Work Text:
“Como se te perdesse, assim te quero.
Como se não te visse (favas douradas
Sob um amarelo) assim te apreendo brusco
Inamovível, e te respiro inteiro
Um arco-íris de ar em águas profundas.”
Amavisse, Hilda Hilst
☀️
Rio, 2016
The pen ink bleeds heavily into the paper on the first attempt. Black spreads across white, like the sea caressing the sand more and more as night falls outside the window frame.
“Droga,” Shoyo mumbles to himself, sighing. “Here we go again.” He tears a page out of his notebook and pushes the sheet aside onto the pile of other used papers that also failed to capture whatever is stuck in his heart.
There’s a light knock on the bedroom door. Shoyo turns in his chair, one arm thrown on the back as he says, “Come in.”
The door handle turns, and a shy Pedro pops up there, his smile gentle.
“Shoyo,” he waves at him. “Are you writing?”
“Trying really hard!” Shoyo lets out an airy chuckle and scratches the back of his nape. “So far, I’ve only made a few rough scrawls. Nothing has flowed well.”
Pedro hums in understanding. He pushes the door open wider and takes a few steps into the room until he reaches Shoyo. The two of them are wearing shirts of characters from the seasonal anime; outfits they bought together at the last Feira da Glória they went to on Sunday.
“You remember what inspired you to start journaling?” Pedro eventually asks. “Was it of your own free will, or was someone else—”
“Someone!” Shoyo is quick to say. His voice comes out louder than usual, startling Pedro a little. “Sorry!! I mean, I’m doing this of my own free will, sure, but also because I felt inspired by someone else.”
“Someone really important, I imagine.”
“Mhmmm!!” He nods once, trying to ignore the sudden warmth creeping up his cheeks.
Lucky him that Pedro is not a menace, so he doesn’t call him out on it.
“Try thinking about that person, then. How do they go about writing? What do they usually write? Think about what you have as a reference and get inspired.” He flashes a sweet smile, a perfect mirror of his heart.
Pedro often points out that Shoyo’s warm energy is contagious, but right now, it’s Shoyo who’s getting caught up in his.
“Obrigado, Pedro,” he replies in flawless Portuguese. “Will definitely do it tonight.” He says, almost like a promise to himself.
Pedro eventually takes his leave, and as soon as Shoyo finds himself alone before a fresh, blank page, he pauses to reflect. Months of meditation have also led him to this moment: a moment to pause, breathe, and think; to let his mind be guided toward where he feels most inspired and alive.
Framed by the wooden window, the sea greets him with a perfect, deep-night blue. It’s the color Shoyo has embraced as his favorite, and its hues now guide his hand as he immerses himself in writing once more.
☀️
10 years later
September, 10th
Maybe beige does suit Shoyo, too.
He looks at himself in the mirror for the nth time that afternoon and is dazzled by his own reflection. He doesn’t look bad at all. Is it even possible to look bad when you’re about to get married? Shoyo doesn’t think so, and he certainly looks awesome.
He tugs his suit tighter and puffs out his chest. The light beige fabric complements his hair color and golden skin, still carrying traces of the sun. The sleeves hug his biceps closely, and the collar has one button undone, revealing a glimpse of his chest and tan line, sprinkled with many, many freckles. A small blue hydrangea is pinned to his left lapel, close to his heart, resembling the eyes of the one with whom he is about to exchange wedding vows at sunset.
Shoyo brushes his fingertips against his pocket, where a slip of paper is tucked away. It’s a page from his very first journal, already crumpled, its edges curled and worn from being read and reread so, so many times. He has thought about this moment for years, and he’s been writing about his fiancé for a whole decade, preparing to officially vow to the world that he is entirely his.
“You don’t usually stay up late,” that familiar voice had whispered against his ear the night before, breaking goosebumps all over his body.
“I know,” Shoyo responded with a warm smile. He closed the journal and let out a long yawn. “I just want to make sure I won’t mess up tomorrow.”
“You won’t,” his fiancé stated firmly. “Have you ever slacked off in your entire life?”
