Tapikachu

It’s not like he’s trying to eavesdrop; it isn’t his fault the infirmary doors were left wide open, and it doesn’t seem like you and Ghost are trying to be quiet. Price called everyone for a meeting in twenty and, since the infirmary’s on the way, Soap figures he’d swing by and grab you. He’s walking towards the doors, paying attention to nothing in particular, when your unmistakable laugh echoes into the hallway. Soap stumbles slightly, caught off guard by the sudden noise. 

Someone’s enjoying themselves, he thinks. He’s almost six steps from the door when you laugh again, this time followed by the deep timbre of a familiar voice that makes Soap stop in his tracks.

Price was the one who had brought you onto the team, but it was supposedly Ghost who had recommended you. “Only medic I ever met who actually knew what they were doing,” he had said. Apparently the two of you had previously worked on multiple missions together, and that was made obvious by the way you two worked flawlessly around each other with an efficiency that could only have been cultivated through a deep trust and years of teamwork. 

Soap slowly approaches, all his stealth training coming to the forefront as he leans next to the door and focuses in on what you’re saying.

“It’ll only take a day, two tops. I promise.” Soap can hear the smile in your voice. Glancing at the glass panes of the doors, he can just make out your reflection. You’re standing beside an empty bed, behind an overbed table that’s covered in papers, leaning on your elbows to smile widely up at Ghost as he stands against the wall on the opposite side of the bed looking wholly unimpressed. 

“You want me to spend an entire day sitting in the corner and watching you give everyone on base flu shots?” 

“No, I’m asking if you’ll sit in the corner and look intimidating while I give everyone on base flu shots. The “look intimidating” part’s important,” you speak matter-of-factly. 

“I’ve seen you amputate a man’s leg at the knee mid-combat. You’re telling me you can’t handle a few shots by yourself?”

Soap makes a note to ask about that story later. 

“I can handle myself just fine, thank you. It’s everyone else that’s the problem here.” Ghost blinks at you, seemingly not believing you. “I get it, you’re all big, tough guys who face death every day-” Soap sinks his teeth into his cheek to fight back a laugh as you try to lower your voice in a very poor imitation of Ghost, “-but the way some of these guys act, you’d think I was coming at them with some kind of medieval torture device. I just think-” “That’d be a first.”

“-If I had someone that everyone respects, and is a little bit afraid of, sitting nearby then they’d stop with the whining and I can get my job done faster.” 

There’s a long pause as you and Ghost stand locked into a staring contest. Soap swears that, for a moment, something like amusement crosses Ghost’s eyes. 

“You think people are only a little afraid of me?” Ghost asks, tilting his head ever-so-slightly. You let out a loud, exaggerated scoff, throwing your hands up.

“Fine! Go lurk in a dark corner and scare children, or whatever it is you do, instead of helping me. Just don’t be surprised if I’m suddenly out of painkillers the next time you get shot.” You’re facing away from him, pouting like a child with your arms crossed over your chest. Both Soap and Ghost know you don’t mean it, your flawless reputation is too important to you, but Ghost sighs and nods anyways.

“Just tell me what days-” Ghost is barely done talking when you’re spinning around, nearly knocking the table over.

“Really?”

“Whatever will get you to stop being a brat.” Like water off a duck’s back, the insult runs right off of you as you clap your hands together. “Now, come on. Don’t want to be late to Price’s meeting.” Ghost pushes himself off the wall as you shuffle your scattered papers into organized piles to look through later. Soap leans back, taking a few quiet steps back from the door as you and Ghost start to leave the infirmary. 

“Hold on, one sec.” Soap pauses as he hears your hurried footsteps, looking back to your reflection in the glass. Eyes widening, his jaw drops as he watches Ghost let you grab his arm and push yourself up onto your toes to place a quick kiss to the cheekbone of the larger man’s plated skull mask. “Thank you,” you speak softly, taking a couple small steps back. 

Soap doesn’t have time to process as you and Ghost step out of the infirmary, immediately spotting him as he stands dumbly in the hallway. 

