Chapter Text
He hesitates a moment before stepping into the shop, watching his breath turn to curling wisps of steam in the December air. There is something powerfully nostalgic about tonight, the pitch black of the evening sky and glittering of icicles hanging onto facades and reflecting the soft gleam of streetlights like shifting starlight -or maybe it’s only his wandering artist mind. The bell rings when he walks in, and he takes in the warm rich air in the echo of its silver tune.
The shop is empty, yellow paper lamps spreading a warm dimmed light like a blanket on wooden tables and red-bricked walls. He steps hesitantly, lets his eyes wander on the records hung up on the wall, the little fox stickers stamped somewhat haphazardly over the bricks and furniture, the bright light and whistling coming from the half-shut door behind the counter.
“Hello!” a heavily accented voice calls out, and in a fumble of clanking metal and rapid-fire swearing, a young man lands himself in front of him with a twitching customer service smile plastered on. “Welcome to Onigiri Miya! What can I do fer yah today?”
“Osamu Miya; it’s been a while.”
The man leans in over the counter with squinted eyes.
“Uh-huh. ’m sorry, we’ve met?”
“Ah, my apologies, that was a long time ago, and it was a rather rainy night. Tenma Udai, at your service.”
The grey-haired man’s smile softens as his eyes widen in recognition, and he hops back to the kitchen door to pick up a bowl of cooked rice.
“Damn, sorry there, didn’ recognize yeh at all -shavin’ really suits yah man. Akaashi talks ‘bout yeh all the time though; says ye’re a real nightmare to work with. Anyway, how can I helpcha?”
“Could you please pack a bit of everything? I’m feeding a regiment of athletes, it seems like.”
“Ah, stocking fer the party? Ye’ve come to the right address then! I’m short on the umeboshi ones, but I gotta’ve got a bunch of the other ones done already, if ye’ll just wait a minute.”
“That sounds amazing, thank you. Are you coming?”
“Tonight? Nah, Sunarin’s boyfriend’s helpin’ me pick up a dog at the kennel. Their team’s been on the move a lot so it had to be today, I could come hang some other day.”
“You’re adopting a dog? That’s marvelous!”
“Well, our shrink said I needed a pet and I didn’ wanna but Gin bet me I couldn’t handle it so I had to, an’ Toya said I couldn’t get a fox so I figured dogs were the next best thing. I’m looking for an orange one, if possible.”
Tenma has to laugh at that; he had heard plenty from his friends about the blond Miya, but it seems his grey-haired brother is no less rambunctious.
“What are you naming it then?”
“Fox! Unless it’s a really annoying shithead -then I’ll nickname him Atsumu.”
The tone Osamu uses is taunting, but Tenma doesn’t miss the warmth in the back of his voice, nor the way his eyes wander to a poster of the MBSY Black Jackals team on the wall where his brother is winking at the camera with his tongue out like a kid.
“He’s doing really good, isn’t he?”
“That he is, fer sure. Ya reckon he gon’ be at that party, then?”
“You’re doing really good too, Osamu-san. And yes, Akaashi-san told me he would come. I’ll make sure to tell him you said hi.”
“Ha! Tell him to stop by sometime soon, will ya? I got a new tuna recipe with his name on it, and I wanna cash in on all the new gossip. Here ya go, that’s yer order. See yeh sometimes, Udai Tenma. I’ll buy one of your mangas!”
And with that, he’s back in the kitchen, tripping on kitchen-wear and leaving him alone in the softly-lit restaurant. He’s not sure what to say, especially where there was definitely a zero missing on his bill (except there was a fox sticker stamped on the receipt in its place, so it must have been on purpose?), but then he remembers that he’s going to be late, and he can’t run or he’ll slip on the ice so he hurries outside into the winter cold.
The onigiri weigh comfortably in his hand as he walks to the train station; he hopes that Hinata likes them.
****
"Great, that batch is golden; now let's quickly put the next one in."
"Are you sure it'll be done in time? I still think we should have baked them all at once."
