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The sun is painfully bright today.
Yahaba is thankful for spf 100 and big sun hats, he thinks as he painstakingly coats his skin with sunscreen. He tosses the full bottle into his beach tote on instinct, because Kyoutani, without fail, always forgets his own and then spends the next three days complaining about his sunburn.
A sunburn he definitely deserves, don’t get Yahaba wrong, but still, a sunburn he doesn’t want to hear about. After adding in a beach towel, his sunglasses, a change of clothes, and a volleyball, he locks up his house and heads out the door and down the well-trodden path that links his own backyard to the Kyoutani’s backyard. If his timing is correct– which it usually is– Kyoutani and his sisters will all be there, waiting in Kyoutani’s truck for him to arrive.
The air is thick with the scent of honeysuckle and something artificially sweet and familiar, and once he gets close enough to his destination, he sees what it is. Emi, Kyoutani’s youngest sister, is standing in the bed of the truck with a quickly melting popsicle in each hand. She’s eating one and holding the other far away from the reach of her sisters (teenage twins, Hana and Hikaru), who keep teasing her and pretending to steal it. Kyoutani himself is standing to the side, leaning against the door of the truck, having already spotted Yahaba. He’s smiling without even trying to hide it, which is something he does a lot now. Yahaba kind of loves it."
“Emi, are they being mean to you?” Yahaba teases once he’s within earshot without having to scream.
“Yahaba! They’re trying to eat your popsicle!” Emi shouts, jumping in place, then scrambling to get to him once he’s close.
Yahaba gratefully takes the popsicle, sets his beach tote into the bed of the truck, then lets Emi climb into his arms.
“You spoil her, Yahaba,” Hana smiles at him.
“ Everyone spoils her,” Yahaba replies, “Don’t just blame me. I’m new here.”
“Definitely your fault,” Kyoutani teases. “Now get in the truck; it’s hot as hell out here and we need to be at the beach immediately.”
Yahaba rolls his eyes and sets Emi back down in the back of the truck with her sisters, only slightly covered in melted popsicle juice. She’s cute enough that even if she’d smeared it directly into his hair, he’d still struggle to be mad at her.
“Can I drive?” Hikaru asks.
“No,” Kyoutani answers flatly.
“Can I?” Hana tries.
“Absolutely not. Neither of you has your license, and even if you did, you’re not touching my truck until I literally die ,” Kyoutani bites, but it’s heatless.
“You’re no fun, Ken,” Hikaru sighs. Both girls take their usual spots right up against the cab of the truck, settling Emi between them.
“Bite me,” Kyoutani replies, then gets in the truck without another word.
Yahaba smirks to himself as he slides into the passenger seat of the cab and immediately rolls down the crank window. Hana and Hikaru are only 13 months younger than Kyoutani, and sometimes it seems like Kyoutani could be their triplet, especially when they bicker like this.
Koyo Seaside Park is only about a ten minute drive away, which is lucky, because Yahaba highly doubts that the way the girls are riding in the back is legal. And also because he’s highly impatient, and it’s way too hot to be alive right now.
He gets a blessed two minutes of a silent drive before Kyoutani starts being rude and impossible, which might be a record.
“Eat that shit before it melts into my seats,” Kyoutani demands, knocking into Yahaba’s shoulder. His nearly-forgotten popsicle looks quite pathetic, dyeing the tips of Yahaba’s fingers strawberry pink.
“Rude,” Yahaba answers, but eats it anyway. After a beat, he holds it out and asks, “Want some?”
Kyoutani glares at him like he’s insane as they roll up to a traffic light, then leans over and bites the tip off anyways. Yahaba scoffs in disbelief, and Kyoutani has the gall to laugh at him through clenched, strawberry-pink stained lips.
“You are a wild animal and I have no idea why I’m friends with you,” Yahaba glares, and Kyoutani just rolls his eyes and turns on the radio.
“Just shut up and eat your popsicle, princess,” Kyoutani says, and Yahaba lets him get away with it.
The radio station is playing classic rock, the wind feels good in his hair, and the air is beginning to smell like salt and sunscreen, so Yahaba just leans back and enjoys it.
☆☆☆
The beach is shockingly deserted today. Sure, it’s mid-afternoon on a Tuesday, but Yahaba figured there’d be more than five scattered teenagers enjoying the water on a sweltering day like today.
He inhales deeply as he grabs his bag and helps the girls out of the truck. It’s not like he’s gonna complain about having a calmer day at the beach, obviously, and the solitude makes it that much easier to keep an eye on Emi. He adores her, but it’s like she’s constantly looking for the quickest way to get hurt. Kyoutani’s mom jokes that all of her children were like that when they were as young as Emi. Yahaba told her that Kyoutani has never grown out of it, and it earned him a laugh from everyone but the boy in question.
“Oi, do you have any sunscreen?” Kyoutani’s gruff voice asks, pulling Yahaba out of memories.
“Not for you, I don’t,” Yahaba lies. Kyoutani just looks at him, vaguely annoyed and a little bored, and Yahaba caves and tosses him the bottle. “Fine, but don’t forget to put some on Emi. I doubt the twins will want to share any of their super-expensive, foreign sunscreen with her.”
“Pfft, they’d rather cut off their own limbs,” Kyoutani laughs.
Yahaba only looks a respectable amount while Kyoutani applies his sunscreen. Which is to say, he watches until Hana clears her throat rather obviously behind him and he promptly busies himself with his bag while both twins giggle at him.
He huffs, not even really annoyed. His crush on Kyoutani is a constant. It’s in the warmth beneath his skin when he’s close. It’s in the wind that ruffles his hair from the passenger seat of his truck, it’s there as he’s dozing off in the floor of his bedroom while they talk about nothing on the phone, it’s at the dinner table with him and Kyoutani’s whole family where their feet bump together, repetitive and meaningless. It’s a constant.
