Au: Regular (timeskip)
Tags/Warnings: GN! Reader, strangers to lovers, Hinata is approximately 20 (turning 21 that year) while the reader is honestly either 18 or 19
Word Count: 9.4k+
•──────⋅☼⋅──────•
"Alright, I'm off."
The apartment behind you remained silent. You paused, lips pinching together. Head dropping for a moment, you stepped through the rectangular hole in your wall and shut the wooden door behind it. You left once you heard the lock click, dropping your keys into the side pocket of your camera bag.
As soon as you stepped outside, you pulled on your headset, cranking up the music to tune out the overwhelming amount of chatter as waves of people began making their way toward the city's centre. Despite being in a bubble of your own, the city's music seemed to sneak into your ears. You'd have to travel across it while keeping your little bubble from popping.
Carnaval do Rio de Janeiro. Your program decided to organise a gathering for students to get to know each other and make friends. After graduating high school and deciding to spend the rest of the year until the following February prepping to move, moving, and getting settled into a new environment while also sorting out all your papers and payments, you hadn't made any friends. The school year had started a couple of weeks prior, and the fact that you had managed to surround yourself with a good number of classmates that you got along with was relieving. But once classes were over and work was finished, there wasn't much to say.
Despite you asking for them to attend with you, they rejected. You understood as the group's travel time to campus was longer than your own, but it did leave a pit fear weighing down your stomach.
You couldn't help but wonder if meeting these strangers would result in anything more than it already had. If you didn't manage to find a new friend that you could enjoy the night with while getting to know them, you'd likely find yourself on your own.
Even when you entered the school building, the music was still loud even though it wasn't near the main event.
The lobby was empty. With a sigh, you lowered the volume in your headset and took a seat against one of the walls, waiting.
The first group that appeared came from deeper in the building, huddled together in their trio. One stroked his scruffy beard while listening to the short girl speak. They made their way over in your direction, giving you a nod before standing a few feet around. They must've been older students in the program. You smiled kindly, returning the nod before they huddled back together.
You couldn't hear their low tones, but the front entrance opening caught your eye as people started to pile in and immediately gather into groups. The sinking feeling in your stomach grew, taking your body with it into the chair. You crouched and pressed the volume up on your phone.
It took 15 minutes of people watching before the trio from before making their move.
The one with the beard took a step closer to you as the other two dispersed into opposite corners of the room. He cupped his mouth, "Everybody, listen up!" The chattering continued, "Hello, students!" The groups remained.
Standing from your seat, you took a few steps over in his direction and lowered your headset to reset around your neck. Nerves were twisting in your gut again, becoming hot as you got closer, mouth opening to say something. This was a chance, a perfect opportunity. You could make a friend here, an older one, one that knew the ropes of your program and could help you out when you might need it. It was perfect.
"Well, you're not very popular, huh?" you said, looking at the babbling crowd before meeting his eyes.
He put on a tight smile, eyes flickering over your form before turning to the large crowd again. "Seems so."
Nice going. You blew it.
You sucked on your teeth, lips tightening into a line as you turned away and kicked the tiled floor with your sneaker.
"EVERYBODY LISTEN UP!" The short girl from before was a lion, and all the mice in the room immediately stopped squeaking to look her way. From the other side of the room, you could only see the top of her curly afro as it bounced with her shout. The man next to you sighed. "Alright! We are about to head out in groups of three. Once we get to the carnival, you can all disperse as you see fit. So everyone, go group up with one of the leaders" —the man beside you raised his hand along with the two others — "and we will go. If you get lost along the way, just follow the bright lights and music."
You stayed where you were, talking in slow breaths as you mulled over the possibility of speaking again. Before you did, however, it seemed that the bearded man beside you already had a friend with him. You sidestepped as the new stranger pulled the guy into a hug.
Companionless, you followed the group out only to immediately find out that you walked a bit too fast for the social butterflies as they slowed their steps to make sure they got their words into their conversation. You were toward the front of all the groups, silently following the only two that were in front of you.
After an even longer walk, the group stopped by a street corner. You sidestepped, getting out of the way so everyone could be visible. The two leaders, the bearded 23 or 24 year old and his friend, turned to the group that followed along behind you.
"Which of you are first years?"
You raised your hand slightly while a small trio on the other side of the group raised theirs as well. They were in classes.
"Oh, look, we've got some!" The two turned to the trio backs turning your way before pulling the three to the front of the group to talk with them.
You let out a muted scoff, dropping your hand back to hold onto the strap of your camera bag. Pressing your tongue against the inside of your cheek, you turned your attention further down the crowded streets to where bright lights were beginning to paint the darkening sky brilliant colours. You could smell the alcohol as if it poured onto the street like rain.
Taking in as big of a breath as you could, you looked back toward where your group was, only for them to be gone.
"Oh, wow. Pleasant," you laughed to yourself, spinning in circles trying to catch a glimpse of the bearded man, his friend, or even the other first years. Once you determined they were out of sight, you kicked the concrete. "Hey, mom, guess what I did today. I tried to make friends and failed miserably! Ya, that's gonna be an excellent call to make, great conversation," you groaned, throwing your head back to look at the painted sky. "I should've just stayed at the apartment."
Staying stagnant for a moment, you let your eyes wander over the thousands of people as they continued to fill the streets, listening to music and chugging down alcohol as if it were water.
The camera at your side was a digital one. It didn't have too much in terms of capabilities, far from professional, but was big enough to at least look like you knew what you were doing when you held it up. It connected to your phone, Bluetooth connection, allowing you to access your photos and do as you pleased immediately.
