of daichi or ukai, and especially not from cool people who have tongue piercings.

“uh. thanks.”

“you always this quiet?”

yamaguchi shrugs. “you’re just loud.”

terushima grins. “fair.”

they end up next to each other during cooldowns. some scheduling fluke. yamaguchi doesn’t mean to end up talking to him again, but terushima makes it easy. he doesn’t ask for too much. just tosses out questions and fills in the silence without expecting yamaguchi to carry anything.

by the time they’ve gone through stretching rotations, they’ve somehow moved from match stats to horror movies to weird cafeteria food rankings. yamaguchi’s not even sure how.

“you’re weird,” teru says cheerfully, lying flat on his back. “quiet, but like…snappy. i like it.”

“you’re exhausting,” yamaguchi replies. but there’s no bite in it.

teru lifts his phone. “you got snapchat?”

yamaguchi hesitates. then nods. “yeah.”

he doesn’t think much of it at the time. just a guy who’s louder than necessary, with too much hair gel and a good eye for serves.

they won’t see each other much. probably.

still, he smiles when the first text comes in two days later.

teru: tell tsukishima i said hi. and that he’s scary. also, i found a horror movie worse than the one we talked about. i’m sending it your way.

it’s dumb. it’s chaotic. but yamaguchi doesn’t leave him on read. not even once.

weeks pass.

not a lot, but enough that yamaguchi forgets how it started. how it became normal to get a message from terushima after long days. it’s not constant — not even often — but it’s consistent in its own weird way.

sometimes it’s a voice note. sometimes it’s a meme. sometimes it’s terushima ranting about a teammate or asking for advice on which shirt to wear to class. yamaguchi never knows what to expect. that’s half the charm.

then, somehow, they end up hanging out.

not at a game. not at a camp. tokyo. terushima sends a message with a time and place like it’s already been decided.

teru: i’m dragging you to get takoyaki. meet me or live with the regret.

yamaguchi stares at the screen longer than he means to. he goes.

it’s loud. always loud with terushima. even walking down the street. he talks with his hands and changes topics too fast. it should be annoying. yamaguchi finds himself smiling too much.

“you ever shut up?” he mutters, sipping a soda through a straw.

“you’d be bored if i did,” teru grins.

he’s not wrong.

they wander after. no set plan. a bookstore with too many stairs. a convenience store where teru insists on finding the weirdest drink possible. they argue over flavors and impulse-buy matcha pocky. it’s dumb. it’s easy. it shouldn’t feel like anything.

but when yamaguchi checks his phone that night and sees another message waiting —

teru: you looked good today btw

dumb. still dumb. still terushima.

but yamaguchi saves the message anyway.

it’s not a dramatic moment.

there’s no music swelling. no sharp intake of breath. no shift in lighting.

just terushima, lying on his bed after practice, one arm thrown over his eyes, phone buzzing beside him.

yams: lol u survived?

he reads it three times. it’s a nothing message. a throwaway joke in response to the picture teru sent of a spilled protein shake and his ruined shoes.

but teru smiles. like an idiot. like he’s young and stupid and maybe a little in love.

it doesn’t hit all at once. it just settles in slow, the way some things do. like the soreness in his legs the morning after leg day. like the way he always types tadashi instead of yams now. like how he doesn’t double-text anyone else. doesn’t wait for their bitmoji to pop up on the screen. doesn’t care this much.

he starts drafting messages and deleting them. starts hovering over his camera roll, wondering which photo is funny-casual and which one is trying too hard.

he thinks about what yamaguchi would like. which songs. which drinks. which compliments wouldn’t make him uncomfortable.

teru’s not good at this. he’s never had to think this much before. never cared if he came off too strong.

but with yamaguchi it’s different.

he wants to do it right.

and that’s how he knows he’s in trouble.

he stares at the ceiling. types another dumb meaningless text.

teru: i hate my gym. it's so ugly it bullies me personally. also do you think ghosts can do pushups

he hits send before he can second-guess it. then turns off his phone like that’ll save him.

