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Dirt kicks up, coating their sweaty arms as they trundle over a road made by habit rather than intention. The little truck hits a bump, and Shoyo is jostled into the unfinished wooden slats that make the walls of the bed. He turns his forearm in front of his face, then hooks his chin over his shoulder to check for damage. The worst he's got are some hair thin splinters.
"Yeesh," he chuckles.
It sounds more like a dry cough, throat coated as thoroughly as the rest of him.
"What?" Atsumu croaks, no better off.
Shoyo shakes his head.
"I need a shower."
Atsumu scoffs, shoving his head down. It claps the top layer off of Shoyo's hair, falling in dusty piles on his shoulders.
"Then don't dawdle next time."
Shoyo pouts, squinting at Atsumu. His friend is just as caked as him. Strips of rosy tanned skin peek behind chalky earth where sweat has run in beads down his face, and laughter has wrinkled the corners of his eyes. His straw-yellow bleach job is a musty brown, and clumps of the "road" hang from his sideburns and the worn fabric of his shirt.
They could be in the front right now, running the fans, spiffy as kings, but Shoyo got distracted during wrap up, and Bokuto had snatched up one of his baskets when he wasn't looking. He can't be too mad, though. Not when the sun dips lower, running through the trees at the edge of the farm and throwing blessedly cool shade over their weary backs.
It makes him nervous, nights coming quicker as summer's peak slowly wanes. A few short months and they'll outweigh the days. The scale will tip, and the lines of Shoyo's life will blur. But for now, the mosquitoes are plastered to him under layers of dirt, as his cooling perspiration melts it into a muddy paste. For now he can feel each inch of his skin, and know without a single doubt, that this is real.
They roll into Ukai's yard around seven p.m. The rocking of the truck becomes violent, moving from packed ground to soft grass, then winds to a stop. Atsumu pats Shoyo's chest, throwing himself over the side of the truck bed. Shoyo follows close behind, the doors up front slamming shut one at a time. He shakes like a dog, scrubbing at his face. Now that air isn't shuffling it around anymore, his second skin starts to flake and grow itchy.
The four of them- Atsumu, Bokuto, Sakusa and him -trudge to the house. The back porch light is on despite the golden glow still clinging, and a dog yowls at them over the side fence. Atsumu tries to grab onto Sakusa, maybe to dirty him in retaliation of a snide comment, but stops when the screen ekes open.
"Boys," Ukai says, no more than an eye and the orange ember of a cigarette through the cracked opening. "I see my truck is still in one piece."
"Yes sir! Omi and me had front!"
Ukai raises his brow at Bokuto, then seems to decide it isn't worth it.
"Alright. Come get it."
With that he steps back, sliding the door open all the way. Bokuto barrels through before Ukai is even fully out of the way, his wide back twitching from exertion. Sakusa trails him. Shoyo and Atsumu stay put, fidgeting nervously. Shoyo especially can't control his feet, rocking back and forth and shedding a mess all over the porch.
"Do I need to hose you?" Ukai asks.
"No sir!" They answer, so hurried it comes out a little out of time of each other.
They'd gotten their part done, no thanks to Bokuto.
Ukai sighs, smiling at them as though they were just dumb kids caught meddling in his yard. Which, unfortunately, is only a few years and a loose agreement off of accurate.
"Wait here."
He brings them their dinners, wrapped up nicely in leaf print fabric. Shoyo winces, shuffling it from hand to hand like a hot potato, but Atsumu doesn't seem to mind dirtying it. He snatches his up, grip tight and beige echoes of his fingers left behind when he adjusts his grip on the top.
They've just started to leave, leaving trails in the grass to the gate, when Ukai speaks up.
"Oh, wait! I've got something new for you boys tomorrow."
"What?" Atsumu calls, nose wrinkled in confusion as he turns back
"New job. I'm expanding the barn."
"What!"
Now it's Shoyo's turn, his voice cracking at the thought. Expanding the barn? They've only ever helped with the uptick in work caused by harvest season, a simple end of summer job to bring in extra cash.
"Don't worry! My cousin's kid is coming down. He does construction, he'll do the hard parts. You just do what he says."
Atsumu grumbles, probably lamenting his unofficial role as team leader, but Shoyo sighs in relief. For a second he'd though Ukai forgot who he was talking to. They'd sooner level the barn on their own.
"Okay!" he hollers before Atsumu can say something that'll get them in trouble. "See you!"
<><><>
"Sometimes it's like my life has this hole in it… like when I wake up and she's not there… I don't know…"
Shoyo sips at a flimsy paper cup, grateful for the sting of chill water. Grateful for the uncomfortable creak of cheap metal chairs that keeps his leg from ticking. He doesn't really need group anymore, he hasn't for awhile, but it is so molded into his habits after years of consistent attendance, that he doesn't know what he'd do with out it.
Some people nod at what the new guy said. Shoyo just keeps a steady, supportive smile as he lets his mind drift.
There are only five of them here, packed into the back of the biggest hospital in all of Miyagi. That's the largest concentration of diagnosed patients in all of Japan. Shoyo's psychiatrist growing up used to say there were probably many more people undiagnosed that just coped better. Didn't read into the dreams, didn't lose track of reality, just dragged themselves through life suppressing the symptoms.
Alongside their circle of sniffling squatters are rolled up mattresses, industrial sized laundry bins, rows of locked white cabinets. Only a single row of buzzing white lights illuminate the storage room.
The others are talking about disassociation. Hallucinations. The risks of psychotic breaks. Childhood trauma. Anti-social personality disorder. Plain old Social isolation. Head trauma. Autism. A bunch of clinical words and possible causes that Shoyo has learned to fear. Causes mean something is actually wrong, beyond the already obvious.
He remembers what it was like not having any answers, and deep down he knows how much worse that could be. It doesn't make it any easier to cope with an official diagnosis. Hell, when they started treating him there wasn't even a name yet.
Amor Nocturnus. A new and extremely rare sleep disorder that causes the brain to process vivid "night terror-esc" dreams as episodic memory rather than bringing up previously formed memories or as short term memory. Often the episodes involve visions of imagined companions, lovers, friends, even pets, and are associated with several childhood traumas and mental disorders. None of which Shoyo has in his opinion. Though, these theories aren't the most credible, considering how small of a pool researchers have to study from. In Shoyo's opinion, it's a pretty Latin name for "we don't know how to help you."
It started subtle. Little developmental benchmarks missed. He didn't start sleeping on a day cycle when the other babies did, he didn't stop wetting the bed when other kids did, he had insomnia, he wouldn't wake up in the morning.
The first diagnosis was sleep paralysis. Shoyo's mom had held his hand, trembling so hard he'd worried she'd break his smaller fingers, regaling the doctors with tales of him being near comatose. Of shaking him, seeing his eyes open and awake, and not being able to get him out of bed.
ADHD followed pretty quick, might have even been first now that he thinks about it. His teachers brought it up almost immediately, and his inconsistent boughts of energy supported it.
The "imaginary friend" he got away with a few more years. But when the preschooler that has a made up playmate turns into the schoolboy that talks about "the man in his dreams that loves him," adults get pretty alarmed. Him insisting a man that only comes when he slept was real, crawling under a desk in the counseling center, and screaming his head off didn't help. That particular incident earned him a very inaccurate schizophrenia diagnosis, which was quickly walked back once he got a better therapist.
So, not exactly a cakewalk. But Shoyo doesn't like to let it get him down. There's no pill for this. He might be a bit off his whole life. Might as well enjoy it as much as he can. There're silver linings to it too.