“No!! But volleyball is one thing!! And this... This is different.”
“Different how?”
Shoyo sighed heavily. “It’s a different kind of important. You are important!”
The other man remained motionless before him, his gaze unwavering and strong, yet reassuring.
“I’m also nervous, dumbass,” he admitted, to Shoyo’s surprise. “But we’ll pull it off. It’s just like our play on the court. Toss and spike.”
Shoyo giggled. “I still think outsmarting middle blockers is way easier than reciting wedding vows.”
He got a wee, proud smile in turn. “But just like on the court, we’ve been practicing a lot. So…”
“So, we’ve got this,” Shoyo finished for him, more at ease. He stood up from his desk and stretched, letting his arms wrap around his fiancé’s shoulders afterwards. “Okay, pretty boy!! I think you’re right.”
“I’m always right,” he said with a pout, hands curling around Shoyo’s waist.
“Looks like I’m marrying a snob! Maybe I should change my mind.”
“I’m the one who should be thinking about that—” His words were cut off when Shoyo’s lips suddenly closed around his neck, planting a slow kiss there.
“Thank you for not backing down on this,” he muttered in complete honesty, kissing the same spot again. Having him by his side must be the best thing that had ever happened to Shoyo, alongside his everlasting passion for volleyball.
“I would never back down on this. On you,” he whispered back—an ultimate oath.
Shoyo couldn’t be happier with that answer. The shape of his smile probably imprinted his partner’s skin with infinite joy.
A light knock on the door snaps him out of his reverie. Shoyo goes over and slowly pulls it open. Surprise is written all over his face upon seeing the person standing there.
“Tsukishima?” He blinks swiftly, astonished.
“No, it’s my mom,” the blond replies as surly as ever, already stepping into the room uninvited. Aquele safado, cachorro, sem-vergonha!!!
“What did you come here for? To make fun of me before I get married? I’m already nervous enough as it is!”
“Maybe. I also came for something better.”
Shoyo huffs, “You wanna rub your gold band in my face again? Look, it’s beautiful and I’m still so happy for you and Tadashi, but in a few hours I’ll also have mine, and—”
“Hinata,” Tsukishima cuts off. His tone is collected, causing Shoyo to fall silent instantly. The two are wearing suits in contrasting colors. Tsukishima’s is a dark blue, almost black, matching the one worn by Shoyo’s fiancé. “Seriously. Just listen.”
“Okay,” he whispers.
“I know you’re nervous. I’ve been there before.”
Shoyo’s eyes grow bigger as he waits for his friend’s next words.
“The king messaged me last night saying that you also stayed up late because of nerves. So, Tadashi and I agreed this morning that we should reach out to you guys.”
“Oh! That means they’re also talking now?”
Tsukishima nods, “Yes. Yachi is also there.”
Something warm wells up in his chest. His friends had gathered to keep them from getting too nervous on what is likely the most important day of their lives. It truly is like a performance on the court where everyone matters, everything matters, their actions complementing one another for a greater good.
Toss and spike indeed.
“You’re probably thinking about something silly right now. Sappy,” Tsukishima grumbles, and Shoyo bursts into laughter.
“I’m just too happy!!” He beams with his hands on his hips as air flows back into his lungs, light and delicate. “I guess I’ve got the best friends in the world!!”
Tsukishima rolls his eyes. “Don’t know if I can tell you the same, but whatever. Just recite those thousands of love letters that you know by heart, and take flight.”
“Are you using volleyball references so I can understand? That’s cute, Tsukki!! And if by love letters you mean my journal, well, don’t worry ‘cause I’ve been rereading the whole thing for months!”
“So it won’t be that hard for you,” he says simply.
“I hope so,” there is still a spark of insecurity deep down, though, a small fragment that will only be completely shattered once he gets everything right.
Honestly, just this brief conversation is more than enough to give him a boost of courage. Shoyo spends the final minutes reviewing and practicing one last time, muttering under his breath in front of the mirror. He catches Tsukishima’s judgmental glances in the reflection, but somehow, that just makes him feel lighter.
