Archive of Our Own

The apartment they’re sharing isn’t eye-candy, but Shouyou thinks it’s cozy and quaint enough for the two of them.

Their apartment is quite plain in its appeal: the splashing light of white lamps swallows the apartment in a flaring glow. Tiled plain floor made of baked clay, its creaminess matching aptly with the silver painted walls. Out in the open, there's a television mounted on the wall, and a woolen couch sitting opposite to the television with a tiny desk laid at the center. The apartment is lacking of decoration but that’s for them to think about later, when they’re no longer busy in mulling over the other things.

And so far, Shouyou has done the most part of their thinking splendidly on a snag among the other things. But he’s sureー knows, actuallyー that Kageyama has been putting in some thoughts on the same thing too.

After all, it’s the one thing they can’t stop thinking about.

It’s something big, something new, pivotal, and dished out in the plain view that it won’t be quite easy as it seems to look over. It’s the kind of something where it’s hard to ignore, like the smell of food one’s nose can’t resist or an itch beneath the skin screaming for it to be torn. It’s the kind where the very core of his subconscious has acknowledged such thought too.

Together with Kageyama, the two of them have moved into a three joint building by the bay of rising ocean and the coast of a roaring city of Tokyo to live together.

Their home, Shouyou lets this slip out of his tongue on the day they move in. Kageyama so happens to be there to catch the words. Shouyou immediately shakes his head, sputtering, embarrassed and cheeks tinted red while he tries to fervently deny, but Kageyama pays him no mind. He only nods and repeats the words.

"Our home." Kageyama smiles.

Shouyou could tell he likes the sound of that too.

But it’s a little awkward at first, he must admit, living with Kageyama.

Except, it isn’t surprising— the awkward part, that is, because it had been, while certainly not welcomed, very expected upon their return. After all, the pair had gone to study in different districts beforeー Kageyama in Kyoto and Shouyou in Tohoku. So, it makes sense they had gotten distant due to the distance; they have only managed to meet up in a totaling number of three times during their years of university.

Shouyou thinks it’s fine though. They’re patching up now at least, had been for the past few months to fill in the little cracks and gaps, forging the weakened bridge between them in order for them to become closer again. And now, there’s one last step for them to heed to polish off the bridge. They need to fall into the same pace like they did on the court before.

On the court, they’ve been compatible, invincible, with heartbeats thrumming through the silver of their veins each time they connected through a flick of a ball.

They’ve done it once, they can do it again.

And so, Shouyou does his part by willing his chance to learn more about the living entity of his partner during the first few weeks.

He’s learning the big things, the little things.

Some are endearing, some a little strange; some had taken him painfully a bit too long to notice like how after two years, six months and a total of twenty-six tries, he finally then knows that the number of times Kageyama had to spin the ball was nine before serving. But there are also the kind of ones he wouldn’t have ever learned had they not move in together; for an instance, Kageyama’s knack for arranging his desk over and over again which more than once, Shouyou considered on asking him about it whenever he sees this.

He never does though. He only chalks it all up as one of those Just Tobio Things he’s tucked in his head and leaves him be.

It’s like this, they navigate through the new concept of living together, and it’s not long until they do find their rhythm again. They’ve connected like they once had on the court, off the court, and now, they’re connecting right in the heart of their new home.

Since then, things have been the same for them again. Kind of. Somehow. Maybe just a little. Because a lot of things have changed for them, too.

They’re adults now. In the same year of their moving in, Kageyama starts working in a bakery few blocks away while Shouyou makes the most of his salary working as a teacher in one of Tokyo's high schools.

They’ve grown older, smarter, more mature, and they’re finally bearing some responsibilities they never once consider back then in midst of their craze of volleyball. Not that they no longer areー good heavens, no, it’d be raining ducks before that would even happen- volleyball is entirely the reason why they’re still even friendsー but over the years, their passion for the sports have smoothed down from all sun-kissed flames dancing wildly to a stove’s flaring blue fire.

While they might have changed, they still bicker. Kageyama still hurls the same old half-assed insult at him, and they still do, in fact, rile each other up very much that it sometimes end in a wrestling on the cold floor.

There isn’t any moments of them not fighting, but there had also been soft moments that comes between them, the ones where his knees would go jelly weak like how whenever Kageyama would grasp at Shouyou’s face and starts kissing him all over, but that’s just a part of the bigger picture.

Shouyou and Kageyama would also rouse competitions over the simple things, like whose sandwich tastes the best when they make their breakfast or who can make the bathroom tiles the shiniest as they clean the toilet.

They bicker as they do their chores. They don’t take turns or make it a daily routine nor do they have a duty roster of who does what (they tried but it ended horribly) because, truthfully, they haven’t reached that level of responsibility just yet. But they make up for it by opting to do the chores together, often spontaneously, since Shouyou singsonged how two could do it better than one. It doesn’t need to be said, but their household work goes incomplete most of the time.

So, yes. While some things have changed, some haven’t.

Although in the sea of these occurring events, Shouyou is becoming acutely aware of a box of peculiarity rising from the deep. But it isn’t just any box; it’s small, brown; a treasure chest, yet to be plucked out from the tidal waves and it’s out there somewhere, and it has something in it, like a chest filled with coins— something that's filled with what he’s been missing out for a long time. But what that something is, Shouyou has yet to figure exactly what it may be.

“Do the dishes.” Kageyama throws a small pillow from the couch at Shouyou on one particular hot afternoon. He hits him clean and square in the face, snorting lightly when the latter squeaks in surprise. “I already swept the room. Go do it.”

Shouyou considers on going against what Kageyama tells him to do as he grumbles in response. He complies by the end, feeling slightly bad after he sees how the latter seems a bit out of place, his face pinched with the all too familiar creases from the heat. He gets up from the couch, the pillow hastily thrown back at Kageyama’s retreating figure, then rushes to the open-spaced kitchen before he faces the wrath of a monster of his making.

“Tobio,” Shouyou peeks at him with a sly grin from the counter where the sink and dirtied dishes are piled. “About the reunion with our old volleyball team. Are you still going?”

Kageyama grunts at first, tossing the pillow back onto the couch before he looks over his shoulders. “I am. What about it?”

“Great!” Shouyou beams, growing ecstatic at the answer. “The team really wants to see you again since like, you know, you didn’t come to the ones last two years.”

“Oh. But isn’t it like two months later?” Kageyama yawns. He trudges towards their room, probably to get a change out of his sweat stained shirt is what Shouyou thinks as he eyes the way Kageyama’s tank top clings onto the back of his body and heavily damp with sweat. “Isn’t it still too early? Why ask now?”

“Yeah, I know!” Shouyou picks up the sponge and a dish, “It’s just—” Then he pauses, the feeling of having something amiss like a crack in cup returns, full-force and might, with a whiplash onto the flesh of his consciousness.