You gripped the zipper of the bag, pulling it open and dropping the strap of the device around your neck. With your music playing, you set off into the crowd, snapping photos of the immense number of lights and feathers that weren't there on any ordinary day.
You found an opening between a couple of gates. Your camera's lens focused on a group of the performers practising, snapping as many candid photos of the sparkles that covered their outfits and feathers that moved in waves, a few beats behind the dancer's movements. It was likely your only opportunity to get photos of them, tickets to the Samba Parade were harder to come by, and even if you did get one, you would likely be too far to get an interesting shot.
The camera made a clicking sound, and maybe the nearby music had taken a low point, but the nearest samba dancer looked over her shoulder with a smile. Even with her hair tied up and covered with a headdress, you could see that her roots were lighter than their dyed ends.
"Oh! Can we take a photo?!" she shouted at you as the music began to pick up again. You dropped your headset, and she asked again.
You nodded, and the woman waved over her friends, pulling them all together for you to get a snap. Lifting the camera, you pressed the button.
"Oh, let us see!"
The woman was quick on her feet, making the few steps to your side a samba of their own. They gathered around you as you began flipping through the photos that perfectly captured the movement of their costumes and sweat that ran down their skin from the work and heat. Even so, in every shot where visible, their bright smiles overpowered the flashiness of their outfits.
"Can we get these?" another woman spoke from your other shoulder.
The first woman offered to be the recipient, sending all the photos you had taken to her colleagues after getting them from you.
They were back to practising before you could get another word in. Not that you could blame them. You understood that they had a show to prepare for. You left, steps in time with the nearest beat.
The music was getting louder, and the number of people had reached the millions. You push through the crowds, dodging shoulders and only occasionally offering your services to struggling groups that couldn't seem to fit all their members in one selfie.
It indeed was a beautiful event full of dance and music. But as lovely as everything was, it was beginning to take its toll. People's insatiable thirst for just one more glass of whatever drink and hunger was never-ending. As they gorged on the seemingly endless amounts of food that were placed before them, they wrapped their arms around each other's shoulders and sang to the sky with whatever track was closest to their ear.
You found a stone pillar that was tall enough to lean against, pulling the collection of photos onto the viewscreen to flip through them.
Strangers filled every single one. You pondered for a moment, kicking yourself for scaring away and effectively numbing the air that could have led to you finally making a connection with somebody in this city and not continuing to try after. Had you not, the photos could have been different.
You resolved to get at least one with you in the frame, even if it was alone. So you pushed off the stone pillar, taking the camera strap off of your neck before setting the black machine down and angling it toward the flashing lights in the distance. You moved in front of the lens when the timer started and stepped back. You held your arms out in the air, palms up as if the lights were wings. The smile you put on was light, giving a silent "well, here we are."
"Watch out!"
You didn't register that something knocked off your camera from its perch until you heard the sound of the plastic shell of your camera hitting the ground. Your breath stopped.
Your bubble popped.
Elbows bending upwards to grasp the back of your head, you gasped, eyes wide as you stared at the chipped plastic corner.
The camera's assailant froze, bike screeching to a halt just a foot away.
Your chin lifted from the ground, turning toward the biker.
"You dumbass, that bag is bigger than your brain."
When your eyes met, fireworks began to go off, lighting him up in flashes of warm light. From large, blown-open eyes to pursed lips, you could tell he was just as taken aback as you were. But instead of focusing on your camera, or the large food delivery bag that knocked it over, you were caught like a fish to a hook at the vibrancy of the man's hair as the fireworks seemed to let it alight. He was so bright, warm even.
"I'm sorry," he said, hitting the kickstand as he got off his bike, nearly making it fall over in the process. He picked up your camera, brushing it free of dirt as he handed it over. "There are so many people here today, and I'm a bit lost. I didn't even see it." He had an accent that picked up at the end of his words.
"Is it okay?" He tried to look at the screen, forehead nearly bumping into yours. The camera felt heavy in your hands as you began to fiddle with it.
"It should be okay. It looks like it's just the plastic, and look, the screen is working fine."
You spun it around, showing him the blurry image taken mid-fall where your silhouette was hardly visible, and the front wheel of his bike took up half of the picture.
"I'm sorry. Do you want to try retaking the photo? I'm not a photographer, but I can probably at least get you in the frame this time."
He gave you a shaky grin, watching you warily.
Your tongue ran along the back of your teeth. Having already called the man a dumbass, you were surprised that he hadn't already hightailed it away from you. But there was something in the way he held his hand out that could only make you hope.
You raised a brow. "You seem to have a knack for knocking things over; how can I trust you with it?"
He frowned, sharp eyes closing as he whined, "I'm not usually that clumsy, it's just been a busy day, and it's so crowded."
He made you grin as you flipped through the settings of your camera before setting it back down on its original perch. Without asking, you grabbed his offered hand and pulled him back to where you were standing originally.
"I have a better idea." His eyes opened back to their expansive state, staring down at your joined hands. You pointed to the camera that was well on its way, counting down. "Smile!"
"Huh?!"
•──────⋅☼⋅──────•
You never found that group again, nor did you bother travelling a longer than desired distance to attend a group meet up but not be in a group again. Maybe you had a habit of making dumb choices when trying to make friends. No, you did. The man seemed to be similar, but something about him felt magnetic. People just gravitated to him, including yourself.
After nearly knocking you over with his giant square bag as well, he had taken the thing off, folding it into a compact square that he strapped down onto the carrier on his back wheel.
But somehow, despite both of you having embarrassed yourselves enough to remember it for decades to come, he ended up walking you home after a few minutes of aimless wandering until you both managed to figure out where exactly you were. Although, that started with you accusing him of stalking before you realised you lived in the same direction.
Neither of you could seem to shake the other off.
It was a few weeks later when you ran into him again. You were wandering the city, headset on while looking for a subject on which to base your photography assignment. If you could use previously taken photos, you would've compiled and edited those of the one samba dancer, the woman with the grown out dyed hair. They were some of your favourite photos, taken in sequence, illustrating the beauty of her motions. You wanted to use them.
But your professor said 'new' and so you searched.
You considered taking landscape shots of the mountains during the sun's closest point or hidden elements in Rio's city, like the artistically done stone pathed art that made up many sidewalks. You had even thought about flora and fauna that were native to the area. But as beautiful as the ideas were, you couldn't help but feel detached from them.
The sand was warm on your feet as you walked along the strip of Rio's shoreline. At least you could enjoy the wind and a relaxing walk while snapping photos of the scenery. The shots you got of the rolling water was interesting too, but in the end, you found it bland and not worth pursuing.
"Duck!"
You turned, clicking your camera in the direction of the call that managed to creep through your music, only to be promptly shoved in the brow bone and nose by your device and headset falling back into your neck. The cracking you heard wasn't your bone. It would've hurt more had it been. But the sound made your stomach sink.
"Shit."
The ball that hit you fell to your feet, but you were more focused on the distinct crack that trailed along with the other shell of your lens.
"Oh, it's you again! Sorry, sorry, sorry! It's not broken this time, is it? I'll pay for it!"
You blinked at the ginger hair before you realised you knew the man before you.
"Don't worry about it. There's no broken glass, and the lens isn't separating. It would be fine. I'll glue and tape it when I get home." You looked at the ball that was still by your feet. "You play?"
"Ah. Ya, I do."
Behind him, the group he was with began calling for him to return. He picked up the ball, starting to walk over. You quickly followed.
"What's your name?"
"Ah, Shoyo Hinata."
You nodded, inserting your name. "Do you mind if I take photos of you playing, Shoyo? It's for a school project."
He tossed the ball to one of the other players, brows crawling up his forehead. "Oh! Sure! Payment for breaking your camera."
"Cool. Thanks."
He played late into the night and used every bit of lighting to your advantage, from angled light to golden skin from the setting sun and silhouetted shots from the street lights. You took advantage of the hours.
He offered to walk you home again, like last time, before his stomach grumbled. Not that it mattered, because while he knew the location of the nearest restaurants that had healthy and delicious options, he didn't remember your address at all. So much for believing he was a stalker.
When he wasn't stuffing his face with food, Shoyo was a great conversationalist.
"So you came to Brazil to learn beach volleyball?" You set your glass down, listening to the small clink it made as it hit the table. "I mean it makes sense, Brazil's men's team is the best in the world, so the country is known for it. But why change suddenly?"
He set his fork down. "It wasn't a sudden decision. I wanted to expand my skills and get better. It's kind of hard to do that if you're doing the same thing all the time. I felt like I had reached a peak at the end of high school, so I had to branch out."
You nodded along, making out his words between mouthfuls of food and heavily accented bits. "You didn't just fly out here did you?"
"No, no. I spent the rest of the year learning and planning with the help of coaches I knew. The coach of one of our rivals had a student who set up a beach volleyball club here a few years ago. He put in a word for me and made sure I was set up here before I even left Japan."
"Wah, that's lucky. What would've happened if you didn't get that chance?"
"Probably would've come anyway, and barge into every club I could that would take me on. I wouldn't just back down." He took another bite from his plate. "So what do you do? You said you were a student right?"
"Hmm, I am. It's just a general business program but you can take a speciality by getting other classes. I'm aiming for photography, but not too sure what I'll do past that though."
"Oooh that makes sense, the photos you took were awesome. Made me look really cool! Like the one where I'm swinging, doing that wapaahh!" He swung his arm out, knocking the top of his glass.
You grabbed it before it could fall over the ledge, laughing, "Watch it dumbass!"
"Sorry!" He grinned, fingers brushing over yours to grab the glass and set it down closer to the centre of the table where his swinging wouldn't reach. He didn't let go of your hand, holding it with a smile.
You gulped. "Your hands are sweaty, you know."
"You kind of remind me of a friend of mine. He only ever insults me." His grin didn't drop, but he did let go of your hand, fingertips brushing along your palm, the length of your fingers, before lingering at the ends and dropping off.
"Sorry."
"No no, I like it! Reminds me of home." Your eyes were frozen on his as he lowered his head to take another bite. "So where do you go to school?"
"Oh, uh. You know the university by the lagoon? That's the one."
He tilted his head. "Lagoa Rodrigo de Freitas? Do you mean the university with the big campus? That's not far from where I live."
"Lucky, I have to wake up early and commute every day. At this point, I think I've been forced to become a morning person."
"Mornings aren't bad, I'll have you know I wake up at five-thirty every morning to meditate at the beach." He huffed proudly while you gaped, before relaxing and scratching his chin. "But that university... I think my roommate goes there. You said business right? Do you know a guy named Pedro?"
"Shoyo, I can hardly remember my professor's names. You would have to show me who you're talking about because I sure have never talked to him."
"I don't have any pictures of him," he sulked, shoulders hunching for a moment before shooting up like a rocket with a big smile. His arms swung out again, this time not hitting a glass, and landed on your shoulders. "Aha, you could come take photos for me!"
The warmth of his hand was melt worthy. "Did you just invite me over to your house?"
"Did I?"
You laughed. "Idiot, don't ask people to just take pictures of your roommate! That's weird!"
"They would be of me too!"
You laughed, smacking his hands off your shoulders. "Is that a serious offer?"
Shoyo blinked, hands falling into his lap. "Yes?"
"Then, I'll take you up on it."
•──────⋅☼⋅──────•
Winter went by quickly, carrying you far into the second term of school before you realised the first had finished. The temperature was rapidly increasing, and the sun was peeking at you through your apartment's window earlier in the morning. Shoyo, had become a constant in your surroundings, to the point that you spent more time at his home than at your apartment. Sadly, they didn't really have a couch for you to sleep on.
The camera in your hands clicked in time with the oncoming waves. You tried to keep the noise of your movements to a minimum as you alternated between taking shots of the rising sun and the meditating man on the beach.
Getting on your stomach, you angled the camera slightly up, just inches off the sand as you centred the redhead in the frame and got the mountains visible in the distance behind him. You smiled at the picture before you even took it.
Just as your camera clicked, his watch began to beep, and his eyes opened. You ducked behind your camera before you could see his eyes flicker your way.
"Good morning, Shoyo."
"Hmm, morning," he said, stretching his arms above his head. "Why are you here? You don't have a super early morning class I don't remember, do you?"
You shrugged. That morning, after staying held up in your apartment for weeks, you had woken up suddenly, just before daybreak and couldn't get back to sleep.
Your finger brushed against the orange tape you added to your camera to hide the crack. It matched his hair. "I think the sun wanted my attention before it even rose. So when I remembered that you came to the beach early, I figured I'd take pictures and say hello before class."
Resting on your elbows, you gave a squawking laugh when Shoyo rolled onto his back and looked up at you with his head in the sand. He was brighter than the rising sun.
You snapped a photo of him before setting the camera aside.
"You're going to get sand in your hair if you keep lying around, idiot."
"You'll brush them out for me, won't you?"
You lifted Shoyo's head, brushing your fingers into his hair in the process. "You're a grown man, dumbass. You can do it yourself." You cradled him there, smiling down so kindly that you hoped it conveyed everything to him, pouring your soul into a single glance.
His eyes were wide as he looked at you, cheeks tanned and rosy. You nearly melted at the new expression, wanting to capture it on camera, but not wanting to move and look away. You wonder if he knew what his eyes did to you.
You nodded your head toward his hands that rested on his stomach, where his white shirt had begun to creep up a little over his colourful shorts, harmlessly showing off a stripe of tanned skin from all his days in the sun. "What was the timer for?"
He blinked, gulping for a moment before he hurriedly rose from his lying position. His hand held his cheek before tailing to scratch the back of his neck. "Timer?" He gasped. "Pedro!"
He shot up, kicking sand around in the process before sprinting toward the street. You couldn't help but laugh.
"I'll see you later!" He waved eagerly.
Then he was out of sight, leaving you to smile at his memory.
"Oh, shit! Class!"
•──────⋅☼⋅──────•
"Pedro!" You knocked your fist against the door, hoping that their neighbours weren't home. "If you're not awake, so help me, I will bust the door down!"
When the door swung open, it revealed Shoyo. "He skipped."
"I know. That's why I have his notes." You swung a notebook in the air and tapped it lightly against Shoyo's hair. "You left me on the beach, ya know."
"Sorry," he whined, brushing a hand through his hair to make it fluff back to its original position. He let you in.
How it happened to be that you and Pedro were in the same program never failed to baffle you. Although, Shoyo's roommate hardly attended classes, leaving you to bring him notes when he skipped out on morning lectures.
You walked past him, dropping your bag next to a stack of Portuguese translated manga volumes on the dinner table. You picked one up, sinking into a chair.
"Pedro!" The boy shuffled out of his room, yawning as he flipped through his book.
The manga, which both avidly read when at home, had become a glue to start bonding the two and helping Shoyo get better at the language. In their presence, you found yourself learning an equal amount of Japanese. You three used English and Spanish the least, though, not that you were complaining. Seeing Shoyo's aptitude in languages made you envious. Though, intense practising was the reason behind his success.
How could one man be blessed with physical abilities and a gifted brain? You couldn't help but admire it.
Shoyo leaned over your shoulder. "Who's your favourite? Pedro likes Luffy, and I like Zoro."
You paused on a page, looking up in time to see Shoyo slip his tongue back in from between his lips and meet your eyes.
"Hmm, Nami. I like her hair." You lifted a hand to twirl the ends of his orange curls.
His lips tightened, cheeks burning red before he quickly turned away and slapped his mouth shut with a loud smack. The sound that came from him was muffled, but resembled something like a pig's grunt.
You chuckled, continuing to sing your praises, "Don't knock your teeth out Shoyo. Your smile is too pretty for that."
An extra squeak came from the ginger as he hunched over the kitchen sink, gripping the ledge and keeping his weight off his knees.
You snickered.
Pedro rolled his eyes as he sat across from you, and you slid the notebook over. "We have a lecture this afternoon and a test tomorrow. I'll drag you with me if I have to."
After meeting Shoyo and Pedro nearly a year prior, you had watched as the student gradually went from consistently attending classes and studying every night to hardly putting any effort in and barely waking up to participate in classes unless you pulled him out of bed.
It had been on one such day that you burst through their door to take Pedro to class when you saw the two feasting on cake, birthday hats on. (It was also the day you learnt his age, which on its own took a while to process.) You vowed to give Shoyo a fantastic present the next year to make up for not giving him anything on his 21st birthday.
Months you've spent working on it and continued to.
But that's another story.
"Ugh, I'll go to the exam but can't you just leave me here for the rest of the day?"
"Do you think I want to go to class alone?! Besides, attendance is mandatory. It's the last class of the year, come on."
"Stay here with me! You won't be alone then."
"What about Shoyo?"
You both looked to the redhead, who still had his back turned, shoulder up by his rosy tipped ears. He washed dishes, drying them as he went.
"Shoyo, what are you doing today?"
"Oh uh, the Solcard cup starts today." He looked over his shoulder, catching your eye before swiftly turning back around.
Pedro whined. "That already? I keep missing your games. What's our schedule like?" He looks your way.
You point to the notebook. "One exam tomorrow and the next morning, and we're done. All the other classes were project-based."
"Shoyo, when are the games?"
"Finals are in two days."
"What time is the exam?"
"Nine."
"Then we can do the exam and go watch, right?"
Shoyo whipped his hands on the nearby towel before flopping into the seat next to you. "We have to win to get to the finals."
You huffed. "Do you think you won't?"
At the sight of his pursed lips, you reached up and ruffled his hair. He ducked slightly, pushing the top of his head into your hand.
"Heitor is a good player, so I think we can do it."
"Cool." Pedro slumped in his chair. "Then we'll go watch."
"Nuh-uh. Pedro, we have a class to go to," you chuckled, grabbing your bag.
"Come on! You know you want to!"
"I do, so we'll watch Shoyo play during the finals." You turned and gave the volleyball player a pointed look. "Is that good motivation?"
His hair wobbled along with his head.
"Good." You pulled Pedro by the sleeve of his shirt. "Time to go."
•──────⋅☼⋅──────•
"Photographer!"
You knew that voice, that face, and that hair. Of course, you would remember. You captured it on camera and hung up one of the images on your wall.
Nice, when she wasn't working shifts at the restaurant or supporting Heitor at his games on the beach, was practising the samba in a local dance studio.
She scooped you into a hug before you could even get seated on the concrete ledge.
"It's been so long. What are you doing here? Taking photos?" She nodded to your camera in your lap.
The most recent collection in the gallery was of Pedro's back as he walked toward the beach, occasionally glaring over a shoulder. The last one included a jumping shadow with red hair in the background. You grinned.
"A bit. Gotta get as many as I can, y'know?"
"Are you working on something?"
Pedro looked over your shoulder at that, and when you tried to turn your head away from Nice, you were met with your classmate's curious gaze. You settle for watching Shoyo soar through the air with pinched lips and hot cheeks.
"A personal project."
You hid behind your camera, taking rapid pictures whenever you could.
It was a tight game, but you hardly paid attention to the score until the very end, too distracted by capturing the scene in front of you. Though documenting the sight of Shoyo's twitching muscles beneath his tank top and shorts was a bonus to work.
When Lucio arrived, you attentively listened as he explained some of the features of beach volleyball. But you'd be lying if you said you didn't get caught up in the sight before you and had to ask him to repeat a few things. Shoyo's tan-lines were more than distracting.
You watched the sweat run down Shoyo's forehead, under his yellow glasses, and along his cheeks before dripping off. It made sand stick to his arms and legs, particularly his knees and elbows. He helped pull Heitor off the sand at the end of the game and took off his hat and glasses with a big smile.
You didn't even realise Nice had proposed to Heitor until the crowd around you was cheering.
Gasping, you took another photo.
"Did you get some nice shots?"
You jumped. Shoyo's hand was on your shoulder, warm calloused fingers slowly inching across the width of your upper back and nearing your nape. Fumbling was impossible to prevent, and your mind was too busy scrambling while trying to keep your core temperature down to even think about whether the action was intentional.
His arm was relaxed around your neck before your brain could process it. If you thought paying attention to anything else other than the figure before you was difficult before, having him fill your entire vision seemed to make also make him the only thing on your mind.
"You orange idiot, you nearly gave me a heart attack."
It wasn't a lie; your heart was thumping, practically jumping out of your chest. If it weren't stuck in your body, you were sure that it would fly into him and never let go, so what if you rot in its absence.
"Sorry, I called your name, but you seemed distracted."
Shit, he noticed.
"Was I not supposed to?"
"I said that out loud, didn't I?"
"Yes."
"Brilliant."
The heat from Brazil's summer seemed to make only a fraction of the fever that was radiating off your body. If you didn't know any better, you would think you were on fire. And it was all because of him.
"I think I'm dehydrated." You looked down, away from his copper stare to his bare feet that were slowly burying themselves with every wiggle they made.
"Let's go get something to eat then."
You nearly short-circuited when he grabbed your hand, palm pressing firmly into yours while holding your fingers captive between his. You hoped he didn't notice when your grip tightened.
•──────⋅☼⋅──────•
"I'm thinking of doing the Sports Media course. What about you?"
Pedro sighed, flopping his head back. "Japanese Level 2."
"Dedication. You'll do great. You've got Shoyo to help if you need."
"Why sports media?"
You submitted your course intention and spun out of your seat, pulling out one of Shoyo's cookbooks from the shelves. You flipped to a page with the most worn edge, reading the ingredients. Which would he appreciate the most when he got back?
"I like taking photos for one, but I especially like capturing things in motion. So maybe the sports media course will give me a good background along with everything else so I can get a job doing it, y'know?"
You move to the freezer pulling a hunk of meat out before dropping it in a bowl with hot water. "What are you planning on doing?"
Pedro hummed to himself. "Not sure yet. Maybe I can move to Japan and do something there. Become a streamer like Kodzuken. That would be fun."
You leaned against the kitchen counter. "That doesn't sound so bad for you. We've done business classes, so that'll come in handy, and you're pretty good at drawing so that you could make merch for yourself. You could even brand yourself as a multilingual streamer."
"I hadn't thought about that."
"Why don't you just do it?"
"My parents would skin me alive if I drop out."
You rolled your eyes. "Seriously, Pedro, It's not like you study anyways, and if streaming is something you're seriously considering, just do it."
"It wouldn't take off."
"Not with that attitude, you won't." You shoved off the counter and pulled his old crummy school laptop off the counter. Walking towards his room, where you were well aware a perfect gaming setup was waiting, you shut the old device and tossed it onto his bed. "Come on, let's do this!"
"Hey! Hold on!"
For a moment, you were worried that he fell out of the chair, but that quickly eased away when a few seconds later, he was bursting through the door. You pulled him into his chair and tucked him into the desk, taking control of the work as he tried to hold your arms down.
"Come on. I know you've been planning on doing this. You've already got everything set up."
You turned his webcam on, waving at it when he stared at the viewscreen.
"How do I make the chat and video visible?"
"Ugh, let me do it." He opened another software, brushing your hands off.
You waited until the stream started.
"Happy?" He asked.
"Very. I'm gonna watch and make dinner. Look, you already got a couple of viewers." You patted his shoulder. "Have fun!"
Once you got into the kitchen, you downloaded the app and made your account, immediately pulling up Pedro's stream. He was a natural.
Now dinner.
The meat defrosted, and as you were cutting it, you let the rice cook on its own. You listened to Pedro as he talked to the people that gradually joined his stream, keeping your phone muted to avoid the echo.
When the food was nearly done, Shoyo came through the front door.
"Hey." He was through soft huffs. He just finished biking around the city. He looked over your shoulder, chin resting on the fabric strap of your shirt that you were sure was soaking up his sweat. His hand captured your side, palm firm while his fingers twitched over the surface of your shirt, moving the cloth around. "Wah? That looks tasty."
Your body tingled while he stayed there, warm breath washing over your skin with each puff as he calmed down. But even once he did, he didn't move. It was incredibly hard not to let your knees buckle on the spot and melt into the floor.
You lifted a hand, dragging your fingers into the hair at the back of his head. He hummed at the feeling, body pressing into your back and nuzzling into your shoulder. His hand tightened at your waist, pulling you ever so much closer. You practically fell apart. "Okay, that's enough." You gripped the ginger by the strands and pulled him off. He groaned lowly. "Go take a shower before we eat."
"Ugh, fine. Where's Pedro?"
You pointed to your phone screen, "Streaming."
"He is? Cool!"
"Practically had to force him into the chair, so don't interrupt. When I've made dinner, I'll bring it to him. Now go." You kick a leg out and hit his calf.
"Okay, okay. I'm going."
Pedro let out a quiet thanks when you set the plate down on the corner of his desk. Shoyo, on the other hand, began scarfing it down as soon as he was out of the shower. You watched, jaw dropped as water dripped off his hair and onto the food before going into his mouth without a care.
"Idiot," you scoffed, you walked to stand behind his chair, grabbing the towel from his shoulders and placing it on his head. "Dry off first."
He hummed, mouth still stuffed with the rice you cooked as you began ruffling his hair through the towel and crunching it every few seconds before shaking it out again.
"Rough day at work?"
He hummed, chin dropping for a moment, and he swallowed, "One guy accidentally added another digit to his address. I had to bike down a whole street. 1000 houses." You could hardly understand him through his full cheeks.
"Ouch." His head dropped back to stare up at you, and you held it by your stomach, letting him rest his neck. "Do you want me to grab your heating pad?"
"No. I do want a hug, though." He lifted his arms. His grin was soft, drained from the day, like the sun setting over the ocean horizon. If his hair were any other colour and eyes any different shade, he would be just as warm. You gulped, forcing yourself to raise a brow despite everything in your body urging you to bend down and peck every inch of his face.
You blurted, "That expression is ugly."
"Hey, that's mean." He smiled, eyes shutting as he continued to nuzzle his head into your stomach through the towel.
You bent down to hold his head next to yours, arms wrapped around his neck as you pushed your cheek into his.
"You should go to sleep."
He leaned his head into yours with a low, breathy hum. "But I have to go play at the beach."
"It's still only six. You can take a cat nap and go play for a couple of hours."
"But I want to talk to you more!" He gently pushed out of your hold, quickly stuffing the last few bites of food down his gullet. You couldn't understand a word when he continued speaking.
"Swallow, Shoyo," You slid over his glass of water.
"What were you and Pedro doing while I was out?" That was a much longer sentence than what he had said mid-chew.
You tilt your head, watching his eyes blink at you frantically. "We were doing course selection stuff."
"Oh, what did you guys decide on?"
"I'm going with Sports Media, and Pedro chose to do the level two Japanese class. With you around, he should do just as great as last year, if not better."
His brows pinched. "When do classes begin again?"
You moved to the kitchen sink, grabbing your glass to fill. "February."
"Ah, good, so I can help for a bit."
"Huh? A bit?" You leaned against the counter.
"Ah Yeah, I'm going back to Japan in March."
Sound seemed to stop reaching your ears, and despite the numbness that seemed to fill through your body, you could still feel the cold that was seeping through your socks. There was a shattering sound seconds later, sharp and quick as if playing at high speed to catch up with real-time.
"Careful!"
Shoyo ran around the table, taking his towel off his head and dropping by your feet. You only then noticed that your hand was empty, and the once water-filled glass was at your feet, shattered to pieces when the sunset-haired man began to soak and gather up.
"Shoyo." He looked up at the sound of your voice, but your vision was too foggy to see his expression correctly. "You're leaving? March is hardly two months away. Shoyo, I—"
"I was only ever going to be here for two years. I was always going to leave." Glass gathered in hand, and water-soaked up, Shoyo carried the broken pieces to the garbage. You hear the glass shatter once more as it lands.
"I've hardly known you for one." Your legs carried you back to the door before you realised it. "You never told me."
"I'm sorry." His eyebrows pinched. "Wait, please don't go. We should talk. I want to talk. I have to tell you something."
"You've told me plenty, Hinata. You're going to leave. Why should I wait? What makes it any different if I leave now?" You pushed out the door, head pounding.
It slammed behind you, shaking the apartment.
•──────⋅☼⋅──────•
"Shit."
"Did you just curse? In Portuguese?" Pedro had stepped out of his room, plate in hand and ready to wash it. "They're rubbing off on you. I don't think I've ever heard you swear." Once in view of the kitchen, Pedro paused, arms slacking as he scanned the room. "Where did they go?"
Shoyo's mouth closed, gulping as he slowly stepped away from the door. The back of his legs hit the chair, and he fell into it. "They're gone."
"Gone?" Pedro asked, voice slow as he made his way to the kitchen sink and gave his plate a quick wash. "What do you mean gone?"
"I never mentioned going back home to Japan. We were talking and I asked about classes, they mentioned your Japanese class and me helping out and then it slipped out. I wanted to confess, I wanted to tell them but I stuffed my face and couldn't get it out, and they found out I was going back home and I couldn't tell them that I love them. They ran away. Pedro—"
His eyes were red, swollen in seconds from harsh tears that soaked his cheeks, dropping off his chin like a waterfall. He gasped for air, choked, then gasped again. He pulled his knees up to his chest, setting his heels on the edge of the chair, perfectly balanced but ready to topple over at the slightest breeze. He clutched his shirt, making the seams crack as he pulled it.
"I didn't get to say it."
Pedro blinked, lips parted as he watched his friend break to pieces on their rickety wooden chair. "Shoyo, I—" He stopped, sucking in a breath before crossing the kitchen. His hand, tired from gaming, was firm against the ginger's knee. He dropped to the floor, looking at his elder's drowning face. Maybe his word choice was wrong, maybe his next turn of phrase only added a bullet wound to the knives in his back. Maybe, but he wanted, needed to ask if not for his own curiosity, then for the sake of his friends.
"Shoyo, is this not your home too?"
He wailed, heart falling out of his chest to beat weakly on the tiled floor.
Pedro held him tightly, his shirt soaked as if he had been standing out in a summer squall.
•──────⋅☼⋅──────•
You didn't want to avoid Shoyo, but after that night, you couldn't bring yourself to be around him, at least not intentionally and not without feeling your heart shatter in your chest.
Nice was nice enough to comply with your wishes during her and Heitor's wedding, allowing you to blend in with the rest of the catering staff as a disguise while you took photos from hidden corners of the outdoor venue, even if she wanted to be more present during the night. You essentially got to take candid photos of everyone dancing, drinking, and partying through the night with your usual artistic style, focused on movement. In contrast, the main photographer took the much more professionally done, more normal wedding photos and was seen more often.
It was hard not to keep your eyes off of Shoyo, however. You couldn't even recall a moment where you'd seen him in anything other than shorts. You collected some photos of him for yourself over the night.
The next day, you'd print the photos out at the nearest print shop and add them to the once quickly growing book you started that one night at the end of June. The music blasting through your headset did little to stop the thoughts in your head this time around. But at least you could be in your little bubble.
You were careful not to let the tearing of your heart become visible on the pages as you slowly flipped through them, wiping tears away before they fell. You reached the last page, taking the only remaining photo, an accidental one amongst the thousands of perfectly pictured scenes.
Maybe it was more appropriate to place the image at the beginning of the book. The start. Where it all began, the moment your heart began to pick up and flutter for a person, a stranger like it never had before. A blurry image, a blurry mind. Blurry vision.
You wiped your eyes, sliding the print into its pocket.
Beginnings end. Maybe this story of yours only had one. No middle, no future, no progression. Just this blurry image where neither of you were visible. A story cut short, cropping its characters out of frame so they couldn't be told—a circular narrative, back to strangers.
You understood. You truly did. Shoyo had made plans long before he arrived in Brazil that he had to complete. Plans from long before he met you. You knew he had to. It still hurt.
You shut the photo album, heart in the pages. The thud from all the weight landing broke through the music in your ears.
•──────⋅☼⋅──────•
Shoyo's eyes dared to flick over the shoulders of his friends while they gave him broad smiles. Though many were caught up in their goodbye's and well wishes for his trip, Pedro seemed to notice his hesitance to leave.
Shoyo's hands began to fidget with his gingham shorts. He set his eyes at the people coming into the airport, darting around at every entrance and exit.
"I'm not going to get to say goodbye, will I?" He sucked in some air, chin dropping as he looked down to his shoes. "I haven't felt like this for a few years. Feels like my heart has been ripped out of my chest, y'know?"
Pedro bit the inside of his cheek and twisted his back around, pulling the zipper open. "I was sworn to secrecy, but here." A thick, wood covered, and fabric-bound book was held before him. Pedro huffed with this weight. "You have room in your carry on, I hope?"
"Some. Is—how are—"
"Stopped attending classes after the first week and only stopped by the apartment when you were working."
"Oh."
A sticky note was stuck to the cover, reading 'happy birthday' in familiar handwriting. Shoyo gripped the book tighter, heart-pounding as he tried to hold back the tears that threatened to stain his cheeks. He hiccuped, holding back his breath.
There was stranded silence left to be filled by strangers rolling their luggage. The older members of their send-off party rubbed Shoyo's back as he tried to shove the book into his carry-on.
He sucked in a breath of humid summer air, putting on a bright smile before bowing in front of his friends. "Azashita!"
They repeated the phrase, and before long, Shoyo was on his plane, tears pouring down his face and landing on the plastic covers inside the photo album.
•──────⋅☼⋅──────•
"I could've taken his room, you know?"
"It's fine. That would've just been more work."
"It would have, but then you wouldn't be crying over the sunglasses that he forgot."
Pedro had offered you Shoyo's old room after seeing you run into class late and out of breath a week after he flew back to Japan. You lived farther away from campus. And rent would be cheaper with a roommate. It was easier physically, especially for morning classes after not having the energy to attend.
But whenever Pedro went into his room to stream for hours on end, and you finished making food, you'd sit in your room and just let everything fall out into your tear-soaked pillow with your back facing the golden sunsets and headset blaring. You couldn't bring yourself to watch it.
Despite leaving your camera on the square shelving by the bed, right next to its charger, you left it for dead in its case, unable to dear the sight of the orange tape plastered on the lense.
Months later, it still wasn't any easier. But whenever you heard news, you could help but feel lighter, even if it made your heart drop to the floor.
"Shoyo made it onto the Black Jackals line-up. His first game is soon."
You stuttered, "When is it?"
"Next week."
"That's pretty soon. Shouldn't we be preparing for finals?"
Pedro raised a brow over his phone. "We can waste a morning."
"Ah right. Should we invite Heitor and Nice over?"
"Nice is pregnant. It would be better for us to go there. That way, we can help them out in the morning."
"Right. Should I call, or will you?"
Pedro switched from his phone to his computer. He was looking at time differentials and dates.
"Could you?"
"Sure. Maybe I'll offer to make breakfast too?"
Pedro smiled, eyes flickering to the partially empty shelves where health cookbooks for athletes used to rest, now gathering a bit of dust without constant use. "With the amount you've learned, I think they'd appreciate it."
"Okay, I'm going to call now."
•──────⋅☼⋅──────•
Nice and Heitors walls were filled with photographs you had taken. The Carnival, shots of the beach with Heitor, Nice's restaurant as she served, Wedding photos and maternity shots (professional and your own), as well as a few with your group. You tried not to let your vision linger on the picture of Shoyo and Heitor with their arms raised triumphantly in the air. You couldn't protect your heart from aching and continued to stare. Try as you might, you couldn't look away from him.
You set down the healthy breakfast of the couples coffee table in front of their couch. Nice smiled at the sound. Eyes still closed as she pressed her cheek into Heitor's right shoulder. You rubbed her shoulder when you sat down next to her, trying to work away the tight muscle.
"Sorry about the early morning."
"It's fine. I wouldn't miss it for the world. Me, my husband, my kiddos, and a delicious breakfast while we watch your Ninja Shoyo play his hardest."
You couldn't help but grin at the sentiment.
Across the table, Pedro worked with wired to set up the couples tv to connect to Heitors laptop, while the latter pulled up the sports site that was streaming the game. Currently, it displayed an open court as fans and staff bustled around on the edges of the frame.
"Got it!"
Heitor's screen projected onto the TV, and the two cheered.
"Okay, start eating before the game starts."
Nice, rested her plate on her protruding stomach, humming happily. "This is good, thank you."
"It's the least I can do."
"Do you want me to put in a word for you at the restaurant? You could work part-time. I can say your speciality is healthy foods for athletes. We get a lot of them there."
Your spine straightened. "That would be very nice. Thank you."
"It's starting!" Heitor enlarged the game screen and set his laptop down on the table. He was shovelling food down his throat before anything happened.
"Aha! I heard them say "Brazil" and "beach volleyball." They're probably talking about when Hinata was here." Heitor said, setting his and Nice's empty plates down and leaning back into the couch. Nice, head back on Heitor's shoulder, followed him.
At Heitor's side, Pedro translated the sportscasters to the best of his ability.
Not even a minute into the game, Shoyo launched himself into the air, jumping higher than you'd ever seen him. His hair shined under the artificial lights like the rising sun.
Something about the man was magnetic.
You found yourself gasping with your friends at every moment. Heart fluttering at the sight of his movements as if he were dancing on the court.
When you got home, you plugged your camera in, watching the screen come to life.
•──────⋅☼⋅──────•
When you pay for Grammarly premium to get those juicy edits.... I also have a midterm on Monday - Bacon
I NEED MORE :( good thing there's a part 2!!!! Midterms are kicking my ass because I haven't done any work *strong upside-down smiley face* Wish us both lucky that we don't fail. Maybe during reading week I'll finish my one shot that I've been working on for a while :( I'm sorry that I don't write as much - Kiwi
Practising for midterms? Couldn't be me. - Bacon
Posted: 13/02/2022