“Hey Soap! You heading to Price’s office, too?” Soap blinks, shaking off the shock and giving you a quick nod. 

“Yeah, I was just about to come get the two of you.”

“Let’s go, then,” Ghost says, turning and walking away without waiting for you or Soap. You fall in step behind him almost instantly, waving Soap over. Soap glances between the two of you as he follows. He knew the two of you weren’t strangers. He’d even speculated you might’ve been friends, but he’d never imagined you might’ve been something more. He wants to know more, but also gets the sneaking suspicion that this isn’t something he should be prying into. Ghost has always been a private man. 

Either way, he has no time to think on it further as the three of you enter Price’s office. 

-

The second time, he’s in far too much pain and far too tired to really remember if it actually happened. 

Despite everything, the mission had been a success, though the cost had almost been too much. Your team of seven has two unconscious, three severely injured, and the rest sporting a variety of bullet grazes and knife wounds. None dead, thanks to your quick thinking and efficient work. It’s late and the team’s holed up in an old safehouse overnight waiting for evac. Soap is sat up against the far wall, watching you with drooping eyes as you flit around the safehouse, tending to everyone’s wounds. He had been fortunate enough to only have a few minor wounds, but the adrenaline of the fight is fading fast and the comedown is hitting hard. 

Ghost is on watch and is the last person you check on, at his own insistence and much to your annoyance. He bats you away from any of the minor cuts and bruises, so you pull up a chair next to his and focus on the deep gash running across his right forearm. Through his sleep-hazed gaze, Soap watches you expertly stitch Ghost’s arm. He can hear the two of you mumbling to each other, but doesn’t have the energy to try and decipher your words. Once you’ve finished wrapping Ghost’s arm, you glance around at the others. 

You must assume everyone is asleep by the way you deflate, running a tired hand down your face and stretching your neck with a grimace. You scoot your chair closer to Ghost’s, shutting your eyes and letting your head fall against his armored shoulder. To Soap’s surprise and not to yours, Ghost makes no move to push you away, instead shifting so your head’s not at such an awkward angle and settling into his own chair. Soap can feel his curiosity creeping up, but sleep wins out in the end and he passes out not long after. 

When he wakes, Ghost is in the same spot, but you’re curled up in a beaten up arm chair across the room still asleep. 

When evac finally arrives, everyone is awake, and you and Ghost hardly acknowledge each other as he briefs Price over comms and you help load wounded into the helicopter.

-

The third time, he’s sneaking through the rain and blood-soaked streets of Las Almas, Ghost guiding him through his ear as he makes his way to the church. 

He knows he should’ve seen it coming, but Graves’s betrayal stings nonetheless. Soap pushes the anger down, instead focusing on reaching the rendezvous point so they can escape and rescue Alejandro. The banter helps, but there’s an edge to Ghost’s voice that Soap understands as worry. 

They haven’t heard from you since you all were separated. 

They both know you can handle yourself, and worrying about it won’t help, so they talk and sort through their situation: what supplies Soap can pick up, how bad tequila tastes, the tactical uses for dog piss. Everything is as fine as it can be while on the run from deadly mercenaries. Until-

“The mask. Take it off.”

“Show my face?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Negative.”

“Are you ugly?”

“Quite the opposite.”

“Can confirm.” Soap nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden sound of your voice. 

“Holy hell, where have you been?”

“Aw, you worried about me, Soap?” The teasing tells him you’re not in too much danger, or are at least somewhere you feel safe, but something in your voice feels…off.

“What’s your status?” Ghost cuts in.

“Managed to get out of the village,” you groan through a deep exhale, and give a haggard laugh, “can’t say the same for the Shadows.”

Ghost gives a quiet hum of praise, but all Soap can hear is the strain in your winded voice. “You alright, Doc? You sound-”

“Dings and scrapes, Soap. I’ll be fine. Meet up with you later.”

