Chapter Text
Tsukishima doesn’t know why he’s surprised. This is more or less exactly how he envisioned it playing out. It’s possibly even a little worse. He can’t believe he let himself be hoodwinked along by Yamaguchi’s earnest smile and Akiteru’s not-so-gentle insistence. He sighs deeply, squinting at the mass of bodies shuffling around in the half-light. It’s almost embarrassing that as great as they are at volleyball no one seems to know how to dance.
“This sucks.” He informs his drink, swirling the last bit of it around in his glass as he resigns to drinking into a coma, alone at the bar.
“Really, really sucks,” agrees someone a little croakily, behind his right elbow. He’s been drinking steadily for the past three hours and it’s been almost half a decade since he last heard it in person, but Tsukishima would recognise that annoyingly grating voice anywhere.
“Hinata.” Hinata grunts in acknowledgement, throwing back a shot that smells an awful lot like straight vodka and wincing dramatically. “What are you doing?” Of all the people to crash his pity-party-for-one Hinata might be the worst.
“Tap dancing,” Hinata responds dryly, placing his empty shot glass onto a stack already three tiers high and dragging another into line in front of him, “aquatic acrobatics,” he winces slightly less as he slams the second empty shot glass down, “practicing my yodelling.” Tsukishima stares at him, brain turning slower than usual in his head due to his own alcohol consumption. “What does it look like I’m doing?” Hinata turns to glare at him then, scowl deep set between his eyes and Tsukishima almost forgets to answer he’s so thrown off.
“You don’t like weddings?” He asks slowly, understandably sceptical. A huge sappy display of affection, a dancefloor filled with mostly ex-volleyball players and never-ending free cake sounds like something straight out of one of Tsukishima’s worst nightmares, which makes it exactly the sort of thing Hinata would love. Hinata wrinkles his nose, as if he’s only just been made aware of the absurdity of the situation.
“I like weddings,” he hedges, voice wavering around the edges, “I’m just not a fan of this particular wedding.” Tsukishima nods.
“Oikawa is annoying.” Annoying at the best of times, such as when he’s limited by time and geography to how often he can spam Tsukishima with mundane messages about his life. The day of his wedding is definitely not the best of times. He’s been completely insufferable, glowing with happiness in such an obvious and obnoxious way that Tsukishima isn’t even surprised it’s pissed someone else off. It’s not even the real thing, just a party in celebration; they were officially married weeks ago in Argentina. Hinata snorts, turning away from Tsukishima to flag the barman down.
“I don’t mean Oikawa.” Tsukishima isn’t sure whether he was supposed to hear that and finds himself gazing in the direction of Hinata’s narrowed eyes out of morbid curiosity. He hasn’t seen Hinata in a while, but he’s still the same. His face is still round and pudgy, baby fat, he’d insisted all those years ago. His hair is the same shade of shocking orange, maybe it’s a little shorter than before – it’s hard to tell in the half-light, especially when his eyesight is growing fuzzy around the edges – but it’s still recognisably Hinata. Definitely not an impressively dedicated imposter.
And yet he sounds so unHinata like that it’s affecting how Tsukishima would normally react to him. Normally he’d roll his eyes, snidely remark about how his height is as inferior as ever and turn away from him without a second thought. That’s their thing, their entire dynamic. It would be silly to mess with a pattern so set in stone. Normally he wouldn’t. And yet here he is, twisting his body down to Hinata’s level, pressing his head next to his until they’re almost touching, all in order to follow his gaze precisely. To unriddle this riddle that he didn’t ask for.
“Oh.” Close to the far window, at the edge of the dancefloor, tucked behind so many other bodies that Tsukishima has to lean forward to be sure he’s seeing correctly, Kageyama has one hand resting on Sugawara’s shoulder, the other one planted firmly around his waist. They sway gently, Kageyama with obvious panic even from this distance, and Sugawara at a soft, gentle pace. “It’s like watching a swan dance with a plank of wood.” Hinata slams a shot glass down onto the counter. Tsukishima doesn’t even remember the bar tender filling his order.
