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It’s a popular misconception among mortals that a total solar eclipse is a rare occurrence, like something that happens once a decade or even longer. Rather, however, the sun aligning perfectly with the moon in relation to Earth, that small and glorious moment where the moon can stifle the sun’s brilliant rays -- it happens once every two years, whether humans on Earth can witness it or not. Kageyama, the god of the moon, wouldn’t have it any other way.
He likes to sometimes entertain the thought of going without a total solar eclipse for long periods of time. Imagine, if he truly had to go fifty years without meeting Hinata, the god of the sun. It would grant him peace and quiet, but also fill his cold heart with unfathomable loneliness. Two or so years is bad enough as it is; during the time when they’re not together for an eclipse, Kageyama can see the sun, can see Hinata, shining bright and beautiful on all of the planets in their closely-knit family of space, and watching Hinata is absolutely dreadful because he’s so loud and gorgeous and intense, while Kageyama is one moon for one sad, dying planet. The moment they touch for that solar eclipse is powerful and Kageyama clings to every second of it like Hinata is a large ball of mass and has gravitational pull over the tiny, worthless moon. Which he does, Kageyama guesses.
“Long time no see,” Hinata greets, holding his hand out as a formality. The god shines as bright as ever; his skin isn’t skin so much as it is literal fire, and his hair sticks up in every which way as unpredictable and random as his explosive nature. Already, Kageyama feels hot, and he hasn’t even touched the tiny god.
The god of the moon looks so much worse. His hair is flat and boring, wet like the oceans he stabilizes, and his rough, calloused person is covered in scars and craters and bruises from the small meteors that fly through space and knock him around. He’s taller than Hinata, that’s a bonus, but where Hinata lacks in height he makes up for with his booming voice and burning rays and Kageyama is so, so hot...
“It’s been a year and a half, dumbass,” Kageyama replies, keeping his arm firmly to his side. If he touches Hinata now he might combust. Even though (in retrospect to the billions of years that both Kageyama and Hinata have been in existence) a year and a half is a short amount of time, everything slows down in space; in this infinity that they call home, a year and a half can stretch, which is why a decade or more without Hinata would be positively unbearable.
Hinata huffs and puts his hands on his hips, squinting his eyes. “Yeah, it’s been a long time, I haven’t seen you, and you won’t even shake my hand! You’re so prudish Kageyama. Lighten up.” To add on to his already awful pun, Hinata takes Kageyama’s cheeks into his flaming hands and squeezes.
To which Kageyama grabs the top of Hinata’s fiery head and squeezes.
“Ow, okay! Okay I get it!” Hinata flails ridiculously at the contact until Kageyama lets go. The moon god looks down at his hand, at the damage that Hinata has made to his poor body just by existing. His bumpy hand, gray and dull as a rock, is now black as tar and practically melting. But if Kageyama said that he hated the burn, hated the way that his skin tingled being near the literal sun, he would be lying.
“Would you quit smiling?” Kageyama asks, brushing his abused hand on his torso.
“Would you quit frowning? It’s like you want me to leave!”
No, he wants to say, please don’t leave me. He settles instead with, “How have things been going?”
“You mean besides being the cause of cancer among Earth’s people, warming up your oceans and creating devastation for the human population? It’s been great. I’ve been great. Never hotter, really.” Hinata’s grin never fades, and he seems to get closer with every syllable. Kageyama cannot disagree with that last statement. Like every eclipse, Kageyama is in awe of how much heat Hinata can produce and how badly it affects him. He wants to kiss the tiny god so hard that his face burns off, which seems more appealing in theory than it would feel in practice. As it is, he has to suffer staying a safe distance away from the sun’s radiance, too hot to touch.
“It’s kind of a bummer that people stopped sacrificing things to me. Atheists, am I right?”
“You complain about that every year.”
“Because it gets sadder every year! When’s the last time you got chicken’s blood poured all over your body? When’s the last time someone literally ripped their heart out for you?” Kageyama bites his tongue to avoid saying, I would rip my heart out for you. “I miss getting women in my temple.”
Hinata gestures to the temple around him, walls white and clean and gorgeous. His place of work is wonderful, while Kageyama’s is dark, dirty, and quiet. There was once a time when the humans on Earth would kill one another for the sake of the sun, thinking that they needed to die in order to live or some flawed logic like that. While it was unnecessary, it was appreciated; Hinata’s palace would be booming with sacrificial objects and people alike, until he had to send them to the god of the afterlife. Now, Kageyama imagines that Hinata’s loneliness rivals his own. Voices of men, women, and children no longer echo off the marble walls of Hinata’s place of worship. There is no music to be heard, no dancing to be had -- it’s as if everything is part of a warped and sad reality.
“But that’ll change, I hope. God of Mars says that we may be seeing some life there soon -- early life forms, you know how they are.”
“Dumbass,” is all Kageyama can say. People making sacrifices to the sun won’t quell this ache in the moon’s core, nor will it--
“And just like that it’s all over,” Hinata says, looking past Kageyama, past his temple, and out onto the Earth. Kageyama can feel himself slipping away from this warm encounter, as he does every two years, the sensation similar to that of his limbs being torn from his body. The moon begins to drift from the sun and Hinata looks a little sad, which is ridiculous. He sees tons of moons all the time and Kageyama is a mere bump in the road. Hinata is Kageyama’s everything, his light, his reason, and Kageyama is simply another rock pining for the sun’s affections.
“I’ll see you around!” Are Hinata’s last words.
It only hits Kageyama moments after the sun has departed that that was another pun. He can practically hear Hinata saying it with his stupid voice: “Around, get it? Like, around the Earth?”
And so begins the countdown to the next total solar eclipse.