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There’s this terrible ache in the back of his jaw that persists throughout childhood, and the dentist will say it’s some derivative of stress or that constant jaw-clenching he’s been practicing ever since he began volleyball and had to play matches with a dozen other losers who’ve probably never ran in their lives, but, Atsumu knows, secretly, that the roots of this bad tooth extends down to the heart.
It’s not what the x-ray shows, (it’s just ordinary procedure, his dentist tells him, absolutely nothing to worry about) but it makes him tremble, sometimes, when nobody’s looking.
“I don’t like needles,” he tells her. “And I don’t like people wearing scrubs. And masks.” And he does not like being in sterile places, the eerie white and melancholy blue. The reception room is furnished brightly with a singular TV and a dead orchid and a lady taking phone calls at the desk who sounds more mean than helpful.
“We’re professionals,” assures his dentist. “You won’t feel a thing.”
For some reason he doesn’t believe her. It’s a juvenile kind of distrust.
His father was a dentist too, did you know that? When Atsumu was small and his hair was still dark, Mr. Miya would tell him that the tooth fairy didn’t exist, but he and Osamu would hide all kinds of things under their pillows anyway, bartering with this mystical creature with a penchant for capitalism if it concerned their baby teeth.
Turns out she did exist. It was his mother. His mother was the tooth fairy. Which wasn’t surprising. But being a tooth fairy was supposed to be a joint project. At least, that’s what the other kids would say, about Santa, and the Easter Bunny, and so on and so forth. That was the surprise.
Atsumu can hear the television from the reception. It’s playing a kid’s show. Tiny Bunny is trying to approach a cranky Big Bear with peace offerings: apples and honey.
“That should be all. Would you like to sign the waivers now?”
“Sure. Where do I get them?”
“With the receptionist. She’ll give you a pen.”
Ah. The mean and ugly receptionist lady.
Atsumu wants Osamu right now to tell the world he asked for no pickles. He wants Osamu to make the booking for his stupid operation necessitated by the typical but wholly inconvenient growth patterns of his back molars. But Osamu is occupied with business, like, in the grown-up-adult kind of way, which means he’ll only hear the same thing he’s been hearing since he was a little kid if he asks.
(Not now. I’m busy.)
Which is fine. If all else fails, he will nominate Bokuto as his guardian for the day.
Atsumu rifles through the consent forms and disclaimers and the post-operative instructions and the ladida yadda yadda blablabla papers and finally gets to the part that matters.
Next to the word adult is also, the word responsible, which begs the question: can Bokuto Koutarou even drive?
“Goldfish hate me,” says Bokuto two weeks ago, tears in his eyes.
“Aw man. Don’t sweat it,” Atsumu pats him reassuringly on the back. “He’s in a better tank now. How long did you keep Bubbles anyway?”
“…One day old.”
“How do you kill a one-day-old goldfish.”
“Beats me. But I loved him, you know? We had his funeral on Monday.”
The receptionist gives him an impatient look. Atsumu ignores her, hmms, and thinks, nevermind. Sorry, Bokuto. You’ve just been axed from your hypothetical job as babysitter for reasons beyond your comprehension.
A wise choice, says the future. You won’t regret it.
Which leaves Hinata Shouyou as the most suitable option, and the only option if he wants to emerge from his operation unscathed. The pain in his jaw flares back up again. Why does it keep doing that?
On the television, Tiny Bunny pulls a sharp quill from Big Bear’s paws.
“So this is why you were upset,” he squeaks. “I thought you were just a meanie bear!”
“I’m a nice bear,” says Big Bear, wiggling his nose. “And now I’m a hungry bear.”
Tiny Bunny screams.
“Hi,” says the receptionist, rigidly tapping a set of two-inch talons that ask him if he’s still on Earth. He’s not. He’s tumbling through the space between purgatory and hell. “Are you done with that?”
The dotted line adjacent to ‘Nominate your responsible adult:’ remains blank under the ballpoint tip of his pen. He hasn’t asked him yet, but he’s got a good feeling Hinata will gladly let him string him along, anyway. Which is fine. The potent effects of general anaesthesia will not backfire on him as long as Shouyou-kun doesn’t get too close.
Is he done with that? Yes, yes he is. Here you go, mean and ugly receptionist lady.
He scribbles down a name, and slides the papers back over the counter.
※ ※ ※
“Hypothetically.”
