Work Text:
Ennoshita sighs. The cosy little cafe is empty, save for himself, Akaashi, and a small young man with a little tuft of blond fringe on the otherwise black gravity-defying spikes. He is familiar with these types – looking around anxiously, feet tapping, checking the watch on their left wrist every so often, and occasionally typing out something on their phone, fingers drumming while waiting for a non-existent reply.
Ennoshita glances at Akaashi, leaning against the glass display of cakes and sandwiches and numerous other pastry, staring into space with a blank look on his face. Akaashi, familiar with the drill, huffs under his breath, “You go.”
Ennoshita sighs again, letting out a small groan as he pushes himself off the countertop and lifts himself from the plastic stool. He dusts off his black and orange apron as he ambles over to the man – or boy, he can’t really tell – and taps the dude on the shoulder, duly noting his toned arms revealed by his black tank top.
Huh. Ennoshita furrows his eyebrows and scrunches up his mouth, allowing himself to be disgusted at his inner hormonal teenage boy for a split second before the dude whips his head around. Ennoshita switches back to his normal blank, sleepy, he’s been told, face as he addresses the guy.
“I know there’s no one here right now, but you really need to order something if you plan on staying here any longer, sir,” Ennoshita says flatly. There are white paint-looking streaks on the dude’s shirt. There’s a crown on a trapezium, with the letters FOB in the trapezium. Ennoshita feels his lips twitch, pulling into a tiny kind of smile.
“Sorry dude, I’m waiting for someone,” the guy says, as if it weren’t obvious.
“You’ve been in here for forty minutes, sir. I think it’s pretty safe to say you’ve been stood up,” Ennoshita says monotonously. “I’m sorry.”
The dude sighs, his right hand reaching up to toy with the numerous piercings on his ear. Ennoshita likes piercings. He wouldn’t get them, though, personally. It probably wouldn’t suit him. He’s not flashy enough.
In the dude’s left hand is his phone. He taps the home button, and the lock screen flashes to life revealing no new messages or missed calls, and four skinny, white round numbers 15:12.
“Don't be, it’s her loss. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her I didn’t go to university,” he muses, wrinkling his nose cutely. It makes Ennoshita want to bop it. He mentally groans at himself again, and reminds his stupid inner teenage boy that he’ll probably never see this dude again in his miserably short lifespan, because this is not a fucking romantic comedy.
“Well, whenever you’re ready,” Ennoshita says, gesturing towards the display, where Akaashi has taken to resting his chin on. He then walks to the cash register, settling back onto his plastic stool.
After a few uneventful moments, the guy saunters up to the display, scanning the giant board of a menu hanging behind their heads. Akaashi straightens up and Ennoshita gets on his feet.
“Could I get one of these,” he says, pointing at the Meat Lovers Sandwich in the display, “and a chocolate Oreo milkshake! I’ll have it here!”
Ennoshita heads for the refrigerator accordingly as Akaashi slides open the display case and grabs one sandwich from the rows with a gloved hand. “Would you like to toast it, sir?”
“Yep!”
Akaashi heads over to the oven as Ennoshita comes back with one chocolate Oreo milkshake. He grabs a tray and places the tall plastic cup on it, proceeding to ring up the guy’s order. The guy reads the black whiteboard placed on the counter.
“Hey! You’re having a Jackie Chan movie marathon this Friday?”
Then, no more than a second later, before Ennoshita can respond, “Hey! You have movie screenings in this cafe?”
Akaashi comes back with the sandwich, toasted, on a plate and places it onto the tray, beside the milkshake. Ennoshita grabs a couple of napkins and a fork and butter knife as he answers. “Yeah, we have themed movie marathons every Friday night, typically from about ten p.m., which is our usual closing time, to about four or five a.m. the next day. The total will be thirteen dollars.”
“That’s so cool,” the dude gushes, pulling his wallet out of the back pocket of his skinny jeans. When Ennoshita finds his inner teenage boy thinking that the dude has a pretty nice ass, he decides that he is very done with himself. “I love Jackie Chan movies. Maybe I’ll come. I work pretty close by, at the Foothill store near that school round the corner. I’m Nishinoya Yuu, but everyone calls me Noya. Hey, what’s your name?”
“Ennoshita Chikara,” he says, storing the twenty dollar bill and pulling out a few notes and coins from the register, handing them over to Nishinoya. “Enjoy your meal.”
