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Life, at first, resembles a newly bought coloring book. It’s full of black lines, white spaces and bits of grey in between.
A few years would pass, and the spaces would then give way to even more shades of black, as though someone has chosen to shade everything in with a graphite pencil.
Parents of very curious children often get bombarded with questions, especially the popular “Why can’t I see colors?” To which adults would reply:
“You see, human beings have started to believe that the world no longer has anything left to offer them, or that they have no reason to continue living. But somewhere out there, there’s someone who’s both waiting and looking for them. Someone willing to erase the filled in spaces and to actually spend time and effort to choose what color goes with another. And that certain someone will trust you enough to do the same with theirs.”
When they only get a look of confusion in return, they would laugh, maybe ruffle the child’s hair, and then condense their answer into one simple sentence:
“You’ll have to find your soulmate first.”
Years of searching and searching would follow. There are lucky ones who manage to find theirs during their teenage years, there are those who do before they hit twenty-five and there are those who are starting to lose hope.
Kageyama Tobio is not part of those groups, for he has started seeing colors ever since he’s turned seven-years-old.
one.
“You see, honey, finding your soulmate may be easier than it looks like. It’s knowing that it’s them that’s the hard part.”
Kageyama’s mother tells him that a week after his seventh birthday, after he sees Hinata again.
While Hinata’s “It’s okay, I’m here,” has been enough to make colors slowly bloom across Kageyama’s vision, the boy has yet to see them himself.
After forcing Kageyama to read out loud from the dictionary as an attempt to find the word, the words, the spark, Hinata decides that it’s better to just wait for it to come naturally. And that it probably won’t help at all because Kageyama can’t even properly pronounce half of the words in the book.
For Hinata’s twelfth birthday, Kageyama gives him a notebook. He’s noticed how much the boy likes to write in the margins of his textbooks, on random papers, so now he has a place to put all of them in.
Hinata gives Kageyama a sketchbook later that year for his own birthday. He smiles as he says that he’s also noticed that Kageyama likes to draw as much as he likes to write.
The smile slowly fades as Hinata confesses that he has also planned on getting him a watercolor set, but he can’t figure out the colors, really.
Kageyama buys his first set the next day, and gives Hinata the first page of his sketchbook on the next. He has drawn a watercolor set, identical to the one he owns. He’s painted everything in and wrote the corresponding colors next to the squares on the palette.
“It can help you when the day comes,” Kageyama mutters, looking away. “The day when you can see them yourself.”
It takes a couple of minutes to calm Hinata down, who has started crying the moment Kageyama handed him the paper.
Each and every piece of art that Hinata’s received from him ends up on the wall of the tree house that Hinata’s father built for them.
“They’ll be safer here,” Hinata explains.
One day, Kageyama asks him why he’s been saving everything. Hinata stares at him like he’s just asked a very stupid question.
“They’re from you.”
“You could’ve picked the ones you think are the best.”
“Yeah but… You see this house?” Hinata asks as he taps on a particularly old painting.
Kageyama nods.
“Well, it’s different from that one, right?” There’s another painting of a house a meter away.
Again, Kageyama nods.
“That’s why,” Hinata grins. “They might be the same thing, but you drew them on different occasions. You must’ve felt different things, right?”
It’s four-thirty P.M. when Kageyama finds himself sitting on a park bench, the same house just across the street. He opens his sketchbook.
He does his best, he always does, to capture the intensity of the sun’s rays, the little kids playing hopscotch, and the mother holding his son’s hand as they walk towards the beach.
The day after, Hinata kisses Kageyama for the very first time, on the cheek, as he tapes the page on the wall.
two.
It baffles Kageyama, how the gears of fate turn.
How it only took a butchered birthday party, a missing volleyball and a very loud idiot for him to find his soulmate.
Eight years later, the same loud idiot sits across Kageyama, leaning against the wooden wall of their tree house as he continues to write in his notebook.
Kageyama lies on his stomach, a brush in one hand and the other propping his chin up, as he glances up at the small window before turning back to his sketchbook.
The window doesn’t offer much of a view. One can barely see the tall tree on the other street, but it’s enough for Kageyama to work on.
Satisfied with his work, Kageyama carefully rips off the page and stands to tape it on the wall, along with almost a hundred other pieces of paper.
“Are you done?”
Hinata looks up at him and shifts to peek at the new addition on the wall. He grins and replies, “Give me a minute,” as he continues to write.
“Hurry up, it’s getting cold,” Kageyama says, shoving his supplies into his bag. “And you owe me a new set of watercolors.”
As if on cue, a gentle breeze wafts through the window. Kageyama greets it with a groan.
“Done!” Hinata exclaims, snapping his notebook shut as he jumps to his feet.
Kageyama goes down the ladder first, Hinata following as soon as Kageyama’s feet touch the ground.
Hinata’s already halfway down when he jumps, fails to land properly, and ends up falling in a pile of leaves with an “Oof!”
“You look like you belong there,” Kageyama says, bending down to pick up a leaf.
