Archive of Our Own

Nothing was as important in Kageyama Tobio’s life as volleyball, and that was an irrefutable fact. Even when his middle school teammates at Kitagawa Daiichi had walked off the court, had left him alone and driven home his absolute failure as a team member, he couldn’t leave volleyball behind him. He’d kept playing, kept practicing, and then he’d gone to Karasuno because the other schools wouldn’t have him, after that incident (and maybe, just a little, because of his rather abysmal grades, but that was a conversation for a much later day).

And somehow, against all odds, it was the so-called flightless crows, the fallen champions, that had taught him what the word team meant.

Tobio didn’t pretend it wasn’t at least partially due to Hinata. It would be useless to act like that perpetual bundle of nerves and energy hadn’t had any part in Tobio’s personal growth. Even if he didn’t acknowledge Hinata, the boy was persistent. He was like a weed, resilient and ever-growing. He was, as he’d said directly to Ushijima Wakatoshi, from the concrete–but still he pressed on, striving to prove something. To prove everything.

Sometimes it scared Tobio, a little, how focused on volleyball he was.

Then he realized that Hinata’s passion for volleyball matched his own, probably, and it spurred him to greater heights.

They were in their second year, still starters and still improving on that freak quick that had taken the tournaments by storm the year before, when Tobio started to notice that other things had crept through the cracks. The way Hinata wormed his way against Tobio’s side on particularly chilly days, complaining about the way he’d just had to bike through the mountain pass again and Tobio didn’t push him away was one of those things. Another was how his own mother would often invite Hinata over for dinner, and then he’d end up staying the night without much opposition from Tobio.

Sometimes, Tobio found himself disappointed when Hinata couldn’t stay over.

He realized, a little slowly and with a lot of denial, that Hinata Shouyou was, effectively, his best friend.

In the stretch leading up the the Interhigh, Tobio worked constantly on his tosses, sometimes with Hinata after practice, sometimes on his own. Rarely on his own, it seemed, because Hinata seemed to have a sixth sense for whenever Tobio was going to throw a toss, and he was always there to spike it.

And then one morning, during practice, Hinata was soaring.

Tobio admired his athleticism, his stamina, and that jumping ability. He was improving at a rapid pace, and if sometimes Tobio had a perfect day, where every spike or every toss felt good, then this was Hinata’s version of that day.

Until one of the first years lost his footing near the net and stumbled, and Hinata’s foot came down at an awkward angle on his arm when he landed from his latest successful cross.

With a sharp cry, Hinata stumbled away from the first year, put pressure on his foot, and then tumbled to the floor himself with another yelp. Tobio saw his hands go for his ankle and panic flashed through his mind–the image of a perfect set going up and no one there to spike it when it came down was especially prominent–and before he knew it, before half of the team had realized what had happened, Tobio was at Hinata’s side.

“Oi, Hinata,” he pried the middle blocker’s hands away from his ankle, more gently than he thought he could. “Hey, dumbass, don’t hold on so tight!”

“But it hurts,” Hinata whined, but his voice cracked and Tobio’s breath caught.

He wanted to help him, but Tobio himself had always been meticulous. His worst injuries had been jammed fingers and a few bruises from poorly received balls on his forearms, never from landing a jump and turning his ankle. But the way Hinata’s teeth dug into the flesh of his lower lip, the way his hands spasmed in Tobio’s grasp, desperate to hold his ankle, reminded Tobio how very, very lost he was.

“Shouyou!” Noya was the first to scramble over, even while the first year was waving his friend off and starting to blubber through some apology or other–Tobio wasn’t really paying too much attention, to focused on the way that Hinata curled in on himself and had started taking measured breaths to calm himself. He’d learned a few tricks to deal with his anxiety in the last year, but Tobio didn’t know if it would be enough in this situation.

Noya was asking Hinata questions, like how bad it hurt and if he thought he could walk, Tanaka suddenly there and asking other questions, and all Tobio could remember how to do was hold onto Hinata’s hands so that he didn't make it worse. He heard Captain Ennoshita step in, hurriedly asking the first year if he was okay, telling him to calm down and sending him to the nurse’s office just to make sure as Coach Ukai finally entered their little bubble.

“Give him a little space!” Ukai barked, and Noya and Tanaka jerked up and backed off a little, still talking to Hinata.

Hinata was squeezing Tobio’s hands as he shifted to lay his leg fully out in front of him, and Coach didn’t ask Tobio to move again. He was kind of thankful to that, for the time being, because Hinata was clinging and Tobio didn’t want to leave his side.

Ukai ran gentle fingers across Hinata’s ankle, glancing up at him when he hissed in pain. A gentle prod, and another wince. Tobio’s fingers were going numb, but he couldn’t tell whether it was because of how hard Hinata was holding onto him, or if it was because of his own internal panic–what is this going to do for the Interhigh? Will Hinata still be able to play? Won’t he be devastated if he can’t play in the matches?–but he did hear, distantly, when Ukai asked Hinata if he could move his leg.

The coach careful ran Hinata through a few movements to check for mobility, and though Hinata winced, Ukai seemed satisfied that the ankle wasn’t broken.

“Kageyama, help me get him to the nurse’s office,” the coach decided. “Wrap up practice and clean up, the rest of you. We’ll all meet up for afternoon practice at the usual time!”

There was a chorus of agreements, and then Tobio was helping Hinata up from one side, Coach Ukai from the other. Hinata whimpered softly, and Tobio wanted nothing more than to make sure he never made that sound again, but Ukai was talking to him, quickly and calmly.

“It’s probably just a sprain, Hinata, so don’t worry too much yet. We’ll have you back on your feet in time for the tournament.”

“But practice,” Hinata managed not to sound too distraught, but he was definitely desperate. “You’ll make me sit out and I won’t get to practice and I’ll forget everything and Kageyama won’t toss to me and then I’ll be on the bench for the tournament anyway–”

“Oi, dumbass, don’t go acting like you’ve already been benched!” Tobio found himself snapping, but he resisted the urge to elbow Hinata in the side. It hurt to hear him talk like he wasn’t going to be spiking Tobio’s tosses, and he wanted to nip that in the bud. “Wait until you see how bad it is, and then start whining!”

“But–”

“Enough,” Ukai cut in, and Hinata’s protest broke off. “Kageyama’s right. Wait and see how bad it is. It’s not broken, so you shouldn’t have a lot to worry about.”

Hinata grumbled but fell silent, and they made it to the nurse’s office with little else to distract them. Ukai spoke with the nurse quickly, in sort of hushed tones while Tobio bickered with Hinata–of course I’ll call a dumbass a dumbass, dumbass! You’ll be fine so stop panicking! I’m not going to stop tossing to you just because you miss a few practices!–but then he ushered Tobio out.