Nishinoya dumps all the change into the tip jar, pocketing his wallet and whipping out his phone. He takes a sip of the milkshake, stirring the thick liquid feebly. “Where do you get the movies? Does the cafe, like, own them? Do you torrent them? You must have a lot of movies to be able to have weekly marathons.”
Ennoshita raises an eyebrow, but answers anyway. “Sometimes the employees bring their own, but they’re mostly from Akaashi’s personal collection,” he says, pointing at Akaashi when Nishinoya looks up. “He’s the owner’s son.”
“Cool. So he’s some kind of movie nerd, huh. Hey, you played volleyball in high school! Two years ago, which means you’re the same age as me! Cool! I played volleyball too! We might have played each other without knowing! That’s so cool. Hey, I play on the Neighbourhood Association these days, you should come too sometime!”
Ennoshita blinks.
“Wait,” he says incredulously, “Are you googling me?”
A certain someone snickers from his distant right. Ennoshita very graciously flips him off.
“Cool, you’re studying Directing! So you’re a movie nerd too, huh? They say feathers of a bird flock together!”
“Birds of a feather flock together,” Ennoshita says, gritting his teeth. He doesn’t like Nishinoya as much as he thought he did. “Could you stop infringing on my privacy. Please.”
“I added you on Facebook!” Nishinoya grins, finally tucking his phone away. He places his arms on the countertop, leaning forward rather aggressively. “Accept my request, okay?”
Ennoshita leans back, blinking again. Nishinoya’s biceps are really very nice, he decides.
“Are you a libero?” he blurts out, feeling heat rush through his cheeks and very out of character as soon as he says the words. What if Nishinoya isn’t? What if those bruises are from something else? Ennoshita really doesn’t want to think about it. He hates treading into uncomfortable territory, and being assertive and impulsive.
“Yeah!” Nishinoya enthuses. Ennoshita heaves a sigh of relief, but then Nishinoya suddenly freezes and frowns. “You don’t think it’s because I’m short, do you?”
“No,” Ennoshita mumbles, ducking his head. “Your arms –”
“Oh, these?” Nishinoya holds up his forearms, examining them carefully. He beams. It’s very bright. “They’re my babies! I love them.”
“Is that so.” Ennoshita thinks that if Nishinoya is ever coming again, maybe he should invest in a pair of sunglasses, because wow, that smile is blinding.
“Yeah…” Nishinoya trails off, the light softening to a small, secretive smile. He is still staring at his forearms, like they hold the key to the world. They probably do, to Nishinoya. Ennoshita finds himself wanting to be in possession of that key, to find out how on earth does Nishinoya smile like that, and he has to remind himself yet again that he’s not in some sappy romantic drama. Cinematic opportunity, wasted. “You’re very observant, aren’t you, Chikara?”
Then Nishinoya directs that stupid, lovely, secretive smile to him – to him! Him, Ennoshita Chikara! – and picks up his tray and walks back to his table.
When the last lines of the Oh Wonder song have been sung, and the familiar beat of Favourite Record starts up, Nishinoya perks up and Akaashi outright snorts.
“Oh, shut up,” Ennoshita says resignedly. “Just let me have my goddamn moment.”
-
Okay, well, maybe it really is a fucking romance drama, because the next day, Nishinoya shows up at half past five, just before the dinner crowd rushes in. He is wearing a Linkin Park tee, with the sleeves rolled up, and acid washed ripped skinny jeans.
“Yesterday was a one-time thing,” he explains while Ennoshita rings up his order. Today it’s a caramel macchiato and roast beef sandwich. At the back of his mind, Ennoshita wonders why he’s gone out of his way to remember Nishinoya – though it’s not like the cafe gets a whole lot of customers – and wonders why Nishinoya would think he would be remembered. He watches as Nishinoya carefully pries the veggies from stack and sets them on the side of the plate. “Coming at that hour, I mean. Boss Ukai let me have a day off for my date!”
“That’s nice of him,” Ennoshita says out of reflex. There’s no one lining up for a purchase yet, so he lets Nishinoya chatter on.
“Yeah, cause I was really excited about it. I thought we finally had something going on, yeah?” Nishinoya explains. “I met her through a mixer. She was real cute, and shorter than me! Hard to find someone like that, you know? Kids these days are just so tall. But then yesterday she sent me a message, saying that she can’t go out with someone without prospects.”
Nishinoya practically spits out the word, frowning. There is a flash of red in his eyes. “Says her. I’m a great guy with a bright future.”
