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The car drifts across the damp pavement. Around the bend, a drop overlooks the glimmering sea. It's half-past witching hour. The moon watches us like an owl's eye—like a beacon against the night's ultramarine and pthalo blues. Tooru runs one hand through his windswept hair. The other holds the wheel steady.
Perhaps it's true what they say. That the stars shine brighter the farther along you move on the Earth's axis. In Miyagi, they lie like specks of glitter across the midnight sky, but here, on Rio's coastline, they're carefully cut and polished diamonds in a painstakingly crafted crown. The wispy gray clouds cannot obstruct their radiance, nor can the spidery fingers of tree branches stretching overhead as we descend the mountain and merge into the highway.
I close my eyes. The breeze strokes my lids like a doting lover. It's more than a confession or flaky promise; it's a perfect ounce of uninhibited freedom.
“We should put the top up,” Tooru says. His auburn locks catch the moon’s glow and ripple behind his head like little comet tails.
“It might rain again.”
I face him. “You’re a meteorologist now?”
“Call it common sense,” he says with a grin in his voice.
“Ah, yes. Rings a bell.”
Tooru laughs, full and boisterous. “I can’t believe you’ve survived this long on your own.” The words taste like playful banter, but I can’t help shudder at their implication.
“I wonder.” I tap my bottom lip. Is that what I’ve been doing. Surviving?
I recall all my mishaps from the past few weeks, from dealing with an icy roommate to losing my wallet, and I sigh into the night. Maybe he's not wrong.
The last time Tooru saw me, I was a scrubby first-year with a profound hunger for the court. Though my size was considered a detriment in volleyball, what I lacked in height I made up for with tenacity. That's the Hinata Shouyo Tooru remembers. He doesn't know the version of me that came later––the one who, with the support of his friends, teammates, managers, and coaches, learned to value and embrace what it means to be disciplined. To take the proper steps and enjoy the journey, no matter how long and arduous it may be. To take failure with grace, but above all, to muster the courage to stand up and try again. To keep doing so until flight is no longer an achievement but a state of permanence.
That Hinata Shouyo was someone I could respect and trust. The person I strived to always be.
But three years came and went, and the world opened up to more than just a net and four corners painted on wooden floorboards. It became a new and terrifying place.
All of a sudden, there were no more Karasuno Volleyball Club practices. No more late-night study sessions at Tsukishima's. No more uplifting speeches from Yachi, or supportive pats on the back from Yamaguchi. No more sneaking into the gym for after-practice training with Kageyama. I'd traded in all those things for sandy beaches and the scorching sun, but I pushed through it all because Brazil was the promise I’d made to myself, and I wanted to get stronger. I was determined to catch up.
What the travel brochures didn't tell me was that everything burns ten times hotter in Rio; and I was but a small flame swaying precariously in the breeze.
That was how Tooru found me; weak and weathered, and aching for reassurance. That was the Hinata Shouyo to whom he proffered his hand when we met a little under a week ago.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and climb atop the backrest. The friction of wheels against the ground destabilizes my ascent, but I manage to slot myself in place without incident. Finally, when I’m sitting at the highest point that I can be, I hold my arms out to the sides à la Christ the Redeemer. I find my balance.
"Get down from there!" Tooru almost stops the car, but when one look from me is enough to allay his trepidation, and all he does is ease up on the accelerator, I wonder what epiphany he's pulled from deep within my eyes.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “Your deposit is safe. I won’t get any scuff marks on the leather.”
“That’s not the issue here,” he tries again. There’s a beat before he adds, more gently: “You could fall.”
I want to reassure him. My core is indomitable now. But the thought that Tooru might shoulder the blame if something does happen has me sliding back into my seat. I settle for sticking my arm out the convertible side with my fingers spread apart. The cold air pushes against my skin, but I like how it feels. It's comforting to know that even unseeable forces have weight. That there is nothing meaningless or empty in the universe.
"You sure are reckless, aren't you." It's not a question, but I squish my cheek against my shoulder and nod.
“At least that much hasn’t changed.”
Tooru says nothing, and in the silence, I get sucked into my own thoughts.
Yes, the world had changed, and I’d had to change along with it.
I turn to admire the sharp cut of Tooru’s jaw. His long lashes. His sharp nose. And I marvel at how serene he seems, eyes focused only on the road in front of us. I'd always known he was good-looking, never had I felt it so intensely as I did when I came upon him again. He'd grown a bit taller, a little larger, too. More muscular. But his eyes remained the same, even if the conviction in them had wavered. Where brightness and clarity once reigned, a storm cloud passed through and left wreckage in its wake.