"Well, it's too late for that now, isn't it? I told you they'd bake better if the sheets were spaced out; besides, we'll need the time to get ready. I know how long you take in the bathroom, so you really shouldn't worry about that." She pulls the sleeves of her sweater in a way she knows he hates but makes her feel a little cool - the sort of gesture that means 'I'm going to take this on, this is me handling what's coming, I'm about to take care of things now." Kind of like when people in movies roll up their sleeves before getting into fights; except her way of taking care solving involves much less bloodshed and much more putting band-aids on scrapes, cream on bruised knuckles, and baking cookies for parties. Besides, the fact that it shows off her graduation tattoo definitely helps; although the little crows and vines around her wrist look more like an elaborated bracelet than a yakuza marking, which suits her since the Murder, despite what its name and some rumours might suggest, has never been a gang. This is as intimidating as she gets, but it's fine. Even a speechless frown chastises her people well enough.
“That’s fair, I supposed.” Asahi shrugs, closing the oven shut and taking off the mittens (they’re cute, the red and black ones with awkward stitches she patched together when he taught her how to sew. One has a baby crow stamped on, yellow little beak peaking through its cracked beak). “Tenma texted, he’s bringing half of the Onigiri Miya stock in there. And some others are probably bringing stuff. It’ll be enough, right?”
“For sure! I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”
He raises a doubtful eyebrow.
“There’s not enough food and Tobio eats Shouyou?”
“It’d be the other way around, for sure -Shouyou sure has an appetite!”
They laugh, and her eyes are drawn to the mark on Asahi’s arm where Shouyou once bit him during a panic attack. The scar is long faded, white stains on darker skin that can barely be recognized as teeth indents. At that time, it had been such a small yet painful reminder, drowned amongst the writhing tides of their bruised and battered minds, the tepid sort of horror which you barely acknowledge because you’re so used to hurting all over. But now that it’s been years, after the wound scabbed over and they all grew to take on the world (and therapy, as well. A lot of therapy.), this is something they can joke about, something they can look back on and smile. She remembers the way she bandaged it, so afraid to mess up her hands shook the whole time, and how he hugged her so tightly afterwards. She remembers how she, Tobio and Shouyou went to get ice-cream the next day, and the image of Shouyou with frozen yogurt on his nose doesn’t erase the one of blood running down his chin, it never will, but it superposes itself and it’s enough to breathe and smile and bake cookies with her best friend.
“You’re so nervous, ‘Sahi. Are you excited?”
He leans against the fridge, runs his hands through his braid in a soothing ritual.
“Of course. I mean, it’s been a while since we’ve all been together at once, hasn’t it? Of course I want it to go well. And it’ll be so little time…”
Out of them all, even the professional athletes, Asahi is perhaps the busiest. He only graduated his fancy fashion school last year and is already on his way to become an incredible designer, working for a big firm and getting into the backstage of trend-setting festivals. She can see it wear on him, the stress and lack of sleep, but the smile on his face every time he talks about his job swells her heart so much it could burst; so they invite him as often as they can, and go to all his show, and cheer the loudest when someone wears an outfit they’ve seen him work on.
She grabs his enormous hands into her own, presses her thumbs into the lifeline, lets her knuckles rub against his own.
“It’s going to be alright, Asahi. It’s just us; I don’t thing there’s anything you could do that could make us love you any less.”
“You’re so sweet, Hito-wait a second.” He gasps, squeezes her palms, gapes in wonder. “Oh my god, Hitoka, is that what I think? Is this, goodness, is that a ring?”
She blinks, realizes she forgot to take it off before baking, and beams at her best friend.
“Do you like it? She measured my finger while I was sleeping and everything, it was incredible -and it’s so light, it feels like it was always there. Isn’t it the prettiest? Look, there are little crows engraved in it!”
She’s not finished speaking that she finds herself engulfed in a tight, warm and tender hug, her face squished against his chest as it shakes with tears of joy.
“I’m -sorry, oh my god, Hitoka -I’m so happy for you two. You’re, this is amazing, you deserve the world and I don’t know anybody who could give it to you better. Do the others know?”
“Well, we were hoping to tell everyone tonight… So you’re the first to know!”
“I’m so… Hitoka Yachi, it’s an honour. Just you wait, I’ll make you the prettiest wedding dress you could imagine! Or do you want a suit? What would do you think she’d prefer? It doesn’t matter, they’ll be the most beautiful clothes you’ll ever imagine!”