“Wh-”

“Don’t worry about it, Johnny,” Ghost sighs, “just focus on getting to the church. 

“Right,” Soap mutters. He returns his focus back to the mission at hand, rummaging through the drawers in front of him for rope he can wrap around his extra fan blade. 

It hits him just as he spots the reflective shine of a shard of glass on the floor. Can confirm, is what you’d said. Did that mean-

“The Doc’s seen you without the mask.” It comes out as more of a statement than a question. 

“Let’s worry about you, Sergeant.”

-

The fourth time, he lands hard on his feet in the pitch black of Alejandro’s safehouse. Soap has his back turned as Ghost climbs in the window behind him. Luckily for him, as Ghost sees the laser sight aiming right for Soap’s back. 

“Don’t move!” Ghost calls out, before launching a knife into the support beam across the room. Soap whirls around to shine his light at the beam just as someone calls out from behind it.

“¿Quién está ahí?”

Before either he or Ghost can answer, someone else stands and walks around to the front, “About time you two showed up!” Your voice is an instant relief as they both relax while you turn back to let Rodolfo know it’s safe to come out. 

“Either of you injured?” you ask, eyes scanning over Soap as Ghost hops down from the open window and Rudy returns his knife. 

“Nothing major,” Soap assures you, though your eyes linger on the bullet hole in his arm. 

“Found this one trying to climb in through the same window,” Rudy explains, nodding towards you. 

“I almost had it,” you laugh, leaning to the side to put your weight on the beam. They don’t miss the way you wince, and it doesn’t take long to notice your right leg is a deep red from the knee up.

“Your leg-”

“Looks worse than it is.” 

Soap doesn’t believe you, but the subject changes to Graves and he lets it go. The four of you settle around the table as the guys formulate their plan for Alejandro’s prison break. You set your palms atop the table, leaning forward to take as much weight off of your leg as you can so you can focus on the conversation. It doesn’t help much, but it helps enough and soon the plan is concrete enough to take action. While Rudy leads Soap to the weapons locker, you take a seat on a nearby box to check the haphazard bandages you’ve wrapped around your thigh.

“You’re staying here.” Soap glances over as Ghost speaks. You laugh quietly, leaning back on your hands to stare up at the man towering over you.

“Leaving me all by my lonesome?” You sound like you’re complaining, but even from a distance Soap can see the relief in your face. Your teasing does little to soothe the stress radiating from Ghost.

“Just-” Ghost lets out a long sigh before dropping his voice so low, Soap can barely hear his words. “Be careful. Please.” You sit up straight, face suddenly serious as you set a gentle hand on Ghost’s wrist.

“For you? Always.”

“Soap, can you grab the rest of the guns?” Soap snaps back to attention, nodding at Rudy and collecting what guns he can. It takes all of two minutes, and when he turns back, Ghost is sorting through papers and you’ve set to properly bandaging your leg. 

-

By the fifth time something happens, Soap is absolutely sure there’s something between you and the Lieutenant. He notices it everytime the two of you are together: the quiet banter, the dark jokes only the two of you enjoy, the way Ghost always seems to hover near where you’re standing. It isn’t until the 141’s every-so-often night out that his suspicions are confirmed. Gaz and Price stepped away for a round of darts ten minutes ago, and now Soap finds himself sitting alone watching you and Ghost talk at the opposite end of the bar.

“You keep staring like that, and they’re going to notice.” Soap chokes on his drink as Price takes a seat next to him, Gaz snickering as he flops down on Soap’s other side and claps him on the back. 

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Soap coughs out, clearing his throat and looking anywhere but the other end of the bar. Price sees straight through his lie, of course.

“Gaz, why don’t you see if the Doc wants to try a hand at darts?” 

“Sure thing, boss.” Another clap on the back and Gaz is making his way over to you and Ghost. Soap startles as Price leans close and nudges him in the side with his elbow. 