The question never did occur to him why before, but it’s been there, constantly emerging since their teammates ask Kageyama about his coming in their group chat and since then, the question gets stuck in his head.

So, he stays quiet, unsure of his own response.

Kageyama has long stopped in his tracks. He’s hovering along the corridor with his back still to him and he’s waiting for an answer as though he knows that Shouyou had to have more than a single thought in the question of his presence.

And then Shouyou's hit by the sudden compel to tell Kageyama that the reason behind his question is also because he, not just the team, would like him to be there as well. Maybe not ‘like’, but a ‘want’, or more, he'd daresay a ‘need’. If the latter doesn’t come again, it's likely another daunting dent will be left behind in the wake of his absence. He knows, it’s going to feel very lonely without Kageyama there again– very incomplete, like a lamp without a light or a bird without the wings– as it had the two years prior.

Shouyou wants to say that, all of that, but he goes for something a little more of less and something less of a little more. “— Just asking, that’s all.” He says instead, then hums.

Shouyou continues to wash the plates and Kageyama is no longer dwelling in the hallway.

...

Few months have gone by and the day of their annual reunion had been decided to be held in Tokyo which was convenient enough for the two of them. Shouyou also gets his chance to ask a familiar face, an old teammate of theirs, a dear friend of his, the one question that’s been drilling his mind with a constant buzz.

“Have we changed?” Shouyou questions, bearing half a mind to lean his head against Yamaguchi’s shoulders, and the other half to listen to the clattering glasses, cheerful hollers as the upbeat pop music plays in the background of the bar.

“Me– and Kageyama. Have we changed too?”

“Everyone did.” Yamaguchi lightly pats on Shouyou’s arm. He gives him a reassuring smile, his freckled face haloing, and making him feel less discontent and more at ease. “Although you and Kageyama are weird as always. Whenever you two are together, nothing changed much. Like it’s been the same.”

Shouyou feels his ears perking up at the answer. “Really?”

Yamaguchi nods with a quirky grin. “Yeah, really.”

Shouyou’s gaze then begins to roam around the bar in a search for one particular color. He finds it in a ticking nine seconds later and presses a smile when he spots Kageyama by the corner in his navy-white checkered shirt.

He looks nice tonight, Shouyou muses, his hair looks really nice tonight. It isn’t even a casual kind of nice, it’s a very good kind of nice. He could still feel his face flushing, could still feel the way his blood thrums all hot beneath his skin and fingers aching to take a graze , back in their apartment when he spins around to meet hisー his?— his partner with black hair curled and neatly matted.

Kageyama has chosen to comb his hair wavy and slightly puffed up that night. Like a puffer fish, his mind supplies, or a fluffy cat.

So, yes, it is in fact very necessary for Shouyou to point out, once again, on how Kageyama really does look nice tonight.

Stupid Tobio looking more ridiculously good with his stupid wavy hair and eyeliner, he mumbles into his drink. Everyone won’t stop looking at him, he can’t stop looking at him, and it’s really distracting, also kinda weird because he’s feeling so many things so, yeah, he definitely should stop staring at him but he can't andー

“Hey.” A voice pipes up in time to detach him from the whirlwind of his thoughts.

Shouyou whirls his head around to catch Yamaguchi’s stare on him. But it’s not the only thing he catches. He doesn’t miss the way Yamaguchi bites on his lips, a light tug but still a bite, or the slight droop of his lids that sags his freckles too. There could be only one thing what this gesture means.

“What’s up?” Shouyou asks, his chin propped so he could look up at him with no further constraint.

“Well- yeah, um.” Yamaguchi mulls. “Can I ask something?”

“Sure.”

“Are you - are you and Kageyama dating?”

Shouyou blinks once, twice, then a whole lot of four times. “Huh?” He croaks out, “No.”

“... For real?”

“We’re not dating.”

Yamaguchi stares. Shouyou only stares hard back at him.

A crease comes between Yamaguchi’s brows in the next moment.

“Why?” Shouyou nudges at him, “What’s wrong?”

“Oh,” Yamaguchi says with a falter midway. “Nothing. It’s just– you two look like you’re dating.”

“But we’re not.” Shouyou tells him, quick and casual, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I know,” Yamaguchi doesn’t hide his amusement. “You just told me that.”

“What makes you think we’re dating though?”

“I thought… it’s kind of obvious.” says Yamaguchi.

“Obvious.” Shouyou repeats after him.

It’s strange, how confounding Yamaguchi had seemed in that very minute. It’s strange because it’s not as if he had been the one caught in a predicament, whatmore at the premise of being questioned on having a romantic link with his best friend, but there he is, with features strained, body tensed, and stretching lips. It should have been Shouyou but Yamaguchi pays the price in his place.

“Because you guys are living together.” Yamaguchi finally tells him, “And uh, you two look close. Very close.”

Shouyou concedes with not one but several nods. “Of course, we’re close. We have to be.”

It’s true. They are close, very close, but it's confusing him as to why would someone think they’re dating just because they're close. It’s still not a good reason, Shouyou could list down plenty of names out there who are close but not necessarily in a committed relationship.

Even so, there has to be at least some basis for Yamaguchi to think that they are. For Yamaguchi to assume without any ground to base on otherwise sounds too impractical for he’s always been an observant kind, a trait he’s picked up and flourished through the passing years. So, there has to be something but whatever it is, Yamaguchi seems to be keeping it from him.

“We’re partners, after all!” Shouyou continues, assertive.

Yamaguchi tips his head to the side. “Even when you’re not playing volleyball anymore?”

At this, Shouyou’s face scrunches. He falls quiet— a custom for him whenever he finds himself in a bind before throwing himself into a moment’s worth of poring over.

It’s not that they’re playing volleyball anymore, they still do. Shouyou’s in charge of the volleyball club at the school he’s working, and sometimes (always), he would bring Kageyama to help him polish the students up for their practice matches and upcoming tournaments.

They’ve had their dreams of making into the national team, that’s true. They’ve also considered on becoming professional volleyball players, that’s also true. But— maybe they have changed after all, Shouyou rationalizes when he thinks of the time they talk about universities and courses in a moon-lit room.

So, at what point– he questions himself– at what point had he and Kageyama become partners outside of volleyball?

“I guess.” He answers at last, then plops his mouth onto his glass with a clink.

“I didn’t mean it that way though.” says Yamaguchi as he shoots him a smile but Shouyou only makes a garbling noise, his confusion insinuated. Much to his dismay, Yamaguchi doesn’t further elaborate on what he says although he is leaning a little forward, sparing a glance past his head before filling him in with a–

“Kageyama’s staring at you.”

Shouyou immediately whips his head around to look and no, Kageyama isn’t staring at him, and he's definitely not feeling disappointed. Kageyama’s attention is too busy caught on the hook that’s Noya’s and Tanaka’s rowdy antics as they crowd him in. He turns back to Yamaguchi who keeps a knowing smile on his lips.