All the therapy has made him better with emotional issues than most. It's hard to take your loved ones for granted when you find out half of your life isn't real. He never had to come out as queer. The whole imagining a male life partner handled that part. There are always ups.
"Hinata," the group lead says, startling him from his thoughts.
Fuck, he totally zoned out. Time to turn on the charm.
"Sorry," Shoyo chuckles, making sure to flash some dimples for good measure. "Is it my turn already? That flew."
The group leader gives him a thin smile. The kind that says "you're lucky I like you."
"It is. Is there anything you'd like to share?"
Shoyo looks around at the faces of people he's grown up with. He's one of the youngest there, and yet he's been there the longest. Apparently things like this are more noticeable in otherwise happy go lucky kids. He's different, and he's always handled it best. It leaves him with a sense of responsibility. To be the bright one, the hopeful one.
"Yeah. I mean, I always get nervous this time of year."
There's a wave of dry chuckles. They know what he means.
"I want to think about it different this year I think. I don't want to forget myself, or get stuck in it or anything, but I feel like… this is my life, ya know? It's our lives. As long as I remember what's real… I'm just gonna enjoy some extra time with some pleasant dreams."
He's lying through his stupid smiling teeth.
<><><>
Shoyo cracks an egg over the pan, the whites sizzling and yolk popping when it lands. The smell mixes with the grease in the pan, warm and saturated. He can feel the sun through the window at his back. Shoyo understands why cats are always napping in it.
Then his back gets even warmer. A broad chest settles against him, hands laying on his hips. The man peppers kisses on Shoyo's shoulders and scalp, always clingy in the mornings. Later, once he's had some coffee and wakes up enough to get prickly, Shoyo will lord this over him.
For now he just melts into the touch, humming in contentment. It rumbles through both of them, and Shoyo wonders what it would be like to fuse their ribs. Sew their lungs and meld their hearts. He giggles at the thought, flipping the eggs.
"Hm?"
The voice is low, full. Like a stand up bass, shiny and proud in the back of a jazz band.
"Just thinking about how much I love you," Shoyo says.
"Mm."
He loves him too. Shoyo knows that from how he tucks his face into his neck, cheeks hot with bashfulness. He doesn't have to say it.
A robotic scream shatters the moment. Shoyo stiffens looking around. He can't remember when they moved here, when they took that step. He's never seen this house. Shoyo's heart drops.
It isn't real.
He blinks open his eyes, stomach swooping painfully and a headache setting in. It always takes time for his body to calm down. The dreams are so vivid. He can still feel the outline of fingers on his waist, a breath on his neck.
But all that's there are his cheap scratchy sheets and a trail of dried drool on his chin. It makes his heart break a little each time. After good ones like that. He feels like an organ has been ripped from his body, tears threatening to gather in his eyes.
Shoyo squeezes them shut hard until he sees colors, lips pursed in frustration. Today is going to be a good day. Forget about him. He isn't real. Natsu is real. Mom is real. Ukai is real. Shoyo's friends are real.
Is Shoyo real?
With that disturbing thought Shoyo stumbles out of bed, and throws himself into a scalding shower. Time to rejoin the living.
<><><>
The farm is a vibrant green, the long stalks of the crops shimmering in the wind. Shoyo's bike rattles down towards it, the hat clipped to his belt flapping against his thigh. The long brown form of the Ukai family house is proud and sturdy. Like the bushy mustache of an esteemed Lord.
He hops off of his bike as he nears, not fully breaking and having to jog a few steps to keep from landing face first. Taking three bounding steps, Shoyo discards his bike in the grass and lands in front of the door. His usual smile fixed in place, he knocks loudly.
It swings open, a greeting already on the tip of his tongue, but he chokes on it, coughing. There's a boy Shoyo has never seen before, about his age, standing in the doorway. He has blank eyes, and he's frowning at Shoyo like he'd stunk up the front porch.
"Hello?" The boy asks bluntly, uncaring as Shoyo struggles to get his breath.
"Who are you?" Shoyo blurts.
Well, maybe shouts right in his face.
In an instant those blank eyes light up like hot coals, more vibrant and fiery than blue eyes have any business being.
"Excuse me?"
Okay, yeah. Scary voice too. This guy is grizzly as a soldier! He's like a serial killer with that nasty scowl, and the knife sharp edges of his midnight hair.
"No! I mean- I didn't- Where's Ukai?"
Recognition flickers in the boy's gaze, but he doesn't soften. And he doesn't budge from the doorway. Shoyo appraises him, wondering if he could shove past the human doberman and make a run for the back door.
He's unfairly tall, broad shoulders wedged firmly in the opening. The crushing grip he has on the doorframe shows off how defined the tendons in his hands are, and the muscles in his forearm. If Shoyo had to guess, under the loose black long sleeve the guy is wearing, he's probably packing quite the physique. It ruffles Shoyo's feathers, and he puffs his chest out, tilting a bit higher on his toes unthinkingly.
He doesn't answer Shoyo's question, and they're locked in a stalemate. The analytical once over Shoyo took is returned. To his great distress, the guy seems much less impressed. Thin, graceful brows angle down even further, pink lips curling into a judgemental sneer. A silent challenge passes between them, like they can read each other's minds. If Shoyo wasn't pushing past before he definitely is now.
He surges forward without warning, letting out an angry yell. The guy squawks in shock, throwing his hands out to brace Shoyo's charging body.
"Stop! You're crazy! I'll kill you!" He blusters in a furious shout, right as Shoyo lets out his own desperate cry.
"I just wanna do my job you big jerk!"
There are those strong hands, yanking the back of Shoyo's shirt and shoving his chest. Shoyo just ducks down, wrapping his arms around the bigger boy in an attempt to get leverage. He can feel how each push the other gives him slightly overpowers his own, and he needs to brace.
"Woah! Hey!"
Ukai chooses to shout at them at the precise moment the guy's sock covered feet slip. Shoyo keeps pushing, momentum carrying them both to the floor in a heap.
"What the hell are you two idiots doing?"
Shoyo doesn't answer, his throat gone dry. He's blinking the pain of his forehead smacking the floor away, held up by his thrown out arms on either side of the other boy's waist. The boy that, much to his horror, Shoyo is realizing, is heartrendingly gorgeous. Like, unfairly, impossibly nice to look at. Which Shoyo does, blatantly, with his mouth ajar.
For a moment his breathlessness seems shared. Eyes as dark as an iced over lake blow wide, bowed lips pursing as the other boy sucks in a tiny gasp. The condescension melts away until his youth shines through, as innocent as a fawn.
Then rage clouds over whatever daydream Shoyo is having, and he's shoved unceremoniously onto the floor. All in the span of an instance. So fast Shoyo wonders if he imagined it, the fall doing more damage to his thick skull than he had thought.
"Ow!" he whines.
At the same time, the boy leaps to his feet, getting up in Ukai's face.
"He was breaking and entering!"
"No! You challenged me!"
"I did not!"
"You totally did! You looked at me all like-" Shoyo drops his voice mockingly, flattening his curly bangs to mimic the flat cut of the other's -"Ugh, I'm sooo strong, and you're not!"
"What does that even mean?"
A throat clears, loud and frustrated. They freeze, shoulders jumping like scolded puppies. Ukai is watching their exchange with a curious glint in his eyes, arms crossed over his chest. He's the very picture of a stern father.
"Hinata. My nephew, Kageyama. Kageyama, this is Hinata. He's one of the boys I told you about."
