Archive of Our Own

Kei doesn’t understand romance.

He’s knows what it looks like, of course. He’s seen those candlelit dinners and soft smiles and flushed cheeks and every other indication that two people are in love. He’s felt it, too. He’s felt the smile tug at his lips, the blush dust his cheeks, the thumping of his heart against his ribcage. And if that’s what romance feels like—if that’s what love feels like—then he’s fallen in love more times than he can count.

At least, he’s pretty sure that’s the case.

But then, maybe that’s the problem.

“I can’t do this with you anymore.” Akira’s voice is sad, and it sends a spike of fear rushing through Kei’s veins. He thinks he should be used to it now, and yet the sting of rejection is just as raw as the first time he went through this.

“I know,” Kei responds, speaking through the thick knot of emotions in his throat. “I know.”

“You string me along and everything’s fine, then suddenly you drop me like yesterday’s news,” Akira continues as if he hadn’t heard Kei speak. “What do you even want from a relationship?”

He doesn’t know.

“Akira, I—”

“Actually, you know?” Akira holds his hand up purposefully, cutting him off. “I don’t care. I don’t want to hear your excuses.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s earnest, at least. He is sorry. He’s sorry that it ended this way, and he’s sorry that even after so long, he still doesn’t know what he wants.

“Save it,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “I’m gonna go.”

He takes a step away, but his eyes seem to linger on Kei, as if he expect him to grovel, beg for him to take him back. But Kei doesn’t; he wouldn’t. Akira doesn’t deserve that. He’s done nothing wrong. The fault lies with him and the broken mess of emotions inside him.

So he bites his tongue, stifles the thousands of words he wants to say. He twists around in the bed, his bare legs tangled in the cheap cotton sheets, and watches Akira collect his clothes, tugging his shirt on first, then his pants.

Kei can’t even remember when they came off, when his own clothes had come off. He can’t remember when those bite marks had appeared on his chest, when he had started sweating, when his glasses were thrown across the room in some passionate display of affection.

But it must have happened, and so he accepts it and moves on, just like he has every time. If he thinks too long, he’ll grow anxious.

“I would say to call me if you ever figure out what you want,” Akira says, digging his fingers into the doorjamb that leads to the main room of Kei’s tiny apartment, “but I really don’t want to hear from you again. So please forget my number.”

Kei nods. It’s all he can do.

Kunimi Akira walks out of his life with a loud slam of the front door, and Kei buries his face into his comforter, which muffles the scream that tears from his throat and wracks his entire body.

The overwhelming stench of coffee grounds has pretty much ruined coffee in its entire for Kei. Maybe that’s why he’s always tired lately, since he cringes away whenever someone offers him a drink.

Regardless of his personal feelings about coffee or the disgusting taste in his mouth—is this another effect of the coffee shop, or did he forget to brush his teeth this morning again?—he takes the customer’s order with his usual deadpan and punches it into the register. His boss has gotten onto him more than once about that expressionless face of his, but his coworker—Yachi, he recalls—had gratefully brought up that his deadpan is far greater than the scowl he might wear instead.

“Thank you, have a nice day,” he says to the customer, and it comes out far more monotonously than he had intended. So much for customer service.

But the customer, an older gentleman with an aged face and a receding hairline, bows his head respectfully nonetheless and Kei thinks he’s gotten off the hook this time. He tries not to let his sigh of relief show too visibly.

He hands off the order to Yachi and she gets to work on it. He likes the assembly line of sorts that they’ve created, since it helps to move along the morning rush much faster. And it keeps him away from the coffee pots, where the stench is stronger and he can drown in its bitterness.

Yachi really is a gift.

He wonders if he could date her, not for the first time in his life. They’ve been working together for almost three months now, when she signed on as a part-time employee while she finishes her degree. She goes to the university around here, and Kei has even asked about her major—journalism. It’s a step in the right direction for him, at least, since he almost never takes interest in others. He thinks, then, that she must be special.

But the persistent nagging in his brain reminds him that she’s not even his type. For one, she’s not a guy. And besides, he’s pretty sure that Yamaguchi has his eye on her, ever since he saw her when he came to the coffee shop during Kei’s shift one morning. And Kei wouldn’t dream of imposing on Yamaguchi’s love life.

And further still, he doesn’t want to hurt Yachi. She’s far too good a person for him to take a chance like that on a girl like her. She doesn’t deserve to be hurt.

“The decaf latte is done!” Yachi chirps, handing the drink off to Kei with jittery hands. He wonders how much she’s had to drink so far this morning. He considers briefly that she only applied to work at a coffee shop just for the employee discounts.

“Thanks,” he says, turning back to the counter to call out the order number.

Before the older man can collect his drink, another customer comes bounding up to the counter, far too energetic for seven o’clock in the morning. Kei is positive that there’s no reason for someone as jumpy as this guy to be drinking coffee. Kei weighs the option of denying him a drink but decides against it, knowing it would probably get him fired.

“Can I get a frappuccino?” the customer asks, not even waiting for Kei to welcome him.

Kei raises his eyebrow and looks down, down, down at him. He can’t be any older than a middle schooler, but is there even a middle school around here? “Anything else?” he asks as he feels the weight of that disgusting coffee lifted out of his hand.

With the drink’s stench drifting away, Kei finds it replaced by another heavy aroma, this one sweeter and lighter as it chases away every other smell in the room. He can’t quite place it, though, but he greedily accepts it in place of the coffee grounds. It’s refreshing, in a way, and Kei can breathe easier because of it.

“Oh! Yeah,” the customer smiles, his bright hair bouncing more wildly than even himself. Kei peers down at his scalp, trying to figure out if it’s naturally that orange or if it’s dyed. He can’t see any darker roots, which unnerves him. “A large salted caramel mocha frappuccino with five pumps of frap roast, four pumps of caramel sauce, four pumps of caramel syrup, three pumps of mocha, and three pumps of toffee nut syrup. And can I have it double blended with extra whipped cream?”

He speaks so fast that Kei doesn’t even have time to punch in the order. He blinks fast, trying to remember every pump listed, but gives up with a huff. “What?”

The customer pinches his face. “I said, a large salted caramel mocha frappu—”

“Never mind, I got it,” Kei says, just to shut him up. He really doesn’t want to hear that order again. He takes a breath and punches in as much of the order as he can remember and prays that he got it right. He hands off the order to Yachi and recites the total, relieved when the customer doesn’t look confused by the price or the receipt that Kei hands him.

He expects him to walk away, at least to the other end of the counter so Kei can serve the next person in line, but the customer stands firmly in place, beaming up at him with a smile that’s much too bright for this dreary, rainy morning.

“Do you need something else?” Kei asks, straining his voice in hopes that this guy will take the hint.

The customer shakes his head. “Nope! I’m good.”

“Uh-huh.” They stare unblinking at each other for so long that Kei thinks he’s inadvertently entered into an unspoken staring contest, and he’s too afraid that’s the case that he doesn’t want to be the first one to look away.

He’s relieved, thankfully, when Yachi calls out the order and the customer blinks and looks to where she’s standing. She hands the cup back to him and Kei takes it, grateful that Yachi’s interrupted them.

“Um, here,” he says, offering the cup to the customer. Somehow, that wide grin on his face just grows larger, stretching his face so wide that Kei is sure it must hurt.

“Thanks!” he says, taking a sip to taste it. His eyes light up. “It’s really good!”

“Thank you!” Yachi says from behind Kei, poking around his arm to look at the customer. Even though she’s shorter than this middle school kid, she still looks far older and more mature. Maybe it’s because she lost her baby fat long ago.

Kei can see the next customer in line getting irritated that this kid is taking so long, and so he clears his throat. “Shouldn’t you be going?” he asks tentatively.