“I’m sure you are,” Ennoshita says mildly, although he is not quite. He’s all but known Nishinoya for a day, after all. “You seemed pretty chipper for someone who got stood up, though.”
Nishinoya takes an obnoxiously long sip of his drink, peering up at Ennoshita with wide eyes. That smile, as usual, is fucking bright. “That’s cause I met you, obviously!”
Ennoshita would be lying if he said his heart didn’t beat faster at that. Who the fuck is Nishinoya and why is he so smooth. Play it cool, he wills himself, and promptly says, “Um. What.”
Such cool, he is internally face palming at himself. Much eloquent. He knows Akaashi is too, barely two metres away, very much listening in on the conversation whether he wants to or not.
“Yeah,” Nishinoya nods his head solemnly. “You’re a movie nerd. I like nerds. You‘re a pretty cool guy, you’re a pretty guy, you play volleyball, and most importantly, you don’t judge people by their height!”
At that, Nishinoya gives him a thumbs up, then pauses. “And the drinks you make are pretty dang good!”
“Um,” Ennoshita says, positive his cheeks are flushed, “I’m pretty sure only the first thing you said is true. And maybe the last.”
Nishinoya lets out a large, bellowing laugh. “Oh, they’re all true, Chikara, because I’m always right.” There’s a twinkle in his eye when he says that. “You just don’t know it yet.”
Then he shoots Ennoshita that brilliant megawatt grin. Ennoshita is rendered speechless by default. But maybe Nishinoya is aware of the effect of his smile, or maybe he doesn’t expect an answer, because he speaks again. “Chikara, when do you get off work?”
“Um,” Ennoshita says intelligibly. He’s pretty sure that’s the billionth time he’s said that stupid precursory word so far. He glances up at the clock in the far corner. “Twenty minutes.”
“Cool! You’re free after that, right?” Nishinoya almost shouts in his excitement, eyes already twinkling in anticipation. For what, Ennoshita has no idea. He manages a tentative “yeah…?” just as Nishinoya continues, “Great! I’ll wait for you! Don’t go anywhere! See you later!”
He walks off with his tray of food, leaving Ennoshita confused and dazed as a middle aged lady steps up to the counter.
-
As Ennoshita steps out of the staffroom, clad in the dumb orange and black staff uniform, because he hadn’t brought a change of clothes, he is ambushed by the whirlwind that is Nishinoya. Curse Nishinoya and his sudden springing up of plans unto Ennoshita. Curse the person who decided to make the cafe workers look like a giant Halloween fest. Curse everything.
He briefly wonders where Nishinoya would take him. Is this a date? Is Nishinoya asking him out, only after meeting him twice? Well, he does seem like that kind of impulsive person, Ennoshita supposes. He berates himself not bringing a change of clothes, and laments his dumb-looking uniform. Then he berates himself again for having such idiotic fantasies and reminds himself for what feels like the nth time that this is not a romance serial drama.
“I brought you meat buns from my workplace,” Nishinoya says earnestly. Ennoshita notes that he seems to be looking forward to whatever is in store for the two of them. “We can’t have too heavy a dinner.”
Ennoshita raises an eyebrow. Dinner date is apparently out.
“Come on,” Nishinoya says, tugging on Ennoshita’s arm. His hand is warm through the starchy material of his uniform, and it feels kind of nice. “Let’s get to the bus stop and you can eat. We’re really early but that doesn’t matter!”
So they walk to the bus stop – Ennoshita walks, Nishinoya practically bounds, smiling to himself ever so often. It’s kind of cute, if Ennoshita says so himself. Then he scarfs down one meat bun, and lets Nishinoya have the other one even though he just had a sandwich, because who can resist Nishinoya?
They get onto the bus when it comes and get off at the Karasuno Community Centre. Ennoshita has a faint idea of what they’ll be doing for the next few hours by now.
“I don’t have a change of clothes,” he tells Nishinoya. Nishinoya just grins at him.
“Don’t worry,” he replies cheerfully, pulling Ennoshita into the entrance. “Tanaka’s your size, and he always has a few extra shirts and shorts somewhere. And hopefully some shoes.”
Tanaka, in fact, does have extra shirts and shorts and court shoes. He’s a dude well-packed with muscles, and seems to bring out the extra fire in Nishinoya’s eyes. He also has a lot of shirts for someone with a tendency of taking them off too often, Ennoshita discovers.
It’s the first time Ennoshita has stepped on a volleyball court in, as Nishinoya had so gleefully discovered, two years. The familiar scent of air salonpas brings out a wave of nostalgia he never knew he possessed from within him.