“Keep your eyes on him,” Price whispers, and leans away to sip at his own glass. Soap takes another drink, sneakily glancing up just as Gaz reaches you and Ghost. You smile widely at him, nodding when he gestures towards the darts board. You turn and say something to Ghost before standing from the bar and following after Gaz to the other side of the room. Ghost’s eyes follow you the entire way, never once leaving your form.

“Watches like a hawk, that one,” Price hums, “and I thought he’d be better at subtlety.” Soap turns to his Captain, brows furrowed in confusion. 

“You-” Price shushes him, and nods back towards Ghost. Soap looks back, and they watch as Ghost sets down his empty glass, stands, then makes his way over to you and Gaz. He posts up, leaning against the wall closest to you where you can easily smile at him every time one of your throws lands. 

“Like a lost puppy,” Price laughs.

“What’s the situation there?” Soap asks, glancing back at Price, but all Price can offer is a lazy shrug. 

“Don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s been happening for a long time.”

-

“Alright, just got a couple papers for you to sign and you should be good to go,” you smile, gently turning Soap’s head to examine the area you’ve just pulled his stitches from. 

“Thanks, Doc. ‘Preciate it.” You give a playfully dismissive wave, disappearing behind the dividing curtain. 

“I’ll be right back!” you call and Soap nods, more to himself than you. He glances around at his sterile surroundings, eyes bouncing from the white walls to the white floor to the white bedsheets. The overbed table sits just next to him, though this time there’s no mess of papers scattered atop it. Instead, there sits a single file and after twenty seconds of solid boredom, Soap can’t help himself. 

Lifting from the bottom corner of the file, Soap nearly drops it as he sees your picture clipped to a pile of papers. He looks behind him, pulling the curtain just enough to peer through. He spots you on the far side of the infirmary, waiting patiently at the printer. Letting the curtain fall, he quickly turns back to your file. He flips it open, picking up the paper with your photo attached. It’s an older picture, maybe from three or four years ago, but your smile is still as wide as ever. 

Flipping the picture up reveals almost two entire pages of solid black lines. There’s more redacted information here than Soap has ever seen. Soap skims through what few sentences are available, every so often catching things like SIS and specialty interrogation tactics and a slew of words he never would’ve associated with your cheerful demeanor. He gets to the final page that appears to be a printed copy of the photo and his heart nearly stops as he reads the name written at the bottom and everything clicks together in his head.

but maybe you are a hypocrite because while you think of all these things, you're still friends with him.

...if you can even call it that—you're sure tsukishima just 'tolerates' you. but the fact that you and yamaguchi are the two he spends the most time with obviously means something. he also begrudgingly helps you with your homework and walks you home from class all the time.

it means something...right?

today is no different from many other days as you watch hinata and kageyama get into a heated screaming match about god knows what. tsukishima is on the side snickering to yamaguchi. everyone else is helplessly by standing.

but you, on the other hand, are in your own little world. you're one of the managers for karasuno university's volleyball team. currently, you're filling up water bottles for the team. being in the role as manager, you've become a master at zoning out hinata and kageyama's bickering.

but you did not expect that this skill would one day work against you.

"hinata, kageyama! watch out!" ennoshita shouts, but it's already too late. you feel the unruly force of a volleyball hit you, making you drop the bottles you're filling up and spill water on the ground.

"are you okay?" yamaguchi rushes to help you to your feet, shooting the offending people a small glare. kageyama and hinata shiver at tadashi's gaze and begin to profusely apologize.

"i'm okay, yams. thank you." you dust off your clothes and laugh, "it's nothing i can't help when those two get carried away."

"we are so sorry!" hinata cries, nearly tripping over himself to get to you. kageyama sheepishly let's out a 'sorry' before his face flushes a bright red.

you open your mouth to assure them you're fine, but a certain voice beats you to it.

