Chapter Text
Yukigaoka. A small and peaceful town nestled on the uneven slope of a mountain in Miyagi. Population: 12450. Shôyô didn’t know all 12450 people who lived there, but he did know every street and alley that went up and down the mountainside. He could find his way anywhere in town with an uncanny efficiency. This particular talent of his had led him to bestow upon himself the title of “Greatest Delivery Boy in Miyagi. Of course, he did not know all the delivery boys and girls of Miyagi, but since no one had ever shown themselves to challenge him or his title, he was free to enjoy it as much as he liked.
Hinata Shôyô was not only a delivery boy. In fact, when he had first been hired by his best friend’s brother almost two years ago, it had been as a waiter. And indeed, for most the time, Hinata Shôyô was a waiter. Several afternoons each weeks, almost always from lunch to 11, he waited and served at Miya’s. He waited more than he served, however, as business had not been very good these past few months. Osamu Miya, the Miya in “Miya’s” and Shôyô’s employer, was an excellent cook and a rather nice boss, but could not seem to attract clients. To keep his restaurant afloat, he had designed a delivery service, which ran from eight to twelve. Shôyô was his sole delivery boy, but his knowledge of the city combined with his athletic skills meant he was more than up to the task.
On this particular Thursday morning, Shôyô had successfully delivered delicious pizzas, warm hamburgers and spicy chicken-and-rice from north street all the way down to Fûrin Garden, all under two hours. He was, rightfully, feeling very proud of himself. He was in fact ready to boast of his exploits (From Miya’s to Fûrin Garden in under 17 minutes!) when he pushed the red noisy doors of Miya’s only to be greeted by the sight of all of his best friends laughing their heads off, out of breath, and occasionally pointing at very red and very embarrassed Atsumu – the other Miya brother working here and absolutely not the “Miya” in Miya’s.
If there was one thing Shôyô knew with absolute certainty, it was that Bokuto, Kuroo and Osamu laughing with an embarrassed Atsumu less than six meters away meant that something really, really, really good had happened, was happening or was just about to happen.
“What’s happening, what did I miss?” Shôyô immediately rushed to the counter, begging to be let in on the joke, but his friends had too much trouble catching their breath to be able to answer. “What did you do?” he turned towards Atsumu, hoping to get more out of him.
“I – it’s – it’s complicated, alright?” Atsumu sputtered.
“Oh come on, Atsumu,” Kuroo hiccuped with great difficulty. “Its – your – your – favorite – excuse me – sorry…” He interrupted himself with another bout of laughter, before recovering a little and at last lining up words in a sentence Shôyô could hope to understand: “It’s your favorite kind of stories, Atsumu. You know, it starts with I once dated an archaeologist who…”
“The archaeologist?” Shôyô wondered out loud. “What does the archaeologist have to do with it?”
“The archaeologist” was Atsumu’s most infamous ex-boyfriend, a mythical figure who popped up now and then when Atsumu felt like delighting his friends or audience with a funny (sometimes bordering on unbelievable) “crazy ex-boyfriend” story. If not for Osamu’s confirmation of his existence, most of his friends would have thought him to be entirely made up.
“You are all terrible friends,” Atsumu mumbled, glaring at each man one after the other. “And a horrible brother,” he added on Osamu’s turn.
“Me?” Osamu asked, incensed. “I’m the best brother in the world! Any other man would have laughed at you immediately. I waited until the guy was out the door. I deserve a freaking medal!”
“The archaeologist was here?” Shôyô asked excitedly. “Here in the restaurant? Why? When? What did he look like?”
“We don’t know,” Kenma answered. Being naturally less exuberant than the rest of their little group, he was unsurprisingly the first to recover from his (quieter) laughing fit. “Only Osamu was there when it happened.”
Miya’s was technically open for business, but as usual there wasn’t anyone inside aside from their faithful and loyal friends, so Shôyô took a seat at the counter. He’d have to go back out on delivery soon enough anyway, he was allowed a little break.
“Apparently,” Kenma told him, patting Kuroo on the back to prevent from choking, “Atsumu’s ex is in town for some time, for a job at a dig site nearby. He came to the restaurant to grab something to eat and found himself face to face with Atsumu.”
“You should have seen Atsumu’s face,” Osamu snickered. “Priceless.”
“Terrible, horrible friends,” Atsumu commented with an indignant sniff. “I hate all of you – except for you Shôyô, of course. You aren’t laughing at me.”
“Well yeah,” Shôyô shrugged honestly “you haven’t told me what you’ve done yet.”
“Oh, we’re getting there,” Osamu grinned. “Let’s just skip all the ‘What are you doing there?’, ‘I didn’t know you worked here, I’m in town for a few months, is that okay?’, etc, etc, and go straight to the best part.”
“Actually, I’ll take it from here,” Atsumu interrupted him, turning toward Shôyô before asking him very seriously. “Shôyô, my best friend, the brother I never had (“Hey!”), I need your help. I’ve told you about this guy many times, right? You know what seeing him again means to me.”
Shôyô nodded, uncertain as to where his friend was going with this, but empathetic to his plight all the same.
“I needed him to understand that things got better after he dumped me. That I was better now than I was when he knew me. I couldn’t let him think he was right to break up with me four years ago. I couldn’t say I was single, working as a waiter at my terrible brother’s restaurant and had my driver license revoked!”
Shôyô kept nodding, because it sort of made sense. If he had a nemesis, he wouldn’t have wanted them to know about any of his weaknesses either.
“I had to say something,” Atsumu stressed.
“You really didn’t,” Kenma snorted. “You could just have kept quiet rather than make up a fake boyfriend.”
Shôyô blinked twice. Fake boyfriend? Atsumu had told his ex he had a new boyfriend? It was, admittedly, a bit silly, especially since Atsumu was the only one in their group with less success on the dating scene than Shôyô. And sure, Shôyô could feel a small smile creep pas his lips. But this wasn’t exactly hilarious either.
“I don’t think you quite realize,” Kuroo said when Shôyô voiced those thoughts. “We kind of skipped over some of the details. “His ex is in town for a dig site, therefor for months. He even asked if it was okay to come back with colleagues since the restaurant is closest to the dig site, asked if Atsumu would be okay with that and that’s when Atsumu said – ”
“Oh no, no problem!” Osamu interrupted, imitating his brother. “I’m completely over this. I even have a new boyfriend, we’re very in love!”
“Which means,” Kuroo concluded with a wicked grin, “that now Atsumu either has to pull off having an imaginary boyfriend for months, or own up to it and admit to his ex that he lied about having a boyfriend to show him up.”
“Or!” Atsumu exclaimed, pushing Osamu aside and almost climbing on top of the counter to grasp Shôyô’s hands pleadingly. “Or! Third option! Shôyô – my friend, my buddy, my best mate, my eternal savior!”