“Chika, what position do you play?”
“… Wing spiker.” Way to give a guy hope. It’s not one of Ennoshita’s preferred nicknames, but it’s not that bad, and it’s Nishinoya, so he lets it go.
“Oho, the same as me!” Tanaka says, giving Ennoshita’s back a tough, loving slap. “We’ll see if you’re better than I am!”
“I really doubt that…” Ennoshita mumbles. Nishinoya stops in his tracks.
“Hey, you won’t know till you try, right?” he says in a volume smaller than Ennoshita ever thought he could produce, tugging on his – Tanaka’s, actually – sleeve. His mouth has set into a tiny, resolute frown, his eyes steely with determination. He shines brighter right now than any other smile he has given Ennoshita thus far.
It fills Ennoshita with some sort of steady warmth. It makes him feel like he could take that extra step, like he could do anything. If he’d had this feeling back then, he thinks, he could probably have taken his team higher, further. But he lets that train of thoughts fade, and focuses on the glowing ochre in front of him. “… Yeah.”
Ennoshita can sense Nishinoya searching for something in his expression, and whatever is on his face right now must satisfy him because his corners of his lips twitch up. Nishinoya’s hand is retracted and meets Ennoshita again in a small bump of his fist against his stomach.
“Let’s fuck’em up.” Ennoshita feels his own lips forming what must be a smile.
“Yeah.”
-
To say Nishinoya is amazing would be a huge understatement. Ennoshita has no idea why he’s not playing in a professional league, or even for the Olympic team, instead of the Karasuno Neighbourhood Association. It feels like child’s play when he watches Nishinoya. There’s no one else who comes close, though Tanaka and Azumane are pretty good as well. Better than him, at least.
In fact, Ennoshita would say he’s probably one of the worst, worse than the even older guys like Takinoue and Shimada. It’s only been twenty minutes in and he already feels pretty exhausted.
“Oi Chika, if you slack you’ll have to treat me to dinner tomorrow!” Nishinoya yells, effortlessly receiving the spike his block had missed.
Ennoshita grits his teeth and yells, “Don’t count on it!” as he arches up into a jump, slamming the ball down on the other side of the net. It’s his second clean hit of the night. It feels pretty dang good.
The game progresses, and Ennoshita gradually discovers the arsenal of weapons Nishinoya has up his sleeve, things he knew were possible but had never considered before because whoever he was, he wasn’t meant for great things. But with Nishinoya by his side, his laboured breathing like a rhythmic drumbeat, it feels exhilarating.
They win, and everyone heads for a break before the next game. Ennoshita makes a beeline for the watercooler he’d spotted just outside the gymnasium, and Nishinoya trails behind him like a puppy, clutching his mustard yellow bottle like it's a lifeline. Ennoshita has his share of water, and leans on the wall as he watches Nishinoya gulp down the contents of his bottle. He idly notes the trail of sweat dripping down Nishinoya’s sun kissed skin and collecting at his collarbone.
Ennoshita relishes the cool night breeze as Nishinoya, warm and buzzing from the adrenaline of the win, asks, “So how’d you find it?”
Ennoshita closes his eyes and hums deliberately. “It was pretty fun,” he finally admits, feeling the slight curve of his lips in his voice rather than the actual motion itself.
Nishinoya lets out a huff, a sort of laugh and sigh and breath at the same time. He sounds relieved, Ennoshita notes, and the thought feels distant, through layers of the mild fuzz in his head and his still-thudding heartbeat.
“Why’d you do this?” he mumbles. He feels happy, he realises. Drunk and high and happy, and a lot more honest than he would usually let himself be, for goddamn knows what reason. In retrospect, he realises that match was probably the best in his life. “I’m just a part-time cashier and drink maker.”
Nishinoya gives him a wry, and exasperated smile. It is not a look he would have imagined on Nishinoya, but it somehow seems right. A few beats later, he finally says, slow and contemplative, “You’re not just some guy, Chikara. Even though you probably feel that a lot.”
Ennoshita furrows his eyebrows, and his tentative “what?” feels far away. Nishinoya just smiles again, real bright, and bumps his fist on Ennoshita’s shoulder, before trotting back into the gymnasium.
-
After that the teams are re-sorted, and Nishinoya is on the opposite side of the court. Ennoshita’s team loses, then they call it a night and bunch off into their own groups. Ennoshita follows Nishinoya, Tanaka and Azumane as they troop into the locker room to change.