Which means that obviously the two perceptive, sneaky, incredibly intelligent teenage girls he spends so much time with these days have definitely noticed it and have been teasing him about it since, like, March. In their tangled, intertwined June, his crush has been a little harder to tamp down on. Their proximity has become yet another constant.
Yahaba’s mother has been out of the country since the start of April for work and isn’t due back until October (not that she was really home much before then, anyways), but she still sends money for necessities. Yahaba is more than used to managing on his own at this point, but the Kyoutani’s have made it abundantly clear that Yahaba will always have a seat at their dinner table and a bed to sleep in whenever he wants or needs, and he takes them up on that offer more than he ever thought he would.
Because of that, and well, because they’re best friends, this summer has seen them together more than it’s seen them apart. Yahaba is more fulfilled than he can remember ever being. He also feels like he’s yearning and pining and wanting more than ever before, too. It’s a weird juxtaposition to live in, but Yahaba finds he doesn’t mind it anymore than he minds the grains of sand that shift and fall beneath his feet– a bit hard to balance, but worth it to get to the ocean on the other side.
*thwap*
The unmistakable stinging sensation of a volleyball smacks against the center of his bare back and he stumbles forward, barely catching himself. He immediately turns to glare and yell at Kyoutani, who undoubtedly threw it, and finds him doubled over, fully cackling at his own misbehavior. His smile is so wide, so bright that a lot of the heat of Yahaba’s anger fetters off into cinders.
But not all of it.
Yahaba takes advantage of Kyoutani’s inattentiveness to lob the volleyball back at him, hitting him square in the chest with a loud thwack and nearly knocks Kyoutani on his ass.
Yahaba’s turn to laugh is short lived, though, because as soon as Kyoutani recovers, he’s closing the distance between them, scooping Yahaba up from under his ass, and throwing him over his shoulder. Yahaba splutters and flails, fists thudding uselessly against Kyoutani’s back. The asshole’s laughing again as he rushes to the water, and Yahaba has no choice but to surrender to it.
He can vaguely make out one of the twins with a camera pointed in their direction, and Emi rushing after them holding the hand of the other twin. How embarrassing , he thinks, but he’s laughing right along with them.
The water that he’s tossed into is pleasantly sun-warmed and soft, as is the way the Kyoutani’s grip on him loosens, but doesn’t break. Strong hands move from his thighs to around his waist and stay there as he shakes the water from his eyes. Yahaba’s arms are looped around Kyoutani’s neck. If anyone asks, he’s just holding on, trying to avoid being dunked, but he knows the truth: any opportunity he has to touch Kyoutani, he will greedily take it.
The water around them splashes again as the rest of their party dives in and tackles Kyoutani until they’re all a mess of limbs and salt-water. Kyoutani looks at him, shakes his head exasperatedly, and Yahaba can’t think of anywhere in the world he wants to be more than right here.
☆☆☆
Hikaru sends him the pictures (or rather, screenshots from the video) she took at the beach later when they’re all worn out and lethargic, draped uselessly over various pieces of furniture in the Kyoutani household. Emi has been sprawled out across both his and Kyoutani’s laps, dead asleep, for the better part of an hour. Yahaba doesn’t have the heart to move her even if he wanted to, and he knows that Kyoutani is thinking the same thing. He keeps getting a little lost in watching how gently Kyoutani rakes his fingers through Emi’s dark brown curls, and how softly he smiles at her.
In the pictures Hikaru sends, his smile is much wilder. It’s broad and unbidden in a way that Yahaba can never get enough of. Yahaba’s smile is too exposing, he knows. His face always seems to give away how he’s feeling, and these pictures are no different. He looks too fond, too happy to be manhandled and carried away.
He sets the picture as his home screen, anyways, and just hopes he’s the only one who can tell.
☆☆☆
Mr. and Mrs. Kyoutani carpool home from work together everyday, which Yahaba thinks is very sweet. However, it means that when one of them has to work late, neither parent is home to make dinner. Normally, any of the older three, or even Yahaba sometimes, picks up the slack and makes dinner for everyone.
Tonight, though? Tonight they’re boneless and a little bit sunburnt and wholly not in the mood to cook. So Mrs. Kyoutani puts an order into the family’s favorite restaurant and tells Kyoutani to be there to pick it up on time, and he agrees without much grumbling at all.
“You comin’ with me or staying here to nap?” Kyoutani asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and throwing on a shirt.
They’ve both been in their sand- and salt-crusted swim trunks, lounging in Kyoutani’s twin bed since they got back from the beach around two o’clock, and it’s a little past five now.
Yahaba really considers just napping. Kyoutani’s bed is comfortable, and it smells like him, and sometimes Mei– the family dog– comes in to cuddle. But he sighs and stands, stretching.
“I’ll go, but I need to borrow a shirt,” he says. He could technically just grab his own, but it’s in his beach bag, downstairs in the living room, and he’s feeling rather indulgent and lazy at the moment.
Kyoutani smiles and says nothing, just opens the top drawer of his dresser and tosses Yahaba the first thing he grabs. It’s a deep blue tank top, and as Yahaba pulls it on, he can tell it’s too big for him. He feels a bit ridiculous, swimming in the fabric, but it’s soft and he doesn’t have the energy to request something different, so he just smooths it down and moves on.
The tips of Kyoutani’s ears are a little red when he looks up, and Yahaba can’t tell if it’s because he’s trying not to laugh at him, or… something else that Yahaba doesn’t like thinking about. The outlandish thought that Kyoutani might be blushing at the sight of Yahaba in his clothes. Yahaba’s stomach always does a really intense acrobatics routine at the mere thought of Kyoutani feeling the same way, and he’d much rather not think about it at all.
Yahaba ignores his feelings and instead pops his head into the twins’ room and asks them to watch Emi for a little while so they can go grab dinner, and please, don’t let her watch a scary movie again because this time he won’t cover for them. They agree.