“Psychological ruse.” Yamaguchi simply tells him but his hazy reply only clouds the sky that's Shouyou’s mind when the latter tries to grasp around his words.

Yamaguchi asks, “Do you like him?”

Shouyou frowns. “We won’t be close if I don’t like him.”

“I don’t mean– okay. Does he make you feel weird things?”

“Well,” He flounders. “He is weird.”

“No… As in, do you feel butterflies around him?”

Shouyou furrows his brows. “We can feel butterflies?”

Yamaguchi looks desperate suddenly. “I mean– do you want to go out with him?”

“We’re already outside though.”

“Hinata,” He begs, exasperated then bangs his head onto the table. A stagnant moment stands between them and Shouyou counts the ticking seconds with each tap of his fingers until Yamaguchi picks up his head again. “Do you want to date him?” He questions him, upfront and clear.

Shouyou doesn’t forget the panic on everyone’s faces when he accidentally knocks over a trayful of drinks off the table that night.

...

He wakes up the next morning, bathing under the light of sun rays in its warmth and vibrancy, his eyes flutter openー dazy, hazy, dreamy for a momentー to the songful chirps and sunshine parading through the peek of blinds in autumn.

He busies contemplating on last night’s reunion event, and it takes a minute for him to skim through and remember everything at once: Sugawara’s warm voice, Noya’s and Tanaka’s shenanigans, Kageyama’s wavy hair, and finally, Yamaguchi’s question. Yamaguchi’s question, he thinks with the final wave.

Shouyou groans at the memory, rolling over shortly after gaining some conscious, but the remnants of it remain bonded to the shackles of a lazy morning, the wonderland of slumber, when suddenly, he catches Kageyama by the side laying on him an intent gaze.

They stay like that for a little while, quiet for a few ticking seconds, eyes on each other while the blanket above them wraps them in like a cocoon, securing them from the world beyond theirs. It feels safe here, under the silk in tangled limbs, with their heads put to rest on freshly laundered pillows, while they stare and stare some more.

"You're up early," Shouyou states as he yawns, stretching out the daze of his limbs before he could curl to the side. His chin pointedly pins against the chest where his fingers currently splay over, rhythmic heartbeats beneath the tips of his fingers drilling contentment into him. Shouyou gives him a smile.

Kageyama returns the heartwarming deed, but he shows it by the slack of his pinched brows, features softening, and something that Shouyou could not quite put his fingers on. Something that can only be spoken and recognized by the eyes. He could only hold his breath in as soon as Kageyama opens his mouth to speak. "I woke up to watch the sun rise." He hears him then dispels the spoonful of air from his lungs he's been keeping in.

"The sun?" Shouyou questions, curious.

"Yeah," Kageyama stares down at him, the something in his eyes intensifying by a tenfold. "It just rose."

Shouyou then moves over, closer than before, to soak up all the warmth radiating from Tobio like a sponge. Kageyama’s hand is settling upon his cheeks, the calloused skin of a thumb igniting the flame under his flesh to dance and spread across as he brushes past against themー and it’s strange, how the touch can be as soft as a woven cheesecloth despite the wildfire havoc it has wreaked.

He feels himself melting, almost like a bar of chocolate to a lit candle, to Kageyama’s touch whose touch is so tender, alarmingly gentle as though Shouyou has been crafted to be made a work of fragility and one harsh prod alone could break him.

"So." Shouyou lets his eyes trail down the protruding shape of Tobio's nose then a finger to trace its sloping curve.

"... So?" Kageyama parrots him, chasing after the lingering touches on his skin Shouyou has left in wake, and places a kiss by the joint between Shouyou’s thumb and pointing finger.

Shouyou only grins and he feels a thump ー a weird but good kind of thumpー in his chest when he sees Kageyama keeping his lips there on his hand. "So, breakfast at home or should we go out before we get to work?"

When they get ready by an hour later and head to a small food chain restaurant nearby, Yamaguchi’s question happens to ring in his head as he watches Kageyama digging through his pocket bag for the seventh time to make sure he didn’t forget anything.

Do you want to date him?

He still wonders.

…

The weekends come again, and Shouyou as well as Kageyama are running their morning drills as they jog through the stilled quietness in one of Tokyo’s parks.

There’s some traces of rain lingering in the morning from last night’s storm. Wafers of the cold air weigh light and crisp, but even with their bodies encased in thick clothing, the coldness remains chilling to the bones as it seeps into their skin, tremors tucked underneath. But they find a way to huddle for more warmth eventually, shivers dislodged as soon as they finish their morning jog. Although, what he means by huddle, he means it in a literal sense.

"You're heavy.” Kageyama grunts, his hands unwavering as they hold tight onto Shouyou’s thighs that’s buckled around his waist. Shouyou looks up at him from the front, face brilliantly lit with a grin, and arms stretching over the hunch of Kageyama’s shoulder as his strong legs trap the latter in from behind.

“How can you be heavy when you're so tiny?"

Shouyou huffs in retaliation. “I’m not tiny."

Kageyama slides his arms from Shouyou's thighs to his torso. He keeps him there, warm and safe from the concrete pavement where Kageyama’s new sneakers squeak against.

“You’re totally tiny.” Kageyama insists. “And heavy.”

“Am– not– tiny.” Shouyou jabs a finger at Kageyama’s chest with each drag of his word.

But no matter how much he tries to deny, they both know that it’s true. Shouyou is tiny. His height may have climbed a few steps and his muscles becoming more compact over the years, but compared to the one of his brooding, tall and growing companion’s, his build is still small.

Kageyama’s taller now. He’s grown taller than Shouyou that, comically enough, their height difference expands from a good seven inches to roughly around nine. His physique is growing sturdier too; firmer, more muscular, all tallied from the past years of vigorous volleyball training regime.

Curious, Shouyou lets his touches wander around the broad width of Kageyama’s back. He settles onto one spot, muscles feeling hard and firm beneath his palm. He hums a tune, his hand glued onto the slot because it actually feels really nice there, a perfect match for his hand, and he catches this chance to appreciate a little more of Kageyama’s sturdy frame.

Strong, Shouyou coos silently as his breath fans over the expanse of skin on Kageyama’s neck when the latter hoists him up a little further and ambles on further.

Kageyama’s face twists with a grunt at every hand print Shouyou has imposed on his back. “What are you doing?”

“Touching.” Shouyou lilts. “It feels nice.”

If Kageyama wonders what he means, he doesn’t voice it.

Somewhere along their tracks, Shouyou drinks in the view wholeheartedly when they pass by a green pond. It’s truly a beauty to appreciate, an essence of calmness inhabits the milky fog hovering just above the water and into the belt of pine trees on the other side, the pond water rippling with light waves and floating lotuses. But as soon as his eyes tears away to land on Kageyama’s face, he’s quick to decide he likes this kind of beauty the best.