“Here.” His voice cracks as he roughly slides over a shot to Tsukishima, liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “I got you a round too.” Tsukishima sniffs at the drink. He was right; it’s straight vodka. He stares warily at the eight remaining shots as Hinata knocks back another.
“I didn’t know a round consisted of five vodka shots.” Perhaps if Hinata were anyone else he’d be a little bit worried. Then again, perhaps if he were anyone else, he’d be worried for Hinata.
“This might shock you Shitty-shima, but there’s a lot you don’t know.” Hinata barely slurs his words, which really shouldn’t impress Tsukishima as much as it does – Who knows how much he had to drink before he spotted Tsukishima at the other end of the bar after all? – Still, he’s not impressed enough to not bite back.
“Yeah. Like the King of the Court over there finally making a move on his dream boy. And you still sitting on your feelings. I would have bet good money on you blurting it out by now. You can never keep your mouth shut.” He decides to throw back the shot mostly to ignore the hurt etched deep in Hinata’s face when he turns to stare at him.
“Like you’re any better. I saw Yamaguchi earlier–” He cuts himself off, mouth snapping shut into a firm line. Even now, after so much alcohol and mostly unwarranted unpleasantness, even now Hinata can’t find it in himself to deliberately hurt Tsukishima. To say something mean despite how true it is. Despite how much he deserves it. It pisses Tsukishima off.
“You have no idea.” Tsukishima growls, straightening his back in order to regain his height advantage. His eyes flicker unconsciously to where he knows Kageyama and Sugawara are still holding each other. Sugawara’s face is glowing with how bright his smile is. “I could have confessed to him hundreds of times.”
“Could have,” Hinata nods, sliding another shot glass over to him as he takes one between his thumb and forefinger for himself, “but you didn’t.”
“No.” Kageyama’s face is softer than Tsukishima’s ever seen it before. It reminds him of the way Yamaguchi looks at Yachi. He takes the shot glass from Hinata wordlessly. He doesn’t need to invent excuses for Hinata’s benefit. What we have now is more than enough. He’s probably straight. He only sees me as a brother. He has a girlfriend. I’m happy so long as he’s happy. None of those are the real reason he’s never found the right words to tell Yamaguchi to choose him.
“Next time,” when Hinata turns to look at him then it’s the closest he’s looked to how Tsukishima remembers him all night. There’s fire in his eyes. He licks his lips, blinking slowly as if remaining focused on Tsukishima’s face is taking him a lot of effort. “Next time I won’t be too scared.”
“Next time?” Tsukishima tears his gaze away from Hinata to throw back his shot, focusing on the burn in his throat in order to ignore the thudding in his chest. Of course Hinata would be the kind of person to see through Tsukishima. Of course he’d know fear is the only thing that’s ever really held him back. Hinata knocks his empty shot glass down next to Tsukishima’s.
“Mhm. Can you believe he told me before he did it? I could have stopped him then. It could have been me who’d used the romantic setting of a wedding to my advantage! But I wished him luck instead! He’ll never look at me like that.” Hinata flops forwards, forehead resting on the bar top, and groans deeply. “Next time I won’t be too scared!” Tsukishima leans over Hinata’s back to grab the next shot in his line-up. If this is how his evening is going to be, well he’s definitely going to take full advantage of the free alcohol he’s being offered.
“Next time.” He agrees; partly to placate Hinata, but mostly because he hasn’t been paying much attention. Hinata rolls his head to the side, blinking up at Tsukishima with wet eyes.
“Yes!” His lip wobbles and Tsukishima really hopes he isn’t about to break down; there are levels of pathetic he’s willing to put up with. “Next time I fall in love I’ll be brave!” He head-butts the bar top before sitting up and slapping his cheeks. “Wah! I hate this feeling!”
Somewhere at the back of his mind Tsukishima knows he should be berating him for being so loud. He should definitely be telling him not to order anymore alcohol. Instead he watches as Hinata practically crawls over the bar, yelling his order at the startled barman. He’s a little amazing, Tsukishima decides. It’s not even been a day since Sugawara accepted Kageyama’s confession and Hinata’s already vowed to move on to a new love. Yamaguchi and Yachi have been together for nearly six years, if they count the first two years of awkward blushing and stammering – which, naturally, they do – and have lived together for over three of those. So why can’t Tsukishima find it in himself to let go?
