Work Text:
It’s a thought Aran’s had many times before:
I could do this forever.
Playing volleyball with those keen golden eyes watching his back. His heartbeat pausing every time slender calloused fingers brushed against his own. Curling up under the kotatsu with steaming mugs of barley tea and watching old sitcoms. Pinches to the cheek as he slyly pays the waitress for lunch before anyone else can. Sitting on the front porch of the farm house, drinking fresh lemonade and catching up for the first time in months.
With you.
Kita was next to him — the picture of a perfect driver with his hands obediently clutching nine and three and eyes trained on the road ahead. But Kita was still unflinchingly human — fingers tapped and a hum reverberated from his throat to match the music crackling through the truck's old stereo. Jazz. Old school. The classics. He claimed it was because Aran liked English music.
He did. Jazz reminded Aran of his childhood. His mom. Strong and beautiful with intelligent grey-green eyes. Singing songs in the car as they drove around the countryside with the windows down. Tight curls blowing in the breeze.
But he also didn't have the heart to tell Kita that these days he and his mom just listened to the same indie pop darlings and rock bands everyone else did. Granted he doubted Hozier would release a cassette tape any time soon.
Kita's humming shifted to singing the lyrics under his breath and Aran felt a lump grow in his throat. He was no Disney princess — voice cracking on the crooning notes — but Aran couldn't help but feel endeared. That which made Kita flawed was precisely what made Kita perfect.
“Shinsuke.” Aran said, the first break in the comfortable silence between them for several minutes. “Where are we headin’?”
The scenery had shifted from the familiar rows of farmland and power lines to a winding road flanked by conifers and a retaining wall. Aran hadn’t been too sure what to expect when Kita invited him out for a drive. Perhaps a trip to the fields to admire the sun glinting off of Kita’s tanned skin as he pointed out the new cultivars he was experimenting with. Or perhaps a visit to Osamu’s restaurant to catch up with their kouhai and the legions of grannies vying for Kita as a grandson-in-law.
“It’s been a long time since you were home.” Kita said simply, as if that answered Aran’s question. It did, in a way. Just Kita’s way of saying to trust the process and to trust him. Aran nodded and let the rumbling of the engine and the playful blare of brass from the staticky stereo take over again.
They turned the corner, and Aran had to hold his breath to stop the gasp from escaping his throat. The trees opened up to reveal a sweeping vista in the distance. The sunset bathed the valley in warmth — geometric fields painted in faded gold, razor straight canals shimmering red, and darkened copses of trees. Even further, he could see their town, nothing more than a brown-black smudge.
“It’s beautiful.” He said, glancing back to Kita — an even more gorgeous sight. Eyes curved into crescents as he smiled for the splittest of seconds. Silvery hair reflected soft shades of purple and starlight. “Thank you for bringin’ me here.”
Kita hummed. “We’re not there yet.”
Leave it to Kita to humble even the most stunning sunset.
The truck pulled to a stop after the sun had fully set — the last lingering streaks of magenta swallowed by indigo. They were at an unassuming patch of gravel at the side of the road, but Aran was sure Kita had something up his sleeve.
“Help me.” Kita said as he climbed out of the driver seat, boots hitting the rocks with a crunch. Aran had noticed the tarp covering the contents of the truck bed when Kita picked him up from his parents' house but had opted not to mention anything. Trust the process.
Aran undid the clasps of his side of the tarp and pulled it back in sync with Kita. Beneath was a stuffed camping pack outfitted with several smaller bags, a green gas lantern and a mesh sack of firewood. “Shinsuke.” He put his hands on his hips, jutting out his lips in disappointment. “What’s all this?”
“Campin’ gear.” Kita hauled the pack out of the truck bed and slung it over his shoulders effortlessly. He nodded his chin towards the lantern and firewood. “Ya can handle the rest, right?”
Aran scoffed. “Give a man some warnin’ next time.”
"Why?" Kita glanced back at him with an impish grin — entirely too reminiscent of his grandmother's.
"I almost wore nice clothes thinkin' we were goin' for dinner." Aran mumbled as he followed Kita through the trees. "I coulda brought some supplies with me."
"I don't need yer supplies." Kita said, facing forward. "I just needed you."
It was things like that that made Aran wonder if maybe, just maybe, the warmth he felt in his gut was mutual. Tiny admissions of liquid gold affection filling the cracks in Kita's steady demeanor.