“Huh? Where?” He tilts his head to the side, his shaggy orange hair flopping with the motion.

“You’re… you’re in middle school, aren’t you?” Kei asks. “You’ll be late for school.”

The customer jerks and squawks indignantly, nearly dropping his coffee all over the floor Kei just cleaned this morning. “I am not! I’m in college!” he protests, stamping his foot loudly on the tile.

“Oh, my mistake,” Kei says, trying his best to hold back a snicker. He doesn’t want to bring down the wrath of his boss today. “It’s just that you’re so short…”

“Hey! Not everyone can be a beanpole like you!” the customer argues, leaning over the counter. His nostrils flare as he pounds his fists onto the marble countertops, splashing the coffee over the lip of the cup in the process. Kei sighs. He’s going to have to clean that up.

“I’m sorry that my height is so intimidating,” Kei says through clenched teeth, “but you’re holding up the line.”

The customer looks like he wants to protest, but one glance behind him has him gasping at just how long the line has grown. “Oh! I’m sorry!” He bows deeply to the woman behind him and scampers off to the side, sloshing more coffee onto the counter as he pulls the cup away.

Kei tries his best to ignore the headache growing between his eyes.

That bouncy, orange-haired guy shows up the next day, too, and the day after that. It’s always at the same time, and he always comes in with a completely different, completely ridiculous order that Kei can neither remember nor write down fast enough. But somehow, the customer never seems to mind when it’s wrong, even when he furrows his brow and squints at the receipt like something missing.

If he’s not complaining, though, it’s not Kei’s problem.

When he shows up ten minutes late on Friday, Kei wonders what held him up. He doesn’t dare ask, however; that would lead into a conversation he’s not willing to have. The faster he can get through the line, the faster he can take a break.

But the customer seems to have different plans.

“Sorry I’m so late today,” he says as if Kei should even care when he shows up to buy coffee. “I’m Hinata, by the way.”

He sticks his hand out over the counter, and Kei can see him push up onto the balls of his feet to reach over. He has to stifle a laugh. “Tsukishima,” he responds, pointing to his nametag. He doesn’t take the hand.

Hinata doesn’t seem to mind and retracts his offered handshake. “I was busy helping my mom set up her flower shop!”

“Okay,” Kei says, nodding absentmindedly. He comes to the realization that the sweet aroma that seems to surround this guy is actually the lingering scent of flowers. He’d say that it’s a nice change, or perhaps that he looks forward to these brief minutes when he can breathe and not be bombarded by coffee, but then he’d be admitting that there’s something good about Hinata, and he’s not ready to do that yet.

“It’s just a block away from this shop!” Hinata continues, and Tsukishima begins fiddling with his thumbs impatiently. “So it’s really convenient that you’re here, since it’s exhausting to get up so early in the morning, you know?”

Kei nods. “Are you going to order, or…?”

“Right! Yeah, of course!” Hinata says, slamming his hands down on the counter with a loud bang. Kei doesn’t believe anything Hinata’s saying about this so-called exhaustion. “I want a latte, twenty-twenty, at one hundred ninety degrees, with whole milk and whip, extra caramel drizzle.”

Kei stares. “Twenty-twenty?”

“Oh, you know.” Hinata winks like there’s some shared joke between them. “Twenty pumps of vanilla and twenty pumps of hazelnut.”

Kei wants to point out that this “twenty-twenty” thing doesn’t actually exist, but frankly he doesn’t care enough. “Sure, yeah. Size?”

Hinata thinks, tapping a finger against his lips. Kei watches with more intensity than he probably should. “A large is fine,” he settles on after a moment.

Kei punches in the order and Yachi brews the coffee and Hinata hums a quiet song under his breath, which in all actuality is quite amazing because Kei didn’t even think that Hinata could do anything quietly.

When Kei hands him the drink, its bitterness covering up that sweet smell of flowers, Hinata smiles and it seems to light up the dimly lit shop. “Thanks, Tsukki-chan! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

He waves as he walks away, a bounce in his step, and it’s only after Hinata’s left that Kei realizes that he called him such a godawful nickname. He grimaces.

Hinata surprises Kei with a bouquet of assorted flowers the next morning at seven o’clock sharp. It’s a montage of reds and whites and yellows and Kei didn’t even know there were this many species of flowers in the world. But those ponderings are the last on his mind. More pressing is the question: “Why are you giving me these?”

“They’re from our shop!” Hinata proclaims, shoving the bouquet further into Kei’s face. “For you!”

Kei wants to ask why they’re for him, but considering Hinata hadn’t bothered to answer his question the first time, he finds it useless to attempt again. He’d rather save his breath. So instead he wraps his hand around the flowers, ignoring the burn on his cheeks when his hand brushes against Hinata’s.

“Yachi-san,” Kei says around a lump in his throat. He clears it and tries again. “Yachi-san, can you get a vase or something for these?”

Yachi peers around his shoulder and nods vigorously, a motion Kei feels rather than sees. He’s too busy staring at Hinata.

After she rushes away, Kei finally finds the courage to glance away. “Thanks, I guess,” he mumbles to the floor.

Hinata is short enough that Kei can see his bright smile in his peripheral vision. “Of course!” He giggles just a little, his elbows resting on the counter, and then Yachi comes back with a vase and takes the flowers away. Kei feels exposed now that there’s nothing covering his face.

Hinata brings another bouquet on Saturday. “We had extras!” he had explained, but Kei can’t imagine there being this many extras at his parents’ flower shop.

He’s not sure what to do about the flowers, anyway. He used up the only vase he owns with the bouquet from yesterday, and so he stands awkwardly in his kitchen that night, staring at the very full vase of colorful flowers and holding another, equally colorful bouquet in his hands. Maybe he should have taken Yachi’s advice and taken the vase from work.

He pulls down his tallest glass from the cupboard and fills it with water, praying that it’ll be sufficient. When the flowers don’t fall out of the glass or knock it over, he breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Why is he doing this?” he asks aloud to no one in particular. Maybe it’s habit, a remnant from his last relationship, when there was always someone present to hear him. But now he’s met with silence, only broken by sirens and motors from the streets below.

It’s lonely.

He’s lonely.

It’s something he doesn’t have trouble admitting anymore. He crossed that hurdle long ago, back in high school when he was dating much more frequently. When his brother had cornered him after yet another nasty breakup and forced him to talk about his problems.

The fluorescent kitchen light is still buzzing and bright when he collapses onto the sofa in his tiny living room. It’s tattered and worn, bursting foam at the seams and stains covering each cushion. He doesn’t even remember how those stains got there, or if they were always that putrid brown color.

That Hinata kid—or rather, that Hinata guy, although Kei still doesn’t believe he’s in college—has taken some kind of liking to him. It’s obvious enough, even to someone like him. But that knowledge only opens the door to a slew of new questions, the most prominent one being:

Is he worth it?

In all of his relationships, he’s never had a partner quite so bubbly and carefree. Kei teases the thought—how will he react when Kei breaks his heart? Would he retain that cheerful exterior, or would Kei manage to break him so completely that he could never smile again?

It’s not a pleasant thought, but it’s one he considers anyway. With his horrible track record, it’s only inevitable.

He’s being selfish; he knows that. He’s more aware of his selfishness than anyone else in his life, even those exes which have slammed the door in his face and called him horrible names, always preceded by that damning word “selfish.”

Yamaguchi has suggested giving up, to spare others of that pain. Kei considers that now, with his heart thudding against his chest and his cheeks and ears heating up and his world spinning as he conjures Hinata’s face in his mind.

Is that love?

Is that romance?

He picks up his phone.

