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The foggy mirror in the bathroom shows back a blurred version of Kageyama. He stares at it -at him- at the shapeless image without knowing why. Only a few things stand out: his dark hair, his hollow gaze; both stark against the warmth of his tanned skin.
Yet, what truly draws his eyes is the empty patch on his chest.
Who knew white -a colour so lifeless, so peaceful- could wake his heart to life?
A hand. Kageyama can’t see it but he remembers its shape. He remembers its story.
He was fifteen. Summer came and the city adjusted: bright coloured clothes, children running and melted ice cream dripping down wrists. The beach was crowded with families escaping the hum of air conditioners — Hinata’s among them.
It was Hinata’s idea to invite him.
Kageyama tells himself it was out of pity. His mother had left for work in another city and couldn’t afford to take him along. So, he spent the majority of his holidays alone. He didn’t mind the silence or the solitude but he knew Hinata couldn’t bear to watch him like that.
Pride made him pretend he never understood why he agreed to go. Hinata was his teammate, not his friend. He didn’t need the beach. He didn’t need him.
But even then, the lie couldn’t muffle the truth he couldn’t bring himself to say.
He knew why.
He still does.
It hurts.
...
Getting rid of the sand was his biggest problem. It found its way into his hair, his skin, his wet clothes—Hinata’s smile.
There was sand in his mouth, scratching his teeth as he clenched them.
His body trembled from the freezing water and the knot of nerves sitting heavy at the bottom of his stomach.
The sand wasn’t a comfy bed, not even close. But he fell asleep without trouble. Alone.
Yet, he woke up beside someone.
A soft weight against his chest; annoying snores tickled his left ear.
The sun had painted them red.
Except—
Except for the spot Hinata had shielded with the palm of his hand.
Now, Kageyama is twenty.
The mark is gone, no one else can see it.
But he can.
He sees it, he feels it.
It’s a piece of him now—something missing unless it’s filled.
Many hands have reached for that place but they don't fit. They’re the wrong size, the wrong color, the wrong feeling.
He wanted -or needed?- them to fit.
But they don’t.
They never will.
.
Hinata is sitting on his couch, his feet resting on the small coffee table while some random action movie plays on the television. He doesn’t pay attention to it - his thoughts are far away.
The scar on his mouth tickles and that’s when he becomes aware of his tongue tracing its shape back and forth.
He smiles. Sad. Bittersweet.
It was after their fourth kiss when Kageyama noticed it. He tore his gaze away but Hinata caught him frowning. Eventually, he turned and asked Hinata about it. His cheeks were red, just like the tops of his ears. The sight of Kageyama so embarrassed made him laugh out loud. Careless. Happy.
He told Kageyama never to chew a lollipop stick while running. The plastic had drawn a straight line acriss his palate, and the bleeding had lasted forever. His sister had cried more than he did because of it.
Kageyama didn’t laugh. Instead, he asked if anyone else knew. Hinata said that only his mother and sister were aware of it.
The atmosphere shifted and everything felt heavier, more intense. It was always like that under Kageyama’s eyes.
Seconds later, the both of them were blushing. The fifth kiss became his favourite. It is his favourite.
It was similar to the others. Their hearts were racing, their breaths unsteady. They were nervous, still getting used to each other. It was a beginning -different- when Kageyama thanked for the piece of himself Hinata had given away. He traced the scar, sending shivers down Hinata’s spine. He paid attention to it. He treated it like it was his, too.
Others have kissed him.
Yet no one notices.
.
Opening the closet, the sight of a black shoe box makes Kageyama feel guilty. Inside, there's a bottle of perfume; not forgotten, but hidden.
The description uses fancy words like amber and vanilla. To create a sweet, rich, woody, earthy tone, it says. But Kageyama would never describe the fragrance that way.
On Hinata’s skin, it smelled fresh and clean. Mixed with Hinata’s own scent, it became addictive.
He never wore it himself, because on its own, the perfume was just a fragrance. But when the scent passed from Hinata’s skin to his, it smelled warm—like home.
Nowadays, the description could be summed up in a single word: lost.
The bottle isn’t empty, but the alcohol has overtaken the other essences. Its bitter smell has erased the warmth, growing stronger as time passes.
Kageyama doesn’t open the box.
He doesn’t open the bottle.