When he makes it downstairs, Kyoutani is waiting for him in the genkan, scrolling on his phone. He looks up when Yahaba gets close and says, “Mom put in the order at the wrong location. This ones, like, 45 minutes away, but I told her not to worry about it.”
“I don’t mind the ride– I’ll just text the girls to give Emi something else if she gets too whiny before we get back,” Yahaba answers, rolling with the punches seamlessly.
He likes how easy it’s been for him to slip into the fray here. He likes that he knows when Emi’s bedtime is, what time the Kyoutani parents get off work, what everyone’s go-to orders are from the local restaurants they frequent. And more than that, he likes that they know things about him . Mrs. Kyoutani stopped asking what he wanted for dinner weeks ago, they keep his favorite drinks and snacks in the kitchen, and he even has his own cubby and slippers in the genkan.
He feels welcomed and loved here, and it’s so, so different from the cold, distant, indifferent relationship he has with his own mother. No one in this house is ever too busy for Yahaba, and even if they were, they would just say that instead of disappearing to America for months with nothing more than a note left on the fridge and a shit ton of money deposited in his bank account.
Apparently, he’s wearing his feelings again, because a calloused finger reaches over and unfurls his brow for him. He meets Kyoutani’s eye and the look is knowing. When Yahaba gets like this, he’s probably thinking about his mom, and that means to be a little gentler with him and maybe buy him an ice cream or something.
Kyoutani just quirks an eyebrow, silently asking, ‘you good?’
Yahaba exhales and nods, and they leave it at that.
He feels the lingering touch of Kyoutani’s skin on his for most of the drive to the restaurant.
☆☆☆
The Kyoutani parents are home by the time they return, and it’s much later than they usually eat, but hey, dinner is dinner. Emi fell asleep on the couch watching an old cartoon about thirty minutes after Kyoutani and Yahaba left, so it’s just six of them gathered around the dining table.
Yahaba loves dinner time at the Kyoutani’s. It’s always a lively affair, and Mr. and Mrs. Kyoutani make sure to go around the table and ask each kid about their day and if they have something they wanna talk about– Yahaba included. They had more to talk about before school ended for the summer, but it’s a nice routine to be included in.
Tonight, Hikaru shows them the video of Kyoutani carrying Yahaba into the water and dunking him. Yahaba usually hates being embarrassed and loathes being laughed at, but he doesn’t mind this. Not when it feels like a joke he’s in on.
“You kids are sweet,” Mrs. Kyoutani drawls, and heat climbs up Yahaba’s neck just a bit. He’s pretty sure she knows about his crush, but it doesn’t seem like she minds.
“Sweet? This was payback for him throwing a volleyball at my head,” Kyoutani grumbles, and Yahaba takes the bait immediately.
“And that was payback for you throwing a volleyball at me when I wasn’t even looking!” Yahaba argues, knocking into his shoulder and nearly making him drop his spoon.
Kyoutani laughs and fully shoves him, and Yahaba retaliates by stealing his cutlery right out of his hands. Kyoutani just sits there staring at him, dumbfounded while everyone else snickers.
Yahaba returns his silverware before things can escalate further, considering himself the winner this time.
“Are you staying here tonight?” Mr. Kyoutani asks, a beat later.
Yahaba hums. “Would that be alright?”
“For sure,” he says, and Mrs. Kyoutani nods, too. “Anytime you want, kiddo.”
“I don’t like the thought of you in that big house all alone, anyways,” Mrs. Kyoutani adds, reaching around and rubbing his shoulder comfortingly for a moment.
Yahaba can’t fight the smile, the feeling that blossoms in his chest every time he’s reminded that he is both welcome and wanted here. He’s always a little scared of stepping on the toes of their actual children, but when he looks around, he’s met with encouraging faces.
“Okay, I’ll stay tonight,” he agrees.
Yahaba doesn’t mind his big, empty, silent house. He doesn’t mind the sanctuary he’s made his bedroom into. But he does prefer it here, where there’s laughter, and community, and color.
☆☆☆
The only thing he prefers about his house is the bed. He’s slept on this guest futon so many times that it might as well just be his , but that doesn’t mean it’s the most comfortable thing in the world.
He’s not dreading it, and he’s never been rude or bitchy enough to complain about it, so that’s why it takes him by surprise when Kyoutani brings it up.
“Huh? Wha?” Yahaba asks around a mouthful of his toothbrush, wandering out of the hallway bathroom and back into Kyoutani’s room to make sure he’d heard him correctly.
“I said , stop sleeping on that damn thing. I can tell you hate it, and besides, you’re here too damn much to stay on it,” Kyoutani repeats impatiently.
Yahaba tries to respond, backs away to go spit his toothpaste into the bathroom sink, then comes right back. “And what do you suggest instead? I go home?”
He doesn’t even get a chance to worry about that being true before Kyoutani makes an insulted face.
“No, dumbass, just get in my bed?” Kyoutani says, looking at him like he’s stupid.
Yahaba’s face heats and he puts his toothbrush back in his mouth just so he doesn’t have to say anything for a bit. He promptly marches back to the bathroom again.
Real chill, Shigeru, he thinks. Way to not be obvious at all.
He takes the steps of his nighttime routine slowly, makes every movement intentional, and lets himself breathe. So what if they share a bed? They do that pretty much every day, just not when they’re sleeping. Yahaba can be chill about this. It’s, like, not even a big deal.
He takes a deep breath, works a moisturizer into his skin in precise upward motions, and calms the fuck down. It’s been a long day– rewarding, fun, and happy, yes, but long . He’s happy to curl up and go to sleep no matter where he’s sleeping and who he’s sleeping with.
Wait, no– his face flames again. Horrible phrasing. Decidedly not sleeping with. Yahaba debates the merits of sitting down right here on the bathroom floor and not getting up until morning, but then he gets over himself and goes back to Kyoutani’s room.