"are you two that incompetent that you'll take out our manager in the middle of one of your childish games?" the voice hisses. "i knew the two of you were stupid, but you both surprise me every day. i have to start lowering my bar more."

you don't have to turn to know who it is.

tsukishima turns to you, a displeased look on his face. if you squint, you can see his concern. "and you really need to work on watching your surroundings. i'd rather not have to take you to the hospital." he scolds, picking up the bottles from the ground. he swats your hand away when you reach out for them and you puff out your cheeks, frustrated.

he always does this, where you can't tell if he cares for you, or if he's just being mean. maybe you’re reading into things too closely.

you watch his eyes scan your figure intently and you flinch when you feel him touch you. your breath hitches at how close he is, close enough to see the specks of gold in his eyes from behind the lenses of his sports googles.

his hand gently turns your face to either side, "are you hurt anywhere?"

at the feeling of his hand on your arm, you feel it burn at the source of his touch.  you quickly recover and answer that you're fine. he studies your face for a moment longer to detect if you're lying but doesn't prod for any more answers.

not too far away does yamaguchi note the gesture between you two, but doesn't say anything.

the rest of practice runs by smoothly and you have practically forgotten that you were hit with a volleyball. before you know it, it's over and everyone calls it a day before filing out to the lock room.

tsukishima announces that he has to go somewhere after practice and for you and yamaguchi to not wait up for him. neither of you question him on his whereabouts because chances are he won't even tell you anyways.

as punishment for hitting you with the volleyball, kageyama and hinata are responsible for cleaning up the gym and locking up, which gives you the advantage of getting home early. down to two, you and yamaguchi start your trek home, the convo floating between school, volleyball, and other interests.

"yamaguchi-san?"

the two of you turn at the sound of a girl. she looks anxious and nervous and holds a pink envelope in her hands.

"hi! what can i do for you?" he smiles, green eyes bright and inviting.

the girl seems to gain confidence at yamaguchi's smile. "i have this confession for tsukishima-kun...but i don't know how to give it to him, so i was wondering if you would give it to him for me?" the girl explains shyly. her eyes shift to you and widen. "you're not dating tsukishima-san are you?"

your eyes widen at the accusation and you bust out a laugh, hard. maybe too hard.

"me? date him? i could never!"

after your embarrassing and short-lived laughing party, yamaguchi reluctantly agrees to take the letter to give to tsukishima. a strange feeling wells up in your chest at the sight, and you don't know why you felt disappointed in him doing so.

as soon as the girl leaves, you see yamaguchi's shoulders sag and his smile fades. 

"what's wrong, yams?" you nudge your best friend in the side, noting the way he picks at the skin on his hand anxiously.

"nothing," he answers, "we need to get going now."

you pull him back. "it's not 'nothing'. come on, what is it?"

you watch as he takes a moment to gather his thoughts before he replies, "i appreciate and care about tsukki and all, but it really sucks that girls only talk to me about him." he pouts, puffing out his cheeks.

"it's probably because you're much more approachable than mr. blonde beanpole." you suggest, shrugging your shoulders. "frankly, I don't know why or what people see in him. he's not very people-friendly. plus he always walks around with a scowl on his face. but i too wish they would stop asking us about him. what did suckyshima do to get so many confessions all the time..."

your freckled faced friend raises his brows, amused by your passionate rambling. "are you jealous?" he asks, head tilting in inquiry.

"w-what? no! why would i be?" you scoff, feeling your heart race in your chest. "the only thing i'm jealous of is that beanpole blonde's attention." you say. "i would very much like to be confessed to as often as he gets!"

"you would hate it," yamaguchi chuckles, "you don't even like getting attention. especially from guys."

you click your tongue, not knowing how to disagree with him. "maybe, but it wouldn't hurt to have it happen once in a while, you know?" you sigh, "i can't go my entire life without experiencing a confession!"

you must've had a terrible past life to have such an unlucky dating experience. you've never had a guy ask you out. and while you don't like to be arrogant you consider yourself cute and a decent person—more so decent than glasses-kun.