Before leaving him alone completely, Tsukishima speaks up again.
“I’ve known for years that the two of you would go far together,” he places a hand on Shoyo’s shoulder, giving it a rare, comforting squeeze. “You won’t disappoint.” Tsukishima adjusts his glasses and walks away with a quiet, measured step, without saying another word.
Shoyo now faces the closed door, alone. He blinks in astonishment at the surprising affection he received from his friend (from Tsukishima, of all people!). He can only smile in the face of so much support and warmth, and right up until the moment Pedro appears to say it’s time to go, Shoyo feels nothing but a beautiful hope.
***
Walking down the aisle is truly different from walking onto the court.
He’s not alone, per se. Shoyo has his mother by his side, along with his groomsmen and friends looking at him confidently. The team lineup is all there, with the ball on Shoyo’s court, and still, he feels vulnerability run through the pores of skin in a way he hasn’t felt in years.
All the way up there, his heart lies exposed and bare, gleaming in the sunlight that mingles with the blue of the ocean. Having the beach as the setting for their wedding is comforting in many ways; it’s a ground Shoyo is used to feeling beneath his feet, amidst the scent of salty water and the sound of the toast wind playing with his features.
It feels right.
Years ago, it was while leaving this very same beach that Shoyo saw his future husband playing in the Olympics for the first time—on a flat-screen TV in some random bar. Back then, he felt a mixture of envy, pride, and strength burning like a bonfire within him, fueling his drive to keep moving forward. Right now, it’s no different: he can only press on, forward, forward and forward toward him. Always running ceaselessly to catch up and stand by his side as his one and only equal.
“Heyyy,” Shoyo sing-songs, grinning from ear to ear as he finds himself standing before him at the altar. Damn, he’s so perfect that his cheeks are already blooming with warmth. Can Shoyo already lean in for a kiss? Maybe two?
“Hey,” Kageyama Tobio greets him with that husky yet soft voice that never fails to strike a chord in his heart. “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”
Shoyo laughs with his whole being. “Middle school was ages ago! We’re getting married!!”
Tobio also smiles. “We are.” His blue eyes catch the sunlight just right, shining with anticipation and fulfillment.
“You seem happy,” Shoyo teases. As if he himself isn’t having the time of his life now.
“Obviously.”
“I’m also so, so GWAHHH!!!”
Tobio huffs in amusement, “I know.” His hands move restlessly—a sign that he also wants to reach out to him.
So this is it. It’s really happening.
The justice of the peace greets the guests and begins his speech. To be honest, Shoyo isn’t paying much attention to their words. His mind is focused on the sentences he wrote in his journal years ago—brief descriptions of feelings quintessentially of when he’d missed his beloved, and how saudade was the first word he learned while settling into a new culture.
His eyes linger on his fiancé as long as they can. Tobio seems to grow more handsome by the day; more ethereal. His dark blue suit accentuates the melancholic tone of his eyes, and his well-defined muscles show beneath the fabric. There is a small sunflower pinned to his left lapel, a perfect match for Shoyo’s hydrangea, their petals a beautiful representation of the sunset bathing them and the entire stretch of the beach.
Mom, Natsu, Yamaguchi, Kenma, Izumi and Koji stand behind him, offering their support. Behind Tobio, Miwa, his parents, Tsukishima, Sugawara, Ushijima and Hoshiumi also stand firm, wearing suits that mirror his own.
When they are given permission to finally exchange their vows, Tobio steps forward to speak first. Shoyo’s heart skips a beat at the glimpse of the tender smile gracing Tobio’s lips, and at that beautiful gaze, always so full of love.
“Sho. When I first laid my eyes on you more than a decade ago, I thought you were crazy.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Shoyo can’t help but whisper through his smile, and the audience chuckles softly.
Tobio just shrugs and continues his speech, “Maybe. But I think I’ve gotten used to that. To you.” Shoyo mouths a silent ‘you think?’ and Tobio reads his lips, letting out a brief snicker. “I never thought about having someone before, let alone marriage. Volleyball has always been my life, and it still is to this day.”