I saw vestiges of it on the beach in Rio— shadows of his resignation and private chaos. It was like staring into a mirror. Like meeting a long-lost companion. It disconcerted me. If Tooru's path had threaded in and out of anyone’s, it was Kageyama's, not mine. So then why did his gaze make my chest ache in a hysteria-inducing sort of way? It was as though something mine had broken free to be with him, and in turn, something his had woven its way inside me.
"Hey," I call out, and my voice nearly gets lost under the roar of wheels against the pavement. Tooru's eyes find mine. "Let's pull over here."
Wordlessly, he brings the car to a crawl and stops where the road meets the gritty, sandy back-shore. Tooru kills the engine and turns in his seat toward me like he knows what I want. I don’t care that I’m an easy read. I crawl over to sit in his lap and wind my arms around his neck. He holds my hips like he's an anchor. He doesn't know he's already been that. That he's what's kept me from drifting out to sea.
Now it’s my turn to do the same.
“What do you need?” I whisper, and my warm breath hits his chin. My fingers curl into the collar of his shirt.
“This,” he tells me, and buries his face between the juncture of my neck and shoulder. A shaky breath escapes his lips. “Just this.”
I hold him back, impatient hands reaching for the places I suspect are touch-starved. I want to be the one to give him warmth. To bring back the light in his eyes.
“You only look small and weak.” Tooru chuckles awkwardly then. The puff of his breath against my skin is warm. “There are actually muscles under here.” He takes a palmful of my abdominals, and I stifle a laugh.
“That tickles.”
“And here?” he says into my ear. His voice is low and gravelly, but there’s uncertainty in it as well.
I swallow. “No. Not there.”
Tooru noses his way to my temple. “I will find them," he whispers. "All the places that make you weak."
I know what he means. I know that he intends to take me apart only to put me back together, one little fragment at a time. But I laugh at how unaware he sounds. How completely oblivious he is to the fact that he's the one laid bare.
Perhaps he shouldn't know. In a few hours, Tooru will be on a plane headed back to Argentina. Back to his team. In time, he'll forget about this past week, about our tryst, and life will go back to how it was.
I cup Tooru's face with my hands. There's a small smile on his lips. Then he's leaning down to kiss me with little care; his mouth melds with mine. It's the first time we've done this. We're sloppy—too much teeth, then too much tongue. My stomach lurches when I realize it's my fault. I'm the one who is lagging.
This is no good.
I pull back with labored breath. “I’m sorry,” I say. I shouldn’t have. But my traitorous eyes flit to Tooru’s wet lips.
Shouldn’t have. But definitely wanted to.
For a moment, I think I'm being ridiculous. It should be simple to unabashedly take and run, but the little Tooru fragment stowed away inside my chest calls me out. Tooru's attention isn't a volleyball trophy to be won, it says. But it should be. Something so precious ought to be given only to someone deserving of it.
Tooru holds me closer. "It's okay," he says. There's no judgment in his voice—nothing to suggest that I should even feel bad, yet I wear the shame like a shroud.
He rubs circles on my hipbone with his thumb to assure me, and I find myself wishing he’d press a little harder and leave bruises instead.
I know I’m not the one he wants. Up until a week ago, I was nobody of significance in Tooru’s life. But if I can give him even an ounce of the freedom we moved all the way across the world in search of, then at least something will have been gained out of all this.
Tooru tugs me down again. He moves slower this time, parts my lips with patience, and I acquiesce. Allow myself to indulge in him just this once.
If it's for Tooru, I’ll do anything, I repeat to myself over and over like a mantra.
We kiss languidly. One of my hands sneaks underneath Tooru’s shirt, and the other finds a home on his nape where my fingers clutch at the short hairs. If I accidentally pull a little too hard, Tooru doesn’t mention it. He takes everything I give without demur.
A cold droplet hits my face, and then another and another, and soon rain is falling on us. All around, the Earth becomes soft again. None of it is enough to break us apart. Deposit be damned.
When we finally come up for air, I pull Tooru’s hands from my hips and thread my fingers through his.
"Someone famous once said,” I murmur against his lips.“‘Just because something is difficult doesn't mean it won't turn out alright in the end.’”
Any other time I would’ve laughed after saying something so cheesy, but I repress the urge now. Maybe all Tooru has needed is for someone to speak the words into existence. For the words to finally feel true.
“Thanks,” Tooru whispers hoarsely. He kisses me again, and when he presses his forehead against mine, and I see them in his eyes, small and precious, and glimmering like soporific lights, all I can do is think to myself:
Perhaps it’s time I had a little more faith in me, too.