"well, more guys would approach you if it wasn't for tsukki." yamaguchi says, and immediately upon speaking covers his mouth.

you raise a brow at your friend, "eh? what do you mean by that?"

before he can answer, you huff, "you're telling me blondie is messing up my love life? what does he gain from doing that?" you huff, feeling irritated that the number of cute boys you could've encountered is very little due to the fact that they were being cockblocked by the most annoying person on the planet.

yamaguchi would never tell you, and god bless your soul, but he's forever thankful for how oblivious you are at times. his skin is saved from having to explain to tsukishima why his crush on you has been outed.

but on the other hand, he desperately wants these confession shenanigans to be over with and for the two of you to confess to each other. to him, it's painfully obvious that there are shared feelings but neither one of you want to acknowledge the fact that there's something going on. he'd rather take the risk of tsukishima biting his head off if it means you two will end up together.

"let's just say that the two of you complain about each other too much for there not to be something going on between you two." yamaguchi says. "i just wish you'd both make out with each other or something."

panic swarms you, at the meer thought of locking lips with blondie. "tadashi, i would never be caught kissing him. i'd rather be dead." you say sternly, although an itch in your throat tells you otherwise.

"yeah, i totally got the vibe of that earlier when he came over to see if you were okay." he laughs, rolling his eyes.

"it didn't mean anything, he was just oddly nice..." you argue, the rapid beating of your heart mocking you.

the sudden silence could be cut through with a knife as you two walk. your knuckles grip your bag tightly as you focus on your feet in front of you.

"your crush never went away, right?" yamaguchi stops walking and looks at you intently.

when you don't respond, he knows his answer.

"that's another reason why i don't like getting these confessions. i don't want to see you get hurt by all of this." he reveals, his hand gripping the pink envelope he was given earlier.

"it doesn't matter, though. what i feel is irrelevant.” you shrug.

yamaguchi perks up, a light bulb going off. he presses the envelope to your hands. "you give this to him. you can find out what he says about the letter and how it makes him feel. he might act differently. that way, you can also decide if those feelings for him are still there, or if you've moved on. if you haven’t, then confess."

you turn away, not taking the envelope. your feet then move briskly. "what makes you think that he would accept my confession? there's no way he would."

"what's stopping you?" he presses, following you. "you don't know that unless you try."

a sharp exhale of air escapes you, your nerves taking your own words out of your mouth. "because i don't want to make a relationship awkward possibly. besides, he'll just make fun of me for having a crush on him and then reject me. so no way is tsukki going to accept it."

"he wouldn't do that. and you know he wouldn't. look, we both know tsukki better than anyone else does. i'm surprised at how blind you are to how he feels about you. or maybe you're denying it?"

before you can reply, you realize you've reached your apartment.

"just think about telling him? it'll ease your mind somehow, won't it? at least you'll have your answer and you can stop letting this eat at you the way it has for years." yamaguchi says, concern written on his face.

you sigh. "sure, tadashi. i'll think about it."

you don't get a wink of sleep that night. and despite you wanting more time to think, you are meeting up with tsukishima and yamaguchi to hangout the next day. so even if you want to put off your thoughts about the situation, you can't.

"you look like shit," tsukishima says once you sit down at the cafe the three of you always meet up at. "like a zombie with the life is sucked out of them.”

“wow, how did you guess?” you say, response dripping with sarcasm.

a guilty look appears on his face before he changes it to a softer expression. "here, i already ordered for you." he says, pushing your favorite order across the counter.

"oh, thank you. you didn't have to." you reach into your bag to pay him back, but he pushes your hand away, a grimace on his face.

"yeah, well i did anyways." he says, turning away. a faint hue of pink can be seen across his cheeks. “you should really try not to over exert yourself. we can’t afford to have our manager collapsing.”

you stare at the drink, mind rambling. “right…”

tsukishima distracts himself with the time, noticing how late yamaguchi is. it isn’t like him to be late. once the male checks his phone, everything clicks into place.

"tadashi says he won't be able to make it to the movies." tsukishima tells you, slipping his phone back in his pocket.