“Go get your things and get ready for classes, Kageyama,” Ukai told him, once they were in the hall. “I know you’re worried, but we just have to take it one step at a time.” He grasped Tobio’s shoulder in a comforting squeeze. “Even if it is a sprain, Hinata will be back with time before the Interhigh. You’ll just have to focus on synchronizing with the others. Maybe get better at tossing to Tsukishima.”

He could hear the jest in the coach’s tone, so he just scowled back. Ukai laughed and let his hand drop from Tobio’s shoulder.

Tobio’s throat was a little scratchy and he cleared it, but not in time to retort to the coach as he walked away. He frowned at his retreating back but sighed and did as he’d said, returning to the club room to change and grab his things. He’d figure everything out later, he supposed.

He still didn’t really like the idea of practice without Hinata, though. Trying to think of new ways to surprise people with their quick was like second nature, by this point, and he didn’t want to lose sight of the new version they almost had down. But he also knew that if Hinata didn’t let himself heal up properly beforehand, he’d only be out for longer.

Tobio grimaced to himself and coughed into his hand. His throat was dry, probably from arguing with Hinata, so he stopped to get a drink on his way to class. The water soothed his throat, just a little, and he cleared it to make sure before he made his way upstairs and into his homeroom.

And then he had to sit through classes.

“Alright, Karasuno!” Ukai clapped once everyone, sans Hinata, had gathered in the gym after the school day had ended. “Gather around, and we’ll talk about Hinata’s sprain!”

Tobio cleared his throat again and moved forward with the rest of the team. Ennoshita gave him a curious glance out of the corner of his eye–probably wondering if he was getting sick–before focusing on the coach again. Tobio was thankful he didn’t want to press right now, because he was a bit unsure himself after the itch had persisted all throughout the school day.

He just wanted to practice and throw tosses to Hinata after the frustration of trying to focus even though his throat had been scratchy all day, but he couldn’t even do that because of Hinata’s injury.

“We think that Hinata’s sprain is pretty minor,” Ukai continued, looking around the room, “so he won’t be able to practice for a while. The doctor he went to today said that he can’t participate in any running or jumping exercises for at least a week, and then he can start some light practicing only if some of the swelling and pain goes down. He’ll be wearing a brace for about a month, but as long as everything goes well he’ll be back to surprising all of our opponents with that godlike quick in no time!”

A month, Tobio thought with dread. A month of not tossing to him very often.

It was kind of a scary thought. With their quick to work on, and how much Tobio relied on his presence to get in the zone sometimes, not having Hinata around would be a hit. Of course, as soon as he was cleared to be active, Hinata would probably try to overdo it and Tobio would have to be careful not to toss to him too much.

“At least it’s not that bad!” Noya cheered, lightening the mood in the gym. “The way Shouyou fell, I thought it would be worse!”

Tanaka and some of the other third years agreed, and Ennoshita stepped in to shush them.

“It’s pretty mild,” Ukai agreed. “It’s still not ideal, and we’re not going to let him overwork himself when he gets the go-ahead to return to practice,” he looked pointedly at Tobio, as did half of the team, and he turned away with a scowl. Tanaka laughed and Tsukishima snickered. “But with any luck, he’ll be back in peak condition for the tournament! Now, let’s start with your laps. Captain, take the lead.”

Ennoshita snapped to complete attention, and then set out to get the rest of the team in motion. They fell in line pretty quickly–though Tobio did notice that the timid first year that had lost his footing that morning, the one Hinata had landed on, sheepishly made his way over to speak with coach Ukai instead of joining the laps immediately.

He was probably apologizing.

Tobio shook his head a little, trying to clear it of the fuzzy haze that had been descending throughout the day. Losing his practice partner for at least a week or two was already taking its toll, and he wasn’t looking forward to dealing with the rest of the time Hinata was away. They were probably the most practice-hungry members of the team, and Tobio was so used to staying after that he wasn’t sure what he’d do without Hinata there to spike his tosses after the official end of normal practice.

Maybe Noya would want to practice receiving some serves?

Tobio’s cough got worse over the next few days.

At first it was just that suspicious itch in the back of his throat, annoying but nothing to be super concerned about. But then it continued to grow. Tobio could work through pretty much anything, for the sake of volleyball, but it was harder without the thrill of a perfect monster duo quick to take off the edge.

At least Hinata could sit in on practice, though he wanted to get up and move around and sometimes it took Ennoshita and Ukai threatening to temporarily ban him from the gym to get him to settle down and sit. He was really impatient, and Tobio kind of understood. But still, whenever Tobio glanced at him and wished they could do one quick, just one, his throat would start to hurt again, and he groaned.

Fate was conspiring against him.

His usual stress reliever was off the table, and it seemed like any time he so much as thought about performing one of their lightning-fast quicks, he’d start coughing again.

It got to the point where Noya actually asked him if he was feeling alright.

“You doing okay, Tobio?” he asked, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet after another spectacular receive. “You’ve been coughing a lot lately. You better get it out of your system before the tournament starts! We can’t get Hinata back but have you out of it when we get there, you know!”

“Just allergies,” Tobio grunted, clearing his throat.

It hurt worse than usual today.

“If you say so,” he frowned, but then grinned. “Let’s do a couple of practice serves before coach ends practice, yeah?”

Tobio grinned something feral, and Noya returned the expression without a moment’s hesitation, bounding over to the other side of the net. The third year didn’t even wait for a verbal response, because the grin they’d shared had said it all.

The third year readied himself for the receive on the other side of the net as Tobio stepped back, trying to calculate where it would be hardest for him to make the save. It wasn’t an easy decision to make, since Nishinoya Yuu was the Guardian Deity of Karasuno for a good reason, but Tobio found his spot and took a breath. After a count of six, Tobio let his hands fall to start momentum. The serve toss went up, and it felt okay. Not great, not terrible. A cough itched at the back of his throat but he swallowed hard and took a step, two, and one more before he was leaping up and swinging.

The ball hit perfectly in his palm, in the place he’d deemed the most difficult to get.

Noya was there, receiving and returning the ball neatly to where the setter would be standing in an actual match.

“Oooh, that was a good one, Tobio!” he grinned, jogging forward to pick up the volleyball and tossing it cheerfully over the net so he could serve again.

Tobio scowled. “But you received it,” he groused.

The wide, toothy grin that his senpai flashed his way in return preceded the cheeky, “Well, you’ll just have to get better, huh, Tobio?”

Hinata, from a chair off to the side, laughed. “Good one, Noya-senpai!” he roared, slapping his knee. The first thought in Tobio’s head was a confused why are you still here? followed by the indignant like you could do any better, but instead of saying anything he had to ball his fist up and cough into his hand.