“I want to let go.” He doesn’t really intend to confess that out loud, especially not to Hinata, the vodka is clearly affecting him, but it doesn’t matter as Hinata doesn’t hear him anyway; too pre-occupied with trying to haggle down the price of tequila shots.
“Here!” he scooches closer to Tsukishima, lining up his four drinks in an order that Tsukishima assumes must make sense to him. “You, me, you, me.” He points at each shot in turn. “This, that, this.” He gestures to the lime, tequila and salt. Tsukishima wants to point out that he’s pretty certain the salt comes first, but he doesn’t remember having ever done tequila shots and well, Hinata seems to be an expert drinker, so he must know. He fixes his glasses back into position and nods at Hinata’s eager face. Maybe the first step to letting go is to get drunk.
“Okay.”
“And then we’ll dance!” Tsukishima opens his mouth to say, no, actually there will be no dancing and not only because he’s unsure how well he can even walk at the moment, but the second he opens his mouth his protest is shoved back down his throat by a wedge of lime and Hinata’s cackling laughter. As soon as he spits it out a shot of tequila replaces it and he finds himself caught up in Hinata’s pace.
“Definitely worse than expected,” he shudders, surveying the empty glasses all around. At least maybe Akiteru would be proud of him, he’s forever telling him to let loose. He’s so busy trying to wrestle his phone out of his suit trousers to snapchat his evening’s success that he completely misses Hinata ordering fruity cocktails. By the time he focuses back in Hinata has three umbrellas decorating his hair and is looking at Tsukishima with a strange expression. Maybe he’s finally drunk.
“You’re different to how I remember.” Hinata nods, missing his mouth several times with his straw.
“Different?”
“Yeah. Like you lost your hard edges…” He slides a pink frothy mess at Tsukishima. “You look softer.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Hah! Maybe!” Hinata gives up on using his straw for its intended purpose, stirring his cocktail with it instead, before holding his glass out to Tsukishima. “Cheers then!”
“What are we cheersing to?” Hinata rolls his eyes as if Tsukishima is being difficult on purpose, but Tsukishima honestly wants to know. This will be the first time they’ve really acknowledged they’re drinking together. The mood has obviously changed but Tsukishima can’t work out why. Weren’t they supposed to be drowning their sorrows?
“To Oikawa and Iwaizumi!” Hinata yells, face breaking out into the first smile Tsukishima has seen him wear all evening. “And to failed first loves.”
“That seems a little inappropriate.”
“How?” Hinata tips his head to blink up at Tsukishima. “It’s the most propriate thing to cheers to!” He nudges his glass against Tsukishima’s when he realises Tsukishima isn’t going to make a move, forgoing straw failure completely to gulp his cocktail over the rim of his glass. His cocktail is a sparkly orange colour.
“Why did I get the pink one?” Hinata chokes on his drink, delighted despite the orange stuff dribbling out of his nose.
“It matches your face!” He’s definitely drunk, Tsukishima decides, throwing a hand out to cover his annoying little face and scowling when it falls short and smacks him on the shoulder instead. Hinata snorts, loud and long, leaning fully onto Tsukishima and plants a cocktail umbrella behind his ear. “It’s pink too,” he cackles, eyes shining a little from something other than tears. Tsukishima can’t decide if it’s a good thing that he seems to be bouncing back to his old self or not.
“To Oikawa and Iwaizumi,” he mutters, just for the etiquette of the situation, and swallows half of the pink froth in one. It’s nicer than it looks.
“And failed first loves.” Prompts Hinata, eyes sharper than they have any right to be.
“It’s not failed yet.” Tsukishima hates that even he can hear how pathetic he sounds. How hopeless. How tragic he must look to someone like Hinata, who lived in hope all those years but has been able to accept failure only hours after Kageyama waltzed away from him.