The dial tone echoes in his ears and becomes the background noise to his unmanageable, tangled thoughts. When it cuts off suddenly, he can’t bear the silence and speaks before his friend can even get a word out. “Yamaguchi, I need your help.”

“Well, hello to you, too, stranger,” Yamaguchi says, a smile in his voice. “You haven’t called me since classes started. Is work that overwhelming right now?”

“Yes—no,” he admits. “Sorry. I’ve been depressed all week.”

“I don’t really care,” Yamaguchi says, echoing Akira’s words from just last week. Kei’s heart clenches. “So Kunimi-san broke up with you, then?”

“You knew?”

“Of course I knew,” Yamaguchi says. His long, drawn-out sigh crackles in Kei’s ear. “Doesn’t it always end this way? Why do you keep bothering?”

“I’m—”

“I don’t even know why you’re doing this,” Yamaguchi continues, pretending he hadn’t heard Kei. “You’re just making yourself miserable.”

“I’d be miserable anyway,” Kei says, far too softly. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“Go back to school, make some friends, come hang out with your best friend.” The inflection Yamaguchi puts on the last words sends a spike of guilt through Kei. He lifts an arm and rests it over his eyes to block out the harsh light streaming into the living room from his kitchenette.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so distant,” he says.

“Like I said, I don’t really care.” Yamaguchi breathes out again, but it’s more amiable this time. “I’m fine like this. I just want you to be happy.”

“I do, too,” Kei says. “I’m trying.”

“Do you even know what you want?”

There’s that question again. It doesn’t hurt any less. “No,” he says, after too long a pause.

“You’ll have to figure it out sooner or later, or you’ll just end up withering away, blowing in the wind without direction.” Yamaguchi hums. “In the end, you’re the only one who can figure that sort of thing out, though.”

Kei nods, acutely aware that Yamaguchi can’t possibly see him but not caring enough to voice his acknowledgment. “I met someone at work a few days ago.”

“Huh?” There’s surprise and a little disbelief in his voice. “Are you really doing this again, so soon after you broke up with Kunimi-san?”

The name strikes his heart like an arrow, and Kei jerks with the impact. “Maybe this will be different,” he says, but his voice is strained and he doesn’t believe it, either.

“You said that last time, and when you were dating Kuroo-san, too.” Yamaguchi may be his voice of reason, but it still hurts.

So Kei rephrases it. “He’s different. He keeps bringing me flowers every morning. He works in a flower shop down the street.”

Yamaguchi is quiet, letting Kei talk out his feelings like the good friend he is.

“He’s bouncy and annoying and he won’t leave me alone. He’s different from all the other guys I’ve dated,” he asserts. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you want to hurt him?” The question is spoken so softly, so sincerely, and Kei thinks he might cry.

“No,” he says, his voice breaking. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

Kei groans, loud and dramatic and everything he claims to hate. “I don’t know.”

“I wonder if that’s true,” Yamaguchi says, and Kei almost misses it.

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Kei asserts, hoping that stating it out loud will make it true.

“So when are you getting married?”

Kei sighs, fighting the urge to put his head in his hands. Why had he bothered coming home on his day off? “I’ve told you before, mom; I’m gay.”

His mom just laughs, patting him on the arm. “I know that, but don’t you people still have ceremonies or something? You know, to show your commitment.” Her gaze shifts away from him, though, as she takes a sip of her tea. It’s nothing he’s not used to.

“Well, it’s not going to happen any time soon,” Kei explains slowly, gingerly, like his words are a weapon that could shatter her heart. “Akira and I broke up.”

“Kunimi-kun?” His mom’s entire body sags with the news, and she looks so disappointed—disappointed in him, his brain helpfully supplies. “Is that so… and he was such a handsome man, too. I really thought he was the one.”

“You say that every time,” Kei points out, but she waves the comment away with her hand.

“Well, that’s just too bad, sweetheart, but don’t you worry.” She plasters on a big smile, betrayed by the strain in her eyes. “You’ll probably find a pretty girl that’s just right for you any day now.”

“I’m gay.”

She laughs again, short, curt. Disappointed. “A handsome boy, then. Remember, happiness is just around the corner. You’ll find someone soon enough.”

She’s right. She’s frustrating, but she’s right. He’ll find the right one soon, and then he’ll be happy.

He just can’t fuck it up this time.

Hinata has another bouquet when he bounces into the shop at seven o’clock, bringing that delightful scent of flowers with him to chase away the oppressive, stifling coffee. The predominant color in this arrangement is red, and Kei is pretty sure he sees at least four roses.

“Where were you yesterday?” he asks, shoving the flowers in Kei’s face.

Kei takes them without protest, if only to get the petals out of his mouth. “I had the day off. I don’t work every day, obviously.”

“Oh.” He sounds disappointed. “Well, okay, but because you weren’t here, the barista got my order wrong.”

Kei is pretty sure he’s gotten Hinata’s order wrong every single day since he started coming here. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah! You should be!” But he’s smiling again, and he even giggles. Kei’s face burns. “But now that you’re back, I don’t have anything to worry about. So… can I get a large salted caramel mocha latte with two pumps of vanilla, substitute two pumps of white chocolate mocha for regular mocha, and substitute two pumps of hazelnut for toffee nut, half whole milk and half breve with no whipped cream, extra foam, extra caramel drizzle, extra salt, add a scoop of vanilla bean powder, with light ice. Well-stirred, please!”

“Don’t you ever order anything normal?” Kei asks as he punches as much as he can remember into the cash register.

Hinata scrunches up his face like the thought never occurred to him. “What do you mean? Of course I do!”

Kei turns away to hide his exasperation. “Oh? Why not prove it?”

“Okay, I will!”

He means for Hinata to give him a normal order, like a simple frappuccino or a mocha without any of the weird, sugary add-ins he keeps demanding. And he’s entirely sure that’s what he’s going to get, too. Until Hinata opens his mouth again.

“We’ll go to that new diner down the street and I’ll order something normal, just for you!”

Kei looks up so fast he hears his neck pop violently. “What?” he snaps, more aggressively than he should have to someone asking him on a date, especially when that someone is the guy he’s crushing on.

Hinata’s face is burning red, from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears, and his skin almost blends in with his vibrant, fluffy hair. “You heard me!” he squeaks, his voice several octaves too high, even for his boyish voice.

Kei turns the proposal over in his head. At least, he thinks, this saves him the trouble of asking Hinata out himself. And maybe it’s better this way, since he gets the absolute pleasure of seeing Hinata all flustered. Cute is the word that dances across his mind and colors his entire perception of the guy.

“H–hello?” Hinata yells, waving his hand in front of Kei’s face. “Are you just going to stand there? I’m—I’m asking you out!”

“Oh,” Kei says, impressed with his own eloquence. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

Hinata’s still blushing when he grins, splitting that sea of red with a blinding light. “G–great! That’s great! I’ll, um, I’ll pick you up at seven!”

Kei squints, leaning in so as to convey with their proximity how idiotic he’s being. “We haven’t even settled on a day. And you don’t know where I live, moron.”

Hinata puffs out his cheeks and slams his fist onto the counter. “Stingyshima! You’re such a meanie!”

He raises an eyebrow at the, uh, nickname. “Did you just…?” When Hinata doesn’t react, he gives up with a shake of his head. “Never mind. How about later today when I get off work?”

“Perfect! I’ll meet you here!” The flush fades from Hinata’s cheeks and his smile returns. It’s still just as radiant, and Kei feels his heart thump thump thumping against his ribcage. That’s it, he realizes. That’s love.

He hopes that this truly is the one who will bring him happiness, that his mother was right after all. He’s tired of searching.

When Hinata meets him outside the coffee shop in the late afternoon, he doesn’t bring a bouquet. Instead, in his hand is a single red rose, bursting with color and life. It’s a cute gesture, Kei thinks.