He shuts the closet door and walks away, his clothes still smelling faintly of vanilla.
.
Hinata likes coffee. Every morning, he prepares a cup, filling half of it with coffee and the rest with milk. He would choose coffee over tea, anytime and anywhere.
So, like each morning, he stares at the box of mint tea invading his kitchen. He has always hated its taste.
Yet,
He liked how it tasted on Kageyama’s lips, on his teeth, on his mouth. He loved how he could taste it in Kageyama’s smile.
Sometimes, he tries. He grabs a cup, pours hot water into it.
Sometimes, it burns his fingers.
Sometimes, he can drink more than a sip.
Always,
He always ends up spitting it out into the sink.
The box remains in its place.
.
It’s hot, so the window is open, allowing some calm breezes to slip into the room. Strange orange and yellow shapes are plastered on Kageyama’s white ceiling as the sun rises.
He stares at them.
As he gets up, the sounds of another typical morning drift in: birds, cars, tree branches scratching his roof.
It’s peaceful.
His hands ruin it -searching for someone, reaching for someone- finding the soft fabric of his sheets, and nothing else.
The sun’s warmth isn’t enough, it doesn’t compare.
The room is empty.
.
The window is closed.
Hinata shivers beneatg the sheets.
It’s summer and Hinata feels cold.
.
One by one, Kageyama takes various things out of groceries bags on the table: oranges, toilet paper, tea, water,
A packet of band-aids.
He stares at them for a moment, trying to remember why he bought them. The cardboard box crumples at the edges as his hand reacts to the memories his mind supplies.
He doesn’t need it.
He already has a box somewhere in his apartment, mostly untouched -only a few used in emergencies, most of them including some cooking accident.
He doesn’t worry about getting hurt during practice. There are professionals on the team paid to deal with that. He’s a pro, after all.
Hinata, on the other hand, was always getting himself hurt.
It was fine if it happened in the gym, but most of them happened elsewhere: in the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom, the street.
So Kageyama bought a packet of band-aids every time he went to the store, because Hinata would always find a way to show up with a bleeding cut or a red-looking scratch in his apartment.
Kageyama would get mad at him for not taking care of himself. Hinata would tell him he didn’t need to -he had him.
He wonders who takes care of him now.
The packet of bandaids is left on the table. Kageyama pretends it was on the list.
Silently, he hopes it'll be useful again someday.
.
Blood seeps from his thumb, so Hinata puts it in his mouth. He won’t pet cats from now on if it means having his hand bitten like this. He won’t pet cats anymore if it means getting bitten like this. Sucking on his thumb is how he finds Yachi, walking hand-in-hand with her new girlfriend.
She greets him and asks why he isn’t in Tokyo.
“The coach gave us a few days off until the next match against Poland,” he says—and changes the subject.
Yachi laughs at his misfortune with the bratty cat while her girlfriend takes a band-aid out of her purse and politely offers it to him.
While her girlfriend is distracted, Yachi lowers her voice and asks about Kageyama.
He doesn’t say:
“The coach found out.”
He doesn’t say:
“It was us or our career.”
He doesn’t say:
“We broke up.”
It’s only after she leaves that he realizes what his answer was.
How his lies sounded true.
How, for a moment, he allowed himself to forget.
He pretends.
He pretends until he opens the door and finds no one waiting for him.
.
Kageyama’s apartment looks incomplete. There are empty spaces everywhere -spaces he should fill; should fix.
There’s an empty space next to his toothbrush in the bathroom. There’s an empty space next to his cup in the kitchen. There’s an empty space on his couch. In his wardrobe. On his bed.
On his skin.
They are everywhere.
He wants it to be complete.
He wants to be complete.
.
Hinata’s apartment looks lonely.
There are more than four toothbrushes in the bathroom, yet he only uses one. He keeps buying them anyway.
There are two cups on the table, but one is always empty.
There are clothes in his wardrobe that don’t fit him -always too big. He doesn’t throw them away.
There are trophies on his shelves, celebrating a team's victory. A dream achieved by two.
There are photos on the walls where he isn’t alone.
Yet he feels alone. He is alone.
He doesn’t want to be like this anymore.
.
Kageyama knocks on a door.
Mint invades his breath.
“I can’t. I love you. I still do. Please, just let me.”
.
Hinata opens.
He smells like home.
“Yes. Yes. Always.”