“Hi guys, what’s the hold-up? Bathroom’s free, we need to get ready.”
After all these years, Hitoka’s breath still catches at the sound of her voice, her ears still redden with blush as she turns around.
Kiyoko is leaning on the door frame, the yellow light from the corridor wrapping her in soft undertones. She’s wearing the pretty black dress Asahi gave her for Christmas, with laced sleeves and golden thread weaved in; over it, she’s wrapped herself in Hitoka’s fuzzy pastel rainbow blazer like she always does when she’s cold. With her golden crow hairpin and baby blue slippers on, she looks like the prettiest woman in the world, and she feels overwhelmed with the sudden urge to run to her and kiss her -so she does.
“Hey there, fiancée.”
Kiyoko melts her in embrace, her ears and the tip of her nose pinkening as she smiles with the tenderness of a hot spring in winter.
“Hi there, future wife.”
****
“Chika, look, look, I made a friend!”
Chikara laughs, skips over to where his boyfriends stand, Hisashi’s face pressed against the glass of the tank. On the other side, a jellyfish is floating across a current, graceful in its nonchalance, white and purple hues swirling across the current; it reminds Chikara of a ghost, a wedding dress sinking down the bottom of a lake, the timeless swirl of a newborn nebula. For a moment, his breath hitches, caught in the light the aquarium casts on his lovers’ silhouettes. Blue hues dance over the glitter on Hisashi’s eyelids, purples and silvers set alight over the curl of his lashes; ethereal shadows shift along the callouses of Kazuhito’s long fingers, the sharp angle of his jawline and the soft curve over his lip, where a little smile is floating like a wave. His eyes rise to those beautiful, large pupils, and finds them staring back at him with a reflection of the tender wonder that swells inside his chest.
“Darling, are you okay?”
He blushes furiously, as he always does when his boyfriend finds a new ridiculous name to saddle him with in public. Still, he nods, because he knows how they love, how they worry about him, and intertwines their fingers together.
“Nothing. Just in love.” There’s a pause, when he doesn’t know whether he’ll be able to resist kissing him here and then, in front of everyone. He doesn’t, because Chikara is a mature and reasonable young adult, so instead he turns to his other partner. “Hey Sashi, did you know jellyfish don’t have brains?”
“What? Of course they have brains! They’re made of jelly and they work with electric shocks. They are their own brains!”
Hisashi earnestly holds his gaze for almost ten seconds before breaking into a shit-eating grin, and then all three of them are laughing as Kazuhito tries to catch and smother him for the joke. It’s pure dumb luck that Chikara, ducking under a flying elbow, raises his head to watch the hand on the aquarium’s clock slowly tick onwards.
“Guys… Guys, the time!”
“What? Oh, it’s already 20… Oh shit, the party!”
“Fuck, we’re so late! You think we can still make it?”
“Unless you want Ryu to tell everybody we’re late cause we were screwing, we better!”
He grabs both of his idiots’ hands, squeezing until they’ve stopped swearing in public, and then they’re hightailing out of the place, rushing through the corridors at a pace that has him panting for air and everybody staring at them. They don’t stop when the guides yell at them to slow down, don’t stop when they reach the snowed on and frozen streets, don’t even stop when he slips on ice and slams his knee against a pole and Kazuhito’s hand tugging him upwards in the only thing stopping from toppling further. It’s silly and tiring and they’ll probably still be late, but the Chikara feels the winter wind on his face and his lovers beside him, and there’s nobody behind them and the whole ahead, and he runs.
****
“Tadashi, you coming?’
“Yes, yes, one sec, just gotta hit send and I’m here!”
The most annoying roommate of all times continues his typing, the click-click-click of his metal rings grating at Kei’s ears like chalk on a blackboard. He bites his lip to swallow down his snark: any elegantly weaved trait d’esprit would inevitably lead to verbal sparring of unpredictable length, and they have a train to catch, goddammit.
Finally, Tadashi sends his essay off with a victorious click and snaps his laptop shut, grinning like a child.
“Hurrah!”
“Congrats on botching the essay I’ve been reminding you to do for the past three weeks, loser. Can we go now?”