“Hmm.” Hinata’s fingers drum on the counter-top; his lip between his teeth. “I suppose not.” He watches Tsukishima with wide eyes as he finishes his pink froth, smile curling at the edge of his lips. “Here!” He takes his empty glass only to give him a full one. A greeny-yellow concoction that’s decorated with lemon slices.
“Let me guess… because my face is green?” Hinata breaks out into fresh peals of laughter, doubling over and holding his stomach.
“No! Because you’re such a sour patch kid! Duh! ”
“I’m twenty-three.” He out-grew kid years ago.
“I’m twenty-four so you’re still a kid to me!” Hinata ruffles Tsukishima’s hair as he stands up. “Now we dance!” Tsukishima groans.
“How are you even standing?”
“A lot of alcohol in a little time… Give me like an hour and I’ll be passed out.” He grins, completely proud and grabs onto Tsukishima’s arm. “The good thing about cocktails is you can drink ‘em as you dance!” That really sounds like a bad thing to Tsukishima, but if his night of misery is going to be warped into a night of public humiliation then he supposes he should be nice and drunk for it.
As it turns out Hinata can dance. Better than everyone else Tsukishima was watching earlier in the evening at least. Or maybe he’s just so drunk that it seems that way. His energy is captivating, even with his eyes closed and his arms sort of flailing above his head; his hips still sway perfectly in time with the music. Bokuto spots them first, followed immediately by Kuroo and Tsukishima is almost aware that he’s going to regret all the photos and videos he’s posing for in the morning for but for now he feels comfortably warm. Hinata’s orange head is the only thing he can properly focus on; it’s grounding. It’s not unpleasant.
“Tsukki!” Tsukishima hums, nodding his head at the voice but continues to watch Hinata chug down a beer. He can’t work out where he even produced it from. It probably doesn’t matter as half of it rolls down his neck anyway. “Tsukki!”
“Hmm?” Tsukishima blinks. Everything is a little more frenzied than he remembers. Had Oikawa always been dancing with them?
“Tsukki!” A cool hand presses onto his right cheek, dragging his gaze away from Hinata.
“Yamaguchi?” He should have known. Why hadn’t he known?
“Are you drunk?” He’s concerned, that much is obvious, but Tsukishima can’t work out why. Isn’t this what he wanted? For Tsukishima to let loose? Have some fun? Is this what having fun feels like he wonders. It’s not a completely bad feeling.
“Maybe a little.” He sort of wishes Akiteru were here; he’s always wanted to see Tsukishima drunk.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Yamaguchi frowns, only slightly, but it’s there. It makes Tsukishima feel guilty. Whenever Yamaguchi needs him he isn’t there. This is why he’d never choose him.
“I’m here.” He shakes his head, holding onto Yamaguchi’s shoulder to stop the room from tipping. “What do you need?” Yamaguchi brightens immediately, grabbing onto the cuff of his shirt and dragging him away from the swaying bodies. Tsukishima thinks he should turn back and tell Hinata thanks for the drinks, thanks for the distraction, but he can’t make his head move. Hinata’s probably still got his eyes closed anyway. It’s not like he’d notice.
“Maybe I should ask you tomorrow…” Yamaguchi hedges when they reach a quieter part of the room, with a wall helpfully built for Tsukishima to lean off of. “You might forget otherwise.”
“I’d never forget something you asked of me.” Yamaguchi starts, giggling into the palm of his hand, but really Tsukishima was serious.
“You really are drunk, huh?” He pushes Tsukishima’s glasses back into place for him. “I’ll send you a message to remind you tomorrow,” he decides at last, eyes bright, “but I’m too happy to keep it in.”
“Keep what in?” In a dream world this would be where Yamaguchi confesses. He’d tell Tsukishima he’d realised over the past few weeks, months, years, that something with Yachi just wasn’t right. He’d realised there was always a sort of distance between them and it had clicked that it was because no one could be closer to him or mean more to him than Tsukishima does. He’d ring his fingers nervously, maybe even blush a little as he failed to make eye contact. Instead Yamaguchi clears his throat, straightens his back and looks Tsukishima in the eye, completely sober.