But before he can straighten up, Hinata grabs his wrist and pulls. Hinata squeaks as a cursing Kageyama lands on top of him.
“You idiot!” Kageyama hisses as he pushes himself up.
And then Hinata’s laughing and Kageyama has to resist the urge to smack him on the head.
“You look ridiculous!” Hinata guffaws, reaching up to shake some leaves off of Kageyama’s hair.
“You’re one to talk,” Kageyama grumbles, picking a golden leaf stuck in Hinata’s locks.
He holds it out to Hinata’s face, rolls off to lie next to him when Hinata blows it away.
“They remind me of you.”
Hinata is enraged. He moves, places his hands on Kageyama’s chest as he climbs on top of him.
“A bunch of leaves reminds you of your boyfriend?” He asks, pouting.
“Everything reminds me of you, it’s getting annoying.”
The anger subsides as quickly as it came. Hinata smiles at him before lightly punching his chest.
“That’s stupid, Kageyama.”
“You’re stupid.”
“No, you are.” Hinata retorts as he buries his face in the crook of Kageyama’s neck.
They stay like that for a minute or two, until Kageyama starts talking again.
“Your hair color.”
“My hair color?” Hinata echoes, a hand unconsciously tugging a lock. “It’s… orange, right?”
“Yeah,” Kageyama replies. “There’s lots of it right now. And gold and red. They remind me of you.”
Hinata hums, his mouth tickling Kageyama’s neck.
“I wish I could let you see it,” Kageyama whispers.
Hinata looks up at him then, and pecks him on the nose.
“Don’t be silly, Kageyama-kun,” Hinata says. “You do. Every day.”
three.
It’s the night of Kageyama’s fifteenth birthday when Hinata invites him to the tree house.
It surprises him, really, that Hinata has been thoughtful enough to prepare tons of blankets, because he ‘acts like a total ass when it gets too cold’.
There are also two slices of chocolate cake waiting for them, courtesy of Hinata’s mom because the last time they both tried to bake, they almost burned the whole kitchen down.
As much as Kageyama hates the cold and therefore abhors snow, he really couldn’t say no to Hinata when he challenges him to a snowball fight.
“Why do you even hate the cold so much?” Hinata shouts just before he gets smacked by a snowball right on the forehead.
“Because it’s cold, and now it’s even snowing.”
“Well I like it,” Hinata mutters as he scoops up more snow. “Everything’s white when it snows. It makes me feel like I’m not missing out on much.”
Kageyama doesn’t even bother dodging the snowball that hits him on the nose.
four.
“Have you always liked me?” Hinata asks one day, completely out of the blue.
“Y-yeah?” Kageyama sputters.
Hinata hums and plops down on Kageyama’s lap.
“I mean, have you always liked me? Will you still like me, even without all the soulmate things?”
Kageyama snorts, and Hinata laughs because that’s Kageyama talk for “Yes, don’t be stupid, dumbass.”
“I should be the one asking you that,” Kageyama says. “I’m a completely useless soulmate.”
The moment that the words leave his mouth, Hinata replaces them with his own lips. One second. Two. Three. Four. A minute.
This is their fifth kiss, not that Kageyama’s really counting. A minute seems too short when Hinata pulls back, leaving only a short distance between them.
“I think that this is red,” Hinata whispers. “And when you get all flustered, when we race to school and back, when you get angry, when I get angry, I think that’s all red.”
Hinata places a kiss on Kageyama’s forehead. He lets his lips linger there and continues, “That time when I got sick and you weren’t allowed to visit, that’s blue. My hair is orange, the skip that my heart does when you smile at me is orange. Yellow is when you give me half of your meat bun.”
“And then there’s you,” Hinata smiles. “You’re all of them mixed together. Like fireworks.”
Kageyama leans in this time, leans in for a kiss. One second. Two. Three. He’s lost count and he doesn’t really mind.
As always, Hinata’s arms find their way around Kageyama’s waist, his whispered thanks muffled. And as always, Kageyama buries his nose in Hinata’s hair, his silent way of saying, “No, thank you.”
And then Kageyama says, “I’ve always liked you, just with little spaces in between.”
Hinata looks up at him and tilts his head to the side.
“What do you mean?”
“You keep on making me fall in love with you, dumbass.”
Grinning, Hinata moves his hands to Kageyama’s nape and pulls him down.
“Really? When was the last time?” he asks.
Kageyama waits until they’re about two centimeters apart, then one, before he whispers, “Just now.”
five.
It happens after Hinata’s ignored him for days, while they’re in their tree house and Kageyama’s painting.
Hinata sits down next to him and points at a car he’s just finished. Kageyama looks at him with a raised eyebrow.
“That’s blue, right?”
It’s comical, really, the way that Kageyama’s eyes fill with confusion, realization, and then happiness. Hinata shouts at him to be careful, to “Calm down, Kageyama!” as he tries to hide a somewhat aged paper from view. Its edges are a bit crumpled due to the long hours that he's been using it to get a hang of the beautiful, just like how Kageyama describes them, very beautiful sights.
In his trembling hands is the first painting Kageyama has given him.