It’s unfair, he thinks as he keeps his stare on Kageyama’s face close to his, how Kageyama has all the right kinds of charm to his looks because even under the spell of brimming mist, he still seems so formidable, phenomenal.

"Can you carry me like this?" He implores after a beat, definitely not thinking of this as an opportunity to stare up at Kageyama’s face some more.

Kageyama looks down at him with a questioning brow. "I am carrying you like this."

"No, stupid.” Kageyama pinches his sides at the jibe and he yelps. “— I mean! Carry me like this until we get home."

There’s a heartbeat of silence where a cacophony of crickets, birds and wind rush to fill in the void. Another heartbeat follows after when Kageyama tightens his grip on him, and presses a softest pressure onto his back. The cogs in Shouyou’s head wheels with every clank of the moment.

"I don't plan to let go anyway." Kageyama tells him a little later on, resolute and direct, and Shouyou feels his heart hammering in his chest.

As they continue to press their bodies close, warmth rolling in waves from entangling limbs, Shouyou indulges in the surge of relative calm and hopes it would soon overtake the clamour of his heartbeats.

…

“Coach? Is Kageyama-san your boyfriend?” Ishida, a third year and the current captain of the volleyball club, corners Shouyou in with a question one day during a practice break.

Shouyou, completely stupefied, could only gape in response. The clipboard slips from his grip and tumbles, its a mighty thump has drawn attention from scattered points around the gym. He’s pouring out strings of jumbled words immediately, his hands zipping from one speck of dust in the air to another, and those who fall witness to this scene have only found more amusement in his floundering.

“W-wha— why would youー wh– huh?” Shouyou sputters.

“So, he’s not?” Ishida bemuses.

“No! No, no. Absolutely not,” Shouyou frantically answers. “He– he’s not!”

“Then why are you freaking out so much, coach?” Yoshi, a wing spiker to the team, comes tip-toeing in from behind and prods at him with a teasing lilt.

Shouyou takes a fretful glance over his shoulders to spot Kageyama by the corner. He’s busy attending to the team’s setter, hands on hips, one leg bent forward and another, a leverage for his weight to rest on. Shouyou wouldn’t know, he thinks they’re having a serious topic discussed among them given the grain of contemplation on their faces, but for that moment he finds himself not caring as he sighs in relief.

Shouyou looks back to Yoshi and Ishida. He’s quick to decide that he doesn’t like the grin on their faces.

“Break’s over!” The gym carries his loud voice through followed by a hard blow on a whistle. The two students near him lose their face at the loud volume.

“Huh? That was fast.” Ishida taps his chin.

Yoshi nods. “I think it’s because we got on coach’s nerves?”

“Ooh, that makes sense! Maybe the coach actually is dating him but he doesn’t want—”

“Wah! Okay, g–get back there, you two! Go, go, go!” Shouyou waves a fist at them, threatening them to do a tenfold of driving drills if they persist their teasing. They simply laugh at him in return, the threat brushed aside as they dash off to join the rest of the team but not before they shoot him a wink and an inkling good luck!

Good luck? Shouyou wonders, his face growing hot from all the teasing as he bends down to pick up his clipboard. Good luck for what? For dealing more with the team’s antics is what they mean, hopefully. That’d be nice, his students, the whole lot of them, are prone to poke fun at him and they’d hop on the train whenever the opportunity for it rises. He doesn’t mind it though. Sometimes. He’ll leave no act unpunished if they go too far.

The practice match ensues. As the ball goes back and forth between the two sides of the court, points accumulating along the way, he thinks back to the time when Yamaguchi had asked him the same thing. Are you dating? Is Kageyama your boyfriend? Of course, the answer to all of that is no. But it’s weird, he thinks, Yamaguchi’s coin of thoughts is understandable in a way because he’s close to them. He’s their friend after all, he's one of the few parties to witness their development through the high school days, so it does make sense for his part but… for his students to ask the same thing when they've only met that year?

Do you want to date him? An inner voice probes at him yet once again, sparking another debate within Shouyou's head to life.

“Do I… want to?” He ponders to himself, “Do I like him? Do I want to date him?”

“What’s with you?” Kageyama pounces on him as soon as he gets to his side. “You’ve been talking and muttering to yourself.”

Shouyou straightens his back immediately and fervently shakes his head. “Nothing! It’s nothing. Just thinking. How’s Keiji holding up?”

“He’s okay.” Kageyama says. They watch as Keiji tosses a ball into the air close to the net, and Yoshi spikes it onto the other side with a loud smack. Their side roars at their first set won. “But he needs to be more confident in himself,” Kageyama picks up his voice in the middle of cheering noise, “Block out the noise, be more firm.”

“Hmm.” Shouyou drones. “But he can do it though, can he?”

“He can.”

“Then that’s good.”

“Shouyou,” Shouyou’s heart thunders at the spilling breath of his given name. Kageyama asks, “They still have practice tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah.” He answers him, pausing to heave a deep inhale for composure and clears his throat. “They’ll be having their practice match with another school next week. We’re still preparing.”

“Good.” Kageyama nods in approval, “I’ll try to come again after work.”

“But you’re always coming after work.” Shouyou quips.

Kageyama swats out a hand to pull at his hair-- or so did he think he’s about to do, until Kageyama's hand is gently kneading through the nest of his tangerine hair. “Shut up.” Kageyama tells him but it lacks the usual bite despite his face being so stern as he looks down at him. Shouyou only blinks up at him with a patent astonishment.

And even when Kageyama pulls his hand away and lets it drop to his side, Shouyou could still feel the way his fingers had worked with his locks.

A revelation strikes him. Quick, forceful, bolting like a lightning— he likes Kageyama, he processes the thought. He likes Kageyama, which by link means that he wants to date Kageyama.

The thought should be shocking, he knows, but strangely enough... Somehow, it isn’t too much of a surprise to him; when it comes to him, it’s feather-light, soft and subtle, as though nothing has changed. If anything, things he couldn’t rationalize finally starts rendering some common sense when he connects the pieces— obvious, Yamaguchi's words ring in his head. He gets it now, he thinks.

The treasure box in the sea has been found, and the gold within is waiting for a shovel to dig through. Shouyou only has the key left to find for the chest to be opened.

Tobio isn’t always an idiot.

Sure, his hadn’t achieved much of decent grades until he gets into the baking and pastry course, his academic excellence had never been much of a grand accomplishment, and Tobio has no way of telling that someone has been flirting with him unless it’s pointed out in his face butー no, he’s not always an idiot.

Come as it may be, Tobio is very aware that his friendship with Hinata transcends the simple norm of platonic aspect.