Tobio’s throat was dry and itchy, and he wiped the saliva off on his sweats as Noya bounced over and looked up at him in concern. He waved him off with a rough, “‘m fine, Noya-senpai,” but the third year didn’t look too convinced. He cleared his throat and, with a stronger voice, said, “One more.”

The clear sound of a challenge in his voice was enough, though, and Noya bounded back to his side of the net with the neverending energy he seemed to possess. Tobio thought he was kind of like Hinata, in that regard. He wondered where the two smallest players in the entire club stored all that energy, or how they even ate enough to make that much energy, but then he remembered the time he watched Hinata devour four and a half pork buns in the time it took him to finish his first one.

His throat itched, but he cleared it again and readied himself. He counted in his head to eight, and his serve toss went up.

If it were anyone other than Noya, he might have stood a chance, but since it was Noya there was a dive and a return, back to where the setter would stand. Hinata roared something about the return of Rolling Thunder Again, laughing like a child, and Tobio tried to tune it out when he coughed lightly into his hand. Before anyone noticed, the coach called for them to clean up and gather for the nightly meeting, and he grudgingly wiped his hand on his sweats again to pick up the ball that had rolled towards him.

He heard Hinata’s groan, and his fingers itched to set for him.

His throat itched, too.

He swallowed, thickly, and moved to help in the cleanup. There would be no staying late tonight, because everyone had some kind of test tomorrow and there was no point in him staying behind if he couldn’t at least practice two or three quicks with Hinata.

“Hey, let’s all go to Sakanoshita,” Tanaka grinned widely, interrupting Tobio’s thoughts and slinging an arm around Hinata’s shoulders. “I’ll get the pork buns just this once, yeah?”

The team cheered, though Hinata was probably the loudest. The itch in Tobio’s throat turned into a cough again, and he covered his mouth quickly. Once, twice, and then he could clear his throat and pull his hand away. His palm looked orange in the light, but he didn’t dwell on it as he quickly wiped it on his pants again before moving to finish the clean up. He was probably just thinking of Hinata’s dumbass hair, or something.

The thought made the corner of his mouth twitch up.

At least Noya grinning and patting him on the back implied that he thought Tobio was grinning about the pork buns instead of how many Hinata could pack away when he started eating them.

His coughing, as it turned out, was decidedly not related to allergies. At all.

Tobio excused himself from eating lunch with Hinata and Yachi to head to the bathroom. A fit of coughing struck him on the way and he covered his mouth with his hand, nudging the door open with his shoulder. He curled his hand into a fist and cleared his throat as he sidled inside, eyes watering, and turned towards a stall.

He caught flash of orange when he lowered his hand, and he thought for a moment that Hinata had followed him. He turned to snap something at the middle blocker, but no one was there.

Orange fluttered towards the ground.

Orange slipped from his fist when he opened it.

Orange clung to the palm of his hand, wet with saliva.

Orange petals.

Decidedly not allergies, then, and not a common cold either.

Tobio clenched his fist and darted into a stall before someone else could walk in and see, slamming the door and clicking the lock behind him. He sank down on the closed lid of the toilet and stared, disbelieving, at the petals in his palm.

He cleared his throat carefully, testing to see if he was going to start coughing again, before he shifted to rub a petal between his fingers. It had a velvety texture, smooth to the touch, and was still damp from his mouth. Tobio groaned a little, though his throat protested with a sharp pain, and clenched his fist around the petals that remained. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and pressed the offending fist to his forehead.

“How…?” he asked aloud, mind reeling.

It didn’t make sense. Tobio wasn’t a very romantic person, and he didn’t have crushes on people. Except, maybe, that small one he’d had on Iwaizumi in middle school, but that didn’t count. It hadn’t sent him into coughing up flowers. And he was an idiot, but he wasn’t that dumb. He knew what the flowers meant, and he knew that whatever powers-that-be had decided he was in love with someone who didn’t love him back.

In a way, Tobio wasn’t surprised whoever he was in love with didn’t like him. He wasn’t exactly an open, friendly person.

Tobio being in love, though? When he couldn’t even place when it had started, or couldn’t piece together who it was? That was the harder pill to swallow.

The petals in his fist were still damp, and he cursed softly under his breath as he pulled himself back up. His head was spinning, but he was hungry, and if he didn’t go back and finish his lunch then practice after school would be hell. He finished his business with the bathroom, making sure to flush the floral offenders, and eventually made his way back out to where the other two were talking excitedly over a magazine Yachi had produced right before Tobio had left.

“Took you long enough!” Hinata quipped at his return, and Tobio scowled.

“I had to take a shit,” he answered before he could stop himself. Yachi’s face blossomed red, but she didn’t turn into a stuttering mess like she might have just the previous year.

“Ack!” Hinata tossed his hands up in exasperation. “Kageyama, can’t you be normal for once and just say you had to poop? Or not say anything at all? Jeez, you don’t have to be so vulgar!”

“What are you, my mother? Dumbass Hinata,” Tobio scoffed, flopping back down by his abandoned bag and bento. “I’ll say it however I want.”

Hinata groaned. “I’m sorry you have to listen to that, Yacchan!”

“N-no, Kageyama-kun can say whatever he likes! It isn’t a very nice way of s-saying it, but it’s your choice!” She said the last to Tobio, almost as a plea or an apology of some sort. Not that she really had anything to apologize for.

“Don’t be so nice to him!” Hinata nudged her lightly, covering her mouth before she could say anything else. “I don’t want him saying such dirty things around Natsu when he comes over to my house anymore!”

Tobio scowled and reached over to smack Hinata in the back of the head. The momentary brush of his soft hair against Tobio’s hand reminded him of the petals in his palm for a single, terrifying moment, and he pulled his hand back to cough into it once or twice. Hinata scrunched forward with a help and turned to glare back at Tobio, who averted his gaze and collected himself enough to mutter, “I don’t say stuff like that around Natsu, dumbass.”

“Yes you do, Bakageyama,” Hinata pouted, rubbing the back of his head.

“Not since you told me to stop.”

Tobio didn’t know why he said it, but at the dumbfounded look Hinata gave him he had to turn away. His throat itched again, and he quickly covered it before the first cough bubbled out. Two more, three more, and he was curling his fingers around velvet-soft petals for the second time, pulling the down and out of sight as Hinata blinked dumbly at him. After his little coughing fit, though, both Hinata and Yachi leaned forward in concern. Their inquiries ran together, just a little, and Tobio brushed them off.

Lunch ended shortly after, and Tobio wiped his palm clean of the petals in the grass where they’d been sitting. He kicked the spot for good measure as they left, to scatter the petals a little more naturally, and then they parted ways to go to their separate classes.