Tobio’s fists are clenched at his sides, and he begins opening and closing them, just as he always does when he’s nervous. He licks his lips and briefly looks away, a lovely cherry pink dusting his cheeks. Shoyo has to be strong to keep from pulling him in for a kiss right here and now.
“Volleyball was always my life because my grandfather was my life. And he remained the only one for years—until I met you.”
Shoyo sucks in a sharp breath. He really, really thought he was prepared to listen to everything, but he feels his legs go weak with every single word.
“Kazuyo-san is still a part of me, but when he left, I felt incomplete. And when I met you, I felt as though I might find that missing piece. The person he’d promised I’d meet one day.” His forehead furrows as he dives into memories spanning years and years. “You always made me feel alive and hopeful. I used to come home frustrated when practice didn’t go the way I wanted, but that was just because I was so eager to keep tossing to you. It was annoying. You are annoying.”
Shoyo breaks into giggles, and the guests follow suit.
“Even when we parted ways in high school, I wasn’t afraid. I never feared that you wouldn’t come back to me, and I always believed you could be stronger. I knew you would be. And you were. You are strong. And when we met again on the court, I already knew I loved you.”
Not even the sunset can mask the intense flush on Shoyo’s cheeks right now, spreading all the way to the tips of his ears. He’s known this for ages, sure, but every time Tobio says he loves him, it feels like the very first time.
Shoyo’s just so stupidly and unchangeably in love.
“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life as I am of this. Volleyball and you are my life now, and I hope it stays that way forever. You’re silly and funny and beautiful…” Tobio’s cheeks catch the beauty of the sunset. They’re now flushed, warm, and perfect. “You annoy me, and I love annoying you right back, so I want to hold onto this feeling of freedom you give me until we’re old and grumpy.”
“You’re already grumpy, my love,” Shoyo says fondly. He’s smiling so widely that his jaw hurts.
“I’ll be even more so in a few years,” Tobio says proudly, and he is right: he’s going to be that big, lovable grump for years and years to come, and Shoyo wouldn’t want him any other way. “With you by my side. Forever.”
Tobio resumes to fidget with his hands, trembling. Shoyo can’t help but reach out for him and interlace their fingers, giving a reassuring squeeze. He smiles up at him while fighting his own tears, and Tobio blinks a few times as he leans into the touch, his blue eyes bright and glistening.
The few times Tobio had cried in front of him had made Shoyo burst into tears as well. He isn’t ashamed to be vulnerable with him, per se, but Shoyo cannot cry right now. He has wedding vows to recite—words drawn from old pages, ready to be sung for Tobio to listen and treasure. He deserves them, he deserves to be told everyday how much loved he is.
“My turn!!” Shoyo keeps smiling as he runs his fingers over the corners of his eyes. They’re already starting to get misty. “Tobi, I also thought you were totally crazy the first time I saw you. You started a fight with me right away, and I really thought you’d be like the others and not give me a chance to speak.”
“But I did!” Tobio defends himself, sounding offended.
“You did!!” Shoyo agrees between chuckles. “You were tall, intimidating, and strong, and I was just me... Yet you took me seriously, and still do to this day. You never treated my height as a reason to quit anything. I even walked away in tears after you beat me, vowing that one day I’d become just as strong.”
“And you did,” Tobio says simply. For him, it really is just that: simple.
Their hands are still interlaced, and Tobio lightly brushes his thumb against Shoyo’s, an encouraging caress.
“I really did!! I came back to win, but also to keep the promise I made to you years ago, and standing on equal footing with you means the world. I love volleyball so much. It’s my great passion. But there came a moment when I realized that volleyball and you had become synonymous, and I couldn't imagine pursuing my goals without either of you.”