Oh please no…
When Shoyo looks back at Kageyama grimacing, he finds the other boy already giving him a withering glare. From his place on the floor, Kageyama is imposingly tall. An imposing figure of obsidian and pearly marble.
Annoyance, dread, humiliation, and the unfortunate burn of attraction lick through his core. Along with the puzzling sense that he's seen Kageyama somewhere before.
<><><>
Shoyo's shirt sticks to his lower back, a ring of sweat from working in the sun. Ukai send the boys out to tend the bean plants, gloves and sunhats donned. Normally around this time they'd switch to one of the other fields. Instead Ukai came to get them in the truck, ferrying them all out to the barn.
He'd gotten shotgun, shame and frustration motivating him to out perform the others. Poor Sakusa ended up squished between a shit eating Atsumu and an oblivious Bokuto in the bed. He almost always wins front, and Miya had taken great pleasure in wafting the dirt cloud kicked up by the tires at Sakusa's face. At least Ukai let them hose each other down, or Shoyo isn't sure Atsumu would still be alive.
Shoyo isn't sure of a lot of things right now. He heaves, hoisting another crate of supplies onto his back.They're hauling the materials from where Ukai had piled them weeks ago to the side of the barn. None of it makes any sense to Shoyo at all.
The barn is a small, weathered old building on the outer edge of the property. It has two stables inside, but as long as Shoyo has known them, the Ukais don't keep animals. They hadn't in many, many years. Why expand now? Is Ukai hoping to start ranching?
The crunch of tarp turns to the whispers of grass under Shoyo's boots, his shoulders aching where the corner of the crate digs in. He drops it into their stack, huffing happily at the loss of the burden. The crates are so heavy he has to be super careful about his form to avoid pulling any muscles.
Shoyo pauses, leaning around the side of the barn to get a look.
Kageyama. The hellish mystery himself.
He's using a crowbar to open the crates the boys bring over one by one, laying the contents out in organized piles. Flushed from the heat, he shed his long sleeve some time ago, working in a thin white tank top instead. It leaves nothing to the imagination, and Shoyo burns.
It's completely unfair how his muscles pop with every motion. Criminal how his broad shoulders taper to such a thin waist. Full on blasphemy when he shifts, and Shoyo gets a glimpse of abs. He needs to kill him.
"Last longer if ya take a picture."
Shoyo shrieks, whirling around unflatteringly to find Atsumu grinning like the cat that got the cream. Shoyo puffs up, mouth open to defend is honor. He was not checking out the rude guy, he was jealous of his physic as an athletic person that cares about his health. Before he can a throat clears behind him.
Shoyo's shoulders shoot to his ears, wincing. He looks over his shoulder slowly, not eager to see what he knows is there.
Kageyama is glaring at them, because when is he not? His perfectly sculpted arms are crossed over his chest, hip slightly cocked like a disappointed mother.
"If you stand around all day we'll never be done."
There's no illusion he's telling both of them, icy eyes trained right on Shoyo. Atsumu drops a hand onto Shoyo's shoulder protectively, leaning into the charged air between them.
"Untwist yer panties, Tobio. It was my fault. I snuck up on him."
Kageyama's jaw tightens, eyes snapping between them once, twice, before he twists on his heel and storms away.
"Someone has it out for you, Sho."
Shoyo groans, going limp against Atsumu's side.
"Don't remind me," he whines. "I didn't know it was him! He looks nothing like Ukai. He isn't even Ukai's real nephew, he's some cousin… removed or something!"
Atsumu laughs, shrugging Shoyo off to lead them back towards the heap of crates.
"What'd you do this time?" He singsongs, watching Shoyo out of the corner of his eye.
"Oh, man. It was some of my worst work."
"Worse than 'take off your shoes?'"
"Hey!" Shoyo points an accusing finger. "That guy definitely had lifts! He was cheating!"
"Uh huh, sure he did, Sho."
Shoyo grumbles, kicking a clump of grass. It sends the green patch flying, bright against the pale blue sky.
"Seriously. What'd you do?"
Shoyo's mouth pinches real small, a blush rising on his cheeks. His brain unhelpfully supplies him with images of Kageyama sprawled beneath him on the floor, nasty sneer replaced with wide, surprised eyes.
"I may or may not have… tackled him."
Atsumu's laughter crows through the sky, startling a flock of wild birds.
<><><>
Kageyama spends the whole day like that. Divvying up tasks for them so he can slink off alone. He's an utter conundrum. Shoyo doesn't understand how someone so young would know any of the stuff he knows about construction, or why they'd be so bitter like an old man. He's got the energy of an ancient gnarled tree, stubbornly presiding over the forest.
Finally the sun starts to dip, and the boys pack up to drive back to the house. Sakusa driving, this time with Atsumu in shotgun. They've been targeting Bokuto pretty hard since his sabotage, and Hinata got the second worst after his morning win.
The cicadas start trilling, stars peeking through the top layers of the sky, sun still golden yellow on the horizon. A cool breeze flows through the valley, and Shoyo finds himself shivering from his own sweat. He's just about to hop in the back, when there's a tug in the back of his mind.
Quiet enough not to worry the others, Shoyo slips away from the truck and back towards the barn. The big metal light stuck under where roof overhangs is on, cutting through the purpled landscape with brilliant gold. Bugs flutter around it, their wings lit up pearly white. They almost look like snowflakes, if not for the fact they refuse to fall.
Shoyo makes his way to the side they're gonna put the extension on, soft grass giving way to the grit of gravel and dirt. He stops at the corner, propping his arm on the barn to rest his throbbing muscles.
All the materials have been meticulously sorted, laid in a grid pattern on the ground. Two by fours, and beams, and plywood, scattered on the lawn like a huge blueprint. Shoyo can almost make out how it'll look put together.
In the middle, outlined by an unformed doorway on the ground, is Kageyama. He hasn't put his over shirt on even though it's getting cold, and he shivers where he stands. Not moving one muscle, he stares at the pieces at his feet like a general overlooking his army. It's the first proper look at the boy Shoyo has gotten since their unfortunate introduction, and the first time Kageyama isn't angry.
He looks almost serene. Meditative. His bangs ruffle in the breeze, dancing over his forehead like a bird's feathers when they get all puffed up. The lines of his body look less action hero-y, less irritating, and more elegant. Shoyo finds himself thinking of them as almost feminine oddly enough. This sight, this version of Kageyama, puts Shoyo so at ease it feels like coming home. It's the scariest thing he's ever felt.
"Hey," he calls out, breaking the moment for his own good.
Kageyama turns, brows cocked in confusion. He hadn't expected to be bothered.
"We're all grabbing dinner," Shoyo says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder even though Kageyama wouldn't be able to see the truck from where he stands. "You should tag along, or you'll get stuck walking the whole way."
Kageyama studies him with those deadly sharp eyes. His shoulders are bunched, like he's waiting to be shouted at, and all at once Shoyo feels terrible. Leave it to him to jump to conclusions and pick a fight with any guy that looks at him wrong. Shoyo needs to learn not to assume ill intentions.
"We don't bite," he teases. "Well… Atsumu might, but he's up front."
This must cement that Shoyo is being genuine, Kageyama's shoulders lowering, though he keeps his mean mug. He looks all around himself, at his two dimensional building, stewing over Shoyo's offer.
"Do any of you even have your license?" He finally barks.
His voice is blunt as river rocks dashed into each other. He's frigid, and uncivilized, and… shy. Whatever insecurity Shoyo felt seeing him this morning is clearly reciprocated.