Between classes, Yachi brought him cough medicine and throat lozenges, and he found out that Hinata had skipped a class to run to Sakanoshita for them. Yachi explained it in a rush, and said that Ukai had yelled at him a lot for being there instead of in class, and then the bell had forced them to part ways again.

The thought of Hinata doing that for him annoyed him a little, at first, and Tobio couldn’t pinpoint why.

It took four days and his condition worsening much more quickly than he’d expected for Tobio to make a connection.

He was in the bathroom again, sweat-drenched practice clothes clinging to skin and orange flower petals littering the sink he had leaned over. His throat was sore, and when he tried to clear it, he felt as though he was going to suffocate. He coughed again, felt the lump in his chest rising in his throat, and the clump of petals–almost a half a flower–tumbled into his waiting palm, spit-slick and speckled with red.

He slumped heavily against the sink, curled his fingers tightly around the partial bud in his hand, and swept his tongue through his mouth. He spat once to rid himself of more petals and stared at them in the sink for a moment.

Tobio imagined that the petals were soft, orange, perpetually messy locks of hair, and his fist clenched around the bud involuntarily.

Oh.

Oh, no.

The bud in his fist tumbled into the sink, and when he managed to gather his wits, Tobio used a paper towel to clean all the petals from the sink and dump them, unceremoniously, into the nearby trash can. Not a moment too soon, because one of the volleyball club’s first years stumbled in, muttering, “Gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee,” under his breath. Tobio turned the water on and washed his hands quickly. He left before his underclassman, popping one of the throat lozenges Hinata had bought him earlier in the week to soothe his burning throat.

He couldn’t stop looking down at his hand and for the rest of practice, imagining what it would be like to let his hands linger in Hinata’s messy hair instead of just glancing blows when he smacked him in the back of the head.

“It’s not,” Tobio told himself, walking home. “It’s not Hinata.”

Tobio hadn’t always had the most truthful mouth, or the kindest, but never had a lie weighed so heavily on his tongue.

Once Tobio knew, no matter how much he denied it, his “allergies” started to get worse.

The last half of the week was rough. When he coughed, the soft petals stuck to his tongue and persistently itched at the back of his throat. They were slick and slimy and clung to his fingers when he coughed into his hand, and it was hard to brush off concern and simultaneously wipe them from his hand without anyone noticing. And he hadn’t even succeeded at that, because Ennoshita had already pulled him aside at practice on Wednesday, concern and a little bit of a challenge in his eyes when he asked if Tobio was really okay.

When he said he was fine, the captain had reached into his own pocket and produced three or four petals, tattered at the edges and colored the same rich orange that was becoming too familiar to Tobio.

“I’ll figure it out,” he bit out, bluntly. His tone had definitely screamed I don’t want to talk about it, and the captain sighed and nodded, shoving his hand back into his pocket.

“Don’t let it go too long, Kageyama. If it’s still going on by this time next week, I’m taking you to the hospital myself.”

Tobio nodded, glancing back out of the equipment room, to where their first year setter was practicing with Hinata. He couldn’t help feeling that’s where he was supposed to be, and a cough spluttered up. He curled his fist over his mouth and felt petals starting to coat his throat, his tongue, and even his teeth. A few stuck to the side of his fist, and he grimaced when his coughs ceased and he was finally able to look at them. Belatedly, he realized the captain’s hand on his back.

Ennoshita looked out at the court just as Hinata spiked straight downward, and then looked back to Tobio with recognition, or something like it, in his eyes.

“Why don’t you try talking to Hinata?”

Tobio looked away. Ennoshita sighed, but his hand dropped from Tobio’s back and he let the subject end, turning to head back out to the floor. He clapped for attention, and yelled something about getting into teams for three-on-threes, and Tobio tried to gather his wits enough to head back out there himself. No matter what he did, he could still feel the lumps in his throat, and the nagging threat of the flowers rising up to bloom on his tongue made a cold sweat bead across the back of his neck.

And from there, it still escalated.

He had to excuse himself to the nurse or to the restroom four times on Thursday, and he spent ten minutes after rushing home from practice with his head over the toilet, spilling orange marigolds from his lungs into the bowl and watching as the water diluted.

During Friday’s practice, after he reached above and tossed to Hinata for their lightning quick, his vision started spinning. He felt himself overbalance and started to tumble backwards, and came to moments later with Coach Ukai hovering over him, telling Yachi to go get a damp towel and accepting a water bottle from a flushed, panicked Takeda-sensei.

“‘m fine,” he managed, his voice hoarse. A lump rose in his throat, but he swallowed it back forcefully. Not here.

Ukai turned to him quickly as Tobio raised a hand to his face to rub his temple. A headache was starting to build there, and Tobio wanted nothing more than a few painkillers, water, a few more hours of volleyball, and maybe eventually his bed.

“If you weren’t feeling well, you should have said so!” Hinata’s voice was loud, echoing the gym even over all the other sounds. “Don’t push yourself too hard, Bakageyama! What if you can’t play in the tournament, huh? What then?!”

He noticed, belatedly, that Hinata was behind his head, and he resisted the sudden, compelling urge to tilt his head up to look at him. Tobio instead forced out, “Shut up, dumbass, I’m not stupid!”

“Oh?” He heard a snort and turned towards it instead, where he spotted Yamaguchi elbowing Tsukishima in the side and hissing something at him. The blonde hardly even winced, and said something back with his typical flat expression, though there was a pinch of annoyance between his brows.

“Yes you are!” Hinata’s voice broke into his thoughts again, loud and insistent. “Stupid, stupid, stupid, you’re just as stupid as me! Bakageyama!”

“That’s not something you should admit,” Tsukishima’s voice sounded again, and Yamaguchi elbowed him once more.

“Hinata, that’s enough,” Ennoshita stepped in, somewhere above Tobio’s head. “He’s not feeling well, so I don’t want you to make it worse by arguing with him.”

“But–” Hinata started, and Tobio could hear the whine in his voice.

“Listen to your captain, Hinata,” Ukai said, though his tone wasn’t too harsh. He sighed and pinched his nose. “Will you be alright, Kageyama?”

Tobio nodded. “I just need a drink, and I can–”

“I can take Kageyama to rest in the infirmary for a while, Coach,” Ennoshita interjected once more, as Tobio sat up. He couldn’t see the captain, but he could feel Ennoshita’s eyes on him and he could tell it was a disapproving look. The tone in his voice helped that realization. “I think he should still rest for a while, and drink some more water. Tanaka can take care of things here, can’t you?”

He directed the last at the energetic ace, and Tanaka puffed out his chest. “Of course I can!”