"really?" you go to pull your own phone out of your bag to check, but something else catches your eyes first.

the pink envelope.

you gasp, gritting your teeth. "tadashi, you bastard..." you hiss, wondering when he slipped it into your bag.

"yeah, something about feeling sick..." the tall man's eyes slide down to look at you, and as attentive as he is he asks, "what are you grumbling about?"

you eyes glance between him and the letter, panic washes over you as you try to improvise a lie.

tsukishima leans over, peering into your bag. “what is that?” he asks.

solemnly, you hand him the pink envelope. cotton has lodged itself in your throat but you manage. "this...this is for you."

“from?” he questions, but he already knows it’s not you. you don’t dot your i’s like that.

“the usual. some girl with a crush on you.” you answer, “she didn’t know how to give it you directly.”

opening the letter, his brown eyes scan the contents carefully, silence overcoming him as he drinks in each word.

meanwhile, your heart races rapidly. you can feel yourself beginning to spiral in your mind, thinking of all the possibilities of what could happen next after he finishes reading the letter. instead of hearing anything, the blonde simply puts the letter back in the envelope.

“let’s go.” he says, standing up to leave.

wait...that's it? you watch him leave the cafe and scramble after him, confusion trailing you.

when you catch up to tsukishima, your eyes glance at him, trying to gauge anything. something.

"well?" you ask, brow arching up.

"'well' what?" he replies, staring at you expressionless.

"are you...going to accept?" you prod, leg bouncing.

the man seems to contemplate your question, not answering for a moment. the anticipation is killing you. swallowing you whole. you have to say something before you’re buried alive.

"don't accept that confession." you blurt.

"huh?" the blonde slips the envelope in his pocket. "and why not?"

you shift uncomfortably in your spot. "b-because."

"'b-because', isn't an answer. i hope you're aware." he mocks before stepping closing to you, a sly smirk on his face. "why do you look like you're about to throw up? is the thought of me getting a confession that repulsive to you?"

"shut up!" you hiss, the burning in your cheeks spreading like wildfire now. "i never said that."

"you didn't have to. your face said everything that i needed to know." he replies, "why are you so eager to know anyways?"

you shrug, "i mean, we're friends right? why wouldn't i be curious?"

a soft chuckle leaves him. it's pretty, and pretty looks very good on him. how annoying for your nerves. "right, and let's say i do accept the confession. what would you do then?"

you blink, your hands clammy, body scorching at this point. "dunno, maybe throw a party with a sign that says 'congrats kei, you're lovable after all'."

"you're a horrible liar, you know. it's very annoying." tsukishima scowls, grabbing your wrist and turning you to look at him.

"who said i was going to accept the confession?" he tilts his head to the side, leaning in slightly. "hmm? i think you put that idea in that pretty head of yours all by yourself."

you huff, irritated by his teasing manner."it's not funny to joke like that."

he blinks. "when did i make a joke?"

"you always do...i don't understand you, tsukishima." at this point you can feel your face burning up. you look away from the blonde, frustrated and also internally panicking. when you go to walk away, his large hand catches your wrist, pulling you back.

"so now we're back to tsukishima?" he asks, distaste in his tone.

you bite your lip, too scared to say anything.

he clicks his tongue. "listen, i didn't have to read the letter to know my answer. i didn't even need to receive one. i've already had my mind made up."

a soft 'oh' leaves your mouth. "is that right?"

"yes, because i already have feelings for someone." he confesses, and your heart nearly stops.

you weren't expecting this at all. you bargained for more than you wanted, but it’s your fault and your fault alone. you start to yell in your head about how wrong yamaguchi is, about how you're too late to confess now, because someone else has already stolen—

"this is for you." tsukishima hands a eerily similar pink envelope to you with a small plushie. your eyes widen as you look at the plush, recognizing that it's your favorite animal. you remember talking about how you still sleep with stuffed animals and made the mistake of having tsukishima overhear you. the teasing that day never ended.

when squeezing the plush to you, you're surprised to hear it play your favorite song. reading the letter, you recognize the handwriting as his immediately. you're familiar with how he loops his y's and g's. you recognize the eloquence in his words. but you feel alien reading how he pours his emotions—about you—into words. words that are a lot kinder and sweeter than his usual moments.