“Yes yes mom, just a sec, I need to get ready.”
“What for? Your makeup’s already done, and you’re wearing clothes.” You already look amazing, he would say, but that would be too nice ; Kei has a reputation, you see.
“Yeah, but I’m not dressed up!”
“Like that matters. Here’s what’s gonna happen, Asahi, Kiyoko and Hitoka will be overdressed but so stylish it won’t even look weird, most of the others will be some variation of jeans and a t-shirt, Ukai will be wearing sweats, Shouyou a short-sleeves shirt with pineapples or shit, Koushi will show up with a ridiculous hair colour and Ryunosuke will end off shirtless one-hour in the party. You’re already gonna look better than most of them, stop whining and let’s go.”
“Eh? Only most of them?”
“What, you wanna go against Kiyoko dressed by Asahi? Those three don’t count, they have a cheat card.”
“Fuck, you’re right.”
“Exactly. Now put on your shoes before I shove them up your throat.”
“Yes sir! By the way, I bet Koushi’s hair is gonna be neon pink.”
“Nah, I heard he’s going back to green.”
“No no, that was two months ago; say what, 3000 on that it’s pink, you win if it’s green.”
“You’re on, thanks for the lunch money. I’ll take your girlfriend out with it.”
“No you won’t, you asshole!”
They make their way out of the dorms, bundled in their winter-coats, noses peaking from the matching scarves Tadashi forced on them.
“The Missus not coming?”
“She hadn’t even started her paper yesterday, she won’t be able to make it.” He frowns, scrunches his nose like a rabbit. “She’s got a name, you know.”
“Not until she agrees to grab coffee with me, she doesn’t.”
“For the last fucking time, you’re not giving my girlfriend the shovel talk, you dick.”
“Ah, so you’d rather Daichi takes care of it then.”
“You’re such a dick, why am I even friends with you?”
“Ah-ha, no backsies. We have matching gang tattoos, you’re stuck with me.”
“Really, that’s what did it for you, the tattoos? Not the time I rode your dick so hard you peed yourself?”
At that, Kei startles, trips over his feet and lands face-first. He should really be used to it by now, but sometimes Tadashi’s teen brashness superposes itself with the innocent image of toddler Tadashi -especially since, with his freckled cheeks and toothy grin, he still carries some of that childlike wonder. He’s a walking contradiction of a man, a loser who loves dino nuggets and does the dishes at two in the morning in his sailor moon pjs when he can’t sleep and kicked the basketball team’s ace in the shin for saying something sexist and is the most popular guy on campus to both girls and boys but will still whine about how unfairly hot all his friends are when he gets drunk. Well, that was after they got over their assumptions that they were a) dating and b) part of a gang, but at that point, they had gotten used to it enough to not take offense at those stupid rumours. They even made a game out of it: when somebody would ask Tadashi who Kei was to him, they would rush to one-up each other with the stupidest answers imaginable (“Oh, he’s my identical twin! Do you wanna try and guess who is who?”; “Oh, him? Don’t mind him, he’s a killer for hire who was tasked to murder me but I also hired him as a bodyguard so he just follows me around until he figures what to do.”; “Actually, I’m his son! I’m very precocious.” ;“It’s a bit complicated: we got switched at birth on accident and when we found each other we didn’t want to pick families so our parents moved in together and now they’re all dating each other.”)
“Shit, are you okay?”
“Geez”, he spits out to save face, “Does your girlfriend know you think about my dick so much?”
“Yeah, maybe try wiping your face before you try to roast me. You’re having a nosebleed.”
He wipes the blood on Tadashi’s face in retaliation, and they banter like idiots all the way to the railway station, and maybe they’re twenty years old, maybe they’re too old to be giggling and hollering like teenagers, but Kei finds he doesn’t give a shit.
It’s fine. The crows were always told they were so mature for their age, so serious and focused. Maybe they can act like kids for a little longer.
Maybe, this is what they deserve.
