Work Text:
He’s trying his absolute best to remind himself why he’s so in love with Hinata, he keeps listing all the good qualities he’s ever seen in him while he looks around- barely hiding his annoyance. Let’s see, he’s funny, he’s reliable, he gets him like no one else, he’s an amazing volleyball player with great determination, he’s crazy hot- where the fuck is he.
Tooru’s blood is boiling, he’s been in love with that little fucker since they met in that beach in Rio 2 years ago, and just now, with the reality of him going back to Japan dawning on him he’s mustered the courage to make a move. He really thought he was being smooth with it, he had pictured the scene a dozen times. Him, looking all suave and cool, having waited until New Year’s Eve to kiss Shoyo at midnight and tell him how he really felt.
The reality is comically different, Shoyo had shoved his champagne flute in Tooru’s hand like ten minutes ago and taken off to take a piss. Ten minutes was definitely too long for someone to pee, and Tooru’s teammate’s party wasn’t big enough for there to be any lines at the bathroom. He accepted reality, Shoyo had probably bumped into someone he had no business knowing- they were in Argentina, how did he know more people than Tooru did?. He’s probably talking that someone’s ear off right now. Tooru looks at the clock on the wall, 11:58 PM. Great. Amazing. Cool.
He’s debating whether to go out looking for Shoyo or not. He’s stupid enough to just let midnight pass by without even realizing, so maybe he should, but if he moves and Shoyo comes back to where they were they will definitely not find each other before 12. He ultimately decides to just stay put and hope for him to come back. He watches as the hands of the clock move and eventually everyone around him starts excitedly screaming a countdown. When they reach the end the room erupts in congratulatory screaming and cheering and Tooru bitterly drinks out of his flute.
It’s then, and only then, that he can make out a wild head of bright orange hair quickly making his way toward him through the crowd. He sees Shoyo, in all his badly ironed suit glory, basically sprinting in his direction and he’s somehow more angry. Why is he running now? Why did he look so good? Why couldn’t Tooru have fallen for someone less irritating?
“You’re literally the worst. I had to stand here with two flutes looking like an aba-” His complaining is cut short when Shoyo basically crashes into him, knocking all the champagne out of the flutes as their lips connect. Shoyo’s warm and rough hands are holding both sides of Tooru’s face and the frustration evaporates off him. They part and he just looks at Shoyo in shock, waiting for some kind of explanation.
“I can’t believe I messed this up! I had it all planned in my head I was going to be all cool- but I’ve been holding my pee all night and I really had to go, and then I bumped into Javier and he was showing pictures of his kids- it’s like, so rude to tell him to stop telling me about his kids… you know?”
“You’re so annoying” Tooru says and leans in again to kiss him again. They have two years of lost time to make up for.