Shoyo licks his lips. He remembers the pages upon pages of text he wrote while in Rio. Words painting the paper in black ink, feelings reflecting red and yellow, everything that evokes love. The longing he felt back then, the saudade, was a realization that helped him understand his feelings for Tobio; that the weight of their promise went beyond simply defeating a rival on the court or proving his own worth. Shoyo also wanted to be worthy of him, to be the only one in Tobio’s eyes, the someone better he had promised to become.
For him. To him.
“I now know that I’ve loved you all along. And that you’re my most precious goal. I’m going to keep pursuing you and trying to catch up to you, whether it takes 10, 20, or 100 years!! I will forever be yours, and you mine, and I’ll be right on your heels, so you’d better not complain!”
The audience laughs again at Shoyo’s persistence. The silly way the two handle their relationship strikes them as funny, but Tobio takes those words seriously. He absorbs them without showing any outward reaction, his eyes alone radiating determination. Hope.
“Just don’t slack off,” he remarks, like a challenge. “On us. On me.” Now, there’s a certain plea in his voice. It’s a familiar sound. Don’t slack off when it comes to us. To our lives, our future. To me.
Shoyo also deals with this insecurity from time to time, but it quickly fades the moment he remembers his feelings for Tobio. How could he turn his back on him or on volleyball; on the future they’ve been building together for years? There is nothing he takes more seriously than this. Just as Tobio took him seriously from day one, Shoyo stands firm by the words he spoke years ago.
To be the one who’s gonna defeat you. To be the one. To be yours.
“I could never fail to hold fast to our promise. To you or to us. I’ve never felt connected to anyone the way I do with you, and no one has ever made me feel so alive. Volleyball taught me about passion, but you taught me about love, and I could thank you forever for that, for letting me love you and be loved by you. It’s the best gift of all.”
“You’re my gift,” Tobio interjects. “My goal, my person.”
“And you’re mine,” Shoyo holds onto his partner’s hand so as not to fall apart. Fresh tears have started pooling at the edges of his eyes again while every word he chants leaves him more vulnerable. He couldn’t care less. “Mine to be with, to worship and love. I hope you know how lucky I am to be able to love you.”
Tobio does not answer. There is hesitation in his countenance as he searches for the right words to spill. Shoyo runs his fingertips over his knuckles as if writing in the sand, tracing words of comfort and declarations that only Tobio understands.
“I just know I’m the luckiest guy ever!!” His face breaks into a blinding smile, accompanied by tears that can no longer be held back. “Because I have you. And I’m yours,” Shoyo sniffles. “My someone even better.”
Ah, it’s their promise. How many times has Shoyo vowed it out, sketched it out, over and over, ever since Tobio told him about it? How many times has he recited it dreamily in the privacy of their room, counting the days until he could say it out loud?
It’s like that promise is being fulfilled once more, and Shoyo aims to keep fulfilling it as often as necessary.
He can barely make out Tobio through his blurred vision even as the rings are brought out. His nose is running, and he’s a total mess. It’s Natsu who hands out their pieces of gold, offering an encouraging grin before leaving them in their enclosed bubble. It’s funny—there’s an entire audience watching, enough people to field at least ten national teams, yet Tobio and only Tobio, seems to be standing right in front of him. That’s how Shoyo’s life has mostly been: Tobio racing far ahead, seemingly out of reach, but Shoyo’s legs never stop running, never stop flying; his heart never stops yearning, never stops wanting to reach him, to feel his skin, to smell and taste him, to crawl within his love.
His hands tremble along with his smile as Shoyo finally, finally slides the shimmering gold band onto Tobio’s finger. It’s the place where it truly belongs. Shoyo glances at his beloved’s face and sees his eyes are also fixed on the ring, as if absorbing the reality and realizing at once that it is all real. That they are real.
He quite understands the sentiment.
Shoyo’s still holding Tobio’s hand and cannot help but bring the back of it to his lips; he presses a lingering kiss there in open reverence, his mouth conveying all the respect and admiration he feels for Tobio, for those hands that always gives him the best sets in the world, the best cafunés and hugs that feel like home.