His borrowed pajama pants are baggy and drag under his feet, getting caught under the heel of his slippers with every other step, and the t-shirt he’s wearing is too big even when Kyoutani wears it, so the collar of it hangs down damn near to Yahaba’s shoulders. He feels a bit like a child, kicking his pants out from under his feet as he walks down the hallway, puffing minty, overwhelmed breaths all the way.
Kyoutani’s shirtless when he gets back, applying deodorant and yawning. Then he crawls into bed– still shirtless– and leaves one half of the covers pulled open for Yahaba.
He blinks at him, blankly, then turns off the light, shuts the door, and stumbles his way into the bed refusing to think about it. It’s too small for the two of them, but that was obvious from the get-go. Yahaba has to crowd into Kyoutani’s space and shuffle around for a good two or three minutes before Kyoutani gets annoyed. He grabs Yahaba by the hips, forcefully rolls him over so he’s facing the outside of the bed, draws him back in close, and throws an arm casually across his waist like he didn’t just awaken 100 dormant feelings in Yahaba’s chest.
“Go the fuck to sleep, Yahaba,” Kyoutani breathes, and his mouth is so much closer to Yahaba’s neck than he’d realized.
It takes him thirty seconds of concentrating on breathing before he’s human again, but he manages to huff out a “Goodnight,” before Kyoutani passes out.
Night time is the only time the Kyoutani house is ever anywhere near as silent as the Yahaba house, but even now, he can hear the fan from the twins’ bedroom on full blast, the cicadas buzzing from Kyoutani’s cracked open window, and the peaceful, rhythmic breathing of the boy behind him. Even when he’s the only one awake, there’s so much life in this house.
It’s easier to fall asleep than he’d feared, with the lullaby of the house and Kyoutani’s arm around him like an anchor. He sleeps better than he has in weeks.
☆☆☆
The next morning brings Wednesday, which is the unofficial Yahaba-and-Kyoutani day, and has been for nearly as long as they’ve been friends. Yahaba doesn’t even remember how it started, really, just that at some point, they started spending their Wednesdays alone together, and they haven’t stopped yet.
In the back of Yahaba’s mind, he’s putting together a vague list of ideas they could do when something clenches around his waist and he’s reminded: oh yeah, I slept in Kyoutani’s bed with him last night.
Kyoutani always gets weirdly restless right before he wakes up, and Yahaba assumes that’s what’s happening now. His hand clenches and unclenches against Yahaba’s stomach, and on a whim, an impulse, Yahaba replaces the empty space with his own hand. The fidgeting calms almost instantly, but Yahaba can barely breathe. He just keeps looking at their intertwined hands and thinking, god, I wish that were real. It’s a little pathetic.
After a few minutes, the fidgeting starts again, and Kyoutani gradually wakes, and to Yahaba’s surprise, he only squeezes Yahaba’s hand once he notices its presence. It’s not that weird, he supposes, to casually wake up holding your best friend’s hand after falling asleep in the same bed. The logic sounds flimsy even to him, and that awful, hopeful, persistent feeling rears its ugly head. He pushes it away, shoves it down, down, down, until he can think clearly again.
“G’mornin,” Kyoutani slurs, sleep rumpled and soft. He runs the hand not holding Yahaba’s over both eyes and blearily sits up, looming over him.
He looks good in the mornings, pillow creases on his cheek and all. Yahaba has to remind himself not to stare.
“Morning,” he answers. “Plans today?”
Kyoutani blinks once. Twice.
“Breakfast.”
Yahaba laughs, and then they climb out of bed.
The morning is an unhurried parade of changing clothes, washing faces, brushing teeth, and toasting bread. Yahaba helps a very sleepy Hana reach her cereal from the top of the fridge and Kyoutani fries Emi an egg to go with her toast. It’s all horribly domestic and it fills something that has been empty inside of Yahaba for a long time: summer mornings with a family who actually speak to each other.
Hikaru requests his help curling her hair before they can talk about plans for the day, ‘because Hana always burns me!’ Yahaba doesn’t mind. Her hair is a lot longer than Yahaba is used to dealing with, but it’s so pretty, and he likes running his fingers through it. The twins are the only kids who inherited their mother’s straight hair– Kyoutani and Emi both have curls like their dad, not that Kyoutani’s hair ever gets long enough to tell.
“Got any plans today?” Hana asks from behind him.
He smiles. “Not sure what we’re doing yet, but it’s Wednesday, so we’re gonna go do something, I’m sure.”
“Riiight. Wednesdays are your date days,” Hikaru adds. “I forgot.”
“You forget everything, ” Hana says, and at the same time Yahaba says, “They aren’t dates .”
The twins look at each other unsubtly and roll their eyes.
“No, for sure not. You guys just have a dedicated day to spend together every week without fail, and nothing ever comes before those days in importance,” Hana snarks.
“Totally platonic,” Hikaru adds. “Nothing odd and/or homosexual about that at all.”
Yahaba buries the heels of his palms into his eyes and presses as hard as he can, grateful he isn’t holding a curling iron anymore. “I hate when you guys gang up on me.”
They laugh in near perfect unison and Yahaba shudders.
“Y’know, if you ever got around to confessing your feelings, then we wouldn’t have to,” Hikaru sing-songs. Yahaba scoffs without meaning to.
“I can’t afford to think like that, and even if I can afford to, it’s too scary and I don’t like it. If– and that’s a big if– your brother feels anything similar to me, I don’t wanna rush or force anything. I like what we have now,” Yahaba sighs, shakes his head. “If it progresses, I’ll be thrilled. And if it doesn’t, I’m fine with that, too.”
It’s stiffly quiet for a beat before a weary sigh breaks the tension.
“I hate that I like you and wanna respect your wishes,” Hana sighs.
“It makes it much harder to be bratty,” Hikaru agrees.
Their candor startles a laugh out of Yahaba, but he’s thankful for it. He’s thankful for them – their spunk, their honesty, and their lavender-vanilla scented hugs. They keep him on his toes even more than Emi. He likes that they can see right through him.