“Tsukki– Kei, will you be my best man?” It takes Tsukishima far longer than it should for him to process the question.
“Shit.” It feels like he’s been punched in the gut, but also a lot like he needs to throw up. There’s this ugly feeling seizing hold of him and Tsukishima wants it to stop, wants to know how Hinata was able to watch Kageyama so soft and warm in Sugawara’s arms and simply slap his face and move on. Is it that easy?
“She said yes!” Yamaguchi barrels on, seemingly oblivious, “I didn’t really plan to ask, just–”
“–Used the romantic setting of a wedding to your advantage?” Even Tsukishima is surprised that it’s a laugh that works its way out of his throat. Yamaguchi’s smile falters.
“Yeah… Tsukki are you okay?” And it’s too late now, years too late, Tsukishima’s just never noticed. Maybe he did have a chance once upon a time but that’s not now, that never can be and he’s not as mean as everyone thinks because from somewhere he manages to find a smile – which is difficult at the best of times – from somewhere he manages to muster the strength and cognitive skills it takes to pat Yamaguchi on the shoulder and to look him in the eye.
“Of course I’ll be your best man, idiot.”
“Thanks Tsukki.” He gets to see Yamaguchi blush after all. Gets to feel his warmth as they hug and it’s no longer an option; this will always have to be enough.
“You’re cruel Tadashi,” he whispers to Yamaguchi’s back. It feels weird saying his first name out loud.
“Tsukishima?” Tsukishima blinks, vision whirling until it anchors onto that head of orange. Of course.
“Hinata?”
“Are you okay?” He steps closer tentatively and Tsukishima gets the distinct impression it’s not from just the amount of alcohol in his system. “I didn’t mean to see– promise! I just– I saw him take you and– and I wanted to know.” Hinata admits with a shrug. Wanted to know that he wasn’t alone in feeling like this, Tsukishima supposes.
“No.” He admits, maybe for the first time ever. “Not okay.” And already it seems to hurt a little less now that he’s shared that. “He’s gonna marry her.” Hinata kindly doesn’t react to the way his voice cracks, doesn’t mention the wetness rolling down his cheeks. “I’m gonna be best man.” Hinata simply nods, stepping closer and wrapping Tsukishima up in a hug like they’ve always been close like this. His hands rub soothing circles at the base of Tsukishima’s spine as if this isn’t the first time they’ve seen each other since they graduated high school.
“I know.” Tsukishima hears his own hurt echoed back to him. Maybe Hinata’s been faking the brave face all this time. Maybe, like Tsukishima, he got so used to playing the part that he doesn’t know what to do when it’s fallen away. He pulls away to stare at Hinata, for some reason it’s important that he finds his own broken-self mirrored in his eyes; it’s important to know he’s not alone. Hinata sniffs, wiping his tie across his eyes like a tissue.
“Hinata.” And when he blinks up at Tsukishima he sees it, sees the same hurt that he’d worn when he first sat down next to him at the bar and Tsukishima wonders how he could have ever thought it had gone away. It’s intense. It’s beautiful, in a way, to witness someone as strong as Hinata broken and vulnerable.
So maybe that’s why Tsukishima finds himself pressing their lips together. It’s only for a second, for as long as it takes his brain to catch up with what his body is doing. Hinata stares at him, mouth hanging open.
“Shit. Sorry.” He makes to detach himself, but Hinata’s grip increases around his waist.
“Shitty-shima!” He growls, pressing into him on his tip-toes. Tsukishima flinches, squeezing his eyes closed for the punch that lands on his face in the form of Hinata’s wet lips. It lasts a second longer this time – long enough for Tsukishima to trace the shape of his mouth with his tongue. It’s Hinata who pulls away too, leaving Tsukishima with the open mouth.
“Uhm…” Tsukishima blinks to try and sort his way through the situation. There’s something happening here that he should probably stop. It doesn’t seem wise to continue. The look Hinata’s giving him suggests he’s waiting for a decision one way or the other. There’s a quirk in his left eyebrow that has Tsukishima feeling strangely breathless. “To failed first loves.” Hinata’s hands slide around from his back, small fingers hooking into the belt loops at the front of his trousers.