As he tugs Tanaka’s shirt off in favour of another one, he senses a gaze on him, but when he looks up, Nishinya is chattering excitedly to Tanaka about the discount coupon he has for the ramen shop down the street.
When they’re done changing, Ennoshita is hustled down the street to that ramen shop, Nishinoya and Azumane leading the charge. Nishinoya is tugging on Azumane’s arm. He probably does that to everyone, Ennoshita realises somewhat bitterly. He is jolted out of his thoughts by Tanaka swinging an arm around his shoulders.
“So, Enno-san,” he says cheerfully, “you thinking of joining the Neighbourhood Association?”
“Um,” Ennoshita says, “I haven’t really thought about it.” And it’s true. Nishinoya hasn’t given him much time to think about anything. He seems much more like a just doing kind of person, leaping and grabbing on to whatever the universe has to offer him. Ennoshita wonders if the universe has yet to offer him a position as a professional volleyball player.
“I think you should! You’re pretty good,” Tanaka almost-shouts, jabbing his thumb into his chest and grinning smugly. “Though not as good as me!”
“I didn’t touch a volleyball for two years before tonight, Tanaka-san,” Ennoshita jabs back with ease, a slight smirk on his face. Camaraderie with Tanaka is easy to enjoy. He is as hot as Nishinoya, but it’s less of a bright spark and more of a resolutely burning wall of flames, passionate and fiery and constant and reassuring. “If I played regularly I bet you wouldn’t be saying that.”
“Oho? Why don’t you prove me wrong, then!” Tanaka exclaims triumphantly, and he knows Tanaka knows he’s got him. He doesn’t mind, though.
-
By the end of the night, Ennoshita feels like he’s known them for ages. Even Azumane, who’s a force to be reckoned with on the court but shy to a fault off, gives him an only-slightly wobbly smile across the table over bowls of steaming hot ramen and sides of gyoza. The trio were friends from high school, and he listens with fascination and not-at-all-contained horror as they jovially recount their shenanigans to him.
Nishinoya steals his phone and accepts his own Facebook request, then inputs all three of their numbers into his contacts.
Later that night when Ennoshita returns home, spent and happy, he gets a text from Nishinoya. got something on tmr so i’m not cming to the cafe, c u friday chika!!!
It’s not my shift on Friday though. Goodnight, he replies.
Almost immediately, he gets a barrage of vibrations from his phone. He chuckles to himself softly and sets it down on his nightstand, settling under the covers.
-
The next day is all but spent thinking about Nishinoya. He’d made Ennoshita feel welcome in a way he hadn’t felt for a long while, not since he’d met Kinoshita and Narita in high school, not since he’d walked into this very cafe more than a year ago, right into a screening of Tekkon Kinkreet.
But even so, those moments were different from the one he’d shared with Nishinoya. They were calm and relaxing and had made him feel in place in their own ways. But with Nishinoya, it was like a jolt, like an epiphany, the moment everything clicked and it was all in place and suddenly the world was awash with brilliant reds and golds and vibrant hues.
“My dad got a new sound system for the movie screenings,” Akaashi says, during a lull. “We’re using it tomorrow.”
“Okay? Why are you telling me this,” Ennoshita squints. “It’s not my shift tomorrow.”
Akaashi just cocks an eyebrow at him. “So?” he says, and then he smiles knowingly at Ennoshita.
-
Every day, at exactly 1:57 p.m., Ennoshita walks through the doors of the cafe. Today, Friday, at exactly 9:44 p.m., he stops short.
He flutters around the entrance, tugging at the cord of his pendant necklace. After a painfully long three minutes, Akaashi finally steps out of the cafe and gives him a good slap on the back.
“You like that short guy, right?”
“Nishinoya,” Ennoshita supplies. Akaashi gives him a look, and he sighs. “All right, yeah, I don’t know, maybe. I just met him after all. But I do want to get to know him more.”
Akaashi rolls his eyes, but gives him a sharp nod that Ennoshita knows is of approval. He slaps Ennoshita’s back again, and herds him into the cafe. “Now come help me set up before your crush arrives.”
-
“I’m so gay,” Nishinoya blurts upon seeing Ennoshita. He is flanked by Tanaka and Azumane, and they snicker – well, Tanaka guffaws, and Azumane scrunches up his face in an attempt to contain his laughter.
“Um,” Ennoshita says. He can’t help but feel like he’s missing the joke.