Ukai stifled a chuckle, trying his best to give Tobio a stern look. He was easy to read after a year and a half, though, so Tobio just scowled back. The Coach hardly seemed to notice, just nodding up at Ennoshita. “Yeah, that’s probably the best idea, Ennoshita. Make sure he gets at least two bottles of water down, and make sure he stays in bed for at least twenty minutes to rest. I’ll send Yachi up there to check on you in a little while.”

“Yes, sir!” Ennoshita reached out to help Tobio clamber to his feet, and the setter reluctantly accepted the hand. “C’mon, Kageyama.”

“I’ll be fine if I just sit for a minute,” he muttered, ignoring the tightness in his throat. Ennoshita gave him a disbelieving stare and Tobio groaned. He allowed the captain to guide him away, towards the infirmary.

“You need to talk to him or something, Kageyama,” Ennoshita declared once they were safely in the halls of the school, away from the volleyball club’s ears. Tobio stiffened, glancing at the captain from the side. “It’s obviously already bad for your health, and I know hanahaki can act quick. I don’t want you to take lasting damage, or something. Not to mention…” he trailed off, then shook his head. “Nevermind. It’s not my place to talk about how waiting and getting the surgery instead could change the relationships you already have. I’m sure you know that better than anyone else.”

Tobio wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he did know. It had been plaguing him for the last week.

What would happen, he’d wondered, if he did just get the surgery to get rid of these flowers and his feelings in one fell swoop? The results varied, but he’d never be in love with the same person again. He’d never feel that same lurch in his stomach when Hinata leapt, blindly trusting, to meet Tobio’s toss in the air, or that same rush when the ball slammed down between the blockers’ arms. In some cases, according to his various midnight internet searches, he could even forget memories that Hinata had been important in. He shuddered at the idea of forgetting any of their matches.

Knowing Hinata, whatever their relationship was, had helped Tobio improve. He might be an idiot, but he could see that much. He’d been influenced by Hinata just as much as he’d influenced the spiker, and he’d grown a lot as a player and a person. He might not admit that out loud, either, but he knew the truth of it. Ennoshita had picked up on that as well. It was probably pretty obvious to him and to everyone else that had seen who Tobio had been when he’d started high school.

The thought of forgetting, even for a moment, was terrifying. But the thought of talking to Hinata, of telling him, made the lump in his throat grow so much that he couldn’t speak.

“I almost did,” his voice was hoarse, and Tobio cursed himself instantly after the words came out. But Ennoshita looked at him, surprised and confused, and he realized he’d already dug the hole. He wouldn’t be able to get back out of it now. “I almost told him. When we were trying to study the other day. But I…”

My throat tightened, and I couldn’t speak.

“It’s hard, talking to people you like,” Ennoshita’s hand clasped his shoulder, and he looked back up at the captain. “Just remember that your own health is on the line in this case, too, and that you have people who are worried about you.”

Tobio swallowed, nodded, and then had to stifle a cough.

Both boys tactfully ignored the few petals that fluttered to the floor as they walked by. It was after hours, after all, and it’s not like anyone would notice unless they were being followed. People rarely looked at their feet when they walked, anyway.

Two days later, on a Sunday free of practices or school or any other obligation, Tobio was forced to stay in bed.

It wasn’t out of choice. He’d tried to get up, but the effort sent him into a coughing fit that made the edges of his vision blur and left his throat raw and stinging. Tobio couldn’t breathe, and all he could remember thinking was that he was going to choke on the slick petals he could feel coating his throat. Without intending to, he clutched at his throat loosely with one hand, as if it would help, while he covered his mouth with the other.

He nearly toppled from the edge of his bed, but finally his breathing evened out. When his focus came back, at least a little, he tried to take stock of his situation. Marigolds littered the quilt on his bed and tattered petals were scattered across the floor in a semicircle around where he sat. His hand, when he pulled it away from his lips, was wet with saliva and blood. His heart raced and his first thought was water.

Tobio stumbled to his feet and had only an instant to regret it before he found himself groaning and staring up at his ceiling.

He barely remembered what had been said when his mother walked in and saw him sitting on the floor surrounded by orange flowers and their petals. He remembered that she’d been frustrated at first, because he was making so much noise early in the morning. The rest was lost in a haze, but he remembered her saying something about going to the hospital first thing tomorrow, when one of the specialists were in while she ushered him into his bed.

It was only one in the afternoon, the bleary clock beside his bed told him, but it felt much much later. His attention was spotty, and even though his laptop was playing some sort of show he remembered watching with Hinata once or twice, he couldn’t focus. He’d taken some medicine for the headache, had throat lozenges for the wear on his esophagus, and was periodically brought hot tea with honey and sometimes lemon by his mother, but the entire morning had passed in a blur.

His mother had already emptied his trash can once, but as he started to cough again Tobio wondered how quickly it would fill again. It was already at a third, and the flowers he added, flecked with red that barely showed on the velvety orange petals, tipped it closer to a half.

Is it worth it?

Tobio groaned, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and leaned back in his fluffed up pillows. His head was heavy from sleep and sickness, and he didn’t want to trip his way through his thoughts or his feelings. But he couldn’t force his mind away from the way Hinata’s hair felt soft and springy beneath his palm, or the way elation diffused across his face when he slammed a ball down on the other side of the court and reared back, triumphant.

Is it worth it? His thoughts echoed as he leaned forward to cough into his hand, his eyes burning as his already raw throat protested. What if the surgery changes how we play on the court?

He cleared his throat again, then sluggishly moved to dispose of his new flowers. The soft sound as the actual flowers hit and slid down the plastic back inside his trash can seemed louder than it should, and Tobio groaned. He wiped his palms on the bedspread and then reached for the tea his mother had left him...some time ago. He didn’t exactly remember when, since he’d fallen asleep again.

It wasn’t hot anymore, and he grimaced a little. It was uncomfortable, but helped to soothe his throat for the moment.

He started to recognize the sounds of people, in the plural, heading to his room, and he thought he was hearing things. His mother’s footsteps were echoing, probably. And the muffled voices were probably a combination of the TV in the living room and the laptop that was in danger of toppling from his bed with too much movement.

“I’ve got it, auntie! Thanks for letting me in!” a voice, loud but muffled, rang right outside the door, and it burst open a moment later.

With a laugh, his mother said, “Thank you, Hinata-kun!” as a certain orange-haired spiker pushed into the room, two steaming cups on the tray he carried as well as what looked like some kind of snack.

“Hey, Kagayama, why did you go and get sick, huh?” he asked, pushing the door closed awkwardly with one foot. Tobio stared, blankly, at the door, and then cursed internally. Of course Hinata would show up at a time like this, with that stern expression on his face as if to scold Tobio. “I helped your mom with the tea and snacks, so you’d better get better soon!”