“My mom wishes us luck!” Hinata says with a wink as he hands over the rose into Kei’s trembling hand.

“Your… mom?” Kei asks, feeling his ears burn.

“Oh! Uh, right.” Hinata turns away and brings his hand to his face. “I guess that’s not the best way to start this date, after all. I really do sound like a middle schooler.”

Kei shakes his head and pushes Hinata’s hand away from his face. “You’re fine. It’s… cute.” He tests the word out on his tongue and decides he likes it.

He’s dated plenty of cool guys before, all tall or dark or handsome, but he’s never dated someone like this. Someone cute. It’s different, and the flutter in his stomach makes him think that this time it really will be different.

Hinata blanches though, his mouth dropping open as his eyes go wide. He points an accusing finger at Kei. “Y–you! You can’t just say things like that!”

“Like what?” Kei asks, standing up straighter and peering down at Hinata with a smirk. “Calling you cute?”

That blush that turns Hinata’s face the same color as his hair returns, and Kei doesn’t bother hiding his snicker. “Yeah, that! Don’t act all smug about it!”

He leans down close to Hinata and whispers in his ear, speaking more breathily than normal for good measure. “Then how should I act?” He can feel the chill roll down Hinata’s spine, and a tingle of satisfaction runs through Kei’s veins.

“Oh…” Hinata’s voice is throaty and threatening, and Kei can’t tell if he’s turned on or about to break Kei’s nose. “Don’t think you can out-flirt me, mister. I won’t lose!”

“Is this a game to you?” Kei pulls away just enough to see Hinata’s narrowed eyes and firm scowl.

Hinata shakes his head. “N–no! It’s not!” he insists. “Now come on! I’m taking you out to dinner!” He doesn’t even let Kei respond before he’s gripping tight at Kei’s arm and leading him down the street, stomping his feet hard against the sidewalk.

He notes that Hinata’s dressed up somewhat for this date, and Kei feels sorely underdressed for the occasion in his coffee-stained t-shirt and khakis. Hinata isn’t much better, but his button up is neatly tucked into his pants even if there’s still a flower petal or two sticking out of his hair.

“What are you doing to my head?” Hinata asks, jumping away from Kei.

Kei pauses mid-reach, his fingers pinched to grab at the loose petals. “You have petals in your hair.”

“Oh my gosh,” Hinata says in one short rush of breath. He brings his hands to his face and slaps his cheeks, whipping his head around dramatically. “I do? Oh, no, that’s so embarrassing!”

Kei chuckles. “It’s fine.” Cute, he thinks, but doesn’t say. “Here.” He plucks the petals out of his hair and shows them to him, and Hinata takes them into his own hand, staring down at them with an expression of complete mortification.

“Oh gosh, oh gosh, I thought I got everything!” he says, mumbling under his breath and running his free hand through his hair. “I tried so hard!”

“Don’t worry so much about it,” Kei says, quirking his head to the side. “I don’t care. You work at a flower shop, after all. At least you can get rid of the petals.” He gestures at his own shirt covered in brown stains.

Hinata stares for a few moments, blinks once or twice, and then breaks out into a fit of giggles, letting the petals float down to the concrete.

“What are you laughing at?” Kei asks, lowering his tone to something more dangerous.

“Nothing!” Hinata insists, smiling brightly up at him. Kei’s heart pounds in his chest. “I just think you’re really cute.”

Oh, that’s not fair. He can’t turn that back around onto him.

Kei is flushing a deep red before he even realizes it, and he looks away too late. Hinata’s giggles get louder and more boisterous.

“Anyway, we’re here,” he says through happy little hiccups. “Let’s go!” He grabs Kei’s hand this time and pulls him through the double doors into the diner.

Somehow, Hinata’s idea of a “normal order” is two waffles with a hamburger in between, drizzled in syrup with cheddar cheese and peanut butter on the patty, and Kei wants to know who put those kinds of thoughts in his head. Maybe his whole family is like that. Maybe he’s a picky eater. Maybe he looks up articles like “the most obnoxious orders possible,” memorizes them all, and then recites them to servers and baristas just to see how they’ll react.

Whatever the reason, Kei doesn’t find it nearly as annoying as he did when they first met, when he ordered that large… actually, he can’t remember what he ordered the first time. It was way too complicated.

He can still remember what Akira ordered on their first date, but maybe this is different.

“Hey, you know what?” Hinata whispers into Kei’s bare chest as he snuggles closer to him. Kei hugs him tighter, soaking up that natural body heat Hinata seems to produce in abundance. “I think I like you.”

Kei feels a sweat break out on his forehead. “Y–yeah, me too.”

This is it. The start of a new relationship.

“Does that mean we’re dating now?”

“Technically, we were already dating,” Kei points out around the sudden lump in his throat. “You just took me on a date. We literally just had sex.”

Hinata giggles. “You’re right. I like that.”

“Yeah…”

“Are you all right?” he asks, breaking out of Kei’s embrace to lean over him. His mouth is pulled into a frown and his pupils are dilated, but that could be from the dim lighting of Kei’s room.

“I’m fine,” Kei insists. Of course he’s fine. There’s no reason why he shouldn’t be fine. It was just the cold feet, that fear of commitment, that fear of fucking up and disappointing his family again.

Hinata looks like he doesn’t believe him. “Are you sure? Am I taking things too fast? Should I go slower?” He pushes all of the words out in one breath, babbling so quickly that Kei has a hard time keeping up.

“No!” Kei says quickly, reaching up and gripping Hinata’s shoulders hard. “You’re fine. You’re perfect.”

“Perfect?” Hinata’s mouth twitches up, his hair rustling as he cocks his head to the side.

Kei clears his throat. “Do you want to, um, go again?”

Hinata laughs and it sounds beautiful.

Kei tells himself that he’ll make sure it’s different this time, and then he loses himself in sensation.

There’s an itch under his skin.

Kei can’t even attempt to scratch it because it’s all over his body, searing him with red-hot fire, the same color as Hinata’s hair.

His heart is pounding so hard his chest hurts, but it’s not arousal, not romance. It’s fear.

Whatever he’s scared of, though, it’s stupid. Hinata isn’t even here. Kei is alone. There are no hands brushing against his skin, leaving a trail of agonizing embers in their wake. There are no lips against his to muffle his protests. There are no hushed confessions and sultry eyes to remind him that this is what he wants, what he should want.

Kei grips his damp hair and pulls roughly, teeth biting into his lip until it bleeds. His skin is slick with sweat. His other hand claws at his bedsheets, a blurry image since he had long thrown his glasses across the room.

It’s happening again, even after he told himself he wouldn’t let it get to this point. He swore he wouldn’t pull this shit again, he wouldn’t fuck up again.

But he can’t control the nightmares.

Hinata brings a string of fairy lights to his apartment without warning, the box tucked under one arm so he can still hold his bouquet of flowers in his hand. Kei takes both from him.

“You have to hang them up, though,” he grumbles bitterly under his breath.

“Why? Because you’re so short?” Kei teases. Hinata retaliates by sticking his tongue out and blushing.

“Yes! Don’t rub it in,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now go hang those up! I’m using your kitchen.” He shoves Kei back, just hard enough to have him stumbling.

He does as he’s told. He takes the lights out of the box and digs around his apartment until he finds some nails and a hammer to hang them up.

By the time the scent of Hinata’s flowers is replaced by the meaty aroma of whatever he’s cooking, the lights are dipping low in wide arcs around the living room, and he hears Hinata gasp when he plugs them in, bathing the dim room in golden light, too soft to even cast shadows.

“It’s just like I pictured!” Hinata coos from the kitchen, and Kei turns to see him leaning onto the counter, his head just barely peeking over the half wall that divides the two rooms. “It’s so pretty!”