Shôyô, moved by some deep and animal survival instincts, tried to retract his hands but Atsumu’s grip was too strong. Something (probably his two years of experience as one of Atsumu’s closest friends) was telling him whatever Atsumu was getting at wasn’t going to make him happy.
“You’d help a best friend in need, right?”
“Of course!” Shôyô immediately assured him. “But I really don’t think there’s something I can do to fix this…”
“Just come clean,” Kenma chimed in. “It won’t be fun, but it’s better than if he finds out from someone else. Everyone knows you’re single, we all joke about it all the time.”
“But what if I just got this boyfriend?” suggested Atsumu, not letting go of Shôyô’s hands even as he turned toward Kenma. “Maybe our relationship is very very new.”
Kenma rolled his eyes. Kuroo, Bokuto and Osamu had stopped laughing and were now following the exchange with curious but disbelieving looks on their faces.
“So you tell everyone you have a new boyfriend. And then what? Every time someone asks who’s your mystery boyfriend, you invent something new? You won’t last months. You don’t have the brainpower for that kind long-lasting con.”
That actually hit Atsumu. The man choked on air, cheek reddening, half-formed protests colliding with each other as they all tried to leave his mouth at the same time. Shôyô used his momentary distraction to escape the grasp he had on his hands.
“He could just say it’s a long-distance relationship,” Bokuto exclaimed, obviously very happy to have something to contribute.
“Nah,” Osamu shook his head, “you forget Atsumu is very well known for being anti-long distance. He’s annoyed too many people with his rants for it to be credible.”
“I don’t need a long-distance relationship,” Atsumu said with some condescension. “I don’t even need a boyfriend. I just need someone who’ll say he’s my boyfriend.”
It took a few seconds. Kenma and Kuroo, of course, were the first to understand and immediately sported identical looks of disbelief and incredulity. Osamu got there a second and a half later and made his opinion perfectly clear in a loud and judgmental facepalm. And it was the facepalm that finally put Shôyô on the right track.
“Me?” he asked, jaw dropping. “You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?”
“Wait, you want him to what?” Bokuto asked, a bit lost.
“Please?” Atsumu immediately resorted to begging. “Pleasepleasepleaseplease? You have to help me! I can’t trust any one but you with something like that.”
“Oh come on!” Kuroo protested. “That’s a low blow, Atsumu! You know Shôyô can’t refuse ‘you’re the only one up to the task’, that’s basically cheating!”
“It’s not cheating, it’s true,” Atsumu stuck out his tongue. “Osamu is my brother, and any of you asshole would sell me out on the first opportunity.” To Shôyô, he continued: “I know this is a big ask, and I’ll definitely owe you. But it would be believable if it were you, and it’s only for a few months – I think he said six or eight. We don’t have to do anything physical, we can just say I don’t like PDA. We’ll basically act like we usually do, but we’ll call each other ridiculous nicknames and talk about dates when people are around. We don’t even have to go on those dates, just to say we’re going on them.”
Shôyô chewed on his bottom lip. He couldn’t say he’d be delighted. It didn’t even sound fun. But Atsumu was his friend, and he’d gotten Shôyô out of ridiculous messes too. Among sillier things, it was thanks to him that he currently had a job to pay his bills. Was it really that big of a favor? Besides, he’d be pretending to be a fake boyfriend to beat the archaeologist, meaning Shôyô would now be part of the archaeologist lore. That was a little bit tempting. Behind the counter, Atsumu was making his best puppy eyes.
“Alright,” Shôyô finally blurted out. “I’ll do it. But I need to think about how far I’m willing to do first alright?”
“YES!” Atsumu punched the air. “I knew I could count you! Alright, no problem, take your time – well, not too much time either, we don’t know when the guy will be back. How about we all go to my place Saturday evening to have a war meeting and pizza? I’m paying.”
“Oh, well, if you’re paying,” Kuroo said, finishing his beer, suddenly the very picture of friendliness and helpfulness, “of course we’ll help. Friendship, and all that.”
*
The Eye Of The Storm was a hole-in-the-wall bed and breakfast, if a dense forest could be considered a wall. Ten minutes from the outskirts of the small town of Yukigaoka, it was situated at the front of a thick curtain of trees, just shy of being completely swallowed by the forest. Its 15th-century bones still stood strong, thanks to centuries of diligent care and a little bit of good fortune. Although its official designation was bed-and-breakfast, its wooden sign said “Inn” - or, more exactly, “Inn Of Good Repute” - in red, old-fashioned lettering. Behind both an inn and a bed-breakfast did not stop the Eye of the Storm from serving breakfast to people who had not bedded, lend beds to people who would not breakfast, or simply letting people who would neither bed nor breakfast enjoy a cup of tea in the afternoon. In short, it was a quiet respite in the forest where someone in search of peace or rest could always hope to find a warm welcome.
The building itself was of modest dimensions. A gray paved path led through a well kept garden, populated by flowers, butterflies and round white tables, to the large doors of the inn. Through those doors, which usually stood open from sunrise to sundown, the guests entered a large and open room which occupied most of the ground floor. This was the lunchroom. To the right, a narrow staircase led to the upper floor. In the back of the room, a wooden counter forbade the visitors from accessing what was without a doubt the kitchen and stocks. Somewhere behind those mysterious metaphorical curtains could probably be found the owners’ living quarters, as their rooms were not upstairs with their guests.
The Eye Of The Storm was small enough that the two owners – a young and hardworking couple of barely thirty – could manage it with very little help. A maid came once a week for Sunday cleanings – a process during which not a single inch of the inn was left untouched and unwashed – and a handful of delivery boys and girls made sure the inn always had everything it needed.
Shôyô was one of those delivery boys and girls, today. The inn itself never asked for Miya’s’ food, but occasional a client would ask for some takeaway (which was allowed by the inn’s rules) and Shôyô would take his bike all the way to the forest. It was one of his favorite destination – the landscape, the birds, the old building sticking out of the woods, the wild foxes he sometimes spotted. He was always delighted to deliver to the Eye. The owners were a bit intimidating, and Shôyô always felt awkward delivering food to an establishment that had food already for its clients, but they had never been anything but polite toward him, every time. They even invited for tea if they were not busy. And since the dining room was almost completely empty when he skipped inside, he might get a cup today.
There was only one man inside, obviously a client eating breakfast at a square table close to the wall. Shôyô looked around to be sure, but seeing no one else he made his way to the person he assumed to be his customer.
“Is this yours?” he asked, shaking the bag lightly.
The man looked at him, obviously confused.
“I don’t even know that it is.”
“Did you order any food?” Shôyô elaborated.
The man blinked and then gestured to the food already laid out on the table.
“Yes, breakfast. How is that any of your business?”
