Yamaguchi learns, at some point, that the worst thoughts always show up when he’s tired.

Practice ends in that loose, half-dismissed way it always does—Coach calls time, Hinata’s already bouncing, Tanaka’s shouting about food—and Yamaguchi drops down against the gym wall like his legs have personally betrayed him. His shirt clings uncomfortably to his back. His arms ache in that dull, satisfying way.

Tsukishima sits beside him without asking.

He always does.

Their shoulders brush. Tsukishima reaches up, pulls his glasses off, wipes them against his sleeve with the same care he uses for blocking form and test answers. It’s a familiar ritual—comforting enough that Yamaguchi barely registers it anymore.

His mouth opens before his brain can stop it.

“My face is my worst feature for sure.”

He stares straight ahead as he says it, like if he doesn’t look at Tsukishima, it won’t count.

There’s a pause.

Then, mildly confused: “Oh?”

Yamaguchi shrugs, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. “Yeah. I mean—it’s my worst feature. But it’s also my strongest one.”

That gets Tsukishima’s attention. He turns, eyebrow raised, fingers mid-adjustment on his glasses. “So what? Someone looks at you and gets punched by your bad looks?”

It’s said the way Tsukishima says most things—dry, exaggerated, meant to be funny. It is funny. A little.

Still.

Yamaguchi laughs, but it comes out wrong. Thinner. “You think I’m ugly?”

Tsukishima exhales sharply. “I’m just repeating what you said.”

Yamaguchi finally looks at him.

Tsukishima’s expression is tight—not annoyed, exactly, but braced. Like he’s already expecting Yamaguchi to spiral and is preparing himself for damage control.

Something in Yamaguchi’s chest twists.

“Oh my god,” he says, incredulous, half-laughing. “You hate me. Ten years of friendship down the drain.”

Tsukishima groans, tilting his head back against the wall. “You are so dramatic, oh my god.”

That should be the end of it. It usually is.

But Yamaguchi doesn’t let it drop this time.

“You didn’t say no.”

Tsukishima freezes.

Slowly, he turns his head. “What?”

“You didn’t say you don’t think I’m ugly,” Yamaguchi says, voice steadier than he feels. “You just said you were repeating me.”