“Mm?”
“If I put your name down as my responsible adult for a wisdom extraction next week. Would you follow through on it?”
Hinata looks at him curiously. “That’s really specific,” he says. And, a beat later, “It’s not a hypothesis, though, is it.”
“…No?”
Okay, so, Hinata. He’s this angel of light and generosity. He doesn’t smile. He beams. When he does, Atsumu gets these huge cavities in his heart that make him keel over in private. If Hinata exists in the same room as a decision, then there is no compromise, and everything is vetoed in his favour. Judge, jury, executioner, Hinata Shouyou… You get the gist.
“Did you also want me to, you know.” Hinata pretends to shovel food into his mouth. He’s never gotten his teeth extracted, and won’t have to, because the orientation of his wisdoms do not require any surgery according to his dentist, as does the trajectory of all things Shouyou: upwards motion, reaching for the sun.
“I can feed myself,” Atsumu says, scrunching his nose with spectacular derision. “But I’ll be out like a light for two hours, max. And then you can dump me at home.”
“Why didn’t you ask me first?”
“Huh?”
“You put my name down on a random document without telling me. It’s kind of… I dunno.”
Selfish is a word that leaves Hinata’s tongue and stops at his teeth, because he’s too nice to say it, but also because there’s something else lingering by the apple in his throat, something that tells him, in secret, that he doesn’t consider it such a bad thing.
You’re going to say yes because you can’t say no, is what Atsumu thinks, but does not say, because he might be an asshole but he isn’t stupid, (he’s self aware. One might say that it makes him even worse). He does consider it, until the astral projection of Kita-san laser-beams into his head and reminds him how bad he is at explaining himself to perfect people, people with stars for eyes and hunger for height, people who he wants to bear his soul to, people who make his jaw ache. For a moment, he reflects.
“Sorry,” Atsumu blurts, after a long while. “’Samu wasn’t free. I thought of you.”
Hinata stiffens. Evidently he hasn’t been expecting this answer. Something in him switches on. His eyes dart around Atsumu’s face. Searching, searching.
Behind them, the Jackals are talking between drills. Bokuto is still thinking about Bubbles. Sakusa is lecturing him about fish tank prerequisites and nitrogen levels and filtration systems and a whole bunch of words that are make sense on their own, but not next to each other.
“Do you think of me often?” Hinata laughs, hugging his volleyball close to his chest. The thought of proximity endangers his bravado.
“No,” Atsumu says, like a liar. “Just this once. You’re responsible, and an adult.”
“You put me on a pedestal, Atsumu-san. I’ve only been an adult for three years.”
What does that make me? Atsumu thinks, twenty-two years old and unhappy and alone in Osaka with an aching set of molars that love to make themselves known whenever he’s having a good time. His brother doesn’t call as much as he used to. His parents, even less.
Cautiously, “So, is that a yes?”
“Of course,” Hinata confirms, with a smile that is all teeth. “I’m excited. Are you scared?”
“No,” Atsumu lies, like a liar. “I can take a needle, no problem.”
“Ehh… but that time we had to get our flu shots-”
“No, no. That was different. And we don’t talk about that, remember?”
“Right. Sorry. But you did scream.”
“Shhhh. Let’s not.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
※ ※ ※
Two hours before the operation, on the advice of most of his colleagues who have undergone a similar procedure, Atsumu sits himself down at a restaurant to eat as much as he can lest he starve from the nonconsensual hunger strike imposed by the pain in his stitches post-op. He’s heard it hurts, a lot. Osamu says the hunger pangs are worse than the stitches, and Atsumu can see why he might say that.
“I got a call the other day,” says Hinata, at the other end of the table. “An offer from a team in Brazil. I’ve heard of them. They’re good. I was flattered when they asked for me, personally.”
“Huh,” Atsumu says, cutting up his omurice into ruthless shapes. It’s a bad time to lose an appetite, but it’s gone for good, and the eggs taste a lot more flavourless than they did a second ago.
“I was thinking of taking up on their offer.”
Under his breath, “Have you thought about coming back?”
“Pardon?”
“Nothin’.”
Hinata is about to chase him up on that, until a waitress comes over with a burger on a plate, complete with fries. She sets it down on Hinata’s end of the table, until Hinata very abruptly squints and picks up the bun at the top with scrutiny. Whatever he’s suspected, he has confirmed.