“I’m just glad you approve of this hypothetical, imaginary relationship,” Yahaba admits.
“Yeah, yeah. We love having you around, you make my brother and all of us happy, blah blah blah,” Hikaru drones, but she hugs him.
“Have fun on your not-date, and we’ll see you back home tonight,” Hana says, and she hugs him, too.
Then he’s pushed forcefully out of the room by four surprisingly strong hands.
☆☆☆
When Yahaba climbs into Kyoutani’s truck twenty minutes later, he has no idea where they’re going, and he doesn’t really care, either.
It’s a 50/50 on if Kyoutani even knows where he’s going, or if he just got in the truck and decided to figure it out on the way.
Yahaba thinks it’s more fun not to ask. He just rolls down the window, sits too close to the middle to be a coincidence, and turns the radio on to Kyoutani’s favorite station. The world flies past the window in a blur of summer colors: greens, blues, and oranges. It’s the perfect time of day to be on the road, too. Early enough in the morning to not be too hot, but late enough to have missed the work rush.
Yahaba isn’t surprised when Kyoutani pulls up to a public park. He thinks they’ve been to this one before, but they’ve been to a lot of places, and sometimes they sort of blend together. There’s a playground, a walking path, and a big, flat grassy area with plenty of tree coverage. A little further back, a freshwater stream winds its way lazily through the greenery. Across the street from where they parked is a cosy looking convenience store with a faded paint job, but lots of charm.
It’s beautiful, and the weather is perfect. It’s even better when they get out of the truck and Kyoutani reaches into the bed and grabs his gym bag where Yahaba knows at least two volleyballs are hiding.
“Getting some practice in today?” Yahaba asks, walking in tandem with Kyoutani to the flat, grassy area. Kyoutani rolls his eyes.
Wordlessly, he drops his bag on the ground and starts running through some basic stretches, and Yahaba follows along easily. It feels nice to stretch his body, pulling loose the tightness and the lactic acid that has built up in the last week or so, since the last time they went to a park and tossed a ball around. His body is happy with the routine maintenance, and his mind is happy to slip into a familiar pattern.
They don’t do anything crazy– just bump the ball back and forth in as long of a rally as they can manage. It’s a competition before Yahaba can even realise that he’s losing. He fails his receive again, distracted by the pretty scenery, and Kyoutani smirks in a way that is unmistakably his winning face.
Yahaba immediately locks in.
The birdsong and the windswept leaves suddenly mean nothing to him as he’s overtaken with the need to beat Kyoutani. It’s familiar and thrilling. It has the undercurrent of every stupid fight they used to have, but without the screaming and belittling and embarrassing wall-throwing. It is decidedly more fun like this, where they get to hang out and go home together afterwards, and Yahaba isn’t confused about his feelings.
When he sends the ball back too low and Kyoutani fumbles it, he cheers like an excitable little kid, even though he’s still three points down. It makes Kyoutani bite back a grin and spike the ball at his head, which he dodges easily.
“You’re a sore loser and a sore winner,” Yahaba laughs as he chases down the ball.
“Yeah, well, you’re just a regular loser,” Kyoutani teases.
Yahaba throws the volleyball at him.
He catches it, and the game continues, both of them trying way too hard to win a game of glorified catch at the park.
☆☆☆
“I can’t believe you lost even after I gave you, like, four free points,” Yahaba goades as they walk into the convenience store across the street together.
Sweat is sticking to their skin and to their shirts, and Yahaba’s muscles are pleasantly tired. Kyoutani’s laugh is ugly and loud, and Yahaba doesn’t even mind that much when he shoulder checks him.
“I let you win,” Kyoutani lies, grabbing a green apple soda from the cooler and pressing it to his forehead.
“Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night,” Yahaba says. Anyone else would shrink under the baleful glare Kyoutani hits him with, but Yahaba just flashes an innocent, pretty smile, and starts looking for snacks.
After they both make their selections and check out, they wander back across the park to the little stream they’d spotted earlier.
They collapse in a tired huff, and Yahaba wastes no time slipping out of his shoes and dipping his feet into the cool water. Kyoutani sorts their drinks and snacks out between them, then joins him, both of them laying back in the grass.
They don’t say much. The gentle rushing of the water, the children playing on the playground, and the various sounds of a suburban summer make enough noise to fill the silence. Yahaba isn’t sure how long they’ve been here, but he doesn’t mind. The sun and the grass are soft against his skin. They wordlessly pass their snacks back and forth until they’re gone, just watching the clouds pass overhead.
These are some of Yahaba’s favorite days. He likes when they just exist in a bubble, far away from any responsibilities and anyone they know. He likes sharing a space together. Spending time passively in each others’ presence.
“Mom says she’s making your favorite tonight,” Kyoutani says quietly. When Yahaba looks over, he’s typing a response out on his phone, then tossing it back down in the grass. “You staying the night?”
Yahaba pauses like he’s considering it, but he knows that he’ll stay any and every time he’s asked. “I’ll need to swing by my place. As much as your clothes are fine, I do prefer to wear things that fit me.”
Kyoutani rolls his eyes, mutters something rude about him being a princess, and sits up.
“We’ll stop by on the way home,” Kyoutani acquiesces. “I gotta drop by the store and do some shopping for mom before, though.”
“I love shopping for your mom,” Yahaba sighs, sitting up and joining him. He pulls his feet out of the stream and sets to putting his shoes back on.
“That’s just because she says you ‘do it better’ than the rest of us and you’re a massive suck up,” Kyoutani scoffs.
“It’s not my fault the rest of you always forget half of her list. Besides, it’s hard work being the favorite. I have to take the easy wins where I can,” Yahaba jokes.
Kyoutani chuckles as he ties his laces. “Dunno how you won her over. You’re awful.”