They’ve kissed, they’ve cuddled, they’ve had their sweaty palms weaved together in a warm clasp a few times, but not once did the two ever spare a minute to sit down and talk about whatー whatever this thing is that’s going on between them. He knows what they have is strange, unfathomable, an enigma at its best but that’s fine. This whatever they have, they seem to be perfectly content with it and when they’re doing great, really good so far, he finds that there should be no problem.

But... they might also have to talk about it someday.

One day, by every weekend, Hinata pays him a visit at the bakery whenever Tobio’s end of shift is almost near, and he’d bring along with him a bag of treats.

His coming has eventually began to pose a regular occurrence to his colleagues. Kageyama’s special friend, they’d label him, basking him in warm welcomes and the bakery’s special deals while Hinata would shriek in glee as he accepts all the tasty treats given. (Tobio’s convinced that they’re trying to bribe him at the last part. For what exactly though, he doesn’t know)

And like this, the weekly routine starts.

Tobio bakes a cake and Hinata would wait for him as he peers through the window to watch him.

That damn window, Tobio grumbles to himself for a count of too many times when he first works there. The window, he recalls his manager’s words, had been installed for wholly an entertainment purpose. Customers could look in at anytime, catch a glimpse of the bakers and learn a thing or two while the bakers carry out their duties. It so happens to be in Tobio’s luck that his working station is by the casement’s blatant display. That, and the manager selected him to be the best choice to draw people’s attention. (What is he? An animal?)

It’s truthfully distracting; the mindful stares he receives on his platter are like phantom itches prickling his skin, and relief is insatiable because the only way for him to get rid of the tingling is by having that damned barrier torn down. Which of course, he can’t do that, there’s no choice left for him but to put up with his growing misery all caused by a single window.

However, as he spends more in the kitchen tending to the cakes entrusted to him to make on his own, he gradually warms up to the curious eyes. All he needs to do is envision himself on the court (unsurprising) and the cakes as volleyball (also unsurprising) with the spectators watching from their seats.

Today, Tobio is baking a cake with marbled mirror glaze, and as always, the occasional audience would watch him.

It’s with care when Tobio pours a dipper of white glaze all over the cake, the crumb coats completely enveloped in white plating as its glossy texture taking reign. The blooming colors of pink spring comes next as they’re tipped onto the top, colors grazed as he spreads them into a fan shape, movements toned with delicacy and poise. With another layer of pink glaze added, smeared across the cake’s surface for gradience, he’s finally done. The cake is complete. Only, he now has to wait for the glazing to stop dripping before he could bring it to the casing display.

When all is done, Tobio lifts his chin up and looks beyond the window in front of him.

And Hinata’s there, the only audience at the time. With twinkling eyes, mouth wide and nose squashing up against the pane— Shouyou’s there, openly admiring Tobio’s handiwork that never fails to have the golden linings in his chest flutter and filled to its brim.

“That looks so cool, Tobio!” Tobio hears Hinata’s muffled voice babbling from the other side of the window. “You’re amazing!”

Like that, the gold bursts at the seams. From his head to the tips of his toes, the golden ink overflows and soaks him in endless, rupturing waves. His cheeks burn, red unfurling down his neck, and his lips defies him greatly when a tiny smile breaches his resisting to a familiar stretch caught at its rim.

He could get used to this, Tobio thinks. He could get used to this if it means to be ravished in Hinata’s praises more.

“I’ll be taking my break.” Tobio tells the man from the other end of his working station.

Good work! The jolly remark carries through to him and he nods at him once, twice, then goes to wash his hands, his chef hat put away with his apron hanged on the rack. He exits the kitchen shortly after, the front room’s cold breeze greeting his warm, clammy skin in contrast to the hot and humid air he’s spent his time under in the kitchen.

“Hi!” Hinata greets him beside the glassed frame. “I brought meat buns.” He grins, waving the small paper bag in one of his hands.

“You do know that we have meat buns here too.” Tobio points out.

“But it’s not just any meat buns, it’s your favorite.”

That sounds doable enough. “Sit there, I’ll be back.” Tobio doesn’t miss the elated look on Hinata’s face as he steps away.

He comes back later, two brimming cups of hot coffee in hands and places them on the table where Hinata’s seated next to the window. Hinata on the other hand seems too busy browsing through the bakery’s decorations.

“You guys changed up a few things around here.” Hinata marvels, pointedly looking onto the synthetic vines that’s mounted on a ceiling, right above the racks where the baked goods are on sale.

“Yeah.” Tobio agrees, “The manager wanted the place to look more unique.”

“It already is though.” says Hinata, “It feels really calming here too, you know what I mean? I like it!”

Tobio knows what he means, he thinks it’s calming here too. The scent of vanilla and sandalwood itself has oiled the wheels of the bakery’s quaint atmosphere, and there’s a classical old theme to the bakery, warm and vintage, as shades of yellow, cream and brown fill out in every corner that brings out a grandeur image.

It’s this ambiance they’ve chattered under throughout Tobio’s break. Hinata’s topics cover a vast range from Natsu’s upcoming graduation to some nonsense his students had pulled on him at school. He stops there though, as soon as Tobio snorts at the last part and gives him a light smack. Hinata bridles, tells him that it’s not funny, he nearly has a heart attack, that he might have died and how the students very much enjoy his expense (“They might be a sadist just like you, Tobio!") and Tobio just hits him back.

“Lunch is almost over.” Tobio says as he looks away from the clock on the wall and into the empty cup in his hand. "I need to go."

Hinata wobbly smiles. “Then I guess I’ll head back?”

“You should stay here for today, Hinata!” Tobio hears one of his co-workers calling out from behind the display case, “It’s an off day for you, isn’t it? A helping hand is always appreciated.”

Hinata frowns and looks at Tobio quizzically. “Is that even allowed?”

Tobio shrugs. “They’re fond of you.”

“Oh. Well,” Hinata starts, fiddling with his own cup. “Are you going to bake another cake?”

“There’s a custom ordered one that I need to do.” Tobio says, thinking about the birthday cake design a customer had come forward to place their request on.

“Then I want to watch you!” Hinata tells him then pauses for a bit. “... But not from the window!”

“What?” Tobio cocks his head to the side.

“I want to watch you.” Hinata squirms for a bit, but lifts a hand and peeks at him through the ring of his two fingers encircled. “From a close-up.” His eyes gleam with a hopeful glint.

And when Tobio finally gets what Hinata’s trying to imply, he deadpans. “No.” He answers in a beat.

Hinata frowns. “Huh?”

“You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“You can’t.”

“But why not?!”

Tobio bristles. “Idiot, only the staff can enter the kitchen, you just can’t go in whenever you like and—”

“You have my special permission, Hinata.” Wataru, Tobio’s manager, the bakery's manager to be more precise, cuts him off as he slides past their table to his office. “Just make sure to put on a chef’s hat and some apron.”