Idiot, he tried to say, but his traitorous lungs emitted a cough instead.

“Ah!” Hinata threw his hands up with his yelp. “No, no, no, Kageyama, don’t start coughing again! Drink your tea, it’ll help! And your mom is making soup right now, so you’ll have that pretty soon. Well, she said she was reheating it because you were asleep earlier when she made it, but still!”

“Shut...up,” Tobio forced, pulling his hand away and clearing his throat. Hinata’s eyes widened, though, and he lurched forward to seize his hand. “What are you doing–?!”

Hinata didn’t speak for a moment, but stared at Tobio’s hand. It took him a moment too long to realize why, and then Hinata was wiping the flecks of blood and saliva away with a tissue from the bedside table. Then he scowled and scolded, “Bakageyama, why didn’t you tell anyone? Have you even told her yet, whoever she is?”

His fingertip was warm against Tobio’s clammy skin as he pressed into a petal that rested there, plucking it from his skin and rolling it carefully between forefinger and thumb.

“Let go,” Tobio muttered, trying to pull his hand free. His heart was pounding in his chest, threatening to rise up through his throat, and he swallowed thickly. He tugged weakly at his hand, trying to pull it back, but Hinata’s grip tightened.

“Have you told her?”

“No,” he spat, scowling. It’s not a her, he didn’t add.

“Is it Yacchan?” Hinata’s hand squeezed even tighter, and Tobio gave up trying to pull his hand away. Tobio shook his head, sighing and relaxing back into his pillows as much as he could with the weight of flowers climbing up his throat.

“That one pretty girl that sits in front of you in your Japanese class?” Hinata persisted, fingers digging into Tobio’s palm. He shook his head again, turning to cough into his free hand. Hinata groaned loudly and shook his hand. “Kageyama, if it was Shimizu-senpai you should have realized before she went off to college!”

“Just shut up, dumbass!” Tobio snapped, finally wrenching his hand free. His voice was louder than even he’d intended, and started to cough more heavily into his hands. Hinata nearly wailed and turned back to the desk, grabbing a teacup and rushing back towards Tobio. He could hear Hinata blubbering, but that was about all over the sound of his coughs. They sounded thick with mucus, but the slide of petals and half-bloomed marigolds was a painful reminder that he was dealing with more than a common cold.

“Drink your tea, Bakageyama! Jeez, don’t get so worked up, I’m just trying to help!”

Then love me back, Tobio thought, vehemently, before clearing his throat again and accepting the cup from him.

The way he cared, even when he was scowling at Tobio, was pretty endearing. It was no wonder that he’d been the one Tobio had fallen for, even before he’d realized it was happening. He had scolded himself time and time again, agonized over it in the seemingly endless hours between the end of practice and the dawning of the next day, and still the answer was the same: Kageyama Tobio liked Hinata Shouyou. Loved him enough to start coughing up these foolish, stupid, and yet somehow incredibly pretty flowers.

Tobio had been through it with himself, and while he knew it was no use scolding himself over spilled milk, it was hard not to. But acceptance had finally melted through the cracks, and he couldn’t deny it anymore. Not now that he’d already spilled the entire carton of milk and it was starting to run off the edges of the table. It wasn’t something he could contain, because his feelings for Hinata and his love for volleyball were so closely intertwined now that it seemed more of a fact of life than mere happenstance.

“Ka-ge-ya-ma!” Hinata emphasized each syllable. “Are you listening? I’m just trying to help you. We can write her a letter or something, and if she says no then you can get the surgery without any regrets, right?”

To keep himself from replying, Tobio took a sip of the tea. It was still hot, and it burned against the rawness of his throat before soothing it much more than his lukewarm cup.

“Did you want some of the fruit your mom sent in here with me?” Hinata continued, taking a noisy sip of his own cup of tea before bringing the bowl over. Tobio spotted sliced strawberries and peaches, among other types in the bowl. The thought of eating right now made his stomach lurch, and he shook his head. “Use your words, Bakageyama. But drink more of your tea first, I don’t want you to hurt your throat!”

Hinata swiped a strawberry and popped it in his mouth even while casting a concerned look at Tobio, and he felt it again. The lump rising in his throat was another sign, and he cursed his luck.

Falling for this volleyball-obsessed idiot was just his luck. Fate, or whatever it was, was just toying with him. He had to fall for a person he could never have, or some melodramatic thing like that. He’d never been super into the romance movies his mom sometimes made him watch with her, but that was one thing that stayed in his mind. It was always so contrived, but now he kind of understood, in that weirdly bittersweet way he supposed his mom always felt when she cried over a romance film.

“Why?” Hinata finally asked, after eating a piece of what looked like pineapple and then going for another strawberry slice.

“Why what?” Tobio asked before he could stop himself.

Hinata plopped at the end of his bed, after moving the laptop safely to the center, and drew one leg up as he turned to face Tobio. One foot braced on the floor, and he frowned a little at the setter.

“Why won’t you tell her? Or at least tell me who it is?”

Because you’ll hate me, he meant to think, but Hinata’s face contorted in a scowl. His thoughts were hazy, but it didn’t take him long to figure out that he’d spoken aloud.

“Bakageyama, how could I hate you for liking someone?” he asked incredulously. “Idiot, at least everyone in the volleyball club has liked someone! Mostly Shimizu-senpai, since everyone who meets her falls in love with her, but most of them have liked Yacchan, too! Not to mention Lev’s sister, and Tanaka’s sister too! I don’t hate any of them! Whoever you’re in love with, I won’t hate you for liking her! But I will hate you for choking on flowers without telling her!” he pointed an accusing finger, and a lump threatened to rise again.

His next phrase seemed to echo endlessly in the recesses of Tobio’s mind.

“So what are you so scared of?”

So what are you so scared of?

Tobio wondered. Three years ago, he was afraid of never getting his quicks to sync right with any of the other members of his middle school volleyball club. When he began high school, he was afraid of being the unapproachable King of the Court that had driven everyone away in the first place. As his time at Karasuno wore on, Tobio was only afraid of losing the tenuous friendships he’d managed to form.

Now, the only thing he feared was losing Hinata.

It was a shock to his system, to realize that just now. No wonder he hadn’t been open with his family, or with anyone else. Now that he was in the situation himself, he realized that he was one of those damned lovesick fools he always scoffed at. He’d heard of hanahaki taking people’s lives before, but he never thought he’d understand the people that waited for the flowers to fully bloom in their lungs.

He didn’t want to forget.

“Hey, don’t just ignore me!”