Tobio’s hand is still sheltered under his lips as their gaze meets. His lips curl up slightly, a few tears already pooling at the edges of his eyes. Only then does Shoyo realize he has dampened Tobio’s skin with his own tears, but neither of them minds.
Shivers prickle all over his body the moment Tobio takes his left hand in his. His thumb grazes the small scars around Shoyo’s fingers, remnants of his early beach volleyball matches, back when shards of glass and seashells had left their mark. Tobio has a habit of tracing each one of them before they go to sleep, lips peppering kisses even across the ones hidden all the way down his back.
Shoyo’s skin breaks into goosebumps just remembering it.
Now their fingers have a golden soulmate color. The ring sits perfectly around his scar; he loves the weight, the shine, and their promise carved across the gold.
Marriage never really crossed his mind years ago, but now, it feels right. Just as volleyball is right for his life, just as Tobio is. Everything is better than that little Shoyo from years ago could ever have dreamed of.
Hot tears freely stream down his cheeks, and he lets them fall of their own accord. “S-sir!! We got married already, didn’t we?” Shoyo turns briefly toward the justice of the peace. At some point, they had blessed them and pronounced them married, though the memory is a blur in Shoyo’s mind, which is spinning and spinning, completely overwhelmed. “Can I kiss—”
His sobs are swallowed the moment Tobio frames his face and smashes their mouths together. The kiss tastes of salt, cinnamon, and sun. It smells of the sea and warm skin at daybreak, on those slow mornings when they wake up side by side, with bare skin and heartbeats pressed together.
A burst of applause erupts around them, accompanied by whistles and confetti being popped. Shoyo can only break into a wide grin against his husband’s (husband!!!!!) lips, framing his face with equal tenderness. Tobio’s cheeks are warm and damp beneath his fingers, his mouth as soft as his skin as he begins to murmur sweet nothings into the kiss.
“My… Dumbass,” he grumbles, breathlessly.
Shoyo pants and giggles into his mouth, “Of course that’s the first thing you tell your newly-husband!!”
“What else am I supposed to say?”
“I don’t know! Meu amor,” he kisses Tobio slowly. “Meu querido, sole mio… There are many options.” There are indeed a lot of other affectionate nicknames Tobio could call him, but honestly, "dumbass" has become their favorite.
The post-wedding party is very lively, with a setting framed by the sea, mountains and sand. Shoyo reminisces about the first time he took flight over those same golden grains, and now he’s having his first dance as a newlywed with the very person he used to dream about while flying.
Destiny is really ironic.
“Shoyo!! Tobio!!!!!” Heitor comes to congratulate them with a big hug that presses them against his chest. His whole face is slightly flushed, dark skin like bronze in the faint sunset. “I’m so happy for you!!!”
“I know, amigo,” Shoyo’s voice comes muffled as he curls his arms around him.
There’s a stronger pressure from his side, and that is when he notices that Nice has joined the embrace, followed by Pedro.
“You were amazing,” Nice compliments. “It feels like just yesterday our little Shoyo was constantly talking about his crush.”
“Kageyama is wonderful; his sets are the best,” Heitor mimics him in a loud, bright tone. He’s clearly spending too much time with Tsukishima.
Shoyo just laughs it off as they break free from the embrace, playfully pushing Heitor away.
“Writing down in your journal truly helped,” Pedro voices in awe.
“I had someone to learn from, right?” Shoyo beams proudly, bumping his hip with Tobio’s.
They’re showered with more and more congratulations all the way down to the ocean’s edge, right where the waves kiss the sand and the dance floor is supposed to be. Shoyo takes one of Tobio’s hands (the one now sporting a gold ring) and places the other on his shoulder.
“Why dance right by the sea?” His husband asks, draping an arm around his back.
“Why not?? You don’t like it? The wind blows better here.”
“Just say you’re up to your shenanigans and wanna throw me into the ocean.”
Shoyo snickers. “That’s not a bad idea.” The music drifting on the salty breeze is as calm as welcoming someone home.
Many of the guests are seated at tables scattered across the beach, while others dance joyfully around them, with Shoyo and his husband at the center—the embodiment of the setting sun.
