Originally published on: 2016-11-06
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He's brown. Maroon and peach and all different kinds of yellow, the mix of a thousand and one colors that not even Kei knows the name of, and Kei knows the name of a lot of things.
But Yamaguchi's face is like the canvas of an oil painting that's been carefully stroked in overlapping colors, the masterpiece of some genius who decided to draw constellations under his eyes. It's fascinating in the most curious way, a kind of enigma that draws Kei into silent contemplation.
Thus Kei stares at him, at the way his nose wrinkles when he's anxious and the crease that forms between his brows when he concentrates. He notices the tension in Yamaguchi's lips when they part to take a deep breath, and how they curl into a confident smile after his palm hits the ball and it flies away to wherever he means to.
Yamaguchi looks kind of cool, in his honest opinion. Even when he lets out that petty little victory laugh and scream's Tsukki's name across the room, even when he sits beside him and starts humming a familiar tune from Kei's playlist; It's kind of lame, really, but it doesn't seem to lessen the way he feels about him —whatever it is that Kei feels about him.
Because to him, Yamaguchi is someone that doesn't fit any standards yet he surpasses every single expectative, and petty as he might be sometimes, Kei will forever and always hold a tremendous amount of respect for him —he's a friend, he's family; the kind that has seen all the good and the bad and the nasty, and the kind that will stick around at your worst, try as you might to chase them away.
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Sometimes Kei wonders when they happened to walk past that blurry line of friendship, if he was too mesmerized looking at the way Yamaguchi looked back at him to notice when they left that border behind. And he stares at Yamaguchi's face thinking he could tell the exact shape of every single one of his freckles and trace along a chart that would lead them to whatever lies beyond that path.
Getting lost never seemed as alluring.
"Do… Do I have something in my face, Tsukki?" Yamaguchi's voice bring him out of his reverie, slender fingers brushing the bridge of his nose self-consciously.
Kei averts his gaze as if he's been burned, trying his best not to choke on his energy drink but failing miserably.
It's Pathetic. He knows.
"S-Shut up, Yamaguchi." The towel brushes hard on his jaw, his glasses start getting foggy from the heat flushing his cheeks. He'll blame twelve consecutive blocks for that one.
Yamaguchi's lips twist into a frown, an almost-pout as if he's holding back to say something.
"Sorry, Tsukki!" Wide, bright smile on his face, the boy doesn't seem to be bothered.
And it's an endless loop in which Kei wishes Yamaguchi would tell what he's really thinking, and Kei finds himself in a position where he can't really blame him for keeping things to himself.
"Yamaguchi…" Kei's voice is nonchalant at its best, "Your face is fine."
Your face is perfect. He wants to say. I think I might be in love with your face.
"Ah, r-right… T-Tsukki?"
But the middle blocker is already rushing back to the court, seemingly uninterested in whatever Tadashi has to say to him.