“I guess it is,” Kei agrees with a nod. Hinata grins.

“You should keep them up,” he insists, ducking out of the opening and coming out on the other side of the kitchen with two bowls in his hand.

“What did you make?” Kei asks, peering into the bowls doubtfully. He’s well aware of Hinata’s peculiar taste in food, and that scares him.

“It’s just some curry,” he says. “I’m not that great a cook.”

Curry could quite frankly mean anything, and it doesn’t ease Kei’s nerves any bit. But Hinata looks so proud of himself as he offers him the bowl that he takes it graciously, and they sit on the floor around the kotatsu.

Hinata doesn’t start eating right away. He’s too busy staring at Kei, waiting for something to happen. Kei wishes he knew what that something was.

“It’s just like I thought,” Hinata whispers eventually, leaning over the table just a little. His elbows digging into the wood are the only thing keeping him from falling into his bowl of curry.

“What are you talking about?” Kei asks, suddenly unnerved with all this attention. Hinata’s gaze is piercing, like he can see straight into Kei’s soul.

“You look beautiful under this light.” And then he smiles, his cheeks a fair shade of pink. Kei’s breath catches.

“Th–thanks,” he mumbles, dipping his head down toward his curry. He shoves as large a spoonful as he can manage into his mouth and chews slowly, adamantly, so as to avoid Hinata and his wandering eyes just a little bit longer.

“I think I really like you,” Hinata says, and it’s so quiet Kei almost doesn’t hear him. He sounds awe-struck, like he’s seeing the moon for the first time.

Kei swallows thickly, waiting for all the food to go down before he speaks. “I think I really like you, too.”

Hinata’s smile is radiant.

“Tsukishima!” Hinata produces another bouquet of flowers from behind his back, and Kei drinks in his scent. He’s gotten no better at distinguishing between the smells of the flowers he carries with him wherever he goes, but by now he’s learned that the red chrysanthemums and roses in the bouquet mean love, the peonies happiness. He can’t tell what the others are, not yet, but he gets the gist.

Kei gathers the flowers into his arm and pulls Hinata into his apartment by the sleeve of his shirt. “Thanks,” he says, turning away to hide the blush as red as Hinata’s chrysanthemums.

He’s bought more vases now, even if he had to pass up getting a video game that released this month to afford it. The half wall that separates his kitchenette from his living room is covered in them now, the only splash of color in his dreary apartment.

Kei adds this new bouquet to his collection in the only empty vase on the counter. He fills it with water while Hinata wanders around the living room, spinning a few times before dropping into the sofa with a soft “oof!”

“Why do you look like you’ve never been here before?” Kei asks, not looking up from where he’s arranging the flowers to show off as many of the colors as possible.

“It’s just amazing to see how you live!” Hinata gushes. “I still live at home because my university is nearby, so I keep thinking what it’ll be like when I finally move out.”

“It’s not all that great,” Kei admits, but he meets Hinata’s gaze with a quirked-up grin. “I mean, paying bills is annoying, and I can’t even afford a sofa that isn’t thirty years old and tearing at the seams.”

“But it’s nice,” Hinata says. “You’re free to do whatever you want and live however you want. I want that kind of independence.” He swings his feet back and forth, too short to touch the floor, and breaks eye contact to continue looking around.

“I wonder how true that is…” Kei mumbles to himself, no louder than a breath.

“What was that?” Hinata blinks.

“Oh, uh, nothing,” Kei stammers, shaking his head. “I’m just glad you’re here.” He shuffles out of the kitchenette and into the living room, where Hinata is already standing to greet him with open arms.

“Can I kiss you?” Hinata asks gently, reaching up to graze his fingers against Kei’s bottom lip. Kei’s mouth is suddenly dry.

Hinata looks so beautiful in this moment, and he’s so sincere and innocent and open, and everything about him is endearing and enticing and perfect. It’s a scene he could have seen in a movie.

And yet his first instinct is to pull away, to get as far away from Hinata as possible. His heart rate rises and his palms sweat and he wants to say no.

“Of course you can,” he says instead, leaning down before Hinata can even react. The kiss is just as he expected: warm, inviting, loving. There’s nothing to be worried about. Everything is just as it should be.

Kei surges upright in bed, gasping for the breath Hinata had stolen.

No, not Hinata. Hinata is asleep next to him, breathing softly and curled around a pillow. It was another dream, then.

There’s a sting in his eyes that Kei stifles by pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, as if the pressure will erase those images and the pain will replace those sensations.

It doesn’t work.

Slowly, so as not to wake up Hinata, Kei slides out of bed, his bare feet padding across the matted carpet until he reaches the door that leads to his bathroom. He closes the door cautiously, silently, and then flicks the switch and the room is bathed in overwhelming brightness that blinds him and has him stumbling backward into the door.

He curses under his breath and stays there for a few moments, waiting to see if Hinata was roused from his sleep. When he doesn’t hear any movement from the other side, he finally lets out the breath he’d been holding and puts foot after heavy foot in front of the other until he’s standing before his sink, staring into his own sunken eyes in the mirror.

The faucet screeches from old, faulty pipes, and Kei hurries to splash water on his face before the sound can carry into the bedroom.

When he’s done he pulls up his contact list and calls the only person who might be awake right now.

“Hello?” Akiteru grumbles into the receiver. The sound is slurred through the phone lines, but it’s still Akiteru, still his brother.

“Hey, bro,” Kei whispers. The walls are too thin and he doesn’t want to risk anything.

“Kei?” There’s some shuffling on the other end, and Akiteru suddenly sounds much more awake. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” he says quickly, trying to convey reassurance through his tone. “I just needed to talk to someone.”

Akiteru breathes out a sigh. “What’s going on? Are you hurt? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m okay,” he repeats, more firmly this time. He doesn’t want to explain those dreams that he can’t even explain to himself. He doesn’t want to explain why he’s on the verge of tears just from remembering how Hinata’s skin feels on his.

“Then why did you call me?”

“Well for one, Yamaguchi actually has a bedtime, so I wouldn’t have been able to get in touch with him.” It’s meant to be a sarcastic joke, to rile his brother up, but it comes out strained and breathy.

“You can always talk to me, you know,” Akiteru says. Kei can hear the open, sincere concern in his tone. “I’m always here for you.”

“I know.” There’s a pause in which neither Kei nor Akiteru know what to say, and then he clears his throat. “I, um, I’m dating again.”

Akiteru gasps. “You found someone? What’s he like?”

Kei says the first thing that comes to mind. “He’s a moron.”

“What?” Akiteru drags out the syllable incredulously. “Kei, you shouldn’t say those things about your boyfriend!”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Kei says. “Not yet.”

“Do you want him to be?”

Kei ignores the way his hand clenches his phone tighter, the way his heart rate spikes, the way his forehead breaks out in a cold sweat. “Y–yeah, of course I do.”

“Then you should be nice to him, or he’ll leave you.” Akiteru clicks his tongue condescendingly. “You have a great personality deep inside, so you should show it to the people you love.”

The people he loves… He loves Hinata, right? He’s not stupid; he knows the signs. He wouldn’t have started dating him if he didn’t love him. He wouldn’t think he’s so cute, and they wouldn’t kiss or go on dates or have sex or anything like that. It’s obvious enough that Kei loves Hinata, or at least likes him a lot. Even Yachi has commented on it several times.

“You’re right,” Kei says finally.

“I always am!” Akiteru sounds way too chipper for it to be two in the morning, and yet the time is right there on his phone screen.

“Thanks.” It’s spoken quietly, but Akiteru still hums in acknowledgment.