Tobio finds himself at loss. Hinata on the other hand starts squealing in delight. The little redhead doesn’t waste his time to reach over either, small dainty hands grabbing onto Kageyama’s hands much bigger than his then starts shaking them around with so much energy, Kageyama thinks his hands might be pulled off at any second now.

“Now I get to watch you from your side!” Hinata yells; a little too noisy, a little too loud; but enough to rouse sparks among Tobio’s other co-workers by the counter and for the ones in his chest to go off.

Hinata gets his wish granted later on when he stands next to Kageyama. He has his bangs tucked beneath the frame of a chef hat, and an apron worn over his casual clothes. He pores over the practice of baking Tobio procures as he follows him everywhere, from the cabinets to the stationery. He’s easily excitable, but it’s a good thing, because he’s completely heeding to everything that Tobio does, even as he cracks an egg into a bowl and beats it with flour.

While it’s nice to see Hinata’s pleased reactions from the window, but when he’s in there with him, it’s nicer. It's nicer this way because there’s no walls to come in between them, no glass to muffle his praises and Hinata gets to tug on the back of his shirt whenever he tries to close in.

It’s a pleasurable experience, and Hinata has stayed until the end of his shift, and while Tobio won’t ever admit it but he hopes the next time Hinata watches him, it’d be by his side again.

…

"You have no taste." Tobio barks out a bite at Hinata. "Pink and yellow? Seriously?"

"They're flowers, stupid."

"I know, I'm not blind, and youー never mind. Why pink and yellow?!"

The two have been sitting by the dining table at the time when the topic, decorations, is brought up. It’s spring, Hinata is on a vacation while Tobio too has taken a week off from his work for a break. They want to spend a little more time together, get rid of the stress and forget about their workload for a bit so, they didn't think it would hurt to give decorating a try when it sounds like a fun thing to do during a break.

Tobio watches his tinyー best friend? partner? ー huff and stalk off to place the vase of flowers next to where the television hangs up on the wall.

The vase is marble black, sculpted with patterns of vines and leaves intertwined, its glossy texture shimmering in flutters of daylight. The good thing about the vase is that it actually does look good, providing the perfect complement to the plywood panel’s creamy background but… the flowers are tacky, hideous and simply terribly plain awful.

"They're ugly." Tobio says with final decision, his glare piercing through the petals in hopes they could wilt away but they don’t, they sit there in its mocking glory of pissing him off, begging for him to fight them.

"No, they're not." Hinata frowns and he sounds so positively sure as though the flowers had been some kind of a prize he’s won after shooting all the balloons with some darts.

Tobio knits his brows at him and glares. "They are."

And there it is. An all too familiar sight of Hinata growing defensive that Tobio could practically see his feathers ruffling up which doesn’t even make sense. Hinata obviously doesn’t have any feathers to begin with; he’s a human, not a bird, but Tobio thinks it’s his untamed hair of tangerine that has something to do with this very birdly image for years. Yes, it’s definitely the hair.

"Yeah? Well," Hinata starts, cheeks puffing out but only manages to make himself seem more like a bird. An angry puffy bird. "You're ugly." He finishes, lamely.

Tobio rolls his eyes. "You're uglier."

"You're the ugliest."

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re more ridiculous!”

"And you're the prettiest!" Their banters stop right there, silence taking its stead as they stare at each other with cheeks too red, throats too dry, and eyes too wide.

The wall now seems to be very inviting for Tobio’s forehead to smash it against. He doesn’t though, he does however throw the very newly added decoration by the corner a look and channel his embarrassment into something of disgust.

The flowers are pink and yellow carnations, compressed into a pile of contrasting colors entirely inadequate for adding appeal to their apartment. It doesn’t help that their meanings are not fit for decorations either, but judging by the colors alone, anyoneー and he means anyoneー in their right mind could just tell they don’t go together.

But then again, it is Hinata. If he’s daring enough to fly in the face of gravity on the court, what’s to stop him from defying the law of beauty in flowers? Well, that’s exactly what Tobio is about to do. Hinata is going to some sense knocked into him if he’s picking out some bunch of random flowers but Tobio has to learn the hard way that he can’t just beat him up to do exactly that. (Though he wonders, when you say knock, doesn’t it usually mean the same thing as beating up?)

“I’mー look,” Tobio grunts. “I’m taking you somewhere.”

Hinata purses his lips. “Huh? Where? For what?”

“Just– somewhere.”

And that’s how he ends up leading them to a flower shop downtown in winter coats, across a pet store and a hair salon, where his mother is in charge of.

The shop stands at the base of a building block in front of a busy street. The framework of window displays and wooden door are all modern white, and by the entrance are some plants put in ceramic pots that’s stacking up a stand. Next to them, a grey stoned statue of a woman prevails, although Tobio doesn’t recall any of it the times he’s visited his mother here the past few months.

Must be new, he thinks as he enters the shop with Hinata following him closely from behind. The chimes above the door sings a tune to alert their presence, and his mother pops right out from below the counter.

“Tobio!” She gives him a warm smile and he nods in acknowledgement, startled when Hinata suddenly fumbles over, presses against his behind, and tries to peer over Tobio’s broad shoulders. “Oh, is that Shouyou with you?”

“It’s meー wait, uh? Hi, miss– miss Kageyama?” His greeting comes a mix of sincerity and confusion. Hinata just stares her, eyes wide and mouth gaping, but Tobio is too busy snorting when he sees that he could barely reach over his shoulders behind him. Hinata retaliates by jabbing his side.

“Hey, move your big butt.” Hinata hisses low enough for him to hear.

“There’s space next to me, dumbass.”

“Yeah, but you’re taking up most of it.”

“I’m a little busy at the moment,” His mother butts into their banter with a soft smile splayed, “I need to restock some few things, so you boys– ahem, gentlemen, go ahead and make yourself comfortable around here first, okay?"

“Okay.” They answer in unison as Tobio’s mom disappear to the back of the shop.

“You never told me your mom works in a flower shop.” Hinata hums, catching Tobio’s attention. He turns around to look at him, but Hinata is already standing by the display, dainty little hands reaching out to caress the purple-skimmed petals of a potted flower. Morning glory, Tobio mentally notes down as he slowly makes an approach.

“And in Tokyo, of all places!” Hinata beams. “So, that’s why she’s rarely home in Miyagi, huh? She's been here.”

“It’s her shop.” Tobio simply says, stopping next to Hinata and stands his ground to fiddle with the yellow tulips placed a few pots away from the morning glory’s. “She thinks Tokyo is a better place for her business to grow well. She never brings me here before though– but she made me learn about flowers when I was a kid, like their language and stuff.”

Hinata croons. “Flowers can speak?”

“I meant meanings. Not as in language language.”