"Nope!"
Shoyo grins at him, biting back offense at Kageyama's judgemental look. He can be the bigger person for once. This is salvageable.
Kageyama sighs, giving up on something Shoyo doesn't understand. He makes his way over, giving the building materials one last forlorn look. Up close he's tinged pink from labor and now chill, and the earthy smell of some kind of fabric softener clings to him. He's still glaring, but it's less superior, and more apprehensive.
Shoyo pats himself on the back internally. See? He's a great guy. He fixed their grudge within a day. Take that Kageyama. Shoyo wins this one.
"C'mon," Shoyo says, heading back up the hill to where the others are impatiently gathered around the truck.
Kageyama doesn't talk once the whole drive, but his shoulder bumps into Shoyo's at every turn, and his skin is soft and cool. Surrounded by his friends, and filled with a building curiosity towards their strange new addition, Shoyo doesn't remember to be nervous as day turns to night.
<><><>
"Get in the fucking car."
Shoyo's trudging on the sidewalk in the middle of the night, the lights of houses long behind him. Their car hums next to him, engine like the warning growl of a great beast and bone white headlights arcing over the road.
"I just need air," he sniffles, throat raw from crying.
There's a gruff swear, then the car is pulling over, engine cutting. Shoyo keeps moving, desperate to put space between them. The night is deathly silent without the rumble of the car. He isn't ready to talk about it. He can't do this.
Heavy footsteps catch up on him fast, a wide palm landing on his shoulder and spinning him around.
He's scared for Shoyo. It's hard to make out his face in the dark, but tears catch the moonlight. His hands are trembling where they hold Shoyo's shoulders, thumbs digging into his collarbone.
Shoyo shakes his head wordlessly, a grief he can't explain wracking his body. A sob catches in his throat, vision blurring.
Strong arms pull him in, burying Shoyo against a broad chest.
"I got you, idiot. It's gonna be fine. I promise. I got you."
Shoyo wakes up alone. His eyes are puffy, salt drying on his cheeks. Nothing has happened, no one is hurt, but there's a knot of dread in his belly. It feels like someone died. He could have sworn someone died.
Shoyo wraps his arms around his head, curling on his side. He cries into his blanket, wet fabric sticking to his mouth and salt on his tongue. He mourns a loss that hasn't happened, that he can't describe.
I'm losing my mind, he thinks through the fog of misery. I'm losing my mind.
><><><
"You're doing a good job," Ukai says, leaned on the railing of the back porch.
Tobio and him are having their morning coffees, watching the brain dead troupe fight over the front seat of the truck several yards away.
"Mm."
Ukai chuckles at Tobio's lack of response, flicking a lighter out and setting a cigarette between his lips. Tobio's nose wrinkles, not fond of the acrid smell they produce.
He looks back at the guys, mulling over his impressions of them all. Sakusa is the only one with any sense at all. Bokuto is well intentioned, but… saturated in personality. Tobio winces as the man's obnoxious laughter booms all the way up to the house, his arm trapping Miya in a headlock.
Miya is the worst. He's one of those extroverts that likes nothing more than torturing Tobio. Making jokes he knows Tobio won't understand, then laughing at his blank expression. It was a small mercy he hadn't been crammed into the tiny truck bed with them the other night.
Then there's Hinata. Clearly insecure, always puffing his chest out like a bird in mating season. Loud, clumsy, confrontational. He's a whirlwind of color that leaves Tobio with a headache if he looks too long.
At least, that's what Tobio assumed after the other day. Sure, it was kind of him to make sure Tobio got in alright at the end of the day, but it seemed more an apology for tackling him like an unruly dog than an actual attempt to reach out. Tobio felt pretty safe in his impression of the guy as totally shallow. Until this morning.
Hinata rolled in late, looking like death walking. His eyes were bloodshot, and his hair looked less vibrant, though Tobio knew it wasn't physically possible. Without so much as sparing anyone a glance, he'd wandered out to the other boys and clambered into the back of the truck without arguing. No shrill greeting, no annoying smile, no contributing to the chaos.
He's still there, back turned away and slouched against the wooden wall of the bed. It makes his small figure glaringly obvious, shoulders curved inward.
Strangest part is, none of the others reacted. Ukai didn't send him home sick, Miya didn't tease, Bokuto didn't ask if he was alright. Tobio had been under the impression that Hinata was the youngest, and the others were protective of him. They'd seemed to jostle him less than each other, pull their punches. Even Sakusa made sure to wish him a goodnight when they parted ways at the house last night.
But they're all ignoring the storm cloud hanging over Hinata's head. They aren't speaking to him at all. It makes Tobio's teeth grind with discomfort. Is he supposed to pretend it's normal too? Is this what Hinata is actually like, and the other day was just a fluke?
"You're staring."
Tobio jumps, whipping around to find Ukai eyeing him. It's a funny look. Knowing, but guarded. Like he's not sure if he should trust Tobio. Tobio's chest pangs. He doesn't need another reminder how alone he is in this world.
"No I'm not," he grits, stubbornly setting his sights on the wood of the railing.
The smoke from Ukai's cigarette swirls through the air in long tendrils. It's stench clears Tobio's nose and swells in his temples painfully. He takes shallower breaths. In the quiet he thinks Ukai will drop it, but as the truck engine splutters to life, the little vehicle tearing off towards the fields of crops, he speaks again.
"Hinata's been through a lot. He's a tough kid. Tougher than anyone your age should be."
Tobio hums, brows furrowing. The back of his mind wanders to a cold, loveless home. Years of memories muddled into murky soup. The way the strap of his bag whittled into his shoulder, his whole life cradled in a few feet of canvas fabric.
"You're quite similar, you know?"
Tobio must pull a face, because Ukai rasps out a laugh, coughing as smoke collides with the sound. He claps Tobio's upper back fondly, shaking him a little.
"Just take it easy on him okay? He could make your life here hell, or be the most understanding of your situation. It comes down to you."
"Yeah," Tobio mumbles, pushing back his cuticles, annoyed that he'd lost his nail care set. "Whatever."
><><><
Hinata is like that the whole day. Even hours into the afternoon, when Tobio's going over the plan for the build. He hangs back from the huddle like a ghost, eyes distant and unseeing. Even when they start nailing and screwing together the framework, cutting off excess wood when necessary. He's still half there, and the others still ignore it.
They move around him with practiced ease. Jokes are tossed over fiery hair, objects kicked out of Hinata's path so he won't trip. At one point Sakusa gently pries a drill out of Hinata's hand that he had been turning on and off, frozen in place.
It's horrifying. It reminds Tobio of himself. The way the moods got worse and worse with age, until everyone in his life gave up. It didn't matter if Tobio was able to talk on any particular day. They weren't going to talk to him.
The indignant feeling builds, more force than needed put into Tobio's movements. He nearly cracks one of the beams, nostrils flaring with each exhale. Finally it gets to be too much.
He stands up from where he'd been working, spitting out the nails in his mouth and tossing aside his hammer. Bokuto, the closest to him perks up, tossing Tobio a questioning look. Tobio doesn't acknowledge him, storming towards Hinata's crouched form.
Each sluggish movement stokes the fire in Tobio's chest, his strides getting wider and heavier. A hand collides with his chest, dragging Tobio to a stop.
Angry sneer fixed in place, Tobio looks to his opponent. Miya puts himself in Tobio's path, blocking Hinata from sight. His bleached hair is pushed back off of his forehead, the beginning of a sunburn on his face. There's no sign of his lazy grin, a serious glint in his eyes.