“No, I meant a delivery,” Shôyô rolled his eyes. “Never mind, it’s obviously not you.”
“Why would I order a food delivery and then order breakfast,” the man pointed out. “That sounds stupid.”
“Well I don’t know you, do I? Maybe you’re stupid,” Shôyô struck out his tongue.
“I am not stupid,” the man gritted out angrily. “You’re the stupid one. Asking stupid questions.”
Shôyô let out an exasperated sigh, but reigned in his temper. He was on the job. He could not start a fight at the customer’s place of residence. Without another word, he left the man to his meal and went back to the front desk wait.
Minutes passed by and Shôyô quickly grew bored. He looked at everything to pass the time – the garden, the room, the content of his delivery bag (which only made him hungry, having missed breakfast to get to work in time) and of course the only other human in the room. Shôyô would have described him either as “handsome in a weird way” or as “weird in a handsome way”. Almost every one seemed tall to Shôyô, but the guy was definitely tall by most people’s standards. He obviously had some kind of outdoors activities – he was in peak physical from and his skin, while not exactly tan, presented a slight darkening on the arms and neck. He had dark hair and blue eyes, but those Shôyô barely paid attention to. What grabbed his attention were his hands, arms and face. Despite brusque movements, there was a precision to each motion, a decisiveness. Immobile, the man would have been forgettable. In movement, he was almost captivating. His eyes and face were the same. Inert, he had passable features. But sometimes, an intense gleam would light up his eyes, transforming his face, a fire you couldn’t quite look away. Perhaps all the parts of him Shôyô currently found uninteresting were the same, and would look quite different once moving.
The man seemed to sens he was being watched. He frowned as he met Shôyô’s stare.
“You’re still here?” he asked.
Rude.
Shôyô shrugged.
“Don’t you have a delivery to attend to?”
“I amattending a delivery,” Shôyô pointed out. “I’m waiting for the person who ordered this.”
He waved the bag around to mark his point.
“Don’t they know you’re coming?”
“Of course they do! And I’m right on time too,” Shôyô said proudly. He was, after all, the best delivery boy in town.
“Then why aren’t they here?” the man asked.
“How would I know?” Shôyô cried out. “Don’t look at me like that! I wish this was over too, you know! That way I could go back in town and grab breakfast! I’m famished.”
“Why didn’t you eat before going to work? That’s irresponsible,” the man admonished.
“Yeah, well I forgot, alright?” Shôyô grumbled, not in the mood to be reprimanded by a complete stranger.
He spent the next five minutes pointedly looking at everything but the man. When his client finally arrived, he was going to charge him extra for the wait.
“I suppose,” the man said, hesitant, almost regretting every word he was saying, “that I can share a little. If you’re really hungry.”
That certainly woke Shôyô up. With a happy cry that did not resemble any word of any language anywhere, he rushed to the guy table, almost knocking the whole thing down.
“Careful!” the guy shouted, stabilizing the table before it toppled over.
“Sorry, sorry! You’re the best! Has anyone told you you’re the best? Well I’m telling you, right now. You’re the best.”
The man had ordered a copious breakfast. There fruits, different sorts of bread, a mostly eaten omelette, fried bacon, coffee and a yogurt that had already been consumed. Shôyô helped himself (slowly, to give the man time to protest if need be) to some bread and some bacon. He praised the taste and quality of the food with every mouthful, the man agreeing with him by way of grunts or nods. His gruffness was suddenly much more tolerable to Shôyô, who immediately launched into a conversation about work, biking, and the best scenic routes around the inn, eating all the while.
“Next time, eat breakfast,” the man said once they were done. “Seriously. It’s dangerous not to eat breakfast, especially if you have a job demanding physical activity of you. You need to take proper care of your body if you want it to work properly.”
“Like my bike?” Shôyô offered jokingly.
“Yes,” the man nodded, not catching Shôyô’s tone. “Exactly like your bike.”
Twenty minutes ago, he would have told the guy to mind his own business. But he was starting to thing the man was more socially inept than mean. He was obviously speaking with Shôyô’s best interest in mind, and so Shôyô found it hard to hold it against him.
“Alright,” Shôyô extended a hand over the table. “I promise to always eat breakfast before going to work. Alright?”
The man shake his hand. Shôyô felt inexplicably happy about this. He felt like he was pulling something off, without being able to tell exactly what. The fire that lit up the man’s eyes was back, and it was even more captivating from up close. There simply wasn’t anywhere else to look. Shôyô felt himself smile, did not fight it.
You’re going to be fake-dating Atsumu, a little voice suddenly said in his head. Can you fake date someone and real-date someone?
Oops. Could he? He let go of the man’s hand. But maybe he could? Realistically, how long was Atsumu’s ruse going to last? Surely, the archaeologist wasn’t going to swing by his ex’s restaurant often – why would he? Also, this man was staying at an inn, and therefor wasn’t going to be in town for long: maybe he and Shôyô could simply communicate through text and calls? He felt a sudden pang at not seeing the man’s face again.
“I’m Hinata Shôyô, by the way,” Shôyô blurted, because that was safe enough.
“Kageyama Tobio.”
“Nice to meet you, Kageyama Tobio.”
It took another half-hour before his customer, who had apparently fallen asleep, finally walked down the stairs in a panic, but Shôyô wasn’t really mad anymore. (He still charged extra.)
*
“Alright, team! Listen up!” Atsumu clapped his hands twice. “It’s time to start this war council.”
Kuro and Bokuto’s bickering immediately died down and all four pairs of eyes turned to him. Once he had their complete attention, he continued.
“We are gathered here today to plan and prepare. The enemy is coming, and we need to be ready.”
He cleared his throat. No one had interrupted him yet but Bokuto and Kuro were wearing matching grins worth a thousand words.
“Our enemy has a name,” Atsumu began pacing, “and that name is Kageyama Tobio. You might have heard that name before, or you might have heard the stories – the infamous, terrible, terrifying stories of my just as infamous, terrible and terrifying ex-boyfriend…”
“The archaeologist,” Shôyô whispered excitedly.
Yes, he had heard the story, even though he was only now learning his name. Atsumu had a handful of exes, most of which were fairly normal. One, however, stood out. One had been the subject of many drunken confidence and secrets in their two and a half years of friendship. One was the ultimate relationship boogeyman. His stories always started the same: “I once dated an archaeologist who…” and thus had he been known as – the archaeologist.
“Yes,” Atsumu nodded gravely, pleased that at least one of his friends was playing along. “The archaeologist. You might remember him from the I can’t go on a date I’m too tired but I will go out to drink with my colleagues story or the I’ve accepted a job two hours away because they had small round holes story or even the not-safe-for-work I need to be told in great details everything that is happening during sex story.”
Hinata nodded vigorously. He could properly tell those stories himself, down to the coma – he’d heard them so many times. This was like meeting the Loch Ness Monster or the Yeti.