“He asked for no pickles,” he says, stern and polite. Four green circles glisten wickedly over a slice of melted cheese. His father used to force him to eat those. Atsumu learnt, very quickly, that not all fermentation processes were created equal.
The waitress bashfully promises to amend this error while Hinata tells her it’s nothing, and then disappears back to the kitchen.
“She definitely thought your burger was for me,” Hinata laughs, when she’s out of earshot. “Maybe I should order something too.”
“I look like a greedy hell of a pig,” Atsumu grumbles, munching on egg and rice. He’s got two drinks to his left, and a side of pickled radishes, all to himself. Not that he feels like eating them anymore.
“You look fine, Atsumu-san. How are your teeth doing, anyway?”
Atsumu pauses. Puts a hand against the corner of his jaw. It’s stopped hurting. What wonder. Should he call off the surgery?
“We’re still going,” Hinata says hastily, like he’s trying to cut Atsumu off before he can come out and say it. He’s a true psychic. Or maybe Atsumu is an open book. Or maybe it’s both.
Atsumu thinks about kissing him, just to test the hypothesis. Hinata tilts his head like a perplexed dog.
※ ※ ※
Before he steps into the clinic, he takes Hinata by the shoulders and looks him dead in the eyes.
“You have to promise me this one thing,” he says.
“What?”
“Don’t get too close to me. And ignore everything I say. And if I… If I say something stupid, I didn’t mean it, alright?”
“That’s like, three things.”
“Whatever. Just. Promise you’ll take me straight home. And don’t laugh at me. I’ll cry.”
“Have I ever?” Hinata says, holding back a laugh. Atsumu shoots him a pointed look. “Okay, okay. Geez,” he puts his hands up in surrender. “I can’t tell why you’re so anxious. You’ve got the best dentists working on your perfect little teeth.”
“Not as perfect as yours.”
“If you’re trying to get me to cancel the appointment, it’s not happening. It’s for your own good.”
“I gave up on that ages ago,” Atsumu huffs.
“Your hands are trembling.”
“No they’re not.”
Hinata reaches down and picks them up, and sandwiches them between his own hands. The expression Hinata wears is completely sincere. Atsumu’s phone is ringing silently in his pocket. He lets it. Nothing could be any more important than the now.
“Why don’t you ask if you can keep them?” Hinata suggests, lifting his gaze up at him. “Then the tooth fairy will come. Four wisdoms are about ten thousand yen, no?”
“Holy Jesus. Ten thousand yen? What kind of tooth fairy did you have?”
“Me?” Hinata chortles. “I never had one.”
Hinata has been many things in his life- a weed in the concrete, best friend to a prodigy, a prodigy, and a Miyagi-born Rio local with a fondness for durian. He has also been an older brother. He has also been a tooth fairy. He still hasn’t lost his touch. You’ll see.
“Well, mine gave me a pair of FamilyMart socks once.”
“No way.”
※ ※ ※
One of the few things Hinata knows about Atsumu’s unintentionally confidential family life is what he doesn’t know. Does he have relatives? Grandparents? Does he even have parents? Hinata doesn’t ask, because Atsumu doesn’t answer, and touchy subjects are not their forte, even if he’s the so-called god of healthy communication (a title given, not earned).
He thinks he’s gotten a passing glance of Atsumu’s parents before, in a V-League match that the Jackals lost- his father, stern, watching the game through a pair of spectacles that glinted eerily in a way that hid the gaze behind them, and his mother, sharp-eyed beauty, exuberant with cheer. The both of them, somewhat critical of their performance, only that one hid it better than the other.
If he’s right about his guess, then it’s no wonder which twin got what. It’s also no wonder why Atsumu doesn’t let up about home.
The receptionist, as it turns out, is not just a figment of Atsumu’s exaggeration. She is mean and rude, which makes her ugly. Hinata avoids her as best as he can in the doleful mundanity of a waiting room, and watches Big Bear chase Tiny Bunny around a tree stump. Tiny Bunny is running for his life. Big Bear is taking his damn time.
But I helped you! Tiny Bunny wails. I plucked the quill from your paw!
Big Bear lumbers towards him. He is limping. I can’t help it, he moans. I’m so, so hungry.
The dentist appears in the corridor and Hinata stands from his chair to greet her. “Good afternoon,” she says with a slight bow. “Are you Hinata-san?”
“I am,” he says, with a deeper bow.