"He doesn't need yer shit."
Tobio reels like he'd been slapped.
"Excuse me?" He growls.
Miya doesn't budge, not even when Tobio looms close enough to see his pores, shoulders squared.
"It's no help making him feel bad. He doesn't need you yelling at him."
Tobio scoffs, bullying his way past the other man.
"I'm taking him on a break asshole."
This seems to shock Miya. He sways in place, hand still outstretched. The place between his eyebrows is pinched, entire face tense with unease. Good. He should feel bad letting Hinata work in such a state.
Tobio stomps up to Hinata's side, crouching to lean into his line of sight. The boy's eyes are glassy, unfocused. It makes Tobio want to turn tail and run, but he forces himself to stay.
"Hinata," he says, cringing at the gruffness of his voice. "We're taking a break. Let's go."
Hinata's face twitches, eyes shifting towards Tobio. He nods in a barely noticeable movement. Tobio will take it. He's not the best at comforting people.
He hauls Hinata up by the hand, guiding him back to the truck. Hinata goes without argument. The other boys stare, whispering aggressively, as though arguing. Tobio doesn't deign to look back. He watches to make sure Hinata gets into the passenger seat alright, then shuts himself into the driver's side, turning the keys left dangling from the ignition.
They rock over uneven ground, the only sounds the hissing air con and crunch of tires. Hinata seems a bit mire grounded at least, fidgeting with his clothes. Tobio's jaw comes loose from it's angry set, relieved he didn't have to give a pep talk or some other corny shit.
He slows to a stop just by the back porch, flicking off the ignition. Tobio had planned to go in and get water, but neither of them move. He feels glued to the spot, leather seat sticking to his thighs past the edge of his shorts. Time drips by, laughing at Tobio's inability to start a conversation.
"Thanks."
Tobio glances to where the other man sits. Hinata looks like he hasn't slept, hair mussed and heavy bags beneath his eyes. He's staring at Tobio, more present than he'd looked all day. There's something dangerous there. It makes Tobio's pulse spike.
"For what?" He spits, cranky defenses flying up.
Hinata just laughs, a weak, humorless noise. He's trying his best to grin, the crooked tooth in the corner of his smile on show, but it's a hollow thing.
"You just… remind me of someone."
Tobio stares, and stares, something wiggling in his brain. A frightening deja vu, waking up that morning in a cold sweat, lunging forward to chase the dying flame of a lover he'll never have.
Shame floods through him when it clicks. He'd been projecting, the fear from his nightmare warping his response to Hinata's bad mood. It was just so similar, so goddamn similar.
"What's wrong with you?" He blurts out, desperate to find every difference between Hinata and the man in his dreams.
He's pathetic enough for the dreams. No need to go completely bonkers and start imagining a real person.
Hinata gives another dry laugh at Tobio's outburst, sliding his fingers over the seams of his seat.
"Long story or short?"
Tobio isn't sure how to answer, hands still clenched around the steering wheel. Hinata watches him, eyes big and rich with unspoken words. Like he's got the whole world inside his head.
"Just had a bad dream," he shrugs, as though Tobio's life isn't turning inside out at such a simple admission. "Woke up on the wrong side of the bed."
Tobio looks forward. He stares at his own reflection in the windshield, listening the neighbor's dog's muffled bark.
"Me too," he mutters after a few beats.
They don't speak again for a long time. The sun inches another few degrees down, and Tobio backs the truck around to get back to the barn, and they don't say a single word. It leaves Tobio broken on the pavement, sticky yolk leaking through his shell.
<><><>
Things change after that bad day. Every time he thinks about it Shoyo goes pink with embarrassment. He hates new people seeing him like that. He hates that it had helped. He hates that now when he wakes up, stuck between this reality and the next, he calms down by thinking about Kageyama, going through his own kind of torment in his bed.
They start to gravitate to each other. If Kageyama joins them when they head back in, he sits by Hinata. If he has instructions to give, he tells Hinata, trusting him to spread the directions to the others. They exchange stolen glances, a thousand words passing in an instant.
It's like they've known each other for years. Like Kageyama is a fixture in Shoyo's life. Like he's… best not to go there.
The days start to fly. Heat wanes, nights stretching longer. Shoyo finds himself more sure of himself, slipping away less. Mom comments on it one morning over breakfast.
"You're less spacey these days," she smiles over the table.
"Am I?" Hinata hums, fake innocence dripping from his voice.
How is supposed to explain? It can't be healthy, grounding himself with thoughts of another person. He doesn't want to scare her.
"Yes," his mom sighs, grabbing hold of Shoyo's hand. "You've been so much better the last few years, but this? I don't think I've ever been less afraid of losing you."
He winces at that, stomach curdling. They're on a ticking timer.
Before he knows it a week has passed. Kageyama has wormed his way into Shoyo's every waking thought. They race around the farm, a silly, competitive side pulled from the icy boy at Shoyo's probing. Kageyama warms to the others too, putting in his two cents when they make bets, playing along in their little games. He's got a wobbly smile, and crooked fingers from breaking his pinkies playing little league sports.
He gets quiet like Shoyo does, and notices when he's off. They catch each other's moods, plucking silent signals from the air. Kageyama doesn't have to say a word. He's comforting on his own, solid and calm. Shoyo finds himself telling him mangled secrets, heart bleeding in stolen moments.
"I'm gonna see the world," he whispers, leaning on the skeleton of a wall they'd started to put up. "I'll lose it if I stay here. I need to feel it, and know that it's real."
"You won't miss home?" Kageyama asks, a hidden sadness in his eyes.
Shoyo put that part together himself. The nonsense layout of the barn extension, the meager bag Kageyama packed for his trip, the pitying glances Ukai gives him. He's on his own, maybe has been for awhile. They're only eighteen, and Kageyama has nowhere to go. It makes Shoyo wish he could bring him along.
"No. I'm gonna make my home."
He doesn't admit his fantasy of doing the same for the other boy. That's one of the crazy thoughts Shoyo can never say aloud. That's the part of him that wishes Kageyama was the man in his dreams. That he could slip through to the other side.
It builds into a crescendo, impossible to contain. All within a handful of days. In the same amount Kageyama will be gone, chasing another job. Forever unmoored and adrift. And Shoyo will be the same as he always is. Putting pocket change in a dream chasing fund he'll never fill.
<><><>
Shoyo's on the beach, covered in sand from his knees down. His work cargoes are rolled up to keep them from getting wet, rubbing the skin of his upper shins raw as they slide back and forth over mineral grit. Wind batters his face, so that he has to keep his cap on backwards to keep it from blowing away, a loose hoodie flapping around his middle like a billowing flag.
He isn't sure how to feel, stuck in pensive thought as he kicks a soccer ball across the sand, throwing in a few tricks before it leaves his bubble. The sky is as overcast as his focus, a far cry from the turquoise paradise on tropical brochures.
The ball smacks into another man's shins, fancy slacks rolled up the same as Shoyo's pants and dark hairs flat from wading in the sea. He doesn't bother with theatrics, head lowered to watch his own feet as he kicks it wickedly fast at Shoyo's side of their invisible court. A white button down billows around him, the top three buttons come undone.
His returning kick skirts just out of reach of Shoyo's shorter legs, skidding past into the grass at the edge of the beach. Shoyo huffs angrily, folding in half dramatically, before straightening back up.
"What's that, now? Three to four?"