it won’t. he’s already doomed.

the distance isn’t dramatic either.

it’s just... there.

yamguchi starts answering slower. messages shrink. the edge in his sarcasm dulls — like he’s pulling back without meaning to, or maybe meaning to more than he wants to admit.

teru notices. of course he notices.

he tells himself not to care. tells himself yamaguchi’s busy, school’s stressful, maybe his coach is cracking down harder.

tells himself all kinds of things.

they still talk, sometimes. but the rhythm’s off. something in the timing, the tone, the way yamaguchi leaves messages hanging longer than he used to.

and teru, stupidly, keeps making it easier. keeps laughing at things that aren’t funny. keeps replying fast to messages that don’t need answers.

he sends memes like armor. voice notes like bait.

nothing really lands.

he tries not to spiral. he’s good at pretending things are fine. but he’s not used to wanting this bad. not used to feeling the ache when someone doesn’t show up the way they used to.

he almost texts something reckless. almost asks if he did something wrong.

instead:

teru: you good?

seen. no reply.

teru throws his phone across the bed and flops down after it.

he tells himself again — it’s fine.

he’s fine.

he’s not.

they see each other again during a practice match.

karasuno vs johzenji. nothing major. just a one-day scrimmage, meant to kill time between tournaments. the gym smells like sweat and floor polish. yamaguchi’s already stretching when teru walks in.

he doesn’t wave. doesn’t smile. just nods once, expression unreadable.

teru feels it in his stomach.

practice starts. the game runs. they’re on opposite sides. yamaguchi rotates in for serves. teru doesn’t get subbed out once. he’s loud, as always. grins too much. plays well. yells louder. it’s almost convincing.

when it’s over, they don’t talk right away.

people scatter. teams head to their respective corners to cool down. someone plays music too loud. teru finds yamaguchi near the bleachers, pretending to scroll through his phone.

“hey,” he says.

yamaguchi looks up. “hey.”

that’s it.

teru rocks back on his heels. thumbs tucked into the hem of his jersey.

“you ignoring me for a reason?”

yamaguchi blinks. “what?”

“nothing. never mind.”

teru turns like he’s going to leave. then stops.

he exhales hard. presses a hand to his forehead.

“you know what? whatever. i just — i guess i thought i mattered a little more than this.”

yamaguchi goes still.

teru shrugs. laughs under his breath.

“guess i’m just good for when you’re bored.”

and before yamaguchi can say anything — or not say anything — teru’s already walking away.

he doesn’t look back.

it’s raining in tokyo.

barely. just enough to make the air heavy and the pavement slick. yamaguchi spots terushima across the street at a weekend popup — hood up, shoulder bag slung across his chest, fingers tapping against a canned coffee like he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands.

yamaguchi almost walks past him.

but he doesn’t.

teru looks up just as yamaguchi steps under the awning. his expression doesn’t change much, but his grip on the can tightens a little.

“didn’t think i’d see you here,” teru says.

yamaguchi shrugs, "didn't plan on coming. ended up here anyway."

a beat. then teru nods, like yeah, that makes sense.

there’s a pause. yamaguchi shifts his weight.

“i thought about what you said,” he offers, finally. “and about how quiet i got.”

teru doesn’t say anything.

“i didn’t mean to disappear. i just—” yamaguchi trails off, frustrated. “i don’t always know how to handle people who care that much. i’m not used to being on the receiving end.”

that gets a breath out of teru. 

“you don’t have to do anything,” he says, voice low. “just don’t pretend it wasn’t something.”

yamaguchi looks at him. 

the wind shifts. the rain starts up again, light but steady.

“i missed you,” yamaguchi says. quiet. sincere. “i like talking to you.”

teru looks down at his shoes. then back up. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

“okay,” teru says. soft, this time. “that’s enough.”

they walk the market side by side. yamaguchi nudges teru’s arm once when he almost trips on the curb. teru shoves him gently into a rack of socks in revenge.

it’s dumb. it’s easy. it's something.

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