“You just have to show him how much you love him,” he continues matter-of-factly. “And he’ll fall head over heels for you. He won’t stand a chance against your charms!”

He thinks about Hinata snoring softly on his bed. “I think he likes me plenty already.”

“Well then what are you waiting for?” Akiteru says. “Go get him! There’s no reason not to make it official. And mom will be thrilled to hear you’re finally happy.”

“Right,” Kei says numbly, “happy. I’m happy.”

“I’m really happy for you, Kei,” Akiteru says, speaking over Kei’s unintelligible mumbles. “I was starting to get worried for you, you know? You’ve always been quiet and resigned, and you’ve had a lot of bad relationships in the past, but if you like this guy as much as you say you do, then I’m sure everything will work out. This is the love story you deserve!”

“Thanks, Akiteru,” Kei says a little breathlessly. “I’m—I’m gonna try and sleep now.”

“All right.” Akiteru’s voice softens. “I love you. You deserve happiness and love, and I’m rooting for you, okay? I hope this guy can give you that.”

Akiteru’s yawn stifles his “good night,” and Kei ends the call before he can repeat himself.

The phone clatters to the floor, completely forgotten. His hands grip the rim of the sink, clenching harder to stop his arms from shaking.

It’s as he thought, then. This is all his fault.

Sunbeams dance through the dusty blinds on his window and illuminate Hinata from behind. He’s bent over, his hair tickling Kei’s cheek as he kisses him awake. It’s soft, sweet, and it sends tingles of pleasure coursing through his veins.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Hinata giggles into his skin, his breath tickling Kei with every word and sending a shiver down his spine. Hinata’s hand trails up his stomach, fingers lighter than feathers. “Did you sleep well?”

Kei’s throat is thick with sleep and his mind is too muddled with excitement to form any kind of coherent thought. So he grunts instead.

“I’ll make you breakfast.” Hinata pulls away and flits out of the room, leaving a frigid air in his wake. Kei rolls over onto the warm spot where Hinata had been lying and breathes in. It smells like flowers.

Breakfast, according to Hinata, is a bowl of cereal with chocolate milk in it. Kei has barely sat up in bed before he’s bursting back into the bedroom, just barely preventing a spill on Kei’s already stained carpet.

“Thanks, I think,” he mumbles, pushing himself up further in bed and taking the bowl that Hinata thrusts into his hands. He looks at the Cheerios floating in the bowl warily. “Where did you even get chocolate milk?”

“I made it!” Hinata announces proudly. “You had a little bit of chocolate syrup in your fridge.”

“Why did you put chocolate milk in a bowl of Cheerios?” Kei tries his best to hide his frustration.

“Why not?” He sounds genuinely confused, as if chocolate milk is the standard for all cereals. Kei sighs and brings the spoon to his lips anyway.

It’s not necessarily good, but it’s also not bad. So he finishes it and even drinks the leftover milk, his gaze occasionally flickering toward Hinata, who stares at him expectantly. “Thanks for making breakfast.” Even though it required minimal effort and no time at all, he still appreciates it.

Hinata smiles brightly, taking the bowl back. “I’m glad you liked it!” He bounces out of the room, much less cautiously this time now that he doesn’t have to worry about spilling.

There’s a warmth in Kei’s chest that blooms outward and reminds him just why he loves Hinata and just why he has to make this work. He doesn’t want to give this up. Somehow, Hinata’s wormed his way into his life, and he doesn’t want to let him go.

Because he loves Hinata, and Hinata loves him, and that means he can’t give up. Not this time.

“Why did you drop out of university?” Hinata asks as he sucks up his double-blended iced coffee with twelve pumps of vanilla, twelve pumps of hazelnut, twelve pumps of caramel, five pumps of skinny mocha, and a splash of soy. Kei thinks he’s getting better at remembering those ridiculous orders, or maybe he’s getting better at bullshitting something that sounds right.

They’re sitting at a table in the coffee shop just after Kei’s shift has ended. Hinata’s order was the last one he filled, and so the drink is still almost full. From the way his nose wrinkles up every time he takes a sip, Kei guesses they’ll be here for a while.

“Where did that come from?” Kei asks, leaning in further over the table. He can feel Hinata’s warmth on his own skin and his breath on his own lips, and it’s a pleasure Kei never wants to give up.

“Well, you know.” Hinata waves his hand in the air, like that’s supposed to explain everything. Surprisingly, it doesn’t. “You don’t talk about yourself that much.”

“There isn’t really much to say.” Kei picks at his fingers almost subconsciously, uncomfortable with this sudden change. “How—uh, how long have you been working for your parents?”

Hinata jerks and sits up straight, drink forgotten. “At the flower shop?” He blinks once, twice, humming as he thinks. “It’s been a few years, maybe since I started middle school?”

“That long, huh…” Kei tries to imagine Hinata as a middle schooler, and he finds it easier than expected because he already looks like a middle schooler. He can’t imagine he’s changed much over the years.

“You’re changing the subject,” Hinata accuses, jamming a finger in Kei’s face. It squishes against his cheek, and Hinata prods a few times before retracting it. “I wanna hear about your life, too.”

Kei sighs, pushing himself away from the table. His chair teeters on its back legs, and he stays in that position for a few moments before letting the front end drop back to the floor with a loud clatter of metal on tile. “I grew up in Miyagi and moved to Tokyo for university. Stayed with a couple of local friends and another friend from Miyagi for my first year, then moved out and got my job here. I dropped out halfway through my second year and met you a couple weeks later. And now we’re here.” Kei runs his fingers through his hair. “Satisfied?”

Hinata’s mouth is a disapproving flat line. “Not really. You didn’t even answer my question. Why did you drop out?”

He hasn’t had to have this conversation in a long time, which only proves to make it harder this time around. “I was failing my classes. Stayed out too late, got too drunk, skipped too many lectures, failed too many tests. I figured it was better to just drop out altogether rather than keep wasting money on school.”

Hinata hums quietly, staring down into his drink. It’s still half-full, which means they can’t part ways just yet. Kei still has to face this conversation whether he wants to or not. “I see.”

“Are you happy now?” Kei asks. He means for it to come out forceful, angry, to shut Hinata’s questions up and prevent him from taking this any further. But each word is stilted and forced, steeped in some emotion Kei can’t place himself. Whatever it’s called, he sounds far too soft and far too quiet to have the impact he was going for.

Hinata seems to hear that same emotion too, and he looks up and meets Kei’s eyes, searching for something within them. “You always struck me as a smarty-pants. Some kind of honor roll student.”

“I was,” Kei admits, because when Hinata’s looking at him like that, he can’t figure out how to tell a lie.

“What changed?”

“I don’t know.” It’s the truth, at least. “The college atmosphere got to me, I guess. I was too focused on my relationships.”

“You dated a lot?” It’s phrased like a question, but Kei has the suspicion that Hinata already knows the answer.

Regardless, he nods. “They never last long. A few weeks, maybe. A few of them made it through a month, so that’s something.”

“We’ve been dating about a month,” Hinata points out, and Kei manages a half-hearted smirk at that.

“Well, you’re a little different than most of the guys I’ve dated before.” Hinata laughs, and Kei can feel his anxiety melting away. He can no longer remember why he was so scared of talking about this with him. If it’s Hinata, he can say anything.

Right?

“Is it because I’m not tall, dark, and handsome?” Hinata’s tongue pokes out from between his lips, teasing Kei.

He smirks. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever dated a grade schooler before.”

Instantly, Hinata’s face falls into a scowl, his nose scrunching up as he leans over the table. “You’re so annoying, you know that?”

“It’s been said once or twice.” Kei snatches Hinata’s drink out from under him and takes a sip of that thick, disgustingly sweet coffee himself, if only to make their impromptu date go faster. Things are calmer now, but it doesn’t mean he wants to keep talking about himself.