"Still!" Aran cried, overexaggerated to make Kita laugh. He didn't need to see his best friend's face to imagine the warm, open smile he wore. "I'd be damn heartbroken if I got dirt on new clothes."
"For the record." Kita adjusted the bag on his shoulders. "I have a pair of boots yer size in my truck. And some old clothes of yers in this bag."
Of course he did. Why did Aran expect anything less?
"Yer a sly, sly fox Kita Shinsuke."
"So they tell me." Kita turned his head, eyes narrow. "I'd like to think myself thoughtful instead."
The narrow path opened up to a small campsite on an overlook — just a pre-dug fire pit, felled log seating, and trees perfect for a hammock. Darkness had settled over the rolling hills and mountains but in the distance he could see the faint twinkling of the town tucked in the safety of the valley.
“Can ya light the fire?” Kita said, setting his pack down on one of the logs next to their lit lantern. He fished out a silver-colored object from one of the smaller pockets and passed it to Aran. “I’ll handle the tent.”
Aran turned the object in his hands, running his finger over the flint strip embedded in the magnesium bar. Attached via a ball chain was a small striker with a serrated edge. “Y’know. Most folks use matches these days.”
“Matches do no good wet.” Kita spoke behind him, sound mingling with the crunch of his boots and the rustle of the tent fabric. "Ya must always be properly prepared for the worst."
"Ah. I should have known." Aran said, scraping shavings of magnesium into an old newspaper and smiling at the sound of Kita's tiny, breathy chuckle. Once satisfied with his pile of shavings, he hit the flint with the striker until the sparks ignited the metal. The added tinder quickly took the flame and Aran got to work piling logs.
Behind him he heard Kita's satisfied sigh of a job well done. Aran looked over his shoulder to see his friend's hands on his hips. The tent was a solid size, perfect for the two of them and a little extra room for Kita's bag. "Wait."
"Hmm?" Kita met his eye. "What's wrong?"
"Yer a damn hypocrite Kita Shinsuke!" Aran swiveled his crouched body before rising. "All yer talk about doin' things properly and ya bring a damn pop-up tent."
Kita merely hummed — a slightly off key tune Aran recognized from the truck cassette laden with a heavy tone of mischief. He returned to unpacking, deft fingers unrolling one of two sleeping bags.
Eager to help, Aran stole a peek inside Kita's pack. Inside a large pocket was a big bag of marshmallows, a box of graham crackers, and his favorite Meiji black chocolate. "And skippin' dinner to eat s'mores. Who even are ya?"
"Trust the process." Kita said simply.
"Ya sure do say that a lot.” Aran pulled out what he assumed were his old clothes. A pair of bleach vibrant white running shorts meticulously ironed. An Inarizaki shirt with chipped lettering from an event he’d forgotten about. “Sounds like a fancy way to say ‘I do what I want.’”
Kita burst into his full-on laughter — a sight as rare as a shooting star. "I missed ya, Aran."
"Yeah." Aran admired the way the firelight flickered across the angular bridge of Kita's nose. "Me too."
"If ya really must know, it’s Granny's." Kita drew two skewers from the pack and passed one into Aran’s hand — fingers trailing gently over skin. He settled down on a log, stretching his legs out before the fire. “She still loves campin’ with Kubo-sama but dealin’ with all the poles ‘n’ crouchin’ is too much.”
“I see.” Aran plucked a fluffy marshmallow out of the bag and pierced it. He slid onto the log and rested the skewer on his knee over the flames. “And how do ya wanna rationalize this?”
“I don’t rationalize everything. Not anymore. Thanks to you.” Kita bumped him gently with his elbow, donning a soft smile. “Maybe I just wanted to have s’mores with my best friend. Ya ever consider that?”
“Touche.”
He slid the browned marshmallow off the skewer — squeezed between two graham crackers. Leaning back, he tilted his head towards the sky as he took an over-indulgent bite. And suddenly, he understood Kita’s words. It’s been a long time since you were home.
The expanse of inky black that stretched above them was pinpricked with what must be a billion stars. He could name a few. Orion hunting the galactic beasts across the heavens. Castor and Pollux — the twins — ready to take on the world together. Strong and stable Taurus — entirely too reminiscent of the man seated next to him. Aran couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the stars. Too often they were concealed by the city lights and choked out by haze.