Yahaba just rolls his eyes and gets to his feet. They pick up the trash from their snack wrappers, stuff it in the plastic bag it came in, and carry it back to the truck with them.
When they get to the store, Kyoutani begrudgingly sends Mrs. Kyoutani’s list to him and lets him take the lead. Yahaba has long since memorized the right brands, right sizes, and right amounts for most of her shopping, so he makes quick work of it. Kyoutani is right: Yahaba is absolutely a suck up. He needs to be liked by any and all authority figures that he respects. It drives him crazy sometimes, but with Mr. and Mrs. Kyoutani, it’s as easy as just showing up. He tries hard for them out of genuine care and respect and wanting to repay their kindness.
It probably isn’t a big deal to the Kyoutani’s to care for Yahaba. Caring seems to be deeply ingrained into the fiber of their family; it shines through in everything they say and do. But it is a big deal to Yahaba, who isn’t used to being cared for. He wasn’t prepared for it– for how it came sweeping into his life and filling the cracked and broken parts of him that he’d been ignoring, for how it made him realize how much he was lacking and how much he never wants to lack it again.
Anyways, they check out without missing a single item on Mrs. Kyoutani’s list. It really is the least he can do.
☆☆☆
His house is as dark and empty and silent as he’d left it when Yahaba and Kyoutani filter in through the door.
They toe their shoes off in the genkan and Yahaba turns on the lights, his rarely used keys jingling in his hands the whole way. Yahaba’s bedroom is the farthest distance it can be from the front door, so they march upstairs and down the dark hallway flicking every light switch they pass.
Kyoutani has been here plenty of times before. He’s even stayed overnight on a few occasions. But still, Yahaba can’t help but think he looks out of place among the dust-covered surfaces. Kyoutani is so loud – his gruff voice, his laugh, his heavy footfalls. Even the way he looks is disproportionately loud against the silent grey backdrop of Yahaba’s house, his warm eyes like fire in the cold of it.
“You should grab a few outfits,” Kyoutani says as he casually drops onto Yahaba’s perfectly made bed. “You can just leave ‘em at my place so you don’t have to come back here so often.”
Yahaba feels warm at the thought and tries desperately to hide it. “What, you trying to kidnap me? Move me in?” he teases, but starts grabbing shirts off hangers in his closet, anyways.
“Might as well,” Kyoutani huffs, idly scrolling on his phone.
Yahaba admits that he thinks about it more than he should, probably. About leaving this house and all of its oppressive silence. He’d turned 18 in March, and his mother pays all of the bills on this place remotely, so he isn’t even sure what’s keeping him here. Regardless of his wants, though, he would never impose on the Kyoutani’s that much, no matter how many times they repeat that he can come over whenever and stay as long as he wants. He can hardly assume ‘as long as you want’ translates to ‘forever’ or ‘until you go to college.’
“You’re thinking too loud, Yahaba,” Kyoutani interrupts. Yahaba hadn’t even realized that he’d frozen, holding on to a t-shirt way too tightly.
“Sorry, Kyou, but you definitely just casually invited me to stay at your house indefinitely– I think I’m probably allowed to think a little loudly about that,” Yahaba bites, but he isn’t angry, and they both know that.
Kyoutani sighs, long and drawn out and dramatic. “My parents have been incredibly obvious about wanting you to stay with us at least until your mom comes back, and probably every time she goes out of town. You can’t act like you’re still surprised we want you there.”
Yahaba lets his words sink in, his mind catching over and over again on the ‘ we’ in the last sentence. Logically, he knows. Obviously, he knows. That he’s loved and wanted by all of the Kyoutani’s. But it’s still overwhelming to hear it put so plainly, so casually and simply, like it’s just an understood fact of life.
He puts down the shirt he was holding and flops down onto his bed next to Kyoutani, crowding into his space and just breathing. Kyoutani allows it easily, wrapping an arm around Yahaba’s shoulder and squeezing. Yahaba gets like this sometimes– overwhelmed and in need of grounding– and Kyoutani is used to it. Lets him sit and think in the quiet that he needs.
“I’m being dramatic,” he finally whispers after a few minutes. He can feel Kyoutani chuckle against him more than he can hear it.
“I’m used to it,” he whispers. After a moment, he amends, “I don’t mind it.”
“I’ll grab a few outfits,” Yahaba agrees. “Several, maybe. I’ll have to actually talk to your parents about staying that long, though, I’m not just gonna show up and stop leaving.”
“They wouldn’t mind,” Kyoutani assures him. “Neither would Emi. Or Hana and Hikaru.” A deep breath. “And neither would I. Come home with me, and stay.”
It’s a flood. There’s not another way to describe the way that feelings hit him: affection, excitement, and that ugly beast, hope . He’s pulled under, engulfed, and this time he can’t shove them all away. He likes Kyoutani, and god, he’s desperate for Kyoutani to like him back– this time, part of him acknowledges that he probably does. He doesn’t know what to do with it all, so he just lets it wash over him until his breathing evens out.
They both pretend that Yahaba’s eyes are dry as he pulls himself together, swallows the swamp of emotions and lets them stay just under the surface, and starts grabbing some outfits and throwing them in a bag.
☆☆☆
Yahaba is mildly tense throughout dinner. Mrs. Kyoutani made his favorite food as promised, and gave him a hug and a kiss on the head when he told her that he’d handled the shopping. He files that success away with all of the others and holds on tight to that feeling of accomplishment.
He volunteers to help with the washing up after dinner so that he can get both Kyoutani parents to himself, away from any prying ears. He can do this. He can totally just bring it up and ask, and it’ll be no big deal no matter what they say.
“You look tense, kiddo,” Mr. Kyoutani points out, drying his hands on a small towel. Yahaba flushes.
“Uh,” he starts. Pauses. Starts again. “I have a question and it’s totally cool if you guys say no.”
They exchange a look and both stop what they’re doing to give him their full attention. It’s so simple to them, so easy to be good parents, even to a kid who isn’t theirs. It’s a lot to face head on.