“He’s awake now. Would you like to see him?”
“Yes, please. Did it go well?”
“Very,” she nods. “But we had to cut up the teeth into smaller pieces to make the process more convenient for the patient. I understand he wanted to take them home, so I apologise.”
“Ah,” says Hinata, clasping his hands. “That’s alright. I don’t think he’ll mind.”
He definitely will, but they’ll figure it out later.
※ ※ ※
“Mah teef.”
“They said they can’t give it you anymore.”
“Whah?”
“She said something about a biohazard.”
“Buh mah teef.”
“Don’t talk. You’re bleeding.”
When Atsumu blinks, he closes his left eye first, then his right. Once shut, they open together. It looks very goofy. Hinata is about to ask him how he’s feeling until he remembers he’s forced Atsumu to take an impromptu vow of silence, to which he seems to be following. Hinata feels like he has harnessed the power of the universe. He has.
“Your dentist told me you were very brave,” he tells him.
“I wassh?”
“She said you shut your eyes when they brought out the shot. Which means you didn’t scream, like last time.” Atsumu grips his wrist tightly. Hinata lets him. It hurts. “Isn’t that brave?”
Atsumu answers with a nod that rocks his whole body. “But mah teef,” he says. The gauze in his mouth is coloured red.
“Shhh. Don’t talk. You’ll thank me later.”
※ ※ ※
Atsumu has read the post-operative instructions with a magnifying glass and does what he can what little he can do to follow them, as he wallows in the pain radiating from his head, cramped and alone and unhappy in his bed.
One of the things he has to look out for is a condition called dry socket. In summary, it’s when you dislodge the blood clot that’s supposed to form over the empty socket of an extracted tooth. To avoid it, you are forbidden from sucking, spitting, or swallowing too hard. You cannot use a straw. You cannot take part in any strenuous activity. Though you can try, you won’t be able to eat, especially on the first day, when even the smallest of movements feel like you’ve just clamped down on a poisonous cactus.
Ah, but he’s not alone. Hinata is holding his hand beside him- are they in bed together? What the holy hell? Are they holding hands?
Okay, fuck the instructions.
He has this dream where he tells Hinata everything. He sucks in a breath, spits out a secret, and swallows a truth. Are you ready?
They’re in the car going back to his apartment. Hinata has both hands on the steering wheel, but his eyes flicker from the road to the rear-view mirror. Atsumu is in the back, slumped weirdly over the middle and the rightmost seat.
“I like you a lot,” he mumbles. It should be impossible to say anything with the stuffing in his mouth, but it’s a dream, so his words have a clarity to them that pierces Hinata to the bone. Hinata’s eyes are off the road now, and they find permanent residence onto the reflection of Atsumu’s own in the mirror. He seems startled. “I’m sorry,” Atsumu adds, in case he’s a bother. “I can’t help it.”
“Don’t apologise,” Hinata says, after a solemn beat. “I like you a lot, too.”
“My jaw doesn’t hurt anymore. I don’t think it was ever the teeth.”
“What do you think it was?”
“I don’t know. But it stopped hurting when you got close. Imagine what you could do for-” he puts a hand over his heart. “for me, if you stay.”
Hinata pulls over on the side of the road. Brake lights, red. Tyres squeal. The gear shift creaks as he parks the car, and he turns around to look at him properly. If only car seats swivelled like office chairs. Maybe then he’d be able to seize him by the shoulders and feel the blood in his mouth, share in the taste of copper.
※ ※ ※
In the middle of practice, one week post-operation:
“You’ve got something under your pillow,” Hinata says unexpectedly.
Confused, Atsumu scrunches his nose. “I’m not broke,” he says defensively. “Don’t give me anything. I owe you for lookin’ after me, you hear? I don’t even have my teeth. You said they wouldn’t let you keep them.”
“I’m going to renew my contract with the Jackals for another year.”
“What?” Atsumu gawks, elation bobbing up and down his throat. “What changed your mind? What happened?”
You did, Hinata thinks, but does not say. Happiness is a joint project. It swells in his veins, warm and sweet. “The tooth fairy came,” is what he says instead, because Atsumu can read between the lines, loud and clear.
“But tooth fairies are supposed to leave,” he returns, with a grin. His mouth exposes a particularly sharp canine in the drowsy afternoon sun.
Hinata shrugs. Suppose they do. This one, though…