“I’ll just have to keep telling you until it sticks in your dumb brain, then,” Hinata says, huffing dramatically as he plops himself back in his chair. He swipes the cup back from Kei and takes a long drink.

“Do you even like that?” he asks finally, deciding to gently pry the cat out of the bag.

“Of course I do!” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and yet somehow Kei doesn’t believe him. “It’s delicious!” To prove his point, he takes another drink. He grimaces less obviously this time.

Kei rolls his eyes. “Sure, okay.”

“Can I sleep over tonight?” Hinata asks suddenly, swirling the coffee in his cup.

Kei’s eyebrows pinch together. “Yeah, sure, but why?”

“Oh, well.” He waves his hand in the air again, and Kei doesn’t understand what he means any better this time around. “I like being around you, so I thought that maybe…”

When Hinata’s face flushes a deep scarlet, Kei can’t hide the smirk on his face. “You can sleep over.”

His face is still red, but Hinata beams. “Thanks!”

Kei doesn’t remember how it got to this point. He never does, like there’s some kind of mental block protecting him from the worst of it. Maybe it’s for the best in the long run, but it doesn’t help him figure out what to do right now.

“I’m so sorry!” Hinata repeats over and over again, burying his head into Kei’s bare chest. Both of them are sweaty, but Hinata doesn’t seem to mind that, and Kei feels too numb to do anything about it.

The only thing he registers right now, except for the unending apologies spilling from Hinata’s lips, are the tears that are streaming down his face, dripping freely into Hinata’s hair.

He doesn’t remember when he started crying, or why.

Kei pushes his fingers through Hinata’s hair. It feels like the appropriate thing to do. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says, his voice a monotone.

“But you’re crying!” Kei thinks it’s weird that Hinata says this, since it sounds like he’s crying now, too. But he doesn’t question it.

“Sorry,” he says instead, falling back on old routines. It feels natural, and Kei can sense the end coming. This is what always happens, and despite his insistence that he wouldn’t fuck this up, that he would make sure he would do everything right for Hinata, he couldn’t.

It was awfully presumptuous of him to assume he could change.

“Why are you apologizing?” Hinata sniffs once and leans his head back. The spot on Kei’s shoulder where he’d been crying feels too cold. “I’m the one who hurt you…”

Kei frowns, and he realizes vaguely that he’s no longer crying, or at least that the tears aren’t flowing so freely anymore. There’s still a lump in his throat, and his breathing is labored, but he’s calming down. That’s good. It’s better to break up with someone he’s not so emotional.

Hinata reaches up tentatively, pausing right before his fingers graze against Kei’s cheeks. “Tsukishima…?” He closes the gap and wipes away the tears on his face, and it’s so gentle that it sends a new wave of emotion flooding out of Kei’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Kei repeats, more firmly this time. He wants nothing more than to grab onto Hinata, to convey his feelings through touch, but he keeps his arms at his sides and lets Hinata’s fingers roam across his face, brushing his tears away.

“Don’t apologize.” It’s just as firm as Kei had been, but it’s laced with a determination that makes Kei falter. “Are you keeping something from me?”

It’s not an accusation. It’s just a question, an open, honest question. Kei doesn’t know what to do with that.

He doesn’t want to say anything. He wants Hinata to kiss him, to touch him, to send him spiraling back into that area of normalcy that he knows how to deal with. He doesn’t know what to do with this sincerity, this softness. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say when he’s fought to keep his emotions under lock and key for so long.

“No,” he says, but his voice breaks at the end and he knows Hinata will never believe him.

“Why are you lying?” It’s still gentle. This is unexplored territory. He’s used to his partners getting mad, getting frustrated when he closes himself off, when he pushes them away. And he doesn’t blame them, because it’s his fault for putting them in that situation to begin with.

But he’s not prepared for this, for Hinata’s desire to know him, the real him, to understand what he’s doing and why.

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” he whispers, quietly begging to know what Kei hasn’t told anyone before.

Kei swallows. “I don’t like…”

Hinata leans in, eagerly drinking in whatever Kei will give him.

“I don’t like when you touch me… like that…” he finishes, and it sounds lame and mean and gross, like he’s accusing Hinata of being less than perfect. He wants to take it back, to assure Hinata that it’s not his fault, that he’s done nothing wrong, that it’s Kei’s fault for being broken and needy and disgusting.

“Is that all?” Hinata asks. His eyes are wide, searching for something on Kei’s face, and slowly, he lifts his hands off of Kei’s skin and shimmies backward in the bed, just enough that they’re no longer touching. “I don’t think you’re telling me everything.”

Kei doesn’t know how to handle this.

His hands fist the bedsheets, the cotton providing just enough of a barrier to prevent his nails from digging into his skin. “Kissing, too.”

Hinata frowns. “Why didn’t you tell me all of this?”

Kei takes in a deep, shaky breath. He doesn’t know how to answer this question. He wishes that Hinata would just kiss him, push him down on the bed, fuck him until he can’t breathe. But that’s what got him into his mess in the first place. “It’s not normal. It’s… weird. Unreasonable.”

“It’s not.”

Kei leans forward, his fists landing on Hinata’s bare thighs. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s not unreasonable,” Hinata insists, shaking his head for good measure. “You don’t have to like kissing or touching.”

“But that’s what you do when you’re dating!” Kei cries, struggling to keep his volume in check. He can barely breathe, his chest heaving as he struggles to wrap his mind around whatever Hinata is trying to say.

“Do you even want to date me?” Hinata asks. Kei can feel each individual break of his heart, the spindly cracks forming jagged lines even as it struggles to beat.

Is this how it ends?

“I do,” he insists, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you.”

Hinata smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s sad. “That’s not what I mean. Do you know what you really want?”

Kei wants to scream. Of course he doesn’t know what he wants. He’s never known, and he has no idea how to figure that out. He hasn’t been able to answer that question the millions of times he’s been asked it before, and he doesn’t know how to answer it now.

What does he want?

He wants happiness. He wants love. And he wants everything that comes with that.

Except, Hinata said it was okay not to want those things. But he doesn’t know how else to find happiness. He doesn’t know how else to find love.

“I don’t know what I want,” he says, and it’s almost too quiet for him to hear. Somehow, though, Hinata manages to hear it loud and clear.

“Try to answer anyway,” he says. “Is it okay if I hold your hands?”

He’s never been asked that question before, and he doesn’t know how to respond. So he nods his head and Hinata reaches out, tentatively at first, and wraps his small hands around Kei’s larger ones. The sheets in Kei’s fists provide a thin barrier that separates their hands, and Kei thinks he wants to remove that space between them.

“I’m lonely,” Kei says finally, stumbling around the words. It’s embarrassing to admit, even if he’s done it before with Akiteru, with Yamaguchi. “I just don’t want to be alone anymore.”

“And you think romance is going to give you that?” Hinata asks, gentle as if trying to clarify something.

Kei nods again.

Hinata sighs and hangs his head. “That’s not going to give you anything, dummy.”

“What?” Kei leans forward so fast that his face knocks into the top of Hinata’s head, and they both topple over onto the bed, groaning in harmony. “S–sorry.”

Hinata giggles, and Kei feels himself relaxing in spite of himself. This is how Hinata should act—silly, happy, bubbly, cute. Not all this serious stuff and reluctance and teary-eyed apologies. He wants to keep a smile on Hinata’s face forever. “It’s okay. It didn’t even hurt.”

Kei bites back a smile of his own because they’re still technically in the middle of a serious conversation. “Sorry,” he says again.

“Quit apologizing!” Hinata exclaims, pushing himself onto his elbow so he’s leaning over Kei. “You haven’t done anything you need to apologize for.”