Their hands remain interlaced as Shoyo presses himself closer, finding a home against Tobio’s chest as he breathes him in. Tobio smells of vanilla, wet grass and sun-dappled warmth. His heartbeats sound more beautiful than whatever is playing right now, a flawless melody Shoyo never gets tired of listening to. He closes his eyes and lets himself swim in this moment carved by hands of god, sighing dreamily when he feels soft lips graze across his temple.
“Hmmm, Tobi… I think you really love me,” he nuzzles himself against the sunflower still tucked to his left lapel. Some petals tickle the bridge of his nose.
Tobio hums back, “And you love me.”
“Obviously,” he mirrors Tobio’s grumpy tone. “And I do love you more!”
Tobio squeezes him tighter, “Not possible.”
“It’s possible and the truth!!” Shoyo tiptoes to kiss each of his eyelids.
He won’t lose at this, not after longing for Tobio for years, not after swearing time and again that he would be the one to defeat him, to be the only one in his life.
“You’ve always been the only one to me,” Tobio murmurs softly. It’s that voice he sings in domestic moments, reserved solely for Shoyo’s ears to savor. “So I win.”
“But I’ve also only had eyes for you,” Shoyo laughs and buries his face in the crook of his neck, peppering him with kisses that make Tobio ticklish. “I win!! ‘Cause I’m the luckiest one here for having married you.”
“And I did marry you, dumbass.”
“But you’re THE Kageyama Tobio.”
“And you’re Hinata Shoyo.”
“I am! Your husband!”
A voice roars out of nowhere near them. “You can stop with the cornyness and come play or nah??” Of course it’s Tsukishima with his judgmental gaze, still in a suit, but barefoot. Beside him, Yamaguchi wears a wide grin, the freckles on his cheeks sparkling like tiny stars.
“Kei won’t admit it, but he’s dying to play with you guys!” Yamaguchi reveals, like the menace he’s grown to be. “I’ll be his partner, of course.”
“You are my partner,” Tsukishima corrects, adjusting his sports glasses on his nose.
“Right right, my partner.”
“Ohhhh who’s the corny one now, Tsukki?” Shoyo laughs while pulling Tobio along by the hand.
“I regret helping you earlier.”
“Nooo, it was really sweet of you!!”
“It so was,” Yamaguchi sighs dreamily. “Come on, we can’t keep Yachi waiting.”
From a distance, a small figure waves both hands at them. Yachi has a whistle around her neck, standing beside Takeda, Ukai and the volleyball net that has been set up.
Seriously, this has to be the best wedding gift ever.
Tsukishima and Yamaguchi jog ahead, with the latter wrapping his arms around his scowling husband, sprinkling kisses all over his face. Shoyo is still holding Tobio’s hand, and only now notices that he is already taking off his shoes, along with his suit jacket.
“You ready?” Tobio asks defiantly.
“I was born ready,” Shoyo’s chest is bubbling up with so much joy.
The air leaves his lungs as Tobio suddenly leans in for a kiss, gentler and even slower than the one at the altar. Soft lips move against his, shaping his very being and whispering promises that only he can hear, that only he can fulfill by his side.
Tobio’s eyes are slightly hazy as they gaze at each other, their face centimeters apart. “Then, don’t slack off on me. Ever.” He crushes their mouths together again, and Shoyo gasps into the kiss, only to be left eating dust as Tobio breaks away to bolt across the sand, surging ahead.
Talk about a low blow. Now Shoyo is going to have to fight even harder to catch up.
He’s already used to it.
Shoyo barely has time to toss his own suit jacket onto an empty table and kick off his shoes before dashing forward. Golden sand kisses the soles of his feet as he runs, runs, and runs to catch up to Tobio: his person, his love, his partner, and now his husband. Air rushes in and out of his lungs, accompanied by peals of laughter that mingles with Tobio’s, who’s now running beside him as his equal, his one and only, just as he always has been.
Just like they’re meant to be.