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You are aware of the fact that this is all your fault. That your poor time management is the only thing to blame, and that's the reason you're trudging through snow that reaches your mid-shins when the sun has set hours ago. You've long ago lost feeling in your toes, only the wet squelching of socks alerts you to the fact that you have feet at all, your ears have frozen beneath your hat and hood, and your nose won't stop dripping. It's not a pretty sight, and it's all your fault.
But you're more than willing to fake optimism for the time being. You're willing to look up to the stars and admire the sight, completely rid of light pollution that would cloud the beauty of the night sky. You can take in the shadows of trees, the pines all stained black by the inky depths of the night and you can appreciate the way the moonlight glints off the snow like diamonds. It's untouched, the snow, your boot tracks are the only things disrupting it.
Your optimism doesn't last long.
Your thighs tremble from overexertion and your calves burn. Your back feels about ready to shatter under the weight of your baggage. You've been hiking for hours, and were supposed to arrive at a generous-looking hotel with plenty of time before sunset. But, of course, something went wrong somewhere along the way and you were late to leave, late to hit the trail, late to get to every defining landmark that alerted you of your correct path, and late to get to the hotel. So late, in fact, that now it is well past midnight, and you're shivering as you trudge through the snow in seek of shelter.
At the end of the trail you sulk along, you begin to see a slight yellow peering around the edge of the trees. You think, surely, it must be the hotel around the corner, and speed up as much as you can. When you round the corner, nearly tripping over your own feet, you're met with a sight that leaves you feeling conflicted.
It's not the glorious hotel you booked a room with, but a much smaller, much less modern-looking inn. It looks more like a log cabin than an inn, but if the "vacancy" sign hanging from the rafters is any indication, it's the latter. While it may not be what you were hoping for, it is a shelter. And seems to house warmth, with steam billowing from the chimney and a singular oil lamp swinging in the light breeze.
You clomp your way up to the stairs and onto the wrap-around porch, immediately finding relief in the lack of wind whipping at your face. With an outstretched hand, you open the door.
You are greeted by a warm rush of air, a blinding orangey light, and the smell of pine. Eager to warm yourself, you step inside, dragging in mounds of snow with you.
There's a jingle of bells as the door slams behind you, and within seconds a man opens the door situated behind the front desk at the back of the lobby. You take note of the large amount of winter boots piled off to the side of the entrance mat, and haphazardly throw yours in the pile. Relief rushes through you as your feet get the chance to move around a little, to warm back up. You pad across the lobby, closing the few feet of distance between the door and the front desk.
"Hello and welcome," Says the man. His voice is calm yet commanding, his hair short and a deep brown—nearly black—shade, matching his eyes. You note deep bags under his eyes, and a slightly pained smile. Considering the late hour of the night, you can't blame him.
"Are you looking for a room?" He asks, already filtering through the desk drawers for a key.
You kindly explain you're just looking for a place to warm up, and you have a room booked at a hotel nearby.
He doesn't seem offended, and gives off a little chuckle as he motions to the burning fireplace against the wall to your right. It's surrounded by various seats and couches, with a little coffee table in the middle. Just around the corner is a small open kitchen, sink overflowing with dishes and empty cans of beer lining the countertop. You pick a seat in front of the fire with a view of said kitchen, if only so you don't have to stare awkwardly at the man who stays by the counter.
Until, that is, he decides to do something about the dishes in the sink. With an exhausted sigh, he runs the tap.
You consciously ignore him, sticking your feet up on the little coffee table to attempt to dry your soaking socks. You rub your hands together, huffing into them to get the circulation going.
"My name's Sawamura Daichi, by the way," The man, Sawamura, calls from the kitchen.
You nod, not bothering to respond in your need to warm yourself.
"What brings you out here at this hour of the night?" Sawamura asks. He plunges his hands into the water, beginning to scrape at stained plates with a calm intensity.
You explain as vaguely as possible, leaving out key details about your own fault in the situation, and end up telling him only an inkling of the truth.
A shuddering echoes through the room as the door behind the desk swings open again. A tall man with chestnut brown hair, shimmering nearly violet in the dim lighting, stumbles out. He mumbles something incoherent and pushes a lock of hair out of his eyes.
"Stop tormenting the guests," He says a little louder, though still mumbles sleepily, "That's my job." He limps across the kitchen before settling his arms around Sawamura's waist and slouching over to place his chin on the offered shoulder.
"Is your knee bugging you?" Sawamura asks, voice overcome with affection so beautifully sweet. He mumbles a little, as though he's wary of you overhearing.
The newcomer hums his disagreement. "No, but Ushiwaka is."
"Tell me about it over some tea?" Sawamura offers with a short chuckle. He turns his head to press a gentle kiss into the other man's cheek.
You feel like you're intruding for only a moment, before realizing the two of them don't seem to mind and neither should you.
"No caffeine," Grumbles the newcomer. He pries himself away from Sawamura as though it's the most strenuous thing he's ever done and sits directly across from you. "Oikawa," He says, not so much pointing as gesturing grandly to himself.
You nod in acknowledgment before continuing to breathe heat into your hands.
He seems displeased by the lack of attention you're willing to give him, and instead picks a magazine off the coffee table and flips through it with a tight pout resting on his lips.
"Would you like some tea?" Sawamura asks from over Oikawa's head.
You nod your confirmation and mutter a short thanks, more focussed on regaining feeling in your toes which are now prickling beneath your socks.
Before Sawamura even gets a chance to finish filling the kettle, another man enters the room. This one (large, to say the least, reaching a good few inches taller than Oikawa with broader shoulders and a mean-looking glare) ignores you in favour of peaking at the magazine Oikawa is thumbing through.
"See any good ads?" Oikawa asks in a familiar kind of way, one that makes you think he teases the man like this often. He smirks and tilts his head up to look at the standing newcomer, who just stares down at the open page.
"That looks nice," He says as he points to the page. His voice is deep, and you startle a little at the intensity of it.
Sawamura approaches from the kitchen, kettle in hand, before tapping gently on the new man's shoulder. "Tea?" He asks with a slight raise of his eyebrows. "This is Ushijima, by the way," He says to you, a short smile crossing his features.
"No. Thank you," Says Ushijima. He continues to stare at the page Oikawa has opened in front of him.
"You can't be serious," Oikawa groans as Sawamura retreats to the kitchen.
"I am serious," Ushijima replies. He moves to sit next to Oikawa on the couch, and it bows beneath his weight. He looks stiff, hands folded neatly in his lap and back straight and he looks sideways to continue his examination of whatever is inside the magazine.
"That's the problem," Oikawa mumbles. He flips the page with a flourish, nearly ripping the fine, coloured paper in the process.
"What was wrong with that one?" Ushijima asks.
"It's purple! And we don't need another tractor," Oikawa kicks his feet onto Ushijima's lap, spinning himself sideways to lay on the unoccupied end of the couch.
With the kettle busy boiling the water, Sawamura continues washing dishes, humming something under his breath and frowning at the bickering.
"I never said we needed it. I just said it was nice," Ushijima points out.
"See what I have to put up with, Dai?" Oikawa yells to the kitchen.
"You're the instigator," Sawamura points out, a little smile spoiling his earlier frown.
"I could never!" Oikawa tosses the magazine aside in favour of pressing a hand to his chest in mock-offence and leaning his head onto the armrest of the couch like some kind of damsel in distress.
"In Tetsurou's words, you're a shit-stirrer," Sawamura continues, he tries to choke down a little chuckle but it manages to bubble its way out anyway.
You don't know who Tetsurou is, but at this point you just want your tea and don't care about much else.
"Speaking of," Sawamura again, "Are him and Koutarou still asleep?"
"You know they sleep like logs," Oikawa says. He's taken to wiggling his sock-clad toes in Ushijima's lap. He doesn't seem to have a purpose in doing this, but is smiling about it regardless. Ushijima seems unfazed.
"I was only awoken by Tooru tripping down the stairs. I tried to help him but he insisted he could do it himself," Ushijima says. He moves to rest a hand on Oikawa's thigh, rubbing little circles with his fingers and steering clear of Oikawa's knees.
"I didn't trip!" Oikawa cries out.
"You did. I watched you," Ushijima assures.
Sawamura brings three cups of steaming water to the table. Ushijima slips coasters out from a drawer in the coffee table and sets them down for Sawamura to place the cups onto. Sawamura then retreats to the kitchen and you watch as he grabs tea bags and some honey and sugar. When he returns, he offers you a bag and you accept, along with a small pack of sugar.
The bag is unmarked and looks vaguely suspicious, but Sawamura quickly assures you, "It's a homemade blend. Made by a friend of mine."
Oikawa takes a sip of his not-yet-steeped and still boiling hot tea before scrunching his face and sticking out his tongue at the scalding water. He takes a minute to compose himself before saying, "They don't call him Mr. Refreshing for nothing." In a pained voice that can only belong to someone who’s just burnt his tongue.
Ushijima blinks down at him, conveying his disapproval at Oikawa’s stupidity with a blank expression.
As you tear the bag open and dunk it in the water, Sawamura disappears once again to the kitchen. You don't bother watching, but you do register the vague humming of the stove being relit and the fan of a towel being moved around.
You blow into your cup, relishing the steam on your face.
Ushijima continues with his little massage of Oikawa's thighs and Sawamura finally returns to the seating area. He places a heated towel over Oikawa's knees with practiced care, then tugs him up by the shoulders to slide himself into the last seat on the couch.
"My knee's fine," Oikawa reassures, annoyed, as he stretches himself over Sawamura's lap.
Sawamura frowns down at him. "I went out of my wait to heat this for you. I could've burned this place down."
"It's okay to admit you're not alright," Ushijima says. His hands continue their work from overtop of the heated towel.
"Are we already dissecting Tooru's spiralling mental health?" Comes a new voice. A man with keen golden eyes and the worst bedhead you've ever seen stumbles out from behind the desk.
"Not in front of the guest!" Oikawa exclaims. He stabs a finger in your direction and glares at the newcomer. "We were talking about my knee, anyway."
The man looks at you for a moment, flashes a sleepy little smile, and introduces himself as Kuroo Tetsurou. He plops himself down in the love seat directly across the fire. Now the five of you fill up a U-shape of couches around the fireplace.
Sawamura brings a sneaky hand up to Ushijima's neck and begins to thumb gently at the crook of his shoulder.
"Ew," Kuroo jokes as he sticks his tongue out.
Oikawa forces a gag at Kuroo before pushing his head into Sawamura's other hand. The hand in question begins rubbing through Oikawa's fluffy locks as Sawamura rolls his eyes with a little snort.
"Did Tooru wake you, too?" Sawamura asks Kuroo.
Kuroo kicks his legs onto the coffee table, leaning back in his seat. "Nope. Koutarou kicked me out of bed." He pauses for a moment, "Again."
You wonder briefly how often this occurs, but opt not to ask about it.
"What did Tooru do? I'm curious." Kuroo gives a sly little grin. Oikawa flips him off.
"He fell down the stairs," Ushijima says plainly.
"I didn't fall!" Oikawa screeches. "I tripped down one stair."
Kuroo hums like he doesn't believe it, "Okay. Sure. Why the towel then?" He gestures to the heated towel resting on Oikawa's knees.
"Ask Dai." Oikawa buries his head further into Sawamura's hand.
"This is the last time I do something nice for you." Sawamura rolls his eyes and retracts his hand, much to Oikawa's dismay.
Oikawa scrunches his face into a scowl. He glares at Sawamura.
"This is why you're the least favourite," Kuroo pipes up, grinning at Oikawa.
Oikawa throws a magazine at him.
"Ow! So rude!" Kuroo whines, that stupid smirk still splitting his lips.
"No one is the least favourite," Sawamura and Ushijima say in synch. It seems they've had this conversation many times before.
"If there were it would be you, Tetsu," Oikawa grumbles. He pulls at his bottom eyelid and sticks his tongue out.
Kuroo rolls his eyes.
The door behind the desk opens again and you wonder how many men live here and what exactly their relationship is. But then you realize that your tea is probably done, and you stir in your sugar as a last man shuffles over to the empty spot on the love seat next to Kuroo.
"What're we doing?" He asks through mostly closed eyes. He looks about ready to fall asleep and his grey and black hair is sticking up all over the place.
"I came here to greet the guest and everyone else followed," Sawamura says, giving you a quick glance.
The new man looks at you, yawns, and introduces himself as Bokuto. He curls his knees into his chest and leans into Kuroo's side, snuggling up close and pressing his eyes shut.
"You can go back to bed, Kou," Kuroo whispers, threading a hand through spiky grey hair.
"Don't wanna be left out," He mumbles inattentively.
"What woke you, love?" Kuroo asks softly. He seems completely different from only moments ago, softened by the sleepy Bokuto curled up against him.
"The bed was cold without you all."
Kuroo sighs pleasantly with a little smile. He presses a kiss to the crown of Bokuto's head.
"Softie," Oikawa sneers in a lighthearted manner.
"I'll kick you," Kuroo threatens.
"Calm down, kids," Sawamura says. He sighs. You can only imagine how exhausting it must be putting up with all of them all the time.
"Koutarou?" Ushijima asks.
Bokuto hums in response, eyes staying shut against Kuroo's chest.
"You should go back to sleep."
"Nah. I'm fine." He smiles sleepily but makes no move to do anything else.
"You don't work well without a full night's rest," Sawamura points out.
"Remember that time he nearly passed out cleaning the roof?" Kuroo snorts.
"Or when he mixed up salt and sugar and the guests got some very questionably seasoned meat?" Oikawa adds.
Sawamura tries to stifle a laugh and fails. "I like the time he fell in the snow on the way to the well and just stayed there."
"I had to go get him!" Kuroo exclaims.
"We were so worried," Oikawa says it fondly but based on the way Bokuto cringes the memory isn't as pleasant for him.
"My favourite was when he was too tired to stand and I had to carry him from the forest trail to our room," Ushijima says.
"Sap," Oikawa says. He nudges Ushijima's stomach with his foot.
"Rightfully so, that was cute," Kuroo adds, ruffling Bokuto's hair.
"I am pretty cute, aren't I?" Bokuto mumbles.
There's a little chorus of agreement in varying degrees of love-struck snappiness.
"Not as cute as me, though." Oikawa gives a cheeky little smile.
Kuroo snorts.
"We're not doing this again," Sawamura says firmly.
Again? You wonder briefly, then decide you don't really care.
"There's no need to compare when you're both wonderful in your own ways," Ushijima says.
"I'm loving sleep-deprived Ushiwaka." Oikawa grins.
"I am not sleep-deprived," Ushijima counters.
"You're literally never this affectionate. Especially with guests around."
They all look at you for a moment, seemingly forgetting you had even been there in the first place. You don't mind, you haven't been paying all that much attention anyway. Your main focus is that your socks are almost dry, with only the ankle area still slightly damp, and you're nearly ready to leave.
"It is late. You can't blame me for being tired," Ushijima says. He stares off anywhere but at Oikawa.
"No one's blaming you," Sawamura says, "It's sweet."
"Soft 'Toshi," Bokuto adds without opening his eyes.
"Soft 'Toshi," Kuroo agrees with a little nod.
Sawamura glances to the clock mounted above the fireplace. The hands indicate it's slightly past three in the morning. "Who's doing morning rounds?" He asks.
"It's Wakatoshi's turn but you know Kou's always up anyways," Kuroo says, examining his fingers as Bokuto continues to use him as a pillow. He seems to be asleep, not perking up at his name being mentioned.
"You two should get to bed. I can handle everything down here," Sawamura assures.
Ushijima nods at him and spares a glance at Bokuto. The smallest flicker of a smile tips at the corners of his lips before he looks down at Oikawa. "Will your knee be okay?"
"It's like I'm not even a person anymore," Oikawa mumbles, rolling his eyes.
"Of course you're a person," Ushijima replies.
"Yes. I'm a person. I'm fine and my knee is fine," Oikawa says, more gently this time.
Ushijima nods and carefully pushes Oikawa's feet to the floor so he can stand up. When he does, he walks over to Bokuto to press a short kiss to his forehead. He then grabs Bokuto's sleeping form as though he's weightless, and stalks off without another word, disappearing behind the front desk.
"Good night!" Sawamura calls.
"Anyway," Kuroo drawls. He stands to occupy the seat previously occupied by Ushijima. He sidles up next to Oikawa and drapes an arm across the back of the couch to card his fingers through Sawamura's hair. Oikawa kicks his legs back up across Kuroo, and Kuroo scowls but does nothing to stop him.
"What brings you here?" Kuroo asks you. Though it doesn't seem he's all that interested, not genuinely at least. He seems more occupied by his hand in Sawamura's hair and the other that finds itself tracing circles into Oikawa's clothed abdomen.
You give a short explanation, less than you'd told Sawamura earlier, and Kuroo seems satisfied. When you're done talking he begins to discuss the next day's activities with Sawamura. Oikawa seems content to stretch out across the two and give his two cents whenever possible.
The three start yawning. Sawamura has trouble keeping his head up, much as he tries to hide it. Oikawa starts to mumble, keeping his eyes shut as he attempts to continue the conversation. Kuroo yawns loudly but seems otherwise unaffected.
You realize that you are the only thing keeping them awake and that the second you leave they're likely to go back to sleep. You wiggle your toes, feeling fully dried warm wool. At some point, you emptied your mug of tea and now there is nothing keeping you here.
"There's no rush," Sawamura says around a yawn, as though reading your thoughts.
"No rush," Kuroo echoes in a hazy kind of way.
You assure them you're ready to leave and thank them for their hospitality as well as their conversation—though you weren't much included—before standing with a stretch of your limbs. You blink a few times, readying for the hike to your actual hotel and hoping you can make it there on adrenaline alone. As you shuffle to the foyer to grab your boots, Sawamura bids you goodbye and wishes you well on your journey.
You thank him again and as you turn to leave you spot him and Kuroo locking lips in a short exchange while Oikawa opens his mouth to whine. Before you get the chance to hear it you're outside, the heavy slam of the door blocking out whatever Oikawa had been about to say.
You proceed onwards, knowing the most bizarre part of your adventure is behind you.