The other man doesn't answer. He's staring at Shoyo, but Shoyo can't get a hold on his features. Can't pin down exactly what he's seeing.
"Did you miss me?" The man asks, and even though Shoyo has no clue what he's talking about, he feels caught out.
Like they've been dancing around this conversation. He doesn't know what to say. Whether to be honest, and what the truth actually is.
"Only if you missed me!" Shoyo calls, trying and failing to lighten the mood.
The man's lips part around a follow up, but the wind is getting louder. His voice is buried under a maelstrom, the screaming of buffeting air getting higher and higher.
Shoyo cracks his eyes open, his alarm blaring from his bedside table. Today's dream has left him feeling world weary and wise, the distinct sense that he was on the edge of a life altering choice bouncing through his body. His legs still feel scratchy from phantom sand, and his eyes sting as though sprayed with mist.
The question the man had asked lingers in his mind.
Did you miss me?
Shoyo wonders where he'd thought he'd gone.
<><><>
Kageyama is in a bad mood today. Well, a worse mood than normal.
Shoyo keeps looking over to check on him, worried by the harsh set of his shoulders and deep scowl. He's on his third coffee, and hasn't spoken a word to any of them, headphones over his ears.
The extension is taking shape, a bare bones box jutting out from the side of the barn, a door and window outlined on the front. They've filled the foundation with concrete, and work has begun on the first layer of wall.
"Who pissed in his coffee?"
Shoyo finds Atsumu sidled next to him, ever the instigator, and lowers the nail gun. It's pink extension cord snakes off towards a portable generator, and the whole world looks plastic wrapped through the safety goggles around Shoyo's head.
"I don't know. Why don't you ask him?"
Atsumu makes a patronizing face, brow raised. His voice drips with condescension, as though Shoyo is being dumb.
"Because yer the Tobio whisperer."
"Me having a hopeless crush is not the same as being a 'Tobio Whisperer,'" Shoyo hisses, waving his free hand in a frantic shushing motion.
Atsumu stays at full volume, pretending he hasn't noticed Shoyo's rising anxiety.
"True, true. But his on you is certainly helping."
Shoyo goes bright red, grumpily continuing his work as Atsumu cackles. He makes a big show of being pissed, but he's pretty chuffed. Shoyo likes being Kageyama's favorite. He likes that Kageyama hovers near him, and leans down to let Shoyo whisper jokes in his ear, and gives him glimpses of that hard earned, lopsided smile.
Shoyo's flattered reaction fades, attention drifting back to where Kageyama is stomping over the lawn more forcefully than is typical. He wishes he knew how to help, but getting information of Kageyama is like sticking your hand in a bear trap. Most of what Shoyo knows about him was gathered through context clues.
He spends all day trying to get Kageyama out of his funk. Challenging him to rock paper scissors at lunch, rattling off a bunch of stories about Natsu throughout the evening, even leaving a mess in his wake in an attempt to trigger the other boy's perfectionism. The most he gets for his efforts is a pissy side eye.
No progress has been made by dinner time. Shoyo sits across from Kageyama at Ukai's dinner table, having earned driving privileges and been deemed clean enough to come inside. Kageyama, who messily stuffs his face like a brute every lunch, picks daintily at his curry. It makes Shoyo squirm, the minutes he has here slipping away rapidly.
"You remember that day I was off?" He blurts the only thing his mind can grab hold of.
Kageyama stills, eyes fixed on his plate. He nods, and it's the most encouragement Shoyo has pried from him all day. Shoyo's heart leaps into his throat, thrilled to be making progress, and dreading the line of conversation that brought it about.
"It meant a lot to me," he forces himself to confess, voice wobbling. "The way you checked on me, even though you had no idea what was going on, and clearly didn't like me."
Kageyama frowns, looking up at him. His expression burns with poorly masked vulnerability, hanging on Shoyo's every word.
"I-"
Shoyo's voice cracks, throat closing up. Is he really doing this? He thinks about how Kageyama adjusted to his symptoms without being told, careful with Shoyo. It's a skill set likely picked up through a hard life. The choice isn't hard.
"I have a sleep disorder. More… more of a mental disorder."
Kageyama's eyes soften, flitting over Shoyo's face like he's seeing him anew.
"I get these- these dreams," Shoyo whispers. "A-and my brain processes them wrong. And it makes it feel real. Like whatever happens in my episodes, chemically in my brain it was real."
He pauses, pulse rapid. He can't look at Kageyama anymore, terrified of his reaction.
"I get really bad nightmares," Kageyama mumbles.
Shoyo isn't sure what to make of that, mind spinning with all the possible causes. It only makes his general concerns for Kageyama stronger.
"Sometimes they're happy, but I wake up in a panic anyway."
Hinata fiddles with his chopsticks, following the tracks of residue on his empty plate.
"Is that why… you were upset today? Did you have one?"
"Did you have one that day?"
Shoyo swallows, feeling very put on the spot. But he knows Kageyama is just deflecting, afraid to bare his heart first.
"Yeah," Shoyo answers, delivery blunt. "I had a dream someone important to me died, and I wasn't even sure who, but all day it was like I really lost somebody."
Kageyama hums.
"I had a dream someone washed my hair. Woke up screaming. It's fucking stupid. Ukai thought we were getting robbed."
Shoyo smiles ruefully, risking a glance at Kageyama. Blue eyes pin him in place, roving over Shoyo's face like he's an unsolved puzzle.
"Guess we're both a little messed up."
"Can you stay tonight?"
If he'd been drinking, Shoyo would have choked, heart skipping a beat. Kageyama is pouting, eyes lowered to the floor and ears tinged red. He's adorable. Fuck.
"Yeah," Shoyo agrees without hesitation. "Of course."
<><><>
"Can Hinata stay over tonight?"
They hover in the open doorway to the living room, Shoyo a little behind Kageyama. He asks politely, hands clasped behind his back like a five year old asking for a play date, not a freshly grown adult. Ukai gives them a somewhat bewildered look, leaned on the couch with his foot propped on the table.
"You boys gonna bother me?" He asks, eyes swimming back and forth like he can't decide which of them is the ringleader.
"No, sir," Shoyo pipes up.
Ukai lets it hang for a second longer. Shoyo gets the impression he doesn't want to appear weak, and invite adolescent ego.
"Alright," the man finally concedes, albeit dubiously. "There's a spare futon in the linen closet. Don't be loud."
They make their way upstairs. Or rather, they almost slide back down the stairs, elbows lodged in each other's sides, and tongues bitten, as they attempt to bully past each other without making any noise. At one point Shoyo bangs his shin on one of the uppermost steps, and they both freeze, Kageyama's hand clutched in the front of his shirt and eyes blown wide. Shoyo hisses, flapping his hands to keep from shouting in pain. They hold their breaths, waiting for Ukai to come yell at them. The only sound is of a TV booting up, the canned sound of a crowd cheering.
Shoyo blows out his air, eyes flickering down to where Kageyama is still holding onto him. They're so close Shoyo can see the faint hairs on his arm, a vein that runs from his elbow to wrist. His stomach does a heated flip, and he prays it isn't showing on his face. Knock it off! He can't be getting hot and bothered now that they're starting to bond!
Kageyama must clock his reaction, because he follows Shoyo's gaze, his ears going pink when he sees the stretched out collar of Shoyo's t-shirt. He drops him like he's scalding, leaving Shoyo stumbling against the wall. In a flash Kageyama is gone, stalking to a closet at the end of the hall. The heat in Shoyo's core flares, mixing with frustration. Is it that gross to touch him? Prick. Forget Kageyama's sweet request Shoyo stays, he's not being comforting tonight.