“Is there something wrong, Yahaba?” Mrs. Kyoutani asks him, rubbing his arm in a soothing pattern.
“No! Not at all,” he swallows. “I was just wondering… would it be okay if I, uh, stayed here? At least until my mom gets back from the States?”
He doesn’t get time to fret about any perceived rejection, because they both smile at him instantly. They don’t even seem to think about it, they’re just immediately on the same page.
“Of course you can,” Mrs. Kyoutani confirms. “Hell, stay longer, if you want. You’re always welcome here, sweetheart.”
“We’ve been wondering if we should extend the invitation ourselves, but you beat us to it,” Mr. Kyoutani adds, clapping him on the shoulder.
“Right,” Yahaba exhales, suddenly exhausted now that the adrenaline is fading. He finally untenses his muscles and takes a deep breath. “Thank you both.”
They assure him there’s nothing to thank them for and usher him upstairs with the rest of the kids. He disagrees: there is so much to thank them for that Yahaba doesn’t even know where to start. But he goes upstairs, anyway.
Kyoutani and Emi are both sitting on the floor and reading when Yahaba returns to the room. He sinks down to join them, letting Emi abandon her spot and climb into his lap. Kyoutani looks at him with a question in his eyes.
“Well? Did you ask them?” he grunts.
“Yeah, and they said I could stay. Actually, they said I never had to leave, pretty much,” Yahaba confirms.
“Stay here ?” Emi gasps, bouncing up and down, book suddenly abandoned. “Like for forever?”
“I don’t know about forever , Emi, but definitely for a long while,” Yahaba answers, and she cheers. She throws her little arms around his neck and squeezes, then jumps up and rushes out of the room.
“Where is she going?” Yahaba wonders aloud. Kyoutani snorts.
“Telling the twins, I’m assuming.”
Sure enough, Yahaba’s phone buzzes about a dozen times in as many seconds, flooding with excited texts that consist mostly of emojis and kaomojis that Yahaba can only translate because of his proximity to Oikawa.
“They approve,” he says plainly, showing Kyoutani the screen, and he smiles one of his real smiles. Not a smirk, not small and hidden, but a wide, open smile, all for Yahaba.
“Told you so,” he brags. “In, like, ten different ways.”
Yahaba punches him in the arm.
☆☆☆
Much later in the night, after Emi and the parents are long in bed, Yahaba is restless.
He tries to read a book, but can’t focus on it. He scrolls on his phone, but nothing catches his attention. He’s resorted to throwing a volleyball in the air and catching it, over and over again, just to have something to do with his hands.
“Oh my god , Yahaba,” Kyoutani growls, and Yahaba stops his fidgeting.
For a few minutes, he lays there on the bed next to Kyoutani, still nose deep in the same book from earlier. He tries not to be annoying, but he keeps tapping his fingers, or bouncing one foot. He doesn’t even know why he’s restless, or if he’s just bored, but he can’t seem to settle down.
Kyoutani’s sighs get more and more exasperated until suddenly he’s closing his book, standing up off the bed, and finding a t-shirt to throw on. He looks at Yahaba expectantly.
“What?”
“Come on,” Kyoutani huffs, grabbing his truck keys from his nightstand. Apparently, they’re going somewhere.
Kyoutani looks impatient, so Yahaba just listens for once. He gets up and grabs a shirt from the cramped closet where both of their clothes now reside, throws it on, and follows Kyoutani out the door.
Kyoutani pops his head into the twins’ room and says that they’ll be back at some point but not to bother waiting up, and asks them to lock up the house after they leave. Despite his burning curiosity, Yahaba holds his tongue. Kyoutani seems to have a plan and he’s at least pretty sure that he’s not going to drop him off in the middle of nowhere and drive away.
Thankfully, Kyoutani just drives them back to the beach, of all places. Yahaba’s phone tells him it’s eleven PM, and the place is understandably deserted. The moon is full tonight, or somewhere near it, and the ocean looks silver under the glow.
Wordlessly, Kyoutani parks and climbs out of the truck, then goes around to the back and lowers the tailgate. He jumps up to sit on it and waits for Yahaba. Yahaba blinks at him, still confused about everything that’s happening, then follows.
“Why are we here?” Yahaba finally asks, climbing into the truck bed beside him. Kyoutani turns his gaze from the ocean to meet his eyes. He’s beautiful in the moonlight, and Yahaba can’t help but notice it.
“Something’s bothering you. You need the quiet to think, and I figured it would be quiet enough here,” Kyoutani tells him. It’s so thoughtful that Yahaba would have fallen on his ass had he not been sitting on it already.
Yahaba says nothing in response for fear of saying way too much. He just smiles at the boy beside him, and tries to think.
Something is bothering him. Something that crawled into his brain and has been living under his skin for months and months now. Something he doesn’t let himself think about. It’s Kyoutani, because of course it is. It’s Kyoutani and all of the hundreds of big and small ways he’s made Yahaba fall completely in love with him.
Kyoutani and all of his rough edges. The way he’s earnest in everything, the way he feels so much he explodes sometimes, the quiet ways he tries that no one else ever seems to notice. Kyoutani and his warmth– that overbearing fire that burns inside him that warms Yahaba to his core. It’s his smiles and his laughs and his crude, ridiculous jokes. The way Yahaba can feel his touch for hours, how every part of him lingers on Yahaba’s body and in his brain. The way that Yahaba is always wanting more, and the way that Kyoutani has yet to deny him just that.
He’s terrified to think about these feelings sitting so close to the boy they’re about, like they might leap out of his mouth without his permission. And even now that he allows himself to think about it, and fully accept his emotions for what they are, how will he know how or when to act on them? Is there ever really a ‘right time,’ or is there just the time that you choose?