“Now, before your eyes, this mythical man, this legendary creature, is going to take form for the first time,” he said, turning his computer around and showing them the screen. “Behold! Kageyama Tobio, the archaeologist.”
On the small screen was a picture. It had to have been taken at least three years ago since the Atsumu in it still had his brown hair. He was grinning and making peace signs with both hands at the camera. Next to him, not even looking at the camera, was another man around his size in height and built – maybe slightly more muscular in the arms and shoulders, but not by an inch. The man was frowning at the phone in his laps, seemingly not caring that his boyfriend was trying to have their picture taken.
From his right came theatrical oooohs and aaaahs but Shôyô paid them no mind. The man on the screen was no mysterious creature to Shôyô. He’d already seen that nose, those hands, those shoulders. He’d already seen the black hair being bullied by the wind in the picture, seen it in the calm and dim atmosphere of a quaint bed&breakfast. He’d already seen those eyes – he’d even stared at them for a very long time, trying to find out if the man wearing them had been feeling their conversation the same way Shôyô had been. Even the jaw he’d already seen, and seen it many times over in his mind since then.
Right there, on Atsumu’s screen, a few years younger, was the very man Shôyô had been dreaming of asking out for the last thirty-six hours.
Well shit, was his first thought, blankly.
Well shit, was his second thought, nervously.
Well shit, was his third thought, dejectedly.
“Well shit!” were his first words, with probably more energy than the situation warranted, but no one seemed to notice.
“Yes, I know,” Atsumu sighed, “my standards are usually higher. But he’s much prettier in person! Anyway, that’s not what we’re here to talk about. We need to devise a plan. This man, right there,” (he tapped the screen several times) “needs to believe I have a new boyfriend. A better boyfriend than he ever was. A boyfriend cuter, prettier, smarter, nicer, kinder than he ever was. This man needs to think: Damn, Atsumu can have so much better than me. His boyfriend is perfect, which means Atsumu is also perfect. I had him and I wasted it away! I should have treasured him! This is what a loving, stable relationship looks like!”
“Hm, that’s a lot of pressure,” Shôyô mumbled but only Kenma heard it and patted him on the shoulder awkwardly.
“I want Kageyama Tobio to come to me, full of guilt, full of regret, and apologize!” Atsumu banged his fist on the desk, knocking over his mug, full of coffee and right next to the computer. “Oops.”
“I don’t think the pressure should be on you, Shôyô,” Kenma deadpanned while Atsumu hurried to save his computer from the spill. “But you know,” he carried on in a whisper, “you don’t actually have to do this. Atsumu puts himself in this situation on his own. He can deal with the consequences of his own stupidity.”
“Yeah but, what are friends for if not for helping you when your own stupidity gets to you?” Shôyô shrugged. He hesitated, contemplating telling Kenma about his meeting with Kageyama and the hopes he had already formed like a, well, an idiot, but ultimately decided against it.
Even if he wasn’t committed to being Atsumu’s fake boyfriend, he was pretty sure that it wouldn’t have been correct of him to try and date one of his best friend’s terrible ex-boyfriend. Swallowing his disappointment as best as he could, Shôyô instead turned the conversation towards what he would be willing or unwilling to do.
*
Between the reveal of the archaeologist identity and their nervous preparations (which included telling the rest of their co-workers that they were now dating, a horribly uncomfortable moment that Shôyô would really like to forget), Shôyô was on edge. When he wasn’t on delivery, he kept his eyes on the door. He expected every shadow that walked past their doors to come in, and every person that did come in to be Kageyama. Each time, he was wrong. Days, weeks even passed without them catching even a glance of the man. Shôyô even considered going all the way to the Eye of the Storm on a fake delivery, just to check, but there was enough faking going on without adding any more.
But just when Shôyô had started to think that maybe Atsumu had gotten all worked up over nothing and that they would never see a single hair of Kageyama Tobio for as long as he stayed in Yukigaoka, he finally walked through Miya’s front door. Well, him, and five other people. Led by a confident, talkative blond man with piercings, the group sat down at the largest table the restaurant had to offer, not even sparing a glance in Shôyô’s direction – which he was thankful for.
Shôyô caught Atsumu’s eye from the other side of the room. Atsumu gestured not-so-discreetly at him, then at Kageyama – who had his back turned to them. Shôyô mouthed “I know!” at Atsumu, who then proceeded to attempt to communicate in overly complicated and confusing hand gestures until Shôyô decided to simply make his way toward him.
“What?” he whispered aggressively.
“That’s him! That’s the guy!” Atsumu responded in kind.
“I – I know, I recognized him! What should we do? Do we go to their table? You? Me? Both of us together? Or do we send someone else?”
“I don’t know! What would make me look better?”
“How should I know? And what were all those weird hand signs?”
“Hello.”
Both men froze. The turned around slowly, almost comically slow, exchanging one last panicked look, and found themselves, at last, in front of Kageyama Tobio. The archaeologist, as Shôyô couldn’t help but call him in his head (despite the fact that were currently several archaeologists in the room) didn’t seem as rattled as Atsumu.
Seeing them both next to each other, face to face, Shôyô couldn’t help but look, watch, search. Compare. Atsumu was nervous, Shôyô could tell, but he was doing a decent job at hiding. How well Kageyama still knew him would determine whether or not he would notice. Atsumu had food stains on his shirt, looked tired from staying up late playing video games and was sweating a little bit, but looked overall decent, mainly thanks to his good looks and natural confidence.
Kageyama Tobio was almost exactly as Shôyô remembered him. Even if he had not met him before, he could have recognized him from the photo. Unlike Atsumu, he did not like nervous one bit, or was ten times more adept at hiding it. Somehow, from what very little interaction they had had, Shôyô didn’t think Kageyama was the kind of person who excelled at hiding their true feelings. His cloths were clean, but there was some dust and dirt in his hair and smudge just beneath his right ear.
He could hear Atsumu talking and Kageyama answering at times, but was not paying any attention to the words they were saying. Shôyô had moved on from comparing Kageyama and Atsumu to comparing Kageyama to the mythical “archaeologist”. He’d known for at least two weeks now that they were one and the same, but it was now that he was once more in front of him that the fact was truly settling in. Standing in Kageyama’s presence, all Shôyô could see was the guy he had met at the Eye of the Storm. Even his name – Kageyama Tobio – seemed to belong to that guy and not to Atsumu’s ex-boyfriend, who had always been “the archaeologist”. And every time Kageyama’s gaze would switch from Atsumu to Shôyô, those feelings strengthened – and Kageyama looked often. Sometimes, it almost looked like he was trying to convey something to Shôyô with his eyes.
“And this,” Atsumu put an arm around Shôyô’s shoulder, pulling him away from his musings, “is my boyfriend, Hinata Shôyô.”
This actually made Kageyama react, where everything else hadn’t. He blinked twice, hesitant but polite face immediately turning sour and frowny. Atsumu’s arm didn’t feel very natural to him, and not for the first time Shôyô wondered what kind of mess he had signed up for. Despite being a very touchy-and-huggy person, there was a subtext, an implication, that put him at unease. He had told Atsumu that he was alright with casual touch and even hand holding if really necessary, but he was now regretting his decision – and could hardly tell his friend in front of Kageyama, the very man they were trying to fool.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Shôyô smiled anyway. “Atsumu’s mentioned you once or twice.” Or three thousands times. “You’re the archaeologist, right?” Like that wasn’t what he had been known as for years.
“I’m an archaeologist, yes,” Kageyama confirmed, still frowning. His eyes were fixed to where Atsumu’s arm circled Shôyô’s shoulder, so intensely that for one terrifying second, Shôyô had to entertain the fact that maybe, maybe, Atsumu actually had a shot at making this guy from his past apologize and beg. But then the second passed, and Kageyama’s face was once again blank and unimpressed.
“We’ve tried other places but they are all a bit far from the dig,” Kageyama told Atsumu. “Is it alright if we come here from now on? I can stop coming if you’re not comfortable.”
It almost sounded rehearsed, and from the corner of his eye, Shôyô could see one of the archaeologist looking their way, gesturing encouragingly despite the fact that Kageyama couldn’t see him.
“On the contrary,” Atsumu said with a big smile. “As you can see, I have no problem with you being here. Come as often as you like!”
Shôyô nodded enthusiastically, not really daring to open his mouth. Kageyama lingered for a second, clearly about to say something before thinking better of it. He thanked them curtly, even bowed, and then hurried back to his table.
“Shit,” Atsumu sighed in relief almost immediately and retracted his arm. “That went pretty well, don’t you think? I mean, we’re only getting started, but at least he’s buying it… I think… He’s always been hard to read.”
“We got this,” Shôyô reassured him, patting him on the shoulder.
Fortunately, there wasn’t much more pretending that night. Osamu, who knew better than to give Atsumu more opportunities ti embarrass himself, asked Shôyô to handle the archaeologists table on his own and Atsumu to take care of anyone else that walked through the door (if they were lucky enough for anyone else to come in on a Tuesday evening, the dead-est of all evenings).
So Shôyô did what Shôyô did best: he made friends. Once the awkwardness of meeting Kageyama again had more or less disappeared, he was able to pay attention to the rest of the groups. Every time he went to their table to bring drinks and food, take away empty glasses and plates, or simply checking up on them, he stroke up a conversation with them. Some names he immediately forgot, some names engraved themselves in his memory. His favorite, by far, was the sand-haired man that had been waving encouragements at Kageyama earlier: a nice, funny and helpful man named Sugawara. Shôyô didn’t know anything about archaeology, aside from what was shown in movies, and did not understand most of what was talked about around the table, but he quickly learned that Sugawara was on higher hierarchical ground than the other and had responsibilities on the dig site. He was also, Shôyô couldn’t help but noticed, the only one talking to or with Kageyama.
Shôyô did not really know what to do about Kageyama. Talking with him would be awkward, but talking with everyone but him went against “pretending not to care about Kageyama because he and Atsumu were in an amazing relationship”. It was fortunate that the man wasn’t very talkative, otherwise Shôyô would have looked oddly rude. They did, however, exchange accidental, awkward looks (and immediately turn their heads away and pretend nothing had happened) several times.
Eventually, it got late and the group of archaeologists made their way toward the counter to pay. Osamu was handling the register and looked like the happiest guy in the world – this was a night of high profits for him. Inuoka, one of the two cooks that Osamu employed and a good friend of Shôyô’s (although not enough to have been informed of their little scheme) left the kitchen, apron off, which meant the restaurant would be closing soon. He spotted Shôyô and immediately made his way toward him.
“So that’s the archaeologist, huh?” Inuoka said, peeking over Shôyô’s shoulder – or, more realistically, over his head – at Kageyama waiting for his turn. “I’ve heard Atsumu complain about him for so long, I pictured something less… something more… He just doesn’t seem very… He looks very normal, is what I’m trying to say. Neutral. Unassuming.”
“Appearances can be deceiving,” Shôyô immediately defended his best friend.
“True,” Inuoka shrugged and went to grab an empty trail. “But to be honest, the most surprising is that he actually exists. I was half-convinced Atsumu had made him up to convince us he was capable of getting a boyfriend. No offense,” the man added with a quick side-glance in Shôyô’s direction that left him confused until he remembered he was supposed to be dating Atsumu.
“Oh, uh, yeah, none taken,” he quickly recovered.
“I heard Osamu and Leon talk about him earlier. Apparently he and his colleagues might come here from time to time. Do you think he’ll really start hanging out around here.”
Shôyô had no idea. He hated that he had no idea. He hated that he didn’t know if he’d rather Kageyama never came back or not.
“I guess we’ll see.”
*
“Do you need any help?” Ushijima asked him as they passed each other in the corridor.
“I’m fine, thank you. It’s not that heavy.”
Ushijima nodded and carried on his way. Tobio liked Ushijima. Ushijima was very easy to understand, never said something he did not mean and could be relied upon to lend a hand if needed. During the three weeks Tobio had spent at his and Kita’s inn, the Eye of the Storm, he had been one of the best company Tobio had ever had. If there was one thing he was going to miss about living here, it was Ushijima and Kita. But staying here for months would put a serious strain on his savings, one he cannot afford, and his grandfather’s house is finally in good enough shape to live in.
All necessary repairs (the roof, the heating, the broken window and the electricity) were over, and everything else could be dealt with later. There was nothing stopping him from finally taking possession of the house he had inherited. And yet, he couldn’t help but fill some amount of dread and sadness. There was something about the Eye of the Storm that made him feel at home. Maybe it was the environment, far from streets and cars and noises, maybe it was the company (he wished more social events were as nice and non-stressful as having dinner with Kita and Ushijima), or maybe it was how close the inn was to the dig site. Not to mention, he wasn’t sure he was ready to go back to his grandfather’s house without his grandfather there.
“Ah, Kageyama,” Tobio heard Kita call from behind him as he was loading his car. “I was hoping to talk to you before your departure.”
“Is there a problem?”
“Oh, no, no problem at all,” Kita assured him. Tobio closed the trunk and turned to give him his full attention. “I’ve noticed, during your stay, that you and Wakatoshi seem to get on rather well.”
Tobio nodded. He’d like to think so too.
“It’s not that easy for him to make friends, or even friendly acquaintances. Most people are a bit put off by his attitude, even though he never means any harm. But you don’t seem to mind at all.”
“It’s not easy for me either,” Tobio admitted.
“Yes,” Kita said with a twinkle in his eye. “You two are quite alike. Which is why I would like to extent an invitation. To dinner. Whenever you are free. It would be a shame to loose contact.”
“I…” Tobio hesitated, “Yes, I would like that, actually. You have my number, right? From when I called to make a reservation?”
“I do. I will take this as permission to use that number for non-professional purposes,” Kita smiled.
Tobio nodded again. They exchanged thanks, polite goodbyes, and soon Tobio was driving away with a heart not as heavy as it had been a few minutes earlier. Surely, this was to be taken as a good sign. A sign that life is Yukigaoka was not just a necessity, but maybe the start of something new. Even if, apparently, Atsumu Miya of all people lived there.
That had not been a good surprise. Tobio hadn’t looked at the restaurant’s name before entering, having only had had eyes for food he liked at a decent price. It had certainly been a shock to find himself in front of the twin for the first time in fours years with no time to prepare himself. And of course they had to be the restaurant closest to the dig site and therefore would be the first choice for drinks or dinner after work. Tobio wasn’t very good at social interactions, but even he knew that going to eat at your ex’s restaurant was bound to be awkward, frowned upon even. Atsumu had said it’s be fine, that he had a boyfriend of something, but Kageyama would have still liked to avoid it if he could. Out of public decency and all that.
Alright, fine, maybe he was a little pissed at having gotten his hopes up for nothing with Hinata. Just a little bit, though. It wasn’t like he had been super attached to the guy. They had only meant once. And besides, Hinata wasn’t at all the kind of people that he got on with usually – as in, he was usually better at interacting with the Ushijimas and Kitas of the world than the Hinata Shôyôs. Despite this, it had felt like… potential. A something.
As he pulled in the driveway of his grandfather, Tobio tried to drive all thoughts of Hinata Shôyô and the Miya twins from his mind. He was busy. He had a life to rebuild, a grandfather to mourn, a job to do, a house to fix. He didn’t need romantic problems on top of it. Better to stay out of the dating business for now.
The last time Tobio had set foot in his grand-father’s house, he had been sixteen. He was twenty-eight now, and the house seemed to him both horribly familiar and terrifyingly alien. It was the house he grew in, he knew this. He recognized it well enough – he knew the layout by heart, could recall every carpet and mirror, knew where every spoon, toothbrush or towel could be found. This house had no secret. And yet, it felt like everything was out of place. Like the picture perfect house in his memory and the real house didn’t quite line up if you put them together. Everywhere he went, he doubted – that plant had been moved, right? or had it always been there? What about that picture on the wall – was it not in the kitchen?
He also kept calling it his grandfather’s house. As if it wasn’t if, even though he was now its legal owner. The rest of the family had thrown a fit when it had been announced that Tobio and only Tobio would get the house. His grandfather had left not-inconsiderable amounts of money to every one else – enough that no one should feel like they had gotten less – and the house wasn’t an ancestral home, but there had still been a subtext, a something implied that had left everyone angry.
The house had been built in the European style in the mid 80s. It had a small garden in the front, with enough space to park two cars, and a bigger one in the back where Tobio had loved playing with his grandfather as a child. He had memories of large flowery bushed and dense trees in the spring, of carpets of ice and building snowmen in the winter, of throwing himself in large piles of orange leaves in the fall, of water balloons fights in the summer. Tobio and his sister had lived there for the three years that had lasted their parents’ divorce, and had spent a considerable amount of time there even after. The garden, however, was only a shadow of its former self. During the two years his grandfather had spent in the hospital, no one had touched it, and it had naturally declined. Tobio had vowed to restore it, if he could only find the time to.
The front door opened to the kitchen, the oldest and quaintest part of the house. Tobio already knew he was going to need to upgrade all of its equipment, and the toaster was a life-threatening hazard to anyone that used it. Through the kitchen was the living room. It had once been two distinct room, but his grandfather had had the wall tore down, after years of complaining about how cramped the rooms were. The living room was modern and well lit, thanks to the large glass windows that led to the garden, and in striking contrast to the old-fashioned kitchen. To the left, two doors led to a small bathroom and an unused office. To the right, wooden creaking stairs let to the upstairs: his grandfather’s bedroom, directly facing the man’s library, a larger bathroom and three bedrooms – two of which had been his and his sister’s Miwa’s.
Tobio didn’t know what he was going to do about his grandfather’s bedroom, but for the foreseeable future he would keep it as was and closed. He would move all of younger Tobio’s things up to the attic and formally reclaim the room as an adult Tobio. Miwa’s room he would also no to touch. He doubted she would ever come to visit, but if she ever did, she would find her room untouched – this was what his grandfather would have wanted, he was sure. The third bedroom would remain a guestroom. Tobio did not have many friends, but if Hoshiumi or Yamaguchi (or Tsukishima, although Tobio would never admit it out loud nor would Tsukishima deign to visit him) were ever in the area, he could host them.
There. New beginnings.
*
“Eating alone again?”
Tobio hadn’t heard Sugawara approach. He greeted him with a hand wave, mouth too full to speak. Sugawara Kôshi is a good supervisor. Tobio had never worked with the man before, but in the last three weeks he had nothing but positive things to say about the man. He and Suguru, the other supervisors, divided task and responsibilities equally, playing on each other’s strength perfectly and relying on the technicians when needed. All this, of course, under the watchful eye of Ukai Kenshin, the excavation director. Ukai was also someone Tobio had never worked with before, and who Tobio also liked immensely. Like Tobio, Ukai had no love for the academic side of archaeology and by far preferred to be on the field or in the labs.
“If Suguru hadn’t warned me about you, I might have worried, you know.”
Tobio didn’t always eat alone, but he did like having some alone time. He was the only one who ate outside, everyone else fleeing the wind and the occasional water-drops, staying inside for lunch. He could hear the joyful conversations and microwave noises from where he was sitting. He hadn’t venture that far. There was a large dense tree not far from the prefab rooms which provided the perfect cover from wind and water. Tobio swallowed and said:
“Terushima was on a structure near mine this morning. He talked the whole time.”
“You don’t like talking?” Sugawara asked, not unkindly but rather with genuine curiosity.
“I like talking, but after a while it makes my brain melt,” Tobio answered truthfully.
“Ah, I see. Well I won’t take much of your time then. I haven’t read everyone’s resumes but Ukai told me you’ve got some supervising experience?”
Tobio nodded.
“Eight months in total, over three digs.”
“We’re not asking you to take on some real responsibilities, but since Suguru, Ukai and I are busy with the uncovering and the whole gas conduct situation, is it okay if we entrust the newbies to you for a few weeks? I love Goshiki, he’s a great kid, lots of potential, but I won’t get anything done if he keeps fetching me every time he has a doubt or a question.”