****
Koushi’s hair is not, in fact, an eye-damaging neon pink; nor is it an outrageous shade of radioactive green. It is, as per Tooru’s advice on their last video call, a completely sensible ivory white that might have fried his curls but looks so satisfyingly shiny with its dark red tips and the glitter he’s sprayed on it for the party. He can’t wait to show it off tonight, just to see Hitoka’s mouth fall agape like it does every time, have Ukai pretend he hates it but compliment it in his gruff way of his, watch Asahi’s fashion designer eye twitch with the urge to say something. He wonders if Daichi will like it.
He doesn’t bother to knock, just takes the spare key out of the hollow rock by the porch and lets himself in. Most of the crows know how to get into Ukai and Takeda’s house, especially the Murder (those of them that were there on Koushi’s third year of high school. By the time they realized everyone was calling them this, it was too late to change it, so they embraced it; Kei even thinks it’s funny. Kei, bless his soul, is a little bit of an asshole.) Still, nobody, except of course Daichi, uses it more than Koushi, and no one does it quite as shamelessly.
“I’m home!” he calls, taking his shoes off and placing them neatly by the umbrella holder.
“No you’re not, you don’t live here!” Ukai calls from the kitchen; Koushi can’t help but grin at the familiar greeting.
“Aw Coach, you wound me! Also, Sensei not here to greet his favourite student?”
“Shimizu doesn’t need picking-up, she’s in Miyagi.” The man emerges from the kitchen, clad in his nicest pair of sweatpants, which is kind of like being the tallest libero, vape hanging from his mouth.
“You’re so mean! Oh, what is this, strawberry? Cotton candy? Got a cartouche for me, Coach?”
“Keep your grubby hands of my vape, you gremlin, that shit’s bad for you. Hey, you changed your hair again -man, you really don’t fear anything, do you? You shameless punk!”
Koushi would protest, throw in some jab at the man’s dumb outfit or his own dyed blond mane, but the hand ruffling his hair feels kind of nice, a large yet comforting presence that never fails to soothe his nerves. One day, in the week following the high school tournament in his third year, he had found himself shaking off a panic attack on the bathroom floor with his fist in his mouth, shaken by dry sobs so heavy they made his ribs ache. Ukai had forced the door open, and he’s not sure what he saw in his eyes, but he took his face in those large, calloused hands of his and told him to be as loud as he needed, for as long as he had to. His thumbs had pressed onto his ears so hard it almost hurt, and he had screamed for a very long time, blood pumping in his ears, sound buzzing through his body like spitting out the poison from his chest. It had felt liberating, a jumbled patchwork of euphoria, distress, all the jagged edges of his anger and fear and a waterfall of freedom all at once. Everything is going so fast nowadays, with the classes and parties and missing his family and the pressure of graduating next year and the sex and the whirlwind of people, lights, emotions and colours-in a sense, Koushi feels like he’s yet to stop screaming. Ukai’s presence, and the large hand ruffling through his hair, tastes like permission.
Whatever moment they’d been having is interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, and Koushi jolts at the familiar voices in the hall.
“We’re home! Hey old man, why’s the front door open?”
Old man? he mouths to Ukai, who mimes flicking him on the forehead and leans over the doorframe.
“That’d be the bleach-haired brat over there, that’d be.
“Oh my, Koushi’s here?”
Takeda, with complete disregard for how cool either of them is trying to be, rushes through the hall and wraps him in a warm, tight yet gentle hug.
“Oi! Not even a greeting for your poor dear husband over there? I see how it is!”
Ukai’s voice is almost whiny, but his point is proved moot by the tight grapple he has over a laughing Daichi, which doesn’t slacken even when Sensei corrects the slight with a passionate kiss.
“How’s police school treating you, kid?”
It’s been treating him really well, if the broadened shoulder-width he can check out even through the coat is anything to go by, but on this specific matter he chooses to hold his tongue and focus his gaze on his best friend’s shining dark eyes instead.
“It’s been -it’s been fine. Hi, Koushi.”
“Hi. So, um-”
“I- ah, sorry, you go ahead.”
“No, you go ahead, go ahead.”
“Ah, well, I just, I really like your hair. I mean, it looks good. So.”
“Oh, thank you. Cop college’s good? The teachers aren’t that much of dicks?”
“Well, I mean, after working at this one’s store for a year”, Daichi jerks his head in Ukai’s direction- “they all kinda seem like angels in comparison, you know?”