"why would i joke about my feelings?" he answers, pulling at his hands, fingers fidgeting. "if you don't reciprocate them—"

"no! i-i mean, yes! yes, i do!" your face is on fire at this point. "i'm just shocked, i-i wasn't expecting—"

"for someone to be into someone like you?" he finishes.

you blink, stunned by his response. "well, yeah."

and tsukishima kei does what tsukishima kei does best.

he flicks your forehead.

he rubs the spot where he flicked your forehead and his gaze becomes soft as he stares at you, his large hands not pulling back from how it gently cradles your face.

"i've been into your annoying ass since you yelled at those bullies for picking on tadashi." he mumbles, a fond look in his eyes.

your eyes look over him rapidly. "i don't get it. how? why?"

he pinches your cheek, rolling his eyes. "you keep saying that and it's really annoying." he continues, "it's simple. you're...you're a much better person than i am. you're smart...and funny. and you understand me even when my words don't always say what i mean. you've pushed me to be a better person." he tries to make himself smaller, wanting to escape his vulnerability, but it's hard when you're a walking lamppost.

"i can't stand the sight of other guys looking at you. at thinking they have a chance with you. call me a hypocrite because i know i'm the last person who deserves a chance with you, but—" he cuts himself off, fiddling his his hands.

"but what, kei?" you push, heart pounding.

"but i want one anyways. i've never felt like this with anyone before and i don't want to stop now. i...i'm willing to take the chance to ask to go out with you...even if i know you deserve better than me." he explains, head bowing low.

this time, you reach up and flick his forehead.

"ow? what the hell, dumbass?" he scowls.

"it's annoying when you do that, too," you say, teasing, "you always undermine how brilliant you are and it has to stop. you may be an asshole, but you're also perceptive, and caring, even if you don't really know how to show it in conventional ways."

he doesn't say anything because he knows you're right.

you speak again. "for the record, i think that you're pretty amazing. and a lot of other people think so too. learn to give yourself more credit, kei."

"i can say the same about you." he says, brushing hair back from your face. his eyes shift down to your lips before looking away just as quickly. his single strand of vulnerability left snaps.

"c-can i kiss you?" he stutters, and you're shocked to see the snarky blonde asshole you know in such a shy state.

"yes," you breathe, "please."

he can’t resist when you ask so nicely and look so pretty right in front of him.

and what you learn is that kei's kisses are sweeter than any words that can come out of his smart mouth. how that is possible, you don't know. but you surely don't mind at all.

he tugs you close to his body, his scent overtaking your senses. he smells like mint and whatever cologne he put on today and it's easily your new favorite aroma.

you pull away and can't help but note how pretty kei looks after kissing. hair disheveled, swollen lips, glossy eyes, and glasses nearly falling off his face. you quietly laugh and push the frames back up his face.

"i love you, you know." you say, holding his face.

he leans into you, kissing your palm as he reciprocates the words in a quiet voice. a quirk in his lips and he adds, "i would hope you do. i don't want to be seen having to return to build-a-bear for a second time to return a bear."

you grin, holding up the bear teasingly. "this plush?"

"oni-chan said i should give you something...that you'd appreciate. it's yours as long as you don't replace me with it." he answers, red creeping up his neck. "if you do, i'll return it."

"don't worry, kei. i promise not to replace you with a stuffed animal when i need cuddles." you latch onto his arm, clinging to him easily. he tugs you impossibly closer.

sending yamaguchi a text thank you and a picture of you with your new bear—now named tadashi—with an annoyed tsukishima holding you tight in the photo. 'new family photo! you were right!'.

yamaguchi only grins at the message, laying back on his bed as he smiles. his work as cupid is over. he'd figure out the third wheeling issue later.

for now, mission accomplished.

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