Kei stays silent this time.

“Like I was saying, though,” Hinata continues, running his hand through his hair. It’s still slick with sweat, and it falls in tiny clumps back around his face. “You’re not going to find happiness if your only goal is to fall in love. It’s not some cure-all thing.”

Kei tries to make heads or tails of that, but it doesn’t quite process.

Hinata doesn’t give him the time to process it, either, because he pushes ahead. “I’ll ask you again: do you want to date me?”

“Yes,” Kei answers, and it’s honest and sincere. He’s sure this is what he wants. He wants Hinata in his life forever. He wants to be by his side for as long as he’s able.

Hinata’s face scrunches up, but somehow he seems more relaxed. “You don’t have to push yourself, you know?”

“I’m not,” Kei asserts with much more conviction than he’s put into any of his words today.

“Okay…” Hinata trails off, like there’s something he can’t quite figure out. He chews at his lip and Kei watches him, mesmerized by the tiny motions. “Hey, Tsukishima, do you even like romance?”

“Huh?”

“I don’t know.” Hinata shrugs. “I have a friend who doesn’t like that stuff. He knows more about it than I do, but he calls himself, uh, aromantic? Asexual? Maybe both.”

Kei doesn’t know what to do with this information.

“Well, anyway, he doesn’t date or anything, but he still likes being in relationships. They’re not romantic, though, and he never has sex or anything. I just thought maybe you were the same way.”

Kei still doesn’t know what to do with this information.

“Since you said you don’t like, um, kissing, or, you know,” Hinata says, waving his hands around a little to emphasize his point.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly.

Hinata hums, like he wasn’t expecting that answer. “I guess it doesn’t matter, not really.”

“I guess not,” Kei agrees.

“You’re still you, after all. Labels don’t change anything about you.” Hinata smiles, and it’s brighter this time. Kei’s heart thumps against his chest.

Maybe that’s not what romance feels like. Maybe the tightening of his chest, the butterflies in his stomach, the flushed cheeks, the beating of his heart, maybe none of that is romance. He doesn’t know. Neither, it seems, does Hinata.

“I don’t really care, anyway,” Hinata says, and he reaches out into the tiny space between them, stopping just short of Kei’s waist. Kei takes the final step and moves closer, grabbing Hinata’s hand and placing it on him. It’s warm and inviting and he wants more of it. Kei likes this, at least. “I like you regardless of what you say you are.”

“I like you, too,” Kei breathes. It feels different this time when he says it, but it’s not bad. It feels closer to the truth.

“In a romantic way?” Hinata asks, letting his head fall to the side.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s okay.” Hinata’s fingers trace small patterns into Kei’s skin, sending a chill through him.

“Are you sure?” Kei asks. It comes out breathy.

“I’m sure. I’m fine with whatever you want,” Hinata says, and it sounds like a promise. Kei doesn’t know what to do with that, either.

“I don’t know what I want,” he says.

“We’ll figure it out.” It’s another promise Kei can’t quite understand yet. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

Kei’s throat closes up, and he coughs to clear it. “Thank you.”

“For now, just be honest, you jerk.” Hinata pinches Kei’s side, causing an unseemly yelp to escape from his lips. “Stop keeping secrets and lying about what you like! I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You haven’t hurt m—”

“I did,” Hinata says. “Even if I didn’t know it hurt you, I still did it. That’s why you can’t keep lying to me.”

Kei doesn’t know what to say, so he nods. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, anyway.

Hinata nods too, firmly and with a huff of finality. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“You’re coming back to university?” Yamaguchi yells into the phone.

“I guess so,” Kei grumbles. He thought he’d tell Yamaguchi first, but he’s already embarrassed and in way over his head.

“What made you change your mind?” he asks, his voice still way too loud in the receiver.

Kei looks over to his kitchen, where Hinata is cooking something weird again. It smells both sweet and spicy, and Kei is a little afraid to ask what it is. “My, uh, boyfriend is pretty convincing.”

He hears Hinata hum to himself, satisfied with the new title.

“Boyfriend?” Yamaguchi nearly screeches. “Since when?”

“About a week, I guess,” Kei says, trying to remember when they decided to make it official.

“Jeez, you need to call me more often,” Yamaguchi says, and Kei can feel the accusation like a tangible presence pressing down on him. “Is it that same guy from before?”

Kei smiles to himself. “Yeah, it is. It’s not, uh, we’re not, like, dating.”

“What?”

Kei grimaces. “Sorry, I don’t know how to explain it. It’s not… romantic.”

Yamaguchi hums, long and drawn-out. “All right… then what is it?”

“We don’t really know,” he admits. It doesn’t hurt anymore not to know, though. That’s a step in the right direction.

“Are you happy?”

The question is simple. It’s something he’s been asked a lot, but he’s never known how to answer it. Before, he wasn’t sure what to say, how to explain that he was trying his best to be happy but that just wasn’t good enough. It’s a yes-or-no question, but it’s heavy and loaded with all kinds of implications that Kei can’t even begin to unpack, and he’s stumbled over his answer too many times to count.

This time, though, his response flows off his tongue naturally, and he thinks he finally understands what the question is asking. “Yeah, I am.”

“Then I’m happy for you,” Yamaguchi says. “You’ll have to explain all of this to me later, though. I’m totally not following any of it.”

Kei breathes out a chuckle. “When I figure out how to explain it to myself, I’ll let you know.”

“But what did your boyfriend tell you to change your mind?” Yamaguchi presses. “About university, I mean?”

Kei thinks back, trying to pinpoint some event that changed the course of his future. “Nothing, really. I guess I just feel more stable now. I’m ready to start again.”

“Are you going to keep working?”

“Hinata said that if I quit, the other baristas will get his order wrong.” Yamaguchi laughs at that, and Kei can hear Hinata’s own giggle from the kitchenette.

“You’re the only one who gets them right!” Hinata insists, yelling over the sizzle of something in the pan. “So you have to keep working there!”

“What happens when I graduate and start a career?” Kei shoots back, raising an eyebrow. He ignores Yamaguchi’s confused grunt on the other end of the call.

Hinata gasps, like he hadn’t thought of that. “You’re right!”

“You’ll have to start ordering normal things,” Kei says. “What a pity.”

“My orders are just fine, thank you,” Hinata says with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Sounds like you’ve got your hands full,” Yamaguchi says, amusement dripping in his tone. “When you come back to school, you’ll have to introduce me to Hinata.”

“I will,” Kei promises. “I don’t think he’s leaving any time soon.”

Yamaguchi is quiet for a long while. Kei thinks they’ve been disconnected somehow, but when he thinks to check the status of the call, he hears a long, crackly sigh. “I’m really happy for you.”

“I am, too.” And he means it. Somehow, even though he has more questions than answers about the status of his relationship with Hinata, and he still has no idea what to even call it, he’s happier now than he’s been with anyone else before.

Maybe it’s because he doesn’t feel pressured to do anything he doesn’t want to do, or maybe it’s because it’s impossible to be unhappy around the physical manifestation of sunshine. Kei doesn’t care about the logistics.

“I’ve got a test tomorrow, so I’m gonna let you go. I need to study,” Yamaguchi says, and Kei nods despite knowing that he can’t see him.

“Hinata’s almost done with dinner, too.”

“I’ll see you later,” Yamaguchi says, a promise that brings a smile to Kei’s face.

“Yeah, I will.”

The call ends, and he leans back into the aged, stained sofa. Hinata bustles about in the kitchen, grabbing plates and glasses. The string lights hanging on the wall cast a soft golden glow over everything in the room. He lets out a breath, relaxing into this new normal.

Kei still doesn’t understand romance, but that’s okay. He doesn’t need romance to be happy.