“Oh.” Hinata mouths at him in amazement, then pointedly stares at the flowers where Tobio’s fingers are currently tangled with. “Then how about this one? What does this flower mean?”

“Yellow tulips.” Tobio tells him, all light and airy and fondness in the peak of his tone. He watches how Shouyou tips back and forth on the balls of his heels, sees his brown eyes greedily gobbling up what’s happening before him. “They mean sunshine in your smile.” Like yours, his mind unconsciously and very unhelpfully supplies. He continues his assert, “There’s a story behind that.”

“Really? Tell me!”

“But uh– it’s too long.”

“Uh-huh. So?”

Hinata looks at him with curiosity. It’s endearing, curiosity should be a childish quality but Hinata turns it into a charm instead. Maybe it’s the look of wonder on his face or maybe it’s the fact that Hinata has always been too expressive, filled to the brim with feelingsー but whatever it is, it’s always reeling Tobio in, telling him to cave into Hinata’s wants.

He rips away his gaze from the too blinding sight to where the yellow tulips are in his hands. He sighs then like always, he gives in; he gives in and gives what Hinata wants. “There was once a legend, a legend that says happiness can be found in the buds of a yellow tulip...” Tobio starts, slow and with rhythm, as how the story had always been told to him.

And once upon a time, happiness can be found in the buds of a yellow tulip, according to the story of the legends. Having heard of the myth, many from across the lands went to get their hands on that happiness, but no matter what they've done, the yellow tulip bud never does open. Their futile attempts had gone on for so long until one day, a little boy with a radiant and bright smile came. The little boy approaches the yellow tulip budー and the tulip opens up to him, bringing to him and the people around a ray of happiness. Rumors have said that the boy’s smile depicted sunshine in his smile and as flowers naturally gravitate towards the light, the yellow tulip responds to him.

“... And that’s how it got its meaning.” Tobio mutters by the end of his telling.

“Wow.” Hinata blinks a few times, processing the fabled tale. “That’s... actually a nice story.”

Tobio feels his face soften. “It is.”

The story of the yellow tulip happens to be one of Tobio’s favorite bedtime stories. Every night, his mother would sit by his side, near the edge of the bed and feeds his imagination with stories while Tobio lays in the comfort of his bed, listening to her with great fascination.

It’s the one story he treasures, something he could finally relate to because what’s standing right beside him is the living incarnation of the yellow tulip itself; something Tobio realizes one day during his first year in high school as he stares down at Hinata, watching every shred of expression Hinata makes when he grows excited. Like the sun, he had thought that one time, like the yellow bud from his mother’s bedtime stories.

So, Hinata is, as Tobio concludes, his little yellow tulip bud of happiness. It’s not hard to see why either, Hinata has always been a little wrapped box with sunshine rays and happiness packed within him, and Tobio is certain that he’s not the only person who reasons this either.

Or so he thinks until Hinata suddenly reaches forward to snap one of the yellow tulips off from its stalk.

“What the hell?” Tobio says, outraged, ready to tell Hinata that no, he can’t just do that, his mother is probably going to kill them when she finds out and  bury their bodies alive or worse, make them pay but then Shouyou catches him off guard. Every ounce of his anger dissipates and dissolves into astonishment when the man slides the yellow tulip into his hair and settles it by the bank of his ears.

“There!” Hinata giggles with mirth and pulls away, oblivious to the doomsday he’s made impending for them ahead. “It suits you.” He grins.

And for the second time that day, a realization hits him. Oh, he thinks rather lamely in his head.

He decides to correct himself. Hinata is not the yellow tulip.

Hinata’s staring up at him with rosy red cheeks and curled plump lips. The outdoor sunlight splashes across his soft skin in a haloing glow, the fiery tendrils of his orange hair flaring in its glare, and he looks so warm, warm in the middle of the coldness winter brings. But what takes the cherry on top however, one that makes his heart beating wildly under its cage, it’s the full blown smile on the man’s face.

Oh, he says again, but he isn’t aware that he’s said it aloud this time.

Hinata’s not the yellow tulip because— rather than Hinata, it’s him. Tobio has always been the yellow tulip bud in the story and Hinata is the sunshine boy. His sun-drenched smile, all toothy and bright, it makes the heart beneath Tobio’s chest pound wildly, alive, wanting to open up to take all the light in and shower the boy in crisps of calm sea breeze and coins of happiness where rainbows lurch.

Sure, Tobio isn’t the bud of happiness. He’s a complete opposite, he can’t grant happiness, not even to Hinata, who could grant it but deserves every shred of it too, but for that one momentー just for that one moment, he knows what it’s like to be in the bud’s place, how it feels to be captivated, drawn in, entranced by the light in one’s smile alone. And perhaps that’s one thing Tobio and a flower shares in common: they both gravitate towards light.

… Oh, he thinks at that last thought. But the thought comes to him slow, dragging, and the weight it carries is more than all his previous thoughts ever combined.

I like Shouyou, he says in his mind. He likes Hinata. He likes Hinata.

Tobio likes Hinata.

Face burning hot, he forces himself to tear his gaze away from the sunny view that’s Hinata. The other man just laughs at him, turning to pick at another yellow tulip and Tobio’s attention snaps back at that and starts wrestling with him before he gets the chance to kill off more flowers.

Much to Hinata’s chagrin, the carnations have been thrown away by the end of the day. The big vase still sits next to the television; it’s empty now but they decide to keep it that way because it’s probably better off without anything but the sponge to fill in the void.

On the counter of their kitchen, there’s an addition of yellow tulips sitting in a pot, one of its stalks broken off.

…

With the qualifiers for the Kantou Volleyball tournament rolling in quick by the end of April, Hinata makes sure to have the team properly geared up. And as the usual, Tobio would help them out with his pointers and whatnot.

Tokyo’s volleyball calendar is different from the one in Miyagi, but it’s nothing much of a trouble for them to get hang of it. The only trouble is that there’s going to be more than a hundred of teams competing. So, one week before the qualifying matches, Hinata tells the team rest for one to two days before they go back to keep up their shape.

Hinata is surprisingly a good coach. While the theory of having him as a coach sounds laughable at first, the outcome of having it put into practice turns out to be better than in theory. For one, Hinata had gone through deep lengths for his school’s volleyball team to ensure their victory. He’s the reason why the school’s team has connections with the powerhouses; from Tokyo's Nekoma to the ones back in Miyagi, their former school included, all the training camps and practice matches done will turn out to bode well for their team.

Hinata’s resolution has always been admirable, fierce and unrelenting; he takes on challenges seriously and coupled with his ability to push players to do their best, so, it’s a no wonder he’d do good as a coach with all of these qualities.

But who would have known they’d end up here? Tobio, a baker; Hinata, a coach for a Tokyo’s school volleyball team. It’s a path they never expect to get a ride on but there they are. Here they are, Tobio thinks as he sits on the couch one evening, fingers busy hooking with Hinata’s hair whose head lies on his lap, the latter tapping his phone away.

