Chapter Text
Moving to Italy is a very big step.
Tobio doesn’t like the idea of leaving Japan behind. Despite all its failings and faults, it is home; where he’s grown up, where his friends and family are, where his heart belongs.
He’s never been very good with change and it all feels like too much (he almost passes out the first time someone kisses him as a greeting). Italy is scary and different and the way it makes Tobio feel is ugly and dark.
If he’s honest, he barely leaves his apartment until Miwa flies out to visit almost a month after he moves in. Once she’s there however, the vignette darkening his vision fades out and the light seeps back in, letting him see the truth of what’s around him: Rome is beautiful.
The Eternal City; home to history, art, culture, cuisine and so much more. From fountains to churches, from museums to bars, from pasta to gelato, there’s so much to explore and experience. Somehow, with his sister at his side, none of it seems too much anymore.
That’s how they fall into this tradition.
Twice a year, Tobio pays for Miwa to fly out to visit him.
Sometimes they overlap the visit with Shōyō’s trips and the three of them explore together – Tobio usually trailing behind as his partner and sister dash around gawking at everything they see.
Most of the time, Tobio likes it to be just the two of them. It’s what he’s used to.
Tobio understands now that he’s older that his parents didn’t have a choice to leave them alone – their jobs were demanding and required a lot of traveling, much like his own.
But for many years, it was just Tobio, Miwa and Kazuyo-san. And then it was just Miwa and Tobio, and that was even harder.
Miwa would hold him while he sobbed, practised hands running through his hair as he squeezed his fists in her sweater. When Miwa cried, Tobio would make her tea and tell her about volleyball until the tears dried up.
As long as Tobio has Miwa, he feels like he can do anything.
Not that he’d ever tell her that.
Not that he needs to.
(she already knows)
“Look how long your hair is!”
Tobio wonders whether there will be a time that his sister’s first comment isn’t about his hair.
“I was waiting for you to cut it.” he replies simply, nudging her hand off the handle of her case to take it from her. They begin to walk through the arrivals lounge towards the airport exit.
Miwa flashes him a smug grin. “After all these years, my haircuts are still the best huh?”
No matter how much he trains to be in complete control of his body, to be able to execute the most precise of moves to be a master on the court, he still fails to stop the blood rushing to his cheeks when he’s embarrassed.
“No.” he pouts, turning his head up so Miwa can’t see the flush on his cheeks. He knows she’ll only tease him for it. “It’s just cheaper.”
Miwa just laughs, gently poking his ribs with her elbow. “Sure, Tobio.”
“So then, Yua-san told me that she thinks dip-dye is going to make a comeback!” Miwa laughs, reaching for her beer and taking a swig. “How ridiculous is that?”
Tobio squints at his sister. “I don’t know what that is.” he admits, reaching for his own beer and finding it empty. He makes eye-contact with their waiter and holds up a finger, receiving a smile and a nod in response.
She lets out an over-exaggerated sigh. “Tobiooo! You remember Ichika-chan, who lived down the road when you were in middle school?”
An image of a girl with obnoxious black and pink hair pops into his head like one of those terrible jump-scare videos Oikawa-san likes to send him when he’s feeling cruel.
He wrinkles his nose. “The one with the ugly hair?”
Miwa grins, her cheeks clearly flushed even under her makeup. “That’s the one! Her hair dye style was called ‘dip-dye’. It was horrible, wasn’t it?”
Tobio nods, thanking their waiter when he brings over his drink. “You’re not going to dye yours, are you?” he asks, brows furrowing. He tries to imagine his sister’s shiny hair anything other than midnight black and grimaces. “I don’t think you should.”
Miwa snorts. “No way! I’m way too old for anything wild like that.”
Tobio’s brow creases further and he feels his lips pull down against his will. “You’re not old.” he mumbles.
Miwa’s expression softens instantly and she places a hand, cold from resting against her glass, on his arm in a comforting gesture. “Of course I’m not old.” she agrees.
Tobio feels his shoulders loosen. Miwa is less than ten years his senior but he hates the idea of her aging, the loss of Kazuyo-san still pulls at his heart.
In his head, his sister is forever young and wild and scolding him for focussing on volleyball rather than his exams, while she was flunking college to train at the local hair-salon.
“But I’m not young enough to run around with blue bits in my hair like some sort of punk.” She squeezes his arm. “You know Junko-san, that rude old lady who lives above me? She’d have a field day telling me I belong in a sukeban.”
Junko-san is horrible, and the boil on her nose makes Tobio’s skin crawl. Shōyō says she reminds him of Yubaba from Spirited Away.
“Tell her she belongs in a rojinhomu.” he retorts, lip curling.
Miwa laughs loudly, retracting her hand to grab her glass and down the rest of her drink. “You want her to kill me with her rusty makiyakinabe?”
If he has to carry his sister home that night he doesn’t mind, so long as she’s with him.
“Do you think Kazuyo-san would be happy I’m here?”
Miwa stills, eyes moving from the departures board to meet his own. She looks concerned.
He frowns. “I don’t mean it in a bad way.” he tries to clarify, but words were never his strong point. “Just...here. In Rome? Away from Japan?” Away from you?
The fine lines in the corners of his sister's eyes deepen as she smiles, small and soft and full of a lifetime of love.
“Kazuyo-san would be happy that you're happy. Here, in Japan, anywhere.”
“But I know he wanted us to stay together.” he murmurs, lips and eyes downturned. He scuffs his shoe along the floor.
“Tobio.” Miwa says, her voice firm. He looks up and meets her gaze, more parental than his mother’s ever has been. “I’m always with you.” She pokes at his chest, her manicured nail hitting his sternum through his thin t-shirt. “In here. Kazuyo-san too. Distance doesn’t matter, okay?”
Tobio lets the pressure of her finger resonate, lets himself feel it seep through his bones. “Okay.” he agrees, mouth curving up in a wobbly smile.
“Anyway, forget about your volleyball-” her lips tug into a smirk and she wiggles her eyebrows at him. “Kazuyo-san would be happy that I have a rich brother who pays for me to come on holiday to Italy twice a year!”
When Miwa’s flight appears on the board, they don’t hug. They never do.
“See you later, superstar.” she says, ruffling his hair. “Keep making me proud.”
Tobio smiles. Miwa’s right: distance doesn’t matter when someone has a home in your heart.