I could stay here forever.
Those thoughts again. Different, but the same.
With you.
Kita’s night-darkened eyes stared up at the sky, the sweetest smile curling the corners of his lips. Admiring the twinkling of the stars, the faint sprinkle of galactic dust, the steady dark trails of near-imperceptible satellites. The crackle of burning cedar, the pleasant swirling scent of woodsmoke, and the gentle heat warming their cheeks.
The tiny specks of orange light in the distant valley — where he took his first breath and first steps. The darkened slopes of the mountains and hills — where he skinned his knees and climbed trees. The splendor of the fully illuminated sky — where he first yearned to see the world. At one time these places were his home, but not anymore.
Those days are gone.
Today was all that mattered.
“Aran.” Kita’s lips parted to speak, eyes still focused on the heavens. “Yer starin’.”
“Just thinkin’.” He exhaled slowly. “It’s good to be home.”
“I see.” Kita tilted his head. Glints of firelight ignited his amber irises into something near bestial. Perhaps that stare would’ve unnerved him if they were both younger — first year when Kita seemed much more ancient than fifteen. But he’s seen those beautiful eyes crinkled in laughter, tear-stained in sadness, and softened in fondness. The intimidation didn’t work on him anymore.
“Yer waitin’ for me to budge, ain’tcha?” Aran skewered another marshmallow. "Who do ya take me for? The twins?"
"The twins? No, of course not." The corner of Kita's mouth twitched into a tiny smirk as he looked back up at the stars. Aran braced himself for the inevitable devastating blow to the ego. "The twins can actually admit their feelings."
His mind flashed to images of MIYA R. printed across the broad shoulders of a certain EJP middle blocker. To the infamous viral tweet that accidentally revealed Atsumu's relationship status with his teammate to the entire world.
"Ouch." Kita's hand rested on the log between them, fingers tapping to the beats of their hearts. "Why's it gotta be me?"
"Aran-chan." The name was sickly sweet, laced with teasing. Kita-sama's fond nickname for him turned into a weapon. "Ya know I ain't good with feelings."
The tapping became too much. Aran slid his hand over Kita's and tucked their fingers together. He tore his eyes away from Kita's profile to join him in staring at the stars. "Never too late to learn."
"Yes." Kita's thumb brushed against his pinkie finger, tiny tingles rushing up his arm. A head met his shoulder, hair soft against his jawline. "I can always count on ya to teach me."
Silence settled. It wasn't them running away — returning to the mutual surrender. Rather, appreciation. Of the small things — the crackle of fire, the sparkle of the heavens, the warmth of hands. Trust the process.
"Shinsuke."
Kita's head shifted, face close to his own. "Yes?"
"Can I kiss ya?"
Kita smiled, tiny crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. "Aren't ya supposed to confess first?"
"Shin."
A laugh.
There was a flutter against his jaw, a calloused thumb that should feel rough. Yet Kita’s touches are gentle, loving. Worthy of brushing the soft feathers of the ducks in his field, of holding his grandmother’s elbow as they cross the street.
When he pressed his lips to Kita's, his heart did not pound. His cheeks did not burn. Why should he feel nervous when this is where he is meant to be?
The thumb caressed his cheekbone as he pulled back. Eyes flickered open to see Kita's — fierce and soft and unworldly and human. All the oxymorons and paradoxes that made him Kita.
"I love you." Aran whispered.
Kita rested his forehead against Aran's, his hand trailing to cup his nape. Expression calm, serene. Silent. Warm. If Aran was a different man, perhaps his heart would ache at this silence after his admission. Rejection, surely.
But he was Aran. This was Kita. Their mutual understanding was forged — strong and lasting — through their actions and not their words.
The soft exhale of Kita’s breath on his cheeks. I.
The curved lashes shadowed over a firelit face. Love.
The fingers that brushed through short coils. You.
The expanse of sky they drove all the way out to see. Too.
Their knees pressed together as the chill of the settling night urged them closer. Closer to the fire, to each other, to the warm shelter of the tent.
“Shinsuke.” Aran whispered, watching Kita’s eyes flutter open. “Let’s go to bed.”
A smile. “No.”
I want to stay here forever.
“Not yet.”
With you.