They carry on like that the entire time they prep for bed. Kageyama lays out the futon? Shoyo kicks it into a new spot just to be contrary. Shoyo asks to borrow a toothbrush? Kageyama smears toothpaste on his finger with a sneer. Kageyama wants to change into pajamas? Shoyo pretends to be oblivious until Kageyama physically forces him out of the room. Shoyo teases him about wanting Shoyo's company? Kageyama shoves his head down with a flustered, "Shut up, dumbass."
Undeniably they annoy each other, and it can't be helping Kageyama's bad day, but it's like they can't help themselves. And, though Shoyo would never admit it out loud, it's sort of thrilling. Mad looks good on Kageyama. The way he gets mad at Shoyo is puffed up, fluttery. His skin flushes, and his voice pitches up from it's monotone grumble, and he keeps touching Shoyo. It's a marked improvement from his stewing earlier. The stiffness and cold demeanor. This is shared.
After nearly driving each other to the edge, they finally settle in to sleep. Shoyo should be ramped up from their sparring, but he just feels sleepy. There's a warmth in his chest, and a weight to his eyelids. The futon seems as soft as a luxury bed, Kageyama's face above him blurred by his squinted lashes.
"Why did I invite you?" Kageyama grumbles.
He's terrible at lying.
"Because I'm the best."
Shoyo yawns in the middle, his jaw popping. Quiet falls, and he thinks Kageyama has drifted off. Then a soft whisper reaches him, just as darkness seeps in and his mind begins to slip.
"T- Thank… you."
Shoyo murmurs happily, smiling as he snuggles into the blanket.
"Mhm… y' welcome."
<><><>
For the first time in his life, Shoyo doesn't dream. He knows it the moment he wakes up. Where normally the bedding would be disorienting, foreign, he immediately knows where he is and how he got there.
What the hell?
He sits up, looking around the room in confusion. It's clearly a spare room, no decorations aside from the mattress Kageyama sleeps on. Because Kageyama is still asleep. Shoyo stares at the crease between his neck and shoulder, where the fabric of his comforter and sleep shirt alike have been pulled aside. He's got a mole there, tan lines. His hair is charmingly ruffled. It screams soft domesticity, but Shoyo can't even bask in it.
His pulse thunders, staring at the steady rise and fall of Kageyama's breathing. This has to be a trick. Shoyo has never not dreamed. He must have gotten worse, and this is the dream. Maybe he made the whole last week up, and Kageyama isn't even real. Maybe nothing is. These thoughts whip into a frenzy, running through Shoyo's chest and hollowing him out.
An emotion begins to build, warring with his fear. It's carbonated and hot, clearing his racing thoughts. It's like deja vu, but worse. Like seeing a puzzle in full after squinting at one piece for hours. Shoyo is petrified by the picture it paints.
Kageyama stirs, rolling over. He rubs at his eyes, stretching his long arms above his head with a grunt. It's so in contrast to Shoyo's panic he almost cackles maniacally. Kageyama shifts, jumping when he notices Shoyo watching him.
His face shifts through ten unknowable emotions, all told through minuscule twitches of his jaw and darts of his eyes. When he speaks his voice is low with sleep, a confused edge to his tone.
"I slept through the night."
Shoyo's heart stops. The fizzing crescendos, molten bubbles bursting in his chest. He's deluded, he's lonely, he's gone completely mad. This isn't real. Shoyo is jumping to conclusions.
"So did I."
Kageyama snaps to alertness in a second, his eyes going sharp.
"Is that normal for you?"
It comes out accusatory, lashing Shoyo like he'd hit him. Shoyo flinches, trying to think of a single other time he's been so rested. He can't.
"No. Is it normal for you?"
He can tell already by the look in Kageyama's eyes, but he wants to hear it.
"No."
Kageyama's voice is glass, fear clear in the defensive way he holds himself, clutching at his blanket.
The panic washes away, and Shoyo is unnaturally calm. He stands, wobbling on half asleep feet. Kageyama reels back, scooting until his back hits the wall. Shoyo keeps approaching, rubbed raw by his own uncertainty.
Exhaustion hits him like a train, regardless of his good sleep. It only shows how bad it's been until now. He feels like the doctors lied. Like he's been running his whole life and there was never a finish line. No pills, no therapy, no magic fix. None of the work he's put in helped. Shoyo had a night without an episode for the first time, and it was pure coincidence. Dumb luck, and proximity to a boy he's beginning to suspect has more in common with him than he knows. How will he tell Kageyama they most likely have the same disorder? Is that even fair when he's doubting it even exists right now?
Shoyo voices none of this. He sits on the bed next to the other boy, his trembling body drawn to the warm spot Kageyama left. He lays down, wriggling under the covers despite Kageyama's white knuckle grip on them, and turns his back to him. He can feel steely eyes boring holes into his back, the air between them charged with tension. Shoyo just sighs, letting his eyes fall shut once more.
"Let's sleep a little longer then."
…
"Okay."
He can't deal with it right now.
><><><
Watching Hinata leave is like jumping into a frozen lake. They barely speak, Ukai eyeing them suspiciously over breakfast. It's like that first day, but more disastrous. Hinata is on guard, jumpy, but now so distant he would never tackle Tobio in the first place. Tobio realizes, as humiliating as it is, he misses that strange magnetic pull.
It started when he fell asleep. He went down easy, waking to a simple world with no ache in his temples. Or perhaps it started sooner than that. It started the second he turned eighteen, when Tobio packed all of his possessions in a bag and left his parents house for the last time. When he hopped from town to town under the guise of following jobs, knowing deep down he was chasing his own personal hallucination.
Tobio wants it to be Hinata, but it isn't. That's clear as day, clinging to the railing of the porch as Hinata's dinky bike wobbles towards the mountains. Wind slices through Tobio's thin shirt, mussing his hair. The skin of his knuckles feels dry and cracked, and there's still gunk in the corners of his eyes. Hinata hurried to leave before either of them could bother getting ready for the day. Their fragile unspoken bond scatters in the wind, seeds from stubborn weeds usurping a garden.
"You boys fight?"
Tobio grunts, not looking over. Ukai has sidled up next to him, a thin trail of smoke curling towards the sky. Tobio's nose curls from the acrid smell. Why should he talk about it with this man? They're strangers now, nothing but thimbles of blood and memories of a long gone boy Tobio once was between them.
"I don't know," Tobio grits, glaring as Hinata's brilliant hair disappears on the horizon.
"You know," Ukai starts, ignoring the rancid aura Tobio expels like a prickly storm cloud, "Hinata's mother is a good friend. Always let my friends and I hang around when we were school. Figured I'd do the same for her boy."
Tobio just keeps scowling, half listening. Ukai shouldn't be telling him this. Shouldn't be giving Tobio's crazy any fuel.
"Well one time, couple years back, the little shit hit Atsumu. Broke his nose."
Tobio raises his brows, finally chancing a glance. Ukai watches him, all light stubble and grown out roots. He's grinning, like he knew Tobio would be surprised. Hinata just didn't seem the type, and he was always chatting with Miya. It's hard to picture them as anything but close friends.
"I guess what I'm getting at, Tobio, is that boy's a forgiver. I hardly believed you invited him to stay. Don't let that go so easy. You're alone enough."
"Like you?" Tobio snarks, bristling at being called out.
Ukai just laughs, horse and spluttered.