Tobio blinked, clearing the vision that was blurry around the edges, and looked back up at Hinata. His brown eyes were wide and imploring, just like always, and Tobio coughed weakly into his hand.

To hell with it, he thought vehemently, hands clenching in his sheets.

“It isn’t a girl,” he bit out, averting his gaze.

“Oh,” Hinata blinked, pink rising in his cheeks. Tobio only saw because he couldn’t keep his eyes away from him for very long. He watched the way Hinata’s nose wrinkled and almost tore his attention away before the spiker looked directly at him again, scowling, and pointed an accusatory finger once more. “So what? As long as it’s not Tsukishima, what does it matter? You can’t help who you fall in love with, so why should it matter whether it’s a boy or a girl? I wouldn’t hate you for something stupid like that. I mean, didn’t you ever see the way that Suga looked at Daichi?”

“The way Suga...looked at Daichi?”

Hinata stared. “Of course! It’s kinda how I loo–ah, how I think you probably look at whoever you like.”

“What does that mean?” Tobio grimaced. Now that he brought the previous captains to mind, he could remember a few fond looks...but the ones he remembered had been from Daichi and not from Suga at all.

“Ah, y’know! That way you look at someone when your heartbeat’s all gwaaah!” he waggled his fingers dramatically and forced a laugh at the end of his explanation, then scratched the back of his head nervously. “Or something like that?”

Hinata looked sheepish and shy, and when the setter looked at him in that moment, Tobio kind of knew what Hinata meant when he said that a heartbeat went all gwaaah.

He hated that he understood.

“Or something like that,” he pulled his gaze down to where his hands twisted in his sheets.

“Hey, Kageyama,” Hinata’s tone was softer, this time, and Tobio could tell he was being completely serious. He forced himself to keep his gaze turned down, but grunted so that Hinata knew he’d heard and was listening. He continued. “Do you think it’s...bad...that you like a guy?”

Do I think it’s…? Of course not, Tobio wanted to scoff. How could it be bad to like someone like you?

He hated himself for thinking the thought, but he hated himself a little more for knowing it was true. Hinata was bright and peppy and probably pretty easy to fall for, no matter who you were.

“No,” he finally said, when he found his voice. He still couldn’t say the rest, though. His throat tightened at the thought of telling Hinata that much, though part of him desperately wanted to get it over with, so maybe he could get the surgery without regrets.

“Then why won’t you tell him?” Hinata’s earnest tone drew Tobio’s gaze again, no matter how hard he tried to keep from looking at him, and his chest tightened at the look Hinata was giving him.

Why do you look like you’re the one hurting?

Hinata’s spine straightened and his eyes widened, cheeks turning dark, and Tobio realized he’d asked out loud. Again. He blamed the fever, but the reaction was worth it. Hinata opened his mouth a few times, then closed it again, frowning.

“Because…” he tried, and then scowled and looked up, determined. “Just because, okay, Bakageyama?”

Because why? he wanted to ask, but he was forced away from that thought by coughing into his hand once more. But the lump in his throat had finally decided to rise, and it wasn’t just a simple coughing fit.

Tobio thought he was going to choke, for the second time that day. His eyes burned, and he felt Hinata scramble closer, to his side, to rub his back. He kept talking through it, but Tobio wasn’t sure what he was saying. His heartbeat was thudding loudly in his ears. His chest ached from the coughs that wracked his form. His throat burned. Hinata’s words faded into a dull hum in the back of his head.

Is it worth it?

Tobio was out of breath, but he could tell that the flowers weren’t done coming up. He had a brief respite, during which he wheezed and Hinata’s warm hands on his back struggled to calm his racing heartbeat while words tumbled from Hinata’s lips–Are you okay? Do you need anything? Can you hear me?!–to which he replied with simple nods or shakes of his head. He didn’t have the air to do any more, and then one ragged breath dragged against the petals of the marigold he could feel lodged in his throat and he started to cough again.

A few moments more, and a mostly bloomed flower tumbled into his outstretched palm, moist and glistening with a combination of saliva, phlegm, and the red to pink swirls of his blood, diluted by the rest. With it came the freeing sensation of being able to breathe again, and Tobio ignored the burn in his throat and the tears at the corners of his eyes in favor of doing just that. He took large gulps of air, and the rawness in his windpipe made even breathing painful, but he started to understand Hinata’s babbling.

Most of it was concern, inquiring if he needed more tea, but when Tobio managed to turn and look at him, Hinata’s eyes were watery.

“What–” he started, but had to break off for a moment for a small cough. “What are you looking at me like that for? Dumbass Hinata,” his tone was decidedly more hoarse than it had been prior to his fit, but it didn’t stop him from demanding his answer.

“I-I just,” Hinata floundered, then groaned and fell forward until his head rested on Tobio’s shoulder. “I don’t like to see you hurting,” he admitted against Tobio’s shirt. He could feel the warmth of Hinata’s breath through the fabric and shuddered, just a little, at both the sensation and the possible meanings of his words.

“I-it’s not like I like hurting,” Tobio floundered, scowling.

“Well, duh,” Hinata muttered, pressing his forehead more firmly against Tobio’s shoulder. “I just wish it was me you liked, or something, ‘cause then you wouldn’t have to hurt so much.”

His chest squeezed again, this time for a different reason than the fear that gripped him when he couldn’t breathe around the marigold stuck in his throat.

“W-what do you mean?” he managed, though his voice caught a little and he cursed himself. For that little show of weakness, perhaps, but mostly for the hope that settled heavy in the pit of his stomach.

“Nothing, Bakageyama, don’t worry about it,” Hinata shook his head, but kept his face hidden against Tobio’s shoulder. The tips of his ears were pink, and Tobio tried really hard not to read into it too much. His own heart was beating faster, though, and if the pulse got any louder in his ears he’d be positive that Hinata could hear it too.

He tried for his usual tone, whatever that was. “Too late, I’m already worrying about it, dumbass Hinata,” tumbled from his lips, before he grimaced. Maybe he should be a little kinder, everything considered.

“Too bad,” Tobio could hear the stubbornness in Hinata’s tone.

I just wish it was me you liked, he’d said. ‘Cause then you wouldn’t have to hurt so much.

That wasn’t nothing, and Tobio couldn’t force himself to forget. His chest swelled and then tightened in equal measure at the thought that, just maybe…

He sighed softly, and bit the inside of his cheek a little too hard before taking a slow breath in.

“What if...if was you I liked?”

Hinata’s breath hitched. If Tobio hadn’t been completely silent aside from his thudding heartbeat, he would have missed it. But Hinata went rigid against his shoulder, too, and Tobio was hyperaware of every sound or movement the spiker made.