“Sure,” Tobio shrugged. He didn’t mind supervising or teaching. It wasn’t the same as socializing, did not mentally tire him the way making conversation did. “How is the uncovering going, by the way?”
“On schedule,” Sugawara sighed, “despite everything. That gas conduct was a nasty surprise, I’m not gonna lie, but we switch to another section until it’s resolved. Otherwise, we’re not uncovering anything that wasn’t planned.”
“No dead body?” Tobio asked, both out of concern and to annoy his supervisor a little.
Sugawara gave him a dark look.
“No. And don’t start jinxing it. The diagnostic said no dead bodies, so there are not going to be any dead bodies,” he said firmly.
Tobio snorted.
“Right. Because that’s how it always work.”
“Stop jinxing it!” Sugawara cried. “No dead bodies! We can’t afford it! Our schedule is tight enough as it is.”
Tobio shrugged. Of course dead bodies wouldn’t be good news, since they did not expect any and therefor weren’t equipped nor staffed accordingly, but that was how archaeology always went. In fact, it was always when it was most inconvenient that interesting finds and dead bodies tended to pop up. He said as much out loud and got mock-slapped on the back of the head in response.
“If we find any last-minute burials, I’m blaming you,” Sugawara threatened.
*
Despite Kageyama having now been officially introduced to them, nothing changes much in Shôyô’s life. Having had a talk with Atsumu, PDA had diminished to the point that they touch even less than when they were “just friend”. And for two week, not a single archaeologist walked through the door.
Once a month, generally on Thursday, Miya’s held a special event: Trivia Night. This was of course another of Osamu’s ploy to bring in more customers. Unlike most of Osamu’s ploys, who simply did not work, that particular ploy had partially worked. One night per month, the restaurant was full. The main event wasn’t the game itself, but the now legendary showdown between its two major participants: Ukai Ikkei and Washijô Tanji. Two elderly gentlemen well established in their respective neighborhood and community, who never exchanged a word unless it was Trivia Night at Miya’s. Their rivalry was the main attraction. Even though other people participated in the game, they always came first and second, and kept a tally of their respective wins.
Everyone was sitting down with drinks and Osamu bringing out the score board when Shôyô recognized a tall grumpy silhouette just outside, standing among other less recognizable silhouettes. Shôyô starred at them, mentally encouraging them to walk in until they finally did. The moment they did, Shôyô sprinted to greet them. He’d barely gotten past the introduction of Trivia Night when one of the archaeologist chimed in that they already knew.
“Our excavation director is Ukkai Ikkei’s grandson,” Sugawara revealed with a laugh. “We know about Trivia Night, we’ve been waiting for it. We won’t be participating in it, mind you. Just here for the show!”
“Oh? And why not?” Atsumu asked, magically appearing at Shôyô’s side. He smirked, and locking eyes with Kageyama, added: “Scared?”
Kageyama twitched but did not take the bait. Atsumu, however, was not done.
“I mean, I get it,” he shrugged. “Osamu’s questions are pretty hard. You don’t just need intelligence, you need also need a considerable amount of knowledge and culture.”
Atsumu, conveniently, left out the part where Osamu always tested his quizzes on Atsumu and Bokuto beforehand, taking out any question that one of them was able to answer to make sure they weren’t “too easy”. This also meant Atsumu and Bokuto were forever banned from participating in Trivia Night, as they always knew all answers in advance. So why was Atsumu goading Kageyama? He couldn’t compete against him.
“I have knowledge and culture,” Kageyama protested, not quite angry but definitely unhappy.
“Sure, sure,” Atsumu said in placating manner but with just enough apparent insincerity that anyone could see he did not think a word of it. “Sure.”
That did the trick. Kageyama immediately stomped toward Osamu, presumably to sign up as a contestant, under his colleagues’ confused and disbelieving faces. Eventually, the group settled at a table near the door, a bit stacked but with enough space for all of them to sit. Atsumu turned to Shôyô once they were out of earshot.
“You have to sign up to,” he told Shôyô very seriously.
“Huh? Me? Why?”
“You have to beat Tobio, duh!” Atsumu answered as if it was obvious. “Don’t worry, it’ll be easy. He’s really dumb. I mean, apparently he’s good at archaeology? But everywhere else he sucks.”
Shôyô wasn’t convinced but he trusted Atsumu and he had always wanted to participate in Trivia Night at least once. Of course, he’d need Osamu’s approval first, as he was supposed to be working, not playing, but Osamu simply asked if this was another of his brother’s idea and signed him up without waiting for an answer. Shôyô was given a little buzzer and had to find a place to sit. The archaeologists had taken the last free table, so Shôyô simply sat behind the counter on a high stool.
Once comfortably settled, he dared a glance at Kageyama’s table only to find the man already staring at him with a suspicious frown. They stared blankly at each other for two seconds, before both facing Osamu with renewed determination. Shôyô’s fingers were twitching on the buzzer.
As soon as the game started and three or four questions done, several things became very apparent. One, that Kageyama was indeed very bad at Trivia Night. Second, that Shôyô was unfortunately just as bad. Third, that the only thing the two of them had going for them was being quicker on the buzzer than two elderly men and middle-aged casual participants. Kageyama humiliated himself by answering a chemistry question so wrong even the rare middle-schoolers in the room were laughing. No one laughed harder than Shôyô, though, except perhaps Atsumu, snickering in a corner. He was immediately hit by karma however, and though Kageyama did not laugh at his failure, he let out a “Hah!” that just as bad.
Washijô and Ukai seemed at first annoyed at having to wait until the “two idiots” (as Washijô put it at one point) had given their comically off answers before giving their owns. But as the game progressed and both Kageyama and Shôyô realized how out of their depths they were, their answers became sparser and sparser, only giving it a try if they had an actual idea. Sometimes, although very rarely, they’d actually get one right, but after almost two hours of game, almost a hundred twenty questions, and definitely more than one beer, they each had two points. Ukkai and Washijô, meanwhile, were neck and neck at 47 and 47. The clock was striking eleven. Osamu rung the little bell that signaled the last question of the night. Washijô and Ukkai straightened even more in their seats, and so did Kageyama and Shôyô.
“In the sixth century,” Osamu enunciated slowly, “from which south-western Korean kingdom did - ”
He did not get to finish, interrupted by the shrill sound of a buzzer. But neither Washijô’s nor Ukkai’s had lighten up. No, the sound had come from the one table Shôyô had been focused on all game.
All heads inside Miya’s slowly turned toward Kageyama. Washijô and Ukkai were starring daggers at him, hands over buzzer, ready to take over after his answer. But Kageyama didn’t look hesitant or worried. In fact, this was the most in-control he’d look all night – and Shôyô would know, he hadn’t looked at anyone else all evening.