“Where do you live?” He asks, tugging Tsukishima away from the wall. “You’re taking me home.” It’s not a question, but even so Tsukishima doesn’t think about protesting.
- - - - - - -
Tsukishima wakes up and immediately regrets it. His head feels like it’s about to split open. The sunlight through the window assaults his eyes sending splinters of pain straight through his skull and he wants to get up and close the curtain but his body has decided not to be cooperative. He’s also pretty sure Hinata accidentally ripped the curtain off its railing last night too. He sits up, suddenly awake. His eyes flit frantically around his room, sweeping over the discarded curtain. Right now that’s the least of his problems.
“Shit.” The suit he’d rented for the wedding is mostly in a pile by his bedroom door, as if he stepped out of it the second he crossed the threshold – everything except for his tie, which is still dangling awkwardly around his neck. – He can feel a blush rising up his cheeks and wills it to go away. Memories of Hinata’s fumbling fingers giving up on trying to de-tie him and dragging him towards his unmade bed rise in his mind.
He stumbles out of bed, trying to silence the ringing in his head and squash the panic that’s settling at the pit of his stomach. He’s woken up alone, that much is obvious. But the mattress next to him still felt warm and he finds a glass of cold water on his bedside table, a handful of painkillers sprinkled at its side. It’s after he’s shimmied into a clean pair of boxers and swapped his tie for a t-shirt, decidedly ignoring how he’d woken up naked in nothing but a tie, that he hears it. Soft humming. Tsukishima stares at his door, noticing for the first time the sliver of space keeping it from being completely closed. He creeps closer; the humming gets a fraction louder.
The closer he gets the more he recognises the melody, a tune from one of Akiteru’s video games: The Lost Woods from The Ocarina of Time. It’s kind of mystical, floating across the floor. He trails in the direction it's coming from. Maybe once the painkillers take the edge off of this headache he’ll even find it nice.
His apartment isn’t big by any means and it takes him no time at all to find Hinata busying himself over Tsukishima’s stove. A flurry of thoughts flitter through his head – he can’t believe Hinata’s still here; he wants to apologise for last night, to thank him for the company, maybe offer to reimburse him for some of the drinks (maybe all of them), to ask if his head is hurting as much as Tsukishima’s is, and to maybe make him promise never to tell a soul that he cried last night or begged for Hinata to – his mind snags on the sight before him.
“That’s my top.” His voice sounds like it’s being scraped out of his throat with a metal scourer. The humming stops as soon as he’s spoken; the magic tapering off into silence around them, only the pan on the stove dares to make a sound, sputtering away intently.
“Ah, sorry,” Hinata picks at the bottom of the t-shirt, it’s at least four sizes too big for him, “I would have asked but you were out cold.” He rolls it up as if he’s about to take it off, flashing Tsukishima a glimpse of his toned stomach, littered with red marks. Tsukishima’s not going to test it out but he’s pretty certain at least half of them match the shape of his mouth; the rest are suspiciously thumb shaped.
“No!” Hinata quirks an eyebrow; paused semi-undressed. Tsukishima clears his throat. “You can wear it.” The t-shirt drifts down slowly.
“Thanks.” They stare at each other, Tsukishima wondering if Hinata remembers as much as he does about last night, or if he woke up naked this morning in Tsukishima’s bed and just put two and two together. He can’t decide which he’d prefer, but for some reason he gets the impression it’s not necessary for him to clarify. The atmosphere doesn’t feel weird at all. Figures Hinata would have no shame.
“What are you making?” Hinata’s smile dissolves onto his face.
“Scrambled eggs on toast! It’s my hangover fix, I hope you don’t mind I used all your stuff.” Tsukishima shrugs.
“It’s fine so long as I can have some.” Tsukishima flops down onto his counter, pillowing his head onto his arms. He watches Hinata mosey around his kitchen, opening and closing every cupboard in his search for plates, cups and cutlery. He could have offered some direction sure, but that takes almost all of the fun out of it. Hinata too seems to be enjoying himself, gasping in triumph whenever he finds what he’s searching for.