Yahaba physically shakes his head to stop the cycle of overthinking before it can really start. He has to find a way to let himself want things, and he needs to wrap his head around the fact that, sometimes, he can just ask for the things that he wants. And he wants Kyoutani– more than he’s ever wanted anything before. He wants his attention on him all the time, wants to impress him, wants to touch him and be touched back. There’s an intensity building in him and he has to do something about it before he drives himself insane.
Working on half of a desperate thought, he kicks his shoes off and tosses them into the bed of the truck. Kyoutani looks at him like he’s gone a little crazy, and it’s only exacerbated when Yahaba pulls his shirt off along with it.
“What are you doing?” Kyoutani asks.
“Getting in the water,” Yahaba answers. It’ll be cold at this hour, but he doesn’t mind. “You’re coming, too.”
Kyoutani scoffs. “Oh, am I, princess?”
“Yes. Now come on, I’ll race you,” Yahaba teases, and then he’s off.
Kyoutani yells something about being a cheater and other incredibly rude things behind him, but Yahaba isn’t listening. He knows that he’ll follow. Yahaba crashes into the cold water and keeps going. Deeper, deeper until the water is at his shoulders and every wave takes him briefly under.
He lets the freezing current rock him back and forth, clearing his mind and getting his adrenaline pumping, both things he knows he’ll need if he can muster up the courage to say what he wants to.
“You are such a bitch , Yahaba,” Kyoutani laughs, then tackles him into the water. Kyoutani’s body is warm as it collides with his own, and Yahaba can’t stop himself from latching onto it.
When they come back up, they’re tangled together and laughing. Kyoutani is holding him by the waist, not letting the waves separate them. Yahaba indulges in the heat of it, loops his arms around Kyoutani and really watches how Kyoutani sinks into the touch, watches how his golden eyes trace Yahaba’s form. He’s beginning to think that maybe he’s been holding himself back from a lot, and he’s never really had a good reason for it.
Something about this summer is making him brave, maybe. Or perhaps he’s finally accepted that it’s not some crazy, far-fetched idea that Yahaba might be loved and wanted. The Kyoutani’s have worn down all his sharp points, made him softer, made him understand that he doesn’t need to hold himself at an arm’s length and be perfect to be worth wanting.
And he thinks, maybe Kyoutani wants him just as much as he wants Kyoutani.
“Hey,” Yahaba says, heart in his throat, and Kyoutani’s eyes snap to him.
Kyoutani opens his mouth to answer, but Yahaba just gives in and kisses him.
Kyoutani makes a surprised noise against his lips, but then he melts into it. His hands move from Yahaba’s side to gently cradle his face, and it’s just so easy to slip into this with him. Yahaba tilts his head a bit, parts his lips, and the way they glide together is seamless and perfect. Yahaba clings to him like he doesn’t remember how to breathe without him, kisses him like he doesn’t know how to do anything else anymore.
They stay there, attached at the mouth, until a wave crashes into them and sends them under. They come up laughing again, still clinging to each other, and it’s good . Kyoutani peppers little kisses to Yahaba’s jaw, his face, wherever he can reach. It’s like he’s desperate to share his affection now that he knows he’s allowed to, and Yahaba isn’t stupid enough to interrupt him. He just basks in it and holds him as close as he can.
It’s odd to think that so many little things have shifted, irreversibly, just since Yahaba ran into the water. A change has happened between them in the last three minutes that has forever altered the course of their friendship, or whatever they are to each other now. It is frightening, but Yahaba thinks that he could probably face a million terrifying things if it meant he got to keep kissing Kyoutani like this. Now that he knows what it feels like, he’ll do anything to keep it.
“You’re crazy, by the way,” Kyoutani says against his throat. “Running into the ocean alone in the middle of the night.”
“I’ve been called worse,” Yahaba answers, punctuating his sentence by pulling Kyoutani’s face to his and kissing him again. “But we are gonna get sick if we stay out here.”
They make their way back to the shore, hobbling through the loose sand trying to stick to their wet feet, holding hands like it’s a casual thing they do all the time. If Yahaba’s lucky– and he thinks he might be– holding hands will be a casual thing they do all the time from now on.
Once they’re at the truck, Kyoutani fishes out some towels he keeps shoved behind the driver’s seat for moments exactly like this one and they meet again on the tailgate. Yahaba scoots as close to Kyoutani as he can and smiles when Kyoutani wraps him in his arms and pulls him even closer.
“This is crazy,” Yahaba whispers. “I never thought I could have this.”
Kyoutani looks at him with an almost unreadable expression, and Yahaba guesses he’s trying to swallow his pride and say something sappy without choking on it.
“You can have whatever you want from me,” he finally says. “Ask for anything, and I’ll give it to you, if I can. Dumbass.”
Yahaba smiles, ignores the insult tacked on, and unravels a little bit more in his arms. “All I want is you,” he answers. “I want to be able to have you forever.”
“I’m yours, then,” Kyoutani tells him, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. And maybe it is, maybe Yahaba has been overthinking everything this whole time. Maybe all he’s ever had to do was ask for this, and it would be granted to him with a kiss and a smile.
“Okay, uh. Shit ,” Yahaba rambles, giddy and overcome with shaky emotion. “Cool.”
“Are you gonna stop freakin’ out every time I hug you or something now?” Kyoutani teases, and Yahaba burns at the implication of his obviousness.
“Probably not,” Yahaba admits, fighting through the embarrassment. God, how long has Kyoutani known? Has he been… flirting with Yahaba this whole time?
In the morning, he’ll look at the past few months with clearer eyes and a clearer head, and he’ll be able to point out all of the many ways he’d been foolish, oblivious, and stubborn. He’ll recognize every lingering touch for what they were: attempts to break down his walls, to let him know that he is loved, to get just that much closer.
But tonight, Yahaba sits on the tailgate of Kyoutani’s truck, stealing kisses and lingering touches. Their feet bump together, repetitive and significant, and the whispers confessed between them have been a long time coming.