“Oi! Just you wait till I catch you, brat.”
“You’re still hugging him, Coach.”
“Aha -yeah, anyway. It’s going well, hard work but, it’s cool. One of the teachers even knew my father, so. It’s nice.”
“That’s good, that’s good. I’m happy, it’s cool that it’s good-um. You’d tell me, right? If it wasn’t?”
There is an intensity in his gaze, a sincerity that used to scare Koushi; that would still, today, frighten anybody else but him.
“Yes. I would.”
Koushi has never believed anything more than he does those words. Relief floods in in his chest, adding to the jigsaw of tension, joy and discomfort curling in his chest amidst the heavy silence of the roof. Daichi’s eyes are still on him, heavy with a purpose he’s given up on trying to read, and there’s a million of words buzzing up his lips like bees and popping off before he has the chance to spit any out in a sentence that would make sense. Instead, he stares back, lets the silence stretch until he realizes nobody else is going to break it, and cracks a joke -something about the police as an agent of oppression and gay people doing crime that flies past his head but makes the couple laugh and Daichi sputter indignantly. Finally, the tension is broken, and Koushi offers a high-five, and falls into a hug instead.
“It’s good to see you, man.”
“Yeah. I missed you. But hey, there you are!”
“There I am." A pause -Daichi's arms tighten around him, and he can feel the beating of his heart. "There you are."
****
The winter wind is hitting his face with the full force of gravity as he pedals down the mountain slope, arms wide open like an eagle flying down the hill. Sweat has started to freeze against his skin despite his thermal underclothes, his muscles ache with exhaustion and he’s sure to be sick as a dog tomorrow, but still he laughs, because he’s doing it, goddammit, he’s done it, and he’s gonna be a rich man at the party tonight.
He almost crashes into a tree, grabs the handles, stirs violently to the left and off he goes, skidding on ice patches and slaloming between cars and urban architecture. Finally, he can see his destination, and though he’s tired as an old sick rat there’s adrenaline pumping through his veins and he feels like a demigod, racing to that little house with the light by the porch.
Just as he’s about to come to halt, the front door slams open, and maybe it’s excitement or the traces of his family’s hivemind, but Yuu doesn’t need to think before jumping into his best friend’s open arms.
“Ryuu!”
“Yuu!”
“Ciao fratello, how you doing?”
“Holy shit Noya, you did it, you crazy motherfucker! Come on in, come on in, you must be freezing you asshole. Holy shit, Suga’s owing you so much money -and Kei, too.”
“Not gonna lie I don’t feel great taking a college kid’s cash.”
“His bet was that you would be found ‘lying in a ditch somewhere in Romania’, to be clear.”
“Ah, never mind then, let the kid starve. Saeko not here?”
“Nah, she got a shift tonight. She said you could stay the night or the week or whatever though -how long are you staying?”
“Man, I have no idea. I mean I quit, so I could go just about anywhere…”
“Oh shit, why?”
“Well, I said I’d be satisfied if I broke the ship’s previous “biggest fish caught” record, and I did, so…”
“For real?”
“Yeah! Look at that, biggest salmon I’ve ever seen, ‘bout as large as twice that”-he waves his arms from his head to his belt- “and thick as Asahi’s legs at that. Little shit moved so fast when I dragged it too, I lost my footing and hit my elbow against the mast, got burnt from the friction with the wood. Here, check it out, there’s a scar right over there, if you look closely…”
“Bro, that’s so cool! Was the fish good?”
“I don’t know bro, we sold it -for an awesome hefty price, too. But I gotta have a picture of it with me, just a sec – hey you think I could catch a bath before the party? I think I might hippopo -hypothala -hypothymia or whatever.”
“Bro, you biked all the way to Miyagi from fucking Italy, I think you’re allowed a bubble bath before cashing in on that bet. Besides, and I love you bro -look me in the eyes bro, you know I love you, you know I’m saying this outta love -you fucking stink, my guy. I’m not letting you sit on The Reaper smelling like that for nothing.”