“Baekje,” Kageyama said blankly.
There was a pregnant pause during which every head turned back toward Osamu. Kageyama hadn’t sounded like he was taking a random shot. Moreover, Shôyô realized with mounting horror, the question was an ancient history question, the one thing Kageyama was supposed to be good at...
“That’s… that’s correct,” Osamu finally smiled. “The kingdom of Baekje, yes! Point goes to Kageyama!”
“No way!” Shôyô and Atsumu both shouted at the same time from their respective corners of the room.
“Does that mean it’s a tie?” someone on Shôyô’s left wondered at loud but Shôyô did not care about Ukkai and Washijô’s showdown. He cared about his showdown. His and Kageyama’s showdown. 2 to 2. And now, he was watching in silent horror Osamu add a third sticks next to Kageyama’s tally.
“Now, lady and gentlemen,” Osamu turned to the crowd with a winning smile, arms apart, “it would seem we have a tie! Our first tie, I believe!”
There was a round of timid applause around the room. Washijô huffed and Ukai scowled. It was obvious that they would rather have had a clear winner, but there was nothing they could do about it but suck it up and shake hands. They both looked that they had lost. Kageyama Tobio, meanwhile, looked like he had won the whole thing. It was taking everything in Shôyô not to jump over the table to physically smack the smirk off the man’s face.
Osamu announced the results, listing every participant with their tally in order. Kageyama was second-to-last and Shôyô, with his two measly points, was last. Everyone gathered their belongings and the restaurant started to empty. Those who hadn’t paid yet hurriedly made their way to Inuoka at the register, Kageyama among them. As he passed Shôyô’s table, he stopped, smiled terrifyingly and said “I win.” before moving on.
There was no way Shôyô could let that slide. Atsumu’s plan be damned, he was getting revenge. Pleasantries were over.
*
Revenge happened one week later. The archaeologist having found Trivia Night to be quite fun, came back with their own games on a Friday evening. After much pleading and puppy eyes (and promising favors owed) Shôyô and Atsumu got permission from Osamu to join their game for a round or two.
Two turned into three which turned into seven. The archaeologists were all good fun and, more importantly, Kageyala was loosing every single round. Not all of it was to be attributed to him: this was a team game and, as long-time best-friends, Atsumu and Shôyô worked really well together. Kageyama, however, barely knew his teammate, and the two men clearly did not think in similar ways. They were, frankly, incompatible. Shôyô, secretly, had to admit Kageyama was probably even a good player, who just needed a better partner.
But those were rational thought, and revenge did not run on rational thoughts. Every round, they made sure to point out every mistake he had made, absolving his partner of any responsibility every time. If, at first, his colleagues chuckled at their bantering, the mood darkened as the evening progressed, to the point were even Shôyô wasn’t having much fun. Atsumu, drunk on victory and revenge, was blind to the souring environment and continued until the final round.
The goodbyes, that night were rather short and awkward. Kageyama was basically fuming, and not a single tip was left that night. As soon as the door closed, Osamu grabbed them both by the collar and pushed them into the kitchen. Atsumu had to be dragged but Shôyô went willingly. He had a feeling they deserved it.
He sat them both down. Atsumu quieted down as he took in his brother’s somber face.
“I get it,” Osamu said calmly but in a tone that left room for no protests, “I do. You don’t like Kageyama. You want to show him up, you want revenge, blah blah blah. Here’s the thing though: our restaurant – my restaurant – is in peril. You know this. And Kageyama is looking to bring in six to ten people in once a week for the next eight months. I can’t afford to lose that, and therefore you can’t afford to lose that either. I’m not telling you to stop your little schemes, because I know that’s a lost cause. No more outright hostility like that, got it? Especially you,” he gave Atsumu a pointed look.
“Sorry.”
“We got carried away,” Shôyô apologized. “We won’t do it again.”
“Good. Now go back out there and help Inuoka close the place.”
*
The archaeologists couldn’t hate him that much, though, because not even four days later, Miya’s got a call asking for a delivery at the excavation. The excavation site was a bit far but both Osamu and Shôyô were eager to get back into the team’s good graces. Besides, Shôyô had never seen an excavation before and was more than a little curious. It was with much hope that he mounted his bike and headed off west.
Whoever Osamu had spoken to on the phone, they had given him precise direction to find the excavation. Without them, Shôyô would probably have gotten lost in the mountain. Perhaps “lost” was not quite the right term, as Shôyô certainly would have been able to find his way back to the town (he knew the mountain too well for that), but he would not had found his destination. The excavation was situated on a lost plateau, hidden behind hills of dirt and gravel. Large billboards were announcing the future construction of a meteorology center.
The dig site itself was, as far as Shôyô could see, a very large, very flat field of orangy-brown dirt. At the very end of it, he could see figures who seemed to be digging holes at random in that endless brown surface. Here and there, little flags had been planted in the ground, floating in the light breeze. In a corner, a huge mechanical engine was making the flat field bigger and bigger, taking away grass and earth away in layers, depositing it in the largest truck he’d ever seen. A single figure was standing right in front of the engine, almost as if gearing up to fight it, but Shôyô saw the person’s arms moving, guiding the thing’s claw to where he wanted it to be. Docile, the mechanical creature obeys and follows every command in clumsy obedience.
Shôyô was wondering whether he was allowed on the site itself or not when one of the distant figures spotted him and gestured for him to stay where he was before making their way towards him. As they got closer, Shôyô recognized Sugawara’s gentle gray-blond hair. He waved enthusiastically at him and got a laugh in return.
“Hello, hello! Did you find us easily?” Sugawara greeted him with a joyful handshake. “Since there are no actual address, deliveries sometimes get lost.”
“No, it was fine! Where should I put this?” Shôyô shook the bag lightly.
“Come with me,” Sugawara gestured to follow him, walking in the opposite direction of the dig. “We have a… a lunch room. Sort of. Does this need to be kept in a fridge? Goshiki didn’t actually tell me what he’d gotten.”
Sugawara brought Hinata to a set of prefab buildings, gray and already looking like they’d been here ten years. Sugawara proudly presented them as their offices, lunchroom and locker rooms. Since Goshiki’s lunch did not, in fact, need to be kept in a fridge, and so they simply left the bag on the table and locked the room.
“I wanted to say that I was sorry,” Shôyô said hurriedly. “About last time. I was really mad at Kageyama for beating me at Trivia Night, and I wanted revenge so bad I ruined everyone’s night.”
Sugawara smiled.
“I knew I wasn’t wrong about you,” he said approvingly. “It seemed very unlike you, from what little I’ve known you. All right, I’ll pass down your apology.”
Shôyô sighed in relief.
“Unless,” Sugawara added, thoughtful, “you’d rather apologize in person? What do you say?” he winked. “Want a tour of the dig site?”