"Watch it! I'm keeping you fed!"
><><><
Hinata skips a day of work. It's disappointing, but gives Tobio time to think.
He knows what that night meant to him. Tobio has known there was something wrong with him for years. Mom and Dad made that clear. Blinking awake to songbirds instead of his own screams was jarring. What are the odds that happens the one time Hinata stays over? Is Tobio that pathetically codependent?
Then there's the issue of Hinata's side. It made sense for Tobio to be defensive, shocked, but Hinata? He apparently has some serious health shit involved. Is it really possible for his problem to just happen to go away on the same night? Tobio's can be explained by loneliness, but he's pretty sure mental disorders are genetic or something. What's up with that?
He stews on it all day, ignoring the other boys. Bokuto tries to speak to him once, clapping Tobio's shoulder obliviously.
"Where's Sho?"
"Don't know."
"What? But you were with him! Right?"
"I said I don't know!"
The others give him space after that. Tobio doesn't have the bandwidth to feel bad. Better slough them off now instead of waiting for rejection later. It's inevitable with Hinata avoiding him. They're his friends, not Tobio's.
><><><
Hinata doesn't come back the next day. He skips all of Tobio's last week. Tobio is used to this part, the losing people part, but this feels different. He can't get his head straight. Hinata's absence beats down on him like the sun baking his back. It lingers, expelled in his sweat and leaving slivers in his skin.
The barn extension comes together, clock ticking on the end of the job, and Tobio isn't proud. There's no satisfaction of nearing completion, because it's just one less day left to talk about what happened before he's crammed onto a train. Ukai's pity job wasn't made to last, just to give him somewhere to go between gigs lest he end up without a place to sleep. Tobio wasn't supposed to care. But he does.
It comes to a head at night, ironically.
Tobio has dreamed every night since the one that changed things. He knows he's dreaming about Hinata. There is no need to remember fuzzy details, he knows what face imprints on his eyelids, what voice echoes in his ears. He doesn't understand what's happening to him, burning and boiling and drowning in an obnoxious stain of orange. Tobio knows. He doesn't admit it to himself, but he knows.
It's the last night, and he is up too late. Something in him won't go down, watching the door like an addict eyeing their vice. His heart is a wild animal, his bare feet freezing. The nights are getting so cold. They'll be colder where he's going.
Tobio has just rallied himself to standing, set on brushing his teeth, when there's a knock on the door. He freezes, looking down at it from where he'd started climbing the stairs. The floor seems to stretch, windows tall and yawning and curtains rustling. No reasonable person would come at this hour. He should ignore it.
But Tobio knows.
<><><>
It's late. The stars are like paint splattered on a canvas, the sky deep black. His hands are shaking. He should be in bed, but he isn't. He should be home, but he's halfway across town. This shouldn't be real, but Shoyo knows it is. He couldn't say how, but he's certain of it.
The doctor had dissuaded him. That's the best thing for a doctor to do in the position Shoyo put them in. You don't feed delusions, you work around them. Shoyo was advised to try a new sleeping medication and keep his distance. He did, and now he's running out of time.
The dreams were sharper than ever, unmistakable. Kageyama, bold, awkward, insular Kageyama. He denied it at first, but it was true. Shoyo has been dreaming of Kageyama the entire time. Somehow, without ever meeting him, Shoyo imagined him. It should be impossible.
So he'd taken the advice and holed up in his room, afraid of the thoughts running through his mind. He barely left his bed, reeling with indecision. Mom had had to bring food up to his room, hanging in the doorway concernedly, her soft voice wobbling on questions he didn't know the answers to. It didn't help.
Which lands him here, creases on his cheek from his sheets, shirt thrown on inside out, panting on Ukai's front porch in the middle of the night. His knuckles tingle from rapping against the door, and his lungs burn. When it finally cracks open, Shoyo gives Kageyama no time to react.
"I'm dreaming about you, and I think this is more than a mental thing, and I don't know what to do, and my doctor told me not to talk to you, but it didn't help."
Kageyama stares at him, brows furrowed. He's in a baggy shirt and sweatpants. There are bags under his eyes, and he looks far too pale for someone that's been working in the sun.
"What?"
His voice is harsh, frustrated, but Shoyo knows he's just confused. Shoyo has known him his whole life. His anxiety fades face to face with Kageyama, the familiar mannerisms evidence themself.
"My dreams. They're about you. Since before we met."
"That's not possible."
"I know!" Shoyo finds himself laughing, hands splayed wide. "It's not!"
Kageyama frowns, shifting from foot to foot, but Shoyo can tell he knows it too. He remembers a beach, years from now, in a small port city. Shoyo remembers how Kageyama will look in nice clothes, no longer running from himself. It's real. It has to be.
"It's too late for this," Kageyama snaps, pulling Shoyo inside without asking. "We need sleep."
Shoyo isn't worried when he follows Kageyama upstairs. They fall into step like they've done it a thousand times before. Kageyama doesn't even bother with the futon. He just pulls Shoyo into the guest room behind him. It makes Shoyo's heart flutter. The calm, reassured kind of butterflies that come with knowing how things will end.
In the morning Kageyama will get on his train. It should fill him with rushed panic. The urge to confess love that hasn't formed yet, and force a sloppy first kiss. Instead Shoyo crawls under the covers, burrowing without shame against Kageyama's warm, broad chest. They have time.
"What do you think it means?" Kageyama whispers.
Shoyo mulls it over, wanting to be careful with his words.
"I think… I think we were supposed to meet. I don't think tomorrow is goodbye… I think this is just the start."
Kageyama brings a tentative arm up, pulling Shoyo closer.
"Okay… goodnight."
"Goodnight."
<><><><><><><><>
"Did you miss me?" Kageyama asks, wind battering his fancy button down and sand stuck to the hair on his shins.
Shoyo drinks in the sight of him, unsure how to respond. He'd waited for years for that boy in his dreams to come back, but the trains never rolled in. He lost hope a long time ago.
"Only if you missed me!" he snarks, clinging to competition, humor.
What are the odds they run into each other now? How can it be they wound up in the same place after so long? Shoyo swallows the budding hope in his throat, terrified to dream again. Kageyama opens his mouth, looking at Shoyo like he's the most fascinating puzzle in the world.
"I came back for you," he says, and Shoyo's whole body thrums. "They said you moved away. I thought I'd never see you again."
Shoyo sighs, running a hand through his hair. Now that he doesn't work in the sun everyday he's grown it out into wild fiery brambles.
"Figured I'd face the music. See the world."
Kageyama laughs dryly, and it sounds the same it does every night.
"So?" he calls.
Shoyo cocks his head, not sure what the other man is getting at. Kageyama pouts at the reaction, the new maturity leaving his frame in an instant.
"Do you still dream about me?" He grouses, stepping in closer until Shoyo has to tilt his head back, squinting against the light.
Shoyo's eyes sting, all the feelings he'd bottled up the day he stopped waiting for Kageyama surging to the forefront. Even now part of him resists. It isn't real. He'll wake up any second.
Taking in Kageyama's face, eyes warmer than they were as a teen, lines around them from smiling and the ghost of stubble on his jaw, Shoyo thinks maybe it doesn't matter. He could be dreaming. It could all be in his head. But this is Shoyo's life. The life he's always known. One part is no more real to him than the other.
"Yeah," he admits, voice cracking. "I do."
Kageyama kisses him, hard, and cloying, and full of all the unsaid words and lost time between them. It feels pretty damn real to them.