“Hey, Tobio?” Hinata calls out to him, his nose poking out from his phone. “What are we?”

Tobio blinks. Did he hear that question right? "Hah?”

“We kissed. We kissed and stuff.” Hinata says, voice tentative. He’s setting his phone down, a sure leeway for a serious conversation, one Tobio had been thinking of but never did think it’d come so soon, to follow up. “And... I don’t think friends just do that.”

“We’re,” Tobio struggles but finds himself torn, “We’re partners.”

“Just– partners?” Hinata repeats.

Only, Hinata isn’t just repeating. He has that look on his face as he looks up at him, a look Tobio knows so well, packed with a steely fleck of hoping, wishing, wanting.

“... Maybe more.” Tobio quietly says, unsure of what to make the situation.

Hinata calls out to him again, “Tobio.” A stilled moment comes in between them. “Do you like me?”

“I don’t see why should I live with someone I don’t like.”

“So, you do like me.” Hinata grins softly. “But I meant like as in… like like.”

“You meant it as in romantically.” Tobio pointedly looks at him.

“That’s it then. Do you like me romantically?”

Should he tell? Should he not tell? Sounds of rustling fabric comes after the question as Tobio watches Hinata shift to sit on his knees, hands neatly folding atop his lap, and the sweaterー his sweaterー is tipping at the brink of Hinata’s shoulder enough to let his smooth skin seen. That sweater is definitely big on Hinata, cuffs reaching past his wrist and enveloping the most parts of his hands; he’s practically swimming in it, but Tobio thinks he doesn’t mind.

“I do.” Tobio finds himself saying. “I do like you. Romantically.”

Hinata takes a shaky deep breath. “... Me too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Their confession ends simple, plain, and direct.

The confession ends just… like that. Don't people usually get more happy if they got together with their crush? Tobio doesn't know. He isn’t sure what he’s expecting either. But taking all the comics he’s read into consideration, as well as the soap operas his mother likes to watch, he had expected a confession to be a little more-- well, dramatic, with tears involved in a way, some shouting, and faces beating red as one or two people profess their undying love for each other. And maybe some kisses thrown into the loop too.

But that didn't happen with them. They just sit there, staring at each other in a heap of salient silence, lethargic and unblinking, in the aftermath of their confession.

“So...” Tobio clears his throat. “Are we... dating then?”

Hinata nods. “We’re dating.”

“Okay,” Tobio parrots. “We’re dating.”

Hinata rams his head into Tobio’s chest so hard it knocks the breath out of him and sends them sinking into the comfort of the couch. Tobio had his displeasure voiced, but it gets lost into a flooding warmth as his view becomes filled with orange, orange, orange, a serendipity's trail settling into the heaviness and solid that's Hinata's body laying on top of his. Tobio keeps his hold on him even when Hinata's fallen asleep on his chest.

…

In the stillness of a cold mid-evening, Tobio pursues his quiet work as he sits in the shade under a lamp in the bedroom. He's busy weaving together the thoughts, ideas, in his head, his wrist rolling here and there to let the pencil scribble the pictures of cakes on his notebook.

Hinata is watching him from the bed, an open book in front of him but his eyes lay elsewhere. "Imagine if we met in another timeline." Tobio hears him speak up after he’s counted the long moments of his muted silence.

"Another timeline?" He lolls his head to spare a glance at him. He can think up of a cake design another time, Tobio wills himself, and lets his pen clatter onto his desk by the slackening of his grip.

"Like, hmー maybe in Greece. Or Rome." Hinata chatters, cheeks becoming more plumb with his stretching smile now that Tobio's paying more attention to him.

Tobio looks at him befogged. "We're Japanese."

"It's a rhetorical question."

"Do you even know what rhetorical means?"

"You could be an emperor that time, probably. Or something like that? I can see you ruling over a land. And I'd be a temple boy! Maybe." Hinata babbles on.

An emperor of some sort and a temple boy. It doesn’t sound too bad, but… ruling a land? That doesn’t sound like something that lies within Tobio’s forte, out of his area too most likely but he snorts, regardless. "Sounds cliche." He says. Well, perhaps not for the part of having a temple boy.

"Oh, yeah?" Hinata bridles. "Do you have anything better in mind?"

"I do." Tobio says but that doesn't stop him from taking a few seconds to come up with something. "You'd be a god.” Hinata’s ears perk at his upbringing. “A sun god. A shitty sun god." Tobio continues, and Hinata visibly deflates at the added part.

"Wow, thanks." Hinata humphs, but a silly grin remains plastered on his face. "And what about you? What would you be?"

Tobio shrugs. "Probably a follower. I wouldn't be that religious though."

"Great, so now you're copying my idea to be a temple boy."

"I never said I'd be a temple boy."

"But you just said you'd be a follower!"

"There's a difference!"

Hinata props up on his elbows to glare at him. "How would a god and a follower meet?"

"How would an emperor and a temple boy meet?" Tobio prods back at him.

"At least, it's more realistic."

"Then I have another idea." Tobio tells him, not wanting to back down from the fight just yet. He slides out of his chair, away from his desk and slips in to sit at the edge of the mattress. "What ifー what if we're a farmer and an actor?"

Hinata seems to consider this. "Okay. Who's the farmer?"

"Probably me. You're way too scrawny."

"Yeah, you won't make a good celebrity too anyway. You scowl too much."

"Shut up. You're tiny."

"I take the emperor thing back," Hinata sticks out a tongue at him. "You would be Tarzan, living in the jungle with the monkeys and I'd be a completely normalー"

Hinata squeals as soon as Tobio tackles him onto the bed and starts tickling him from the sides.

"Okay, wait, stop, stop!" Hinata wheezes as he wiggles around underneath Tobio.

Tobio ceases his relentless attack only when Hinata's breath is all spent on laughter. He stares down at Hinata who’s pinned below him on the bed, his hair all messily splayed, colorful against the bed sheet, like splotches of orange dots painted on an empty canvas. Desire has him brought up a hand, the back of his palm smoothly tracing against the softness that’s Hinata’s freckled cheeks.

"What is it?" Hinata tilts his head when he meets Tobio’s intense gaze.

"Even if we were to meet in other timelines or another universe," Tobio starts, barely a whisper. "I think I'd choose you. Over and over again."

Hinata immediately takes a hold of his hand, his grip tight. "Good." He tells him, humming. The distance between them is sealed by an abiding chaste kiss when he brings Tobio’s hand close to his face, his lips pressing against Tobio’s warm, tan skin with the softest, sweetest pressure. “Because wherever you are, my home is with you.”

...

And when the treasure chest had been opened, Shouyou found the universe's most valuable item. Love.