A few moments of heavy silence followed Tobio’s inquiry, and then Hinata groaned and mashed his face against Tobio with enough force that Tobio had to put a hand behind him to hold them both upright.

“Shut up, Bakageyama!”

He swallowed, thickly, and it burned. His throat was raw and sore and he wanted to be done with these flowers, whatever it took. He’d probably never forgive himself if he told Hinata, but he also knew he’d never forgive himself if he had the surgery, too. Volleyball and Hinata were too closely intertwined for the surgery to have no effect on the sport.

Tobio allowed his arm to slide out from behind him, and slumped back into his pillows. Hinata fell forward with him with a muffled yelp, and Tobio reached to bury his fingers in his wild hair, holding Hinata’s forehead against his shoulder.

“But it is you, dumbass,” he said to his ceiling, throat thick. Hinata stopped wiggling to break free and instead pushed insistently to sit back. Tobio didn’t want Hinata to look at him, but his limbs were still heavy and exhausted, so he gave in. Hinata pushed away from Tobio’s shoulder, but Tobio didn’t look directly at him. He continued staring at the ceiling above as Hinata shifted.

Hinata, then, interrupted his perfect view of the ceiling.

“What do you mean, it is me?!” he demanded. He was wobbling on his knees to be above Tobio in his half-reclined position, one hand braced against the wall to keep his balance. It was precarious, at best. His face was flushed too, Tobio thought, but he didn’t want to make a guess as to why. Maybe disgust, or something?

He closed his eyes and turned his head, his own cheeks burning. “What do you think I mean? I mean I like you, you idiot!”

“What? No it doesn’t!” Hinata yelped, dropping back to his heels heavily. The bed bounced lightly.

“You don’t think I know my own feelings?” Tobio snapped, covering his face with a hand. He had to resist the urge to look at Hinata. He had to, or he didn’t know what would happen to him. What expression was he wearing now? Did he actually hate Tobio now?

Is it worth it?

“If you liked me, you wouldn’t be dying!” Hinata nearly wailed, his fingers scrabbling at the back of Tobio’s hand almost frantically before he pulled it away from his face. Tobio didn’t have time to close his eyes before he saw Hinata’s flushed face and earnest gaze, a trembling frown on his lips.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Dumbass!”

“It means I like you, Bakageyama!” Hinata shoved weakly at his shoulder, scowling. Tobio realized that Hinata’s eyes were wet, and fear gripped him for a moment at the thought that Hinata might start crying. His fingers were still wrapped, impossibly tight, around the hand he’d pulled away from Tobio’s face, and his voice cracked when he said, “You have to look me in the eye and tell me it’s me or I’ll never believe you, you know?!”

“No, I don’t know!” Tobio responded out of reflex, but his fingers curled weakly around Hinata’s. It was awkward, not at all like holding hands was supposed to be, but he found Hinata’s eyes and squeezed the three fingers in his grasp and said, “I like you!”

Dumbass, he added in his head, but somehow it didn’t make it out with any force. In fact, the whole statement had softened from how he’d planned to spit it out, into something calm and gentle and almost...hopeful. He hated the weakness in his voice and he wanted to stop looking at Hinata, but if he did the idiot wouldn’t believe him. He’d already said as much, after all, and Hinata was nothing if not stubborn.

Tobio supposed he had a stubborn streak, himself.

“But then why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Hinata persisted, his voice trembling more than Tobio was comfortable with hearing. “I was always right there, Bakageyama, so if it was me why didn’t you say anything before it got this bad?!” he gestured towards the trash, which was more than three-quarters full now, and mostly of flowers and petals. He sniffed, hard, and dropped his forehead back to Tobio’s shoulder. “I don’t like to see you hurting,” he repeated an earlier sentiment, but weaker.

Hinata still hadn’t let go of Tobio’s hand, but he found that he didn’t mind. He didn’t want Hinata to let go. Ever, probably.

“If it was you, would you have said anything before you got this sick?”

“Of course not,” Hinata sniffled, and Tobio realized that his shoulder was damp. He grimaced, but resisted the urge to push Hinata off.

“Dumbass.”

“Bakageyama.”

“You’re the idiot, idiot.”

“You’re being extra cranky, Kageyama. Take a nap. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Says you,” Tobio groused, reaching blindly for his tea again and sipping at it awkwardly while trying to keep from jostling Hinata. Hinata shifted when he moved to settle lower in his pillows, but he still kept his head pressed to Tobio’s shoulder.

“I’ll take a nap with you,” Hinata muttered, the tips of his ears turning pink again.

Tobio considered telling him no, but his head was heavy and he felt worn out after...whatever that had been. So he just grunted his assent and sank back, the weight of Hinata’s head on his shoulder strangely comforting.

The next thing Tobio knew, he was struggling to open his eyes again. They were heavy with sleep, but he felt, for the first time in several days, incredibly well rested. His throat was still sore, but he didn’t think he’d be able to avoid that. When he cracked his eyes open and managed to find his clock, he was surprised to see that it was almost four. He thought for sure it would be later.

The blanket shifted, and Tobio relaxed back into his pillows, groggily trying to recap his day. When the blanket shifted again, it was in tandem with a pressure against his side, and Tobio sucked in a breath, wincing, before turning. He noted, as he started to shift, that his slight trouble with moving wasn’t entirely due to tiredness, as he’d initially thought.

No, it probably had something to do with the boy curled up at his side, his head still on Tobio’s shoulder and one arm draped across his chest. His hair lightly brushed Tobio’s chin when he looked down, but his chest tightened for a moment before he relaxed again.

I like you.

The words slipped back into his mind, and the hazy memories from before his impromptu nap crept back piece by piece.

He liked Hinata Shouyou...but Hinata liked him back.

Hinata shifted against his shoulder, grunting in his sleep, and Tobio raised the hand that wasn’t trapped by him to his lips to hide the wobbly smile that had started to spread there. Hinata would never let him live it down, if he woke up and saw it. But Tobio couldn’t keep himself from smiling anyway, so he kept his hand up to cover it.

After a little while, though, he couldn’t help shifting the arm underneath Hinata, just a little. He pressed his palm gently against the sleeping boy’s back, and then let himself relax fully into his pillows once more.

A little bit more sleep, he decided, would probably do him good.

Hinata shifted again, the hand thrown across Tobio’s chest catching a fistful of his shirt. He pulled himself farther onto Tobio, and then sighed into his shoulder. Tobio felt his heart racing, but he smiled the same tremulous smile despite himself and allowed his eyes to slip closed again.

It is worth it, he decided as he sank into sleep.

When he woke up again later, he coughed up a handful of petals, but there was nothing more after that except for the memory of orange petals on his fingertips, which he quickly erased by running his hands through unruly locks of the same color just because he could.