“Wait, oh my god really, you’ll let me climb on The Reaper? Shit, that’s so cool man -wait I need to tell you, I had this girlfriend at one point she had a garage, I showed her a picture of it she said it was the most fucking badass motorbike she’d ever seen, said she’d kill someone for a chance to ride -kami, I can’t wait to ride it…”
“Yeah, yeah, off you go, wash off that stink and then you can tell me all about your Italian ex-girlfriend, shoo…”
Yuu grins, punching his brother’s shoulder with his heart bursting from affection, and goes to draw himself the- frankly- much needed bath. The bathroom light casts little rainbows on the bubble soap and he feels his muscles liquefy, sinking into scalding hot water. He doesn’t know what comes next (maybe a world sailing race? People seem to enjoy doing that these days), but for now, he’s been missing his family, he’s tired, and he is finally home. He knows, despite the academic disaster and chronic hot-headedness, his grandfather would be proud of the man he’s become.
****
The roads are slippery with ice and salt eating at snow when Tobio drags his car into the airport parking lot. The metal carcass has seen better days, mostly because he’s about as good at driving as he was at Japanese, but he hopes the heater can hold for the ride back; with they weather they’re having, they’re going to need it for certain.
Little Shouyou -who’s grown as grumpy with age as he’s remained small- shifts in his coat and meows disgruntledly. He pets it distractingly, almost forgetting to lock the car, and makes his way through the people shuffling in an out of the beehive. As good a setter as he is, he can’t control the time at which planes land, but he still wishes the pilot had made more of an effort to hurry up; they still have road to do, and the party is supposed to start in about ten minutes. They’ll be the last ones to arrive for sure. He bumps into a woman with a scarf, and his heart skips a beat at the orange curls floating behind her in the prickling winter wind.
Finally, he makes it to arrivals, triple-checking Natsu’s messaging to he ensure he’s got the place right, the time right, and didn’t accidentally drive his way into the wrong airport (which has happened already, an uncomfortable number of times). He’s taken to nervous pacing, to the cat’s displeasure, when the people from the Sao Paulo flight start trickle by -and there he is, ginger hair bobbing up and down as he wanders around with clothes far too light. The idiot better not catch a cold, with the MBSY trials in a week -thank god he’s brought an extra scarf, just in case. And mittens. Volleyball players should take better care of their hands, really.
For a moment he can’t help but stare, the newfound tan and the muscle definition, the edges of his tattoo peaking from his bright blue shirt. He’s grown, just a little -it’s easier to tell in real life, even from afar. He watches him run around like a rabbit for a while, head looking up and down and in every direction, before his eyes finally fall onto him and widen comically. Then, he’s running right at him, suitcase and all, at a speed Tobio hasn’t seen in a while but which is carved to the bone in his muscle memory. He feels warmth overtake him, raises his arm to catch his partner with his eyes closed, feels something settle in his hands when they catch on the changed, yet so familiar weight.
When he opens his eyes, Shouyou’s are glittering, sunshine over the sea, street lights over the winter snow.
“You’re here! I Natsu said she’d send someone to pick me up but – you really came!”
“Of course I did.” Little Shouyou’s head pops out from his coat, and he can’t help but laugh as the two gingers cuddle each other with joy. “How was the flight?”
“It was great! Well, I drank too much on accident and I fell asleep halfway through, but before that I watched all the Black Jackals tapes over again, they’re so cool! I’m so excited for try-outs. And what about you, how are you? Did you hear from the others? You think we could hang out all together sometimes soon?”
“Heh.”
“Eh? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll see.” He smirks, patting his partner’s head in that way that almost makes him turn bright red. Then, softer: “Welcome home.”
“Thank you! Man, I’m so glad to be back -do you have any idea how annoying it was, watching you play out the Olympics on a bike? But hey, I’m here now. I can come to your games in person now!”
They carry on their way, the three of them and Shouyou’s bulging old suitcase, his partner catching him up on everything that happened and everything that didn’t at a nigh impossible speed. Tobio watches him, interjecting at appropriate times, taunting him when there’s opportunity, and feels like he is also coming home.
“Are we heading back to Miyagi?” he asks with hopeful eyes, and pouts when he refuses to tell him. Turning his head to manoeuvre, Tobio smiles.
He cannot wait to watch him play.