“I-I mean,” Nishinoya follows up desperately, “gay as in happy! Not sexuality, I’m actually bi. I’m really happy to see you. And the movies. I mean. You – you look really nice.”
At that Ennoshita can’t help but flush a bit. He’s always been a goner for compliments from people he finds attractive. He looks down at what he’s wearing – a dark green plaid bomber jacket over a grey cashmere sweater, dark skinny jeans and classic Timberland boots – and what Nishinoya’s wearing – a camo jacket over a white hoodie and acid-washed jeans, rolled up at the hem to reveal a pair of black combat boots – and says, “Um. Thanks. You look nice too.”
They traipse over to the sitting area, comprised of comfy couches and armchairs and the like. Tanaka immediately pulls Asahi over to one loveseat and claims it, pointing over to the one next to it for Ennoshita and Nishinoya with a shit-eating grin on his face. Nishinoya gestures rudely at him – causing Ennoshita to laugh softly – but plops down, pulling Ennoshita with him.
There is silence for a moment, as the two take in the dim lights and soft chattering around them. Then Ennoshita, without preamble, asks, “So why didn’t you come yesterday?”
“Oh,” Nishinoya looks a little startled, as though he hadn’t expected to be asked that. His voice is a tad quiet when he answers. “I got myself a tattoo.”
Ennoshita hadn’t expected that answer. “Ah, wow,” he says. “Can I see?”
When Nishinoya looks hesitant for the first time since he’s met him, Ennoshita can’t help but feel uneasy. Was it too personal? A representation of a tough time? But then Nishinoya looks around furtively, and mutters, “Okay.” He lifts his hoodie.
Firstly, he notes that Nishinoya’s stomach is really toned, but he’s known that since the day before in the locker room, so he shoves that thought to the back of his mind.
On the spot where Ennoshita thinks is supposed to be the kidney, is a small replica of The Great Wave off Kanagawa, with the Katakana character for ‘water’ on top in black ink. It’s swollen and slightly red, and it’s – it’s –
“It’s beautiful,” Ennoshita gasps in awe.
“Asahi-san came with to get it yesterday,” Nishinoya babbles, like Ennoshita hadn’t spoken at all. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his eyes have a tinge of panic and desperation that sets Ennoshita on high alert. “Because, you know, or well, you don’t yet, but I sort of get a little too fired up sometimes, and Feng Shui is all about balance and stuff, and water extinguishes fire, so I got it first, because I’m working on that getting too fired up thing. And you probably think this is all dumb and superstitious, but I thought about it really hard and it means a lot to me and it’s my first tattoo so –”
“Nishinoya. It’s beautiful,” Ennoshita repeats seriously, putting his hands on Nishinoya’s shoulders. “It’s beautiful.”
Nishinoya takes a deep breath, and exhales. The frantic look on his features gradually subsides. “Yeah,” he whispers, sounding a little winded. “Okay, yeah.”
Because Nishinoya is a tactile person, Ennoshita slides his hands off his shoulders and clasps Nishinoya’s in his own, squeezing, and turns slightly to face him. “Nishinoya,” he mutters in a voice only Nishinoya can hear, and leans in. “It’s okay. I got you. The tattoo looks lovely on you. It’s really beautiful, Yuu.”
Futakuchi is walking around, making the last call for a purchase of snacks and drinks. Ennoshita can see the flash of black and orange as he walks past their row, and the reverberation of his voice grows louder, then softer.
Nishinoya’s face clears, and he squeezes Ennoshita’s hands back. His palms are warm and solid and reassuring, and there. Ennoshita smiles tentatively.
Akaashi is fiddling in the corner with the DVD player. He stands up, then the lights are finally and totally shut – off. The chattering hushes.
As Ennoshita’s eyes adjust to the dark – light spills in from the streetlamps and moonlight through the glass door, and Nishinoya is cast in a pale white hue – he finds that Nishinoya is smiling back as well.
“Hey,” Nishinoya breathes, and Ennoshita can feel the puff of air on his chin. The opening music of Fist of Anger is playing. “I’m thinking of getting earth next. Wanna come along?”
Nishinoya’s eyes are smouldering. Ennoshita nods, barely, and manages a small “yeah”.
Nishinoya beams. It lights up the whole room, Ennoshita thinks. In the dull light, Ennoshita sees flashes of blue, green, red, yellow and grey in Nishinoya’s eyes, ethereal and fleeting. “Thanks.”
Ennoshita squeezes once more. “Welcome.”