“Usually I make them a little better than this,” he admits with a flushed face, “but your stove doesn’t like me very much.” He places a plate in front of Tsukishima. A glass of orange juice slides next to it. All things considered it might actually be the worst plate of scrambled eggs on toast Tsukishima has ever seen in his life; the toast is charred so much it’s barely even recognisable as toast anymore, the eggs are both overcooked and undercooked depending where he focuses and there seems to be some kind of attempt at seasoning which has instead congealed into a hardened lump in the middle of the eggs.
“Thanks.” The least he can do, Tsukishima figures, is suffer through the World’s Worst Scrambled Eggs. It’s his penance. Hinata glows opposite him, smile so bright it takes the edge off of the bags under his eyes and the disarrayed hair on top of his head. Tsukishima swallows a mouthful of supposed egg in his throat, averting his gaze from Hinata’s hair as memories of his fingers grasping at it threaten to seep into his head.
“Ah,” Hinata hums, blush working its way high onto his cheeks, “you do remember then.” Tsukishima almost chokes, trying his best to gulp down some orange juice without Hinata noticing. He doesn’t do an amazing job, if the pleased sparkle to Hinata’s eyes is anything to judge by.
No need to be so smug about it. He wants to say. So what if I remember? If you’re going to make fun of me, just go ahead and do it already. But he doesn’t. Hinata is watching him carefully, the warm glow on his cheeks mirrored slightly in his eyes. Just slightly. It looks even better than the cracked expression he’d worn last night, more like his old self. Tsukishima clears his throat.
“Yeah,” he admits, “I remember.” Time passes as Tsukishima watches Hinata eat his breakfast, munching around huge mouthfuls like some kind of overgrown hamster who doesn’t know what real food is meant to taste like. “Thank you.” Hinata holds his gaze, burnt crumbs decorating his chin.
“What for?” He looks honestly perplexed, clueless as to how anything he’s done is worthy of Tsukishima’s thanks.
“For last night,” Tsukishima shrugs, “for being there.” Hinata opens his mouth, but no words come. “For the World’s Worst Scrambled Eggs too I guess.”
“Hey! ” Hinata’s mouth closes into a pout, “They’re not that bad!” Tsukishima laughs so hard he almost snorts up the cardboard he’s just worked so hard to force down.
“Sorry,” he wheezes, not sorry in the least.
“Definitely softer than ever!” Hinata exclaims, throwing out a finger accusingly. “It wasn’t just because I was drunk!” Tsukishima shrugs. Probably Hinata’s just encountered way more assholes in his life since he last saw him; Tsukishima definitely hasn’t changed. Hinata hums thoughtfully. “Want me to do the dishes before I go?”
You’re leaving? “You’ve already done enough.” Tsukishima waves his hand dismissively, confused about why he can never say what it is that he wants to say. Or why he even wants to question Hinata’s departure. “The least I can do is my own dishes.”
“Very, very soft, Soft-shima,” Hinata trills, bouncing out of the kitchen. He listens to the sounds of Hinata rummaging around his bedroom, smirks as he thuds his shin into something and lets out a string of curse words. Maybe Hinata has just gotten harder since high school. The Hinata from Tsukishima’s memory doesn’t swear half as much, and certainly would never have– at least the World’s Worst Scrambled Eggs are good for shutting down unnecessary thoughts–
“Hey,” Hinata pokes his head into the doorway, suit pulled into a rough semblance of what it looked like last night. Tsukishima stares at the top two missing buttons and wonders if he had any part to play in their disappearance. “Don’t be a stranger, alright?” There’s that look again, the one where it’s as if he’s waiting for Tsukishima to figure his way through something.
“Alright.” Hinata’s parting smile is so dazzling it would rival the smiles Tsukishima remembers him wearing when they were teenagers were it not for the red around his eyes and questionable stains down the front of his jacket. It’s so dazzling it leaves Tsukishima a little breathless in its wake, a little confused as to why he’s still forcing his way through the World’s Worst Scrambled Eggs when Hinata isn’t even around to see.