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He wakes with a start, torso lurching forward, sweat glistening on his temple, slowly dripping down, down into the collar of his shirt. He covers his face with his hands, feels ashamed, and feels as if his being is watched. And he would be, and he will, and he was. Of course he was being watched. After all, his parents are still alive. Shoulders shaking, he turns his frame to stare at the alarm clock, blaring red into his pupils amongst black shadows. 3:24 AM. How long has it been since he’s had these nightmares? How long has it been since…?
No.
He swallows harshly, kicking back the covers and reaching his hand into his hair, combing it back slowly. He wouldn’t think of it. Placing his sturdy feet on the ground, he lifts himself from the bed, leaving the room swiftly, flicking on the light switch, watching as the white light flickers suddenly. He flinches, continues on nonetheless. He walks on.
Was he still dreaming? He ponders this as he walks towards the bathroom, feet thumping quietly against hardwood. No, at least he didn’t think so. He feels sluggish, slow, as usual when he has one of those dreams.
His hand reaches for the cold metal of the doorknob, fingers closing around it, pulsating. He pushes down, eyes following his hand as it switches on the light switch. Closing the door behind him, he starts, head snapping around to stare at his reflection in the mirror.
He thought he had seen long hair for a second; it swooshing behind him in a tight braid. He shakes his head at himself, runs his fingers through his greasy pale hair one more time before taking off his shirt. Glancing back at himself, he smiles slightly.
“Look at you, Tobio,” his eyes scan over his torso; if he ignores the scars left by the surgery, he can almost feel normal. “Ya look good.”
He’s just a normal guy, in a normal bathroom.
Nice.
He decides it was a good decision, to dye his hair. He hated it, looking into the mirror and staring straight into the eyes of his father. It was like, whatever he did, wherever he went, he couldn’t escape them.
Tobio glances at his wrists, knows that the cuts and bruises aren’t there, yet checks anyway. And then his eyes wander, back up, towards the scars lining his ribs, remembers that they weren’t always there, and that back then, things were much, much worse.
Shaking his head, he quickly pulls off the remainder of his clothes and hops into the shower, letting the warm water wash over him in waves, feeling it draw out the stress from the nightmares.
They were always the same.
Tobio would wake up, and it’d be like before, Mom screaming at him to get up, they have to speak with him about something or another.
He would go into the living room, and find one of his binders, or boxers, or books on the table, most likely ripped to shreds. And then he’d be asked, “What is this?”
What is this?
Like it was some kind of trash, like it was dirty.
And then they’d repeat the question, and he would begin to blubber.
“I don’t know,” his hands would always come up to hide his face, “It’s not mine, I don’t know.”
“Liar,” They’d hiss, “We found it in your room.”
“Where did we go wrong?”
“Why can’t you be a good girl for once?
“Did I raise a fucking dyke?”
Ah. There it was. Sometimes, he would talk back, say that he was a boy, but most of the time he’s reduced to one word only- “Sorry.”
He’d say it over and over and over again, like it was going to save him.
They took him to church, made him cry in front of the confession, made him believe that there was something wrong with him. They would send him to therapy, where counselors would “work their magic” and he’d come out of it sobbing, begging his parents to stop the meetings- he hated the meetings, but they would only claim they were doing what was best for him.
It was the same thing, over and over again, the first 16 years of his life.
He hated them, still does, the way that they would call him Shimizu.
His name was Tobio.
He was sure of that.
He was absolutely sure, completely 100% sure, and yet-
And yet, whenever he hears the name, he begins to cry.
He hated it.
He hated everything.
Why couldn’t he have just been a girl.
Why couldn’t he have just been a regular girl, Shimizu, black hair and dark blue eyes, with straight hair and plaid skirts and-
No.
Tobio snaps his eyes open, cutting off the water flow with a snap. He is who he is; he was who he was.
He was a boy.
That’s it.
He hears squeaking from outside of the door and grabs a towel, hurriedly wrapping it around his waist. When he exits the bathroom, he is met with worried eyes and open arms.
“Sorry,” he buries his face into his boyfriend’s hair, sighing. “Did I wake you?”
He feels the redhead nod under him, tightening his grip ever so slightly.
“..Was it..?”
“Yeah,” Kageyama answers, “I’m okay now.”
“…You could have woken me…”
“I know, but you know how it gets.”
He hums in response, “Are you coming back to bed?”
Kageyama shakes his head, feeling his grip soften as his boyfriend looks up at him, scanning his face. He exhales, and he notices that the boy has a few stray hairs in him mouth. He holds in a chuckle, watching him attempt to blow it out subtly. After a few tries, he gives up and raises a hand to pull out the orange hair.
“Tobi.” Hinata faces him seriously, and he obliges, smiling fondly.
“Hina.” Tobio tilts his head, adjusting his towel swiftly.
“I want you to be okay.”
“I know,” he replies, slightly exhaling. “I want to be okay too-“
“Better than okay.”
“Hm?”
“I want us to be better than okay,” Hinata reaches up and gently pats both of his cheeks. “I want us both to be the best there ever was, to beat all the rest, yeah-“
He is cut off by a loud groan emitted by Kageyama.
“Nooo-“
“Yes!”
Tobio scoots around him and heads towards the kitchen ignoring the sounds of his boyfriend attempting (and failing) to rap out the Pokémon song. What had he ever done to deserve this?
He begins to prepare hot chocolate as Hinata trails behind him.
“Catch ‘em, catch ‘em, gotta catch ‘em all,” Hinata sits down at the table, leaning into his palm and slapping his other hand against the table.
He chuckles, bringing over the two mugs quietly and setting them in front of them.
“Ah!” Hinata smiles, grabbing one, “You laughed! Finally.”
“What?’
“It took me four entire verses of the rap to cheer you up; I thought I could never stop!”
“So that’s what it was?” Grinning, he takes a sip from his drink.
Hinata shrugs, fishing a marshmallow out of his cocoa and eating it quickly. “…maybe?”
They fall into a comfortable silence, until Hinata slams his palm onto the table with a loud bang suddenly, causing Kageyama to flinch violently.
“AH!” He shouts, “I got it, tooth hurty!”
Tobio stares at him. “…Tooth hurty?” He repeats, confused.
“What time is the best time to visit a dentist?”
He continues to stare until it dawns on him. “…Oh my god, stop.”
Hinata cracks up, clutching him stomach and the mug tightly.
He leans into his palm, mirroring his boyfriend, and thinks; maybe if this is the outcome, this isn’t too bad. As a matter of fact, this wasn’t bad at all.
Was it worth it?
Hm.
Definitely.