Cause I'm just one of those ghosts
Travelin' endlessly
Don't need no roads
In fact, they follow me
And we just go in circles
And now I'm told that this is life
That pain is just a simple compromise
So we can get what we want out of it
- Paramore
Chapter Text
The collar against my neck is stiff and smells of mothballs, chafing against my skin with the roughness of both age and metaphorical burden. Hinata's fingers work at the wide knot just below my Adam's apple, meticulous and calculated as always. I think I fell in love with those fingers before anything else, imagining them against my skin and so far from disappointed when I finally felt it. He finishes tying my tie, looking up to meet my eyes with that familiar warm glint to his irises.
His hands are still gripping the tie, feeling like a noose around my neck, and while usually I'd feel suffocated by the sensation I figure if he wanted to strangle me I'd let him. I'd let him stab me straight through the heart and I'd thank him afterwards. But he doesn't; he just lets go and trails his hand down my chest, subtly yet not so subtly lifting himself to his tiptoes, pretending that he doesn't need to lean on me to keep himself upright.
My hands snake around his hips, resting on the small of his back, fingers slightly under the hem of his shirt as I duck my head to meet his lips. His taste is like liquid fire down my throat, the only whiskey I'll ever need because he's just so damn intoxicating.
"You look good," he smiles, pulling away and settling back flat on the ground. He's lying, of course, but I appreciate the sentiment. I turn to the mirror on the closet door of my old bedroom, eyeing the way the old suit sags against my shoulders and waist, hanging like a cheap costume on my lanky limbs.
Mom had insisted I dig something out of dad's old clothes in the attic since the black sweater I happened to throw in my suitcase apparently wasn't "proper funeral attire". Hinata and I had climbed up to dig through boxes but I ended up just grabbing the first thing I found and bolting, the attic stifling and dark and much too far out of my comfort zone. Dad and I were similar in height but he was much thicker, much more wide shouldered and bulky, and I look like a child trying on his clothes.
The three of us had somehow ended up back home in the early morning hours after mom finished all of the paperwork nurses were shoving at her, the drive home such a blur that I'm not sure it actually happened. Surprisingly mom refrained from asking questions about Hinata, which just left the ominous feeling that an interrogation was looming over our heads, threatening to drop at any second. The three of us collapsed on the living room sofa, mom pulling up a quilt on one side of me and Hinata laying his head against my shoulder on the other. We slept like that, a pile of exhausted hearts and weary eyes all resting for a few precious hours as we shared warmth on borrowed time. It was the best I've ever slept, my thoughts retreating to a place where I believed I could control them.
"Here, try this on," I say, rummaging through my closet after stepping away from Hinata's lips. It was mom's idea to see if he fit any of my old clothes from middle school, and I tried not to think of how apparent my emo phase was as I pull out a black dress shirt and skinny jeans, offering them to him sheepishly. I even find some dark suspenders in the back.
He tosses them on the comforter of my bed, starting to pull off his shirt without a thought, and you could probably cook pancakes on my cheeks. Should I turn away? No that's stupid, isn't it? I mean, we haven't talked about if we're dating or not but we're definitely something. Besides, I don't actually want to turn away. My eyes trail over the skin of his back, soft and pale, freckles on the tops of his small shoulders.
He pulls the shirt on, starting to work the buttons with those beautiful fingers, but I stop him, covering them with my own. I don't know what's gotten into me but I've been so affectionate these past few days, like the part of me that needed to touch and taste and smell another human being was repressed for years and now the dam is broken and I can't stop. My hands are on his shoulders, down his sides, on his neck, on his face; just feeling his skin and absorbing his presence as he giggles. I could do this for hours, could explore every inch of him countless times and never grow tired, but the vibrating phone between my thigh and his hip has other ideas.
I try to ignore it but Hinata pushes me lightly away, pulling the phone out for me and holding it up with a pointed look. I sigh, taking it from him and sliding the green button over the familiar face on the screen. "Hey Suga,"
"Kageyama! Where are you? What's going on? Hinata didn't tell me what happened and I've been worried sick," he stops to take a breath and I can hear Daichi's low voice in the background probably trying to calm him down.
I've been expecting this for a while now, ever since Hinata told me that he got directions to my hometown from Suga. "I'm fine, Suga. I'm at home. Hinata's here with me," I stop, hoping he can't tell from my tone what's going on between us, which also begs the question: what is going on between us?
"He made it? He came over super worried about you but wouldn't tell me why which made me worry too and, oh god, I've been such a mess," he pauses again, another familiar voice piping up behind him. "No I'm not going to ask him if he took your sweater, Oikawa, hush. You two are too loud I'm going in the other room."
I drop onto my bed and look up at Hinata who's just finishing buttoning the skinny jeans I pulled out for him as Suga moves through the hallway and closes a door behind him. The jeans fit perfectly and I almost laugh, imagining him standing next to a thirteen year old me and barely measuring up. "Okay, anyway, what's going on Kageyama?" Suga's voice pulls me back down, but my eyes linger.
"It's, uh, a long story," I answer, the heaviness of the last few days starting to settle back on me and washing away the short respite I found on Hinata's skin. "My mom called and told me to come down because dad had a heart attack. That's why I left so quickly. I didn't mean to worry you guys." That's only a half truth. I knew they'd be worried, I just didn't allow myself to think any farther than my own bubble of concern.
"No, no don't worry about it at all its fine. Is he okay? How's your mom?" How can he be so concerned over two people who treated him so poorly? People that I've spent the entire time I've known him trying to forget?
"Mom is doing alright I guess," I start, beating around the bush for no apparent reason. I watch as Hinata wrestles with the suspenders I gave him, smiling despite myself as he struggles with one hand behind his back and his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. "But dad, uh...dad passed two nights ago." I didn't expect the twinge I hear in my throat. "The funeral is on Monday, we should be home after that."
"Oh, Kageyama I'm so sorry. Are you okay? Do you want me to come for the funeral?" Hinata turns, finally latching the suspenders and taking a seat next to me. He lays his hand palm up on the comforter and I draw lazy circles on the pad with my fingertips.
"Suga, you only met him once and he was a dick to you,"
"Yeah but you-,"
"I appreciate it, really I do," I cut him off, not in the mood for one of his classic "I know deep down you really need me so just say the word" speeches, "but I think I can handle this one. Dad and I sort of...talked, about things, and mom and I have been getting along fine so there's not really any worry. Besides, Hinata is here." That sounded a bit harsh after it came out, like Hinata has replaced him which is so far from the truth.
"You sound like you're taking it pretty well," he says, no sign of betrayal in his voice, thank god. "I'm still worried about you though. Call me the second you need me, okay? I don't care what time or how stupid it is. Call me. Promise?"
"Promise," I answer, and it's probably not a lie.
"And tell Hinata I said thank you," he adds, a soft sort of reverence in his voice. "For being there."
I look up at Hinata who smiles softly, closing his palm around my fingers and running his thumb across my skin. "Will do," I answer, but I'm not sure that's a request I can fulfill. A million thank you's wouldn't be enough.
"I think Daichi and Oikawa are arguing over the remote again. I need to go before they break another cup or something. Call me, okay?" I can hear him open the door and head back down the hall, the sound of two voices becoming louder in the background.
"I already promised. See you when we get back," I say, hanging up and falling back onto the comforter but careful not to pull my hand from Hinata's.
"Suga says thanks for coming out here," I mumble, not expecting him to be paying attention, but he squeezes my hand in answer. He pulls the sleeve back of the bulky suit jacket I still have on and carefully traces letters onto my arm.
You needed me.
I did. I needed him so badly and he knew it. He knew it despite everything I did to throw him off the trail. There's so much I want to say. I want to ask him why; why he puts up with me, why he loves me, if he still loves me, what we are; but I just settle for "I love you."
He traces his answer on my arm, and I figure I can never get tired of the feeling of those beautiful fingers against my skin. I start to sit up, planning to pull him back down with me, but mom's footsteps sound in the hallway, followed by a light knock at the door.
"Come in," I call, and Hinata starts to pull his hand away from mine but I squeeze it tighter. He means too much for me to hide him any longer. I'm not ashamed of this, and I don't want him to feel like I am.
"Are you boys hungry," mom asks, popping her head in the door and trying to look as if her eyes aren't dry and her cheeks aren't hollow. "I was going to go out if you'd like to tag along. Oh that suit looks nice, honey. I knew you'd find something up there."
I turn to Hinata who nods, and sit up. "Yeah we'll be out in a minute. We just have to change."
She closes the door without an answer and I listen to her steps as she heads back down the hall, a distinct jingle as she grabs her car keys off the table.
I know that there's a barrage of questions waiting for Hinata and I on this trip, but oddly enough I'm not worried about it. I spent too many years in this house, in this town, hiding the things I loved from people who threatened to take them away from me, and I can't do that anymore. I won't do that anymore. I love Hinata, more than anything I've ever loved before, and I'm ready to let it show.
***
I should've been afraid. I should've been very afraid, I think to myself as mom pulls into the parking lot of a buffet restaurant. The ride over had been pleasantly quiet and I let myself get too comfortable, answering that anything was fine when mom asked where I wanted to eat. It's my own fault that I've ended up in this den of earthly hells.
Hinata practically leaps from the car, bouncing excitedly as we head up the front sidewalk. "I love buffets," he signs to me with a smile, and I start to rethink our relationship (can I use that word?).
Mom's shoes click against the pavement and mine drag, creating an unpleasant scraping sound to match my unpleasant feelings. I scan the crowd through the wall of front windows, trying to see how many sticky children and pushy adults there will be to deal with, focusing so intently that I almost bump into mom when she turns around abruptly. "Oh!" She starts, slapping a hand to her forehead. "Tobi, I totally forgot you don't like buffets. Do you want to go somewhere else?"
The fact that she remembers such a small fact about me catches me completely off guard. If her knowledge of how I take my coffee had been any indication I thought there were a ton of things she never cared to remember or learn about me. "N-no," I stutter, pushing my hands in my pockets because I honestly don't know why I'm saying this. "It's fine, mom, really. Besides, Hinata loves them and we're already here."
"Are you sure, honey?"
"Completely," I answer, pulling the door open for the two of them to enforce my willingness. I think I might be a bit of a masochist.
It's a tough journey from the counter to the table, a sea of children and unsanitary silverware swimming before me as I struggle to wade through and find the least offensive food. Salads of any kind are out of the question, too many dairy based components for my comfort level, so I settle on some nice, safe, steamed vegetables. Not the tastiest option, which makes the probability that they've been touched lessen.
The three of us survive, making it back to the table at relatively the same time, neither mom or Hinata seeming quite as stressed out as I am. Hinata's plate has a spoonful of macaroni salad on the side and I try my best not to think about it. How much does making out with him really mean to me?
"So, boys," mom starts, unfolding her napkin and placing it on her lap, "what's new?" She looks gaunt and tired, so I let the dumb question slide.
"Nothing much," I say, feeling Hinata's eyes dart between us to follow the conversation. He's been staying at the house for two nights now, but conversations between the three of us are still slow and clunky. "Suga called to check on us earlier." I don't look up as I say it, the thought of past events still weighing heavily on Suga's name.
"That was nice of him," she says as she lifts a spoonful of soup to her lips. I wonder when the last time she actually sat down to eat was because the food seems to perk her up significantly. I don't really know how mom is handling everything since she's careful to hide her apparent exhaustion and stress when we're in the same room. I guess that's where I get it from.
Honestly I'm not even sure how I'm handling it. I keep switching between feeling at peace with what happened and having the feeling of overwhelming grief crashing down on me in episodes. All I know is that I've been super clingy to Hinata and I hope he isn't annoyed with me because he's the main reason I haven't fallen apart.
"Hinata, honey, slow down you're going to choke," mom chides, pulling me out of my thoughts to see Hinata shoving bites of macaroni and cheese in his mouth. He looks up, a glob of cheese on the corner of his bottom lip, and shoots her a thumbs up.
"That's just how he eats," I tell her, wondering if she can hear the fondness in my voice like I can. "He'll be fine."
She seems unconvinced; eyeing him with worry as she delicately cuts a piece of her pot roast. "By the way, how did you two meet? I don't remember you mentioning him when you talked about your other friends," mom asks, and thankfully Hinata has his head ducked over his plate. I was stupid for not mentioning him and it's just not something I want him to know about.
"We're neighbors," I say, and Hinata nods as he looks back up and joins in the conversation. It feels odd using the word neighbor to describe him, after everything we've grown to be beyond that point. "And we've been hanging out for a few months now. Almost all of my new friends are from him."
"I see," she hums, looking between the two of us. Hinata averts her gaze, looking as if he's afraid to say too much and deciding to just say nothing at all. "Is that all? You seem really close."
"Yeah, we're pretty close." I want to say more but my tongue feels thick. She obviously knows there's more between us and I don't mind telling her more, this new openness I've found between us doing wonders for our relationship, but I can't think of the right words to describe it.
Hinata puts his hand on my knee, and I squeeze it lightly with my own. He nods at me with a gentle smile that says everything I need to know. "Mom, I....we-,"
"It's okay, honey," she smiles, putting a stop to my stuttering. "I know."
"You do?"
"Well I have an idea," she continues, pushing her half eaten plate away and sipping her coffee. "I knew when you were smaller that you weren't interested in little girls, and after a while I figured that you weren't interested in anybody. But I realized that that was wrong too, that you're so full of love that it's hard to distinguish what you consider friendship and romantic love. I never talked to you about it, and I definitely never talked to your father about it, but I came to the conclusion that when you finally fell in love with someone you'd fall completely, regardless of gender." She stops, the table going quiet until I'm sure she can hear the beat in of my heart. "But then again I may be wrong; I never even stopped to ask."
I'm completely blown away. I spent twenty four years thinking this woman knew absolutely nothing about me, assuming that she couldn't give two shits about the way I felt while all along she knew me better than I knew myself. It took me years to understand myself and she just summed up everything in a few sentences. I'm speechless, so Hinata speaks for me.
"Mrs. Kageyama," he says, his voice grounding me just enough to pay attention to the conversation.
"Please, call me Kanami." She smiles at him and he nods, taking his hand out of mine so he can sign.
"Kanami," he signs, and my voice wavers slightly as I translate. I wonder if she loves the way her name sounds on his fingertips like I do. "I don't have an answer to give you, about what we are or what we consider our relationship to be, but there's one thing I know for sure. I love your son, and I want to be with him, to support and encourage him every day for the rest of my life."
There are tears in mom's eyes when I look back at her, matching those I can feel in my own. "Th-there you have it," I mumble, stumbling over my words like an idiot which only makes Hinata smile wide and bump me on the shoulder with his head.
"That's all I've ever wanted to hear," mom beams, reaching across the table to grip Hinata's hand in her own. "Thank you so much."
Hinata just giggles, squeezing her hand before jumping up from the booth seat with a new brightness to his eyes. "Ice cream?"
He pulls me with him back through the sea of people towards the soft serve machine, his hand warm and soft in my own. I can honestly say I never thought I'd reach this point; a healthy relationship with my mom, good friends back home, and the love of my life by my side, but I'm so happy that I have. Despite the events that brought us here, despite every up and down and snowstorm we've weathered together, I feel content with what I have. My true family is one member bigger and I could never even start to repay him for everything he's given me.
***
Most of the wooden pews shining under the lights in the musty funeral home are empty, a stiffness to the air as a few people whisper to each other, not daring to speak any louder while waiting for the service to start. How many people would show up if I died? How many lives have I touched enough for them to want to tell me goodbye? Ten? Twenty? I'm not sure, and I don't think it's really a question I want answered.
My dad lived for forty nine years and only about thirty people are here, most of which being family members I have no recollection of who stopped to give a cold hello and shake my hand before taking their seats. Mom dropped Hinata and I off here before heading to the front of the building to meet her two sisters and show them to the room so the responsibility of greeting all of these strangers falls on me.
How do funerals work? I've never actually been to one and have no idea what's expected of me. There's no hearse, no pallbearers or empty grave gaping like a wound in the earth and waiting to swallow its offering; there's not even a casket, just a simple beige urn sitting atop a table surrounded by framed family photographs and vases of white flowers.
"I have no idea what I'm doing," I sigh, turning to face Hinata on the wooden seat that's starting to make my ass hurt, signing as to make the least amount of noise possible.
"It'll be over before you know it," he answers, smiling sympathetically and patting my knee. "Do you know what you're going to say?"
"Not at all," I tell him, wondering if my exhaustion translates well through my motioned words. "Do I have to say something?"
"Yes, Kageyama," he answers, his chiding tone reaching me perfectly despite the silence. "He was your father, you have to say something."
He's right. Of course he's right. I sigh again, slumping down on the pew and hoping that if I sit here quietly everyone will forget I'm even here. Having a stuffy gathering of people I don't even know and preaching my grief to them from a podium is not the way I want to say goodbye to my dad. I've already said my goodbyes, and this just feels like an empty gesture.
"Tobi!" A shrill voice calls from the entrance, followed by a herd of clicking heels as three women make their way towards Hinata and I, identical smiles the perfect mix of excited and sympathetic painted in garish lipstick. Mom and her two sisters stop in front of me, my aunts pulling me up into a double attack of bone crushing hugs.
"You've gotten so tall! I haven't seen you since you were...well you were still tall but you were just a baby," Aunt Mayuri, the oldest of the trio, coos, reaching up to pat my cheek.
"I was nineteen last time you saw me, Aunt Mayuri," I mumble, their energy already draining me.
"Exactly, just a baby. And now look at you," Aunt Chiyo chimes in, her voice thickening with each word, tears threatening to form. "All grown up and independent, and now you have to deal with this," she chokes, each word shriller than the last as she gestures to the urn at the front of the room. She uses one hand to dab at her dampening makeup and the other to rub at her belly that I just noticed is swelled to popping.
"Hush, Chiyo, it's not good for the baby," mom says, grabbing her hand and shoving a tissue into her palm.
Aunt Mayuri nods, patting her youngest sister's shoulder before turning back to me. "How are you doing, honey?" Her eyes crinkle at the edges as she smiles at me, motherly warmth there despite her never having raised children. It's odd, but even though she always seemed to me as the most capable of parenthood she's the only one of the trio not to fulfill that role.
"I'm doing fine," I answer, and I'm not lying for once. "It was really tough at first but we've been managing."
The boisterous entrance and Aunt Chiyo's blubbering seem to have caught the attention of the other wooden guests, all of them shifting uncomfortably in their seats at the noise. My stomach twists; everything starting to feel too overwhelming, but Hinata's hand finds its way to the small of my back, the tension there seeming to seep into his skin in some sort of osmotic transfer.
After a few more loud sniffles Aunt Chiyo turns to me again, her makeup somehow still perfect but the top of her nose red and raw. "Who's your cute friend, Tobi?" She leans to the side to see Hinata better behind me, smiling when he waves at her with that signature sunshine smile.
"Oh. This is my friend, Hinata," I tell her, ushering him forward so they can shake his hand.
"It's nice to meet you," he signs, earning curious glances from the two women. I open my mouth to explain but snap it back closed when mom starts to speak.
"He says it's nice to meet you," she translates, looking to me to make sure she's getting it right. I guess she's picked up more sign language in the last week than I thought. "He's Tobi's specialfriend."
"Mom!" A few people turn around in their seats, stretching their necks to look at us, obviously able to hear everything we say in the echoing room. I can feel my face burning as Hinata giggles by my side, trying to hold them in when he sees the incredulous look on my face.
"Don't even try to talk to me when we get home," I sign, knowing it's the only way I can say something to him without it being overheard but it does nothing but make him giggle harder.
There's a gruff cough from the entryway as a man I assume is the priest makes his way to the front of the room. I try to reclaim my seat in the back next to Hinata but mom drags us both to the front and I end up sitting between him and Aunt Chiyo who already has fresh tissues in her hands.
Sitting like this has a certain sense of déjà vu, reminding me of how we sat together in the silent hospital lobby, or huddled on the sofa in the dark, and even when we sat in the restaurant a few nights ago. Each time was different yet they all felt natural, like finally finding the key to a lock I'd been struggling with for years.
The priest reads some scripture I don't listen to, and initiates a prayer I don't participate in, feeling as if the room is shrinking with each inhale from the inclined heads surrounding me. I can feel the oxygen draining slowly around us, and I'd rather be somewhere, anywhere, else than here with so many strangers. Hinata's hand finds mine on the wood between us, twining our fingers together and anchoring me here.
When the priest opens the podium for those who'd like to speak mom goes up first, a steel look on her face that I'm sure I've seen in the mirror before. A hush falls over the already silent room as everyone holds their breath, waiting for the widow to speak. I expect mom's voice to waver but instead it flows smooth and steady from her lips.
"Life is full of singular chances," she starts, looking just over the crowd, not quite making eye contact with anyone. "Or at least, I used to think so. One chance at life, one chance at love, one chance to get everything right. But I've learned in the last few days that this isn't so. There's no singular chance at life, any moment having the potential to be your last until the prospect of dying seems obsolete. No one chance to get everything right because it's simply not an achievable goal. And definitely not a solitary chance at love; something that I'm still learning."
Mom pauses, finding my eyes in the crowd and smiling gently. "Toshiya was the love of my life. There's no doubt about that. And when he was taken from me I thought my one chance had been lost and my love expended, but I realized that even though he's gone he left me with the greatest gift I could ever receive; our son. He is my second chance at love; my second chance at happiness in a world that I thought had lost its warmth. Toshiya may have passed, but he'll never be gone, and I will continue to see him in every second chance I find, and I hope that all of you will remember him when you need a voice to tell you that it's okay to try again."
I'm stunned as she steps down and retakes her seat, Aunt Mayuri patting her knee even though she's completely calm. I thought my mother was weak, thought she was diminished by the incredible shadow cast by my dad, but she is anything but. I once compared her to a wind chime, but she is the wind; subtle and invisible yet carrying a power stronger than I can comprehend.
When the priest asks if anyone else would like to speak Hinata squeezes my hand, lifting my knuckles to where they fit so perfectly between his lips before releasing it. I was nervous to speak in front of these people I hardly know yet share the same blood with only moments before, but now I can feel mom's determination coursing in my veins and I'm no longer afraid. I look at her when I speak, hoping that she'll see strength inside of me too.
"My dad and I disagreed on a lot of things," I begin, pressing my palms flat against the wooden podium to keep them from moving. "Almost everything, actually, and I spent years believing that it was my fault. I spent most of my adult like thinking that if I was anyone but myself then my dad would love me, and he spent those same years trying to learn how to tell me that he loved me for who I was." Mom's lips quirk up at the corners and I allow mine to do the same, earning a few concerned looks from the crowd.
"The most personal conversation I've had with my dad happened on his deathbed and I wish it was sooner because it taught me that we were so much more similar than I thought. In my mind we were oil and water but in reality we were cut from the same cloth, both held back from each other by the constant need to present nothing but our best selves and never feeling equipped to do so. The relationship we had was rough, and there are countless things I could change but I've realized I never would. He taught me to be content with my broken self, because spending your life trying to cater to others' expectations leads to nothing but pain." I feel as if I'm speaking to myself in his voice; like he is still teaching me as I say these words.
"His greatest fear was to die feeling as if he was a bad father, but I hope that he can rest easy knowing that despite his flaws he was exactly the type of father I needed. The type that taught me to see perfection in imperfection, and to understand that it takes time to become the person you want to be, but there's nothing wrong with loving yourself along the way."
As I step away from the podium I stop to run my hand over the smooth porcelain urn, hoping that he could hear everything I wanted to say, and allowing myself to imagine that it's warm against my fingers.
Hinata takes my hand again when I sit down and Aunt Chiyo sniffles loudly next to me as she finishes her fifth tissue. No one else elects to speak so the priest leads us as we sing 'Amazing Grace', low and off key and the exact kind of cliché bullshit dad would have hated. This entire funeral has been weak and pathetic, and I know dad would only care about what mom and I had to say to him anyway. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
Mom makes her rounds to the various groups of strangers in the room after the priest shuffles out, and as Aunt Mayuri attempts to calm down a blubbering Aunt Chiyo I drag Hinata out of the stifling room. I know the two of them are going to come back to the house afterwards so I feel no obligation to wait around here, only stopping when we reach the car out front, pulling on the handle even though I know it's locked.
"You okay?" Hinata asks, eyeing my shaking hands with concerned eyes. I'm not sure what's causing it, knowing that for once it's not nervousness or fear, so I just shrug.
"Just tired, I think," I tell him, "or over stimulated. I didn't even know those people."
"They're your family," he signs, always the voice of reason to calm the frothing seas of thought in my head. "They may not know you very well but they aren't strangers."
I nod, not having the energy to argue that he's my family, he and mom and Suga and everyone else back home. For now I just take comfort in his words. "Distract me," I mumble, leaning against the car and stepping off of the curb so that he stands almost eye level with me.
He thinks for a moment before smirking and signing, "You're really hot when you're giving speeches." I can see that familiar devilish glint in his eyes as he uses the advantage of the extra few inches to stand on his tiptoes and press his hands to the window on either side of my head and lean towards my face.
"Don't be stupid," I mutter, glaring despite the heat I feel on my face.
"You make me stupid," he whispers, looking at me through his eyelashes before leaning in all the way and kissing me. I feel small, but in a good way, as if he's wrapping around me like a blanket. I rub my tongue lightly over his bottom lip and he seems to melt into me as he parts them. My hands find his feather soft hair, carefully pulling him closer as to not make him lose his footing on the curb. I wonder if I've gotten any better at this since he told me I sucked at it.
"Ahem," Aunt Mayuri coughs behind us, laughing to herself as we pull apart with a conspicuous smooching sound. "You boys might want to cut that out before Chiyo sees you. I just got her calmed down."
"Uh, y-yeah," I stutter, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth and elbowing Hinata in the side as he tries to contain his laughter beside me. "Thanks, Aunt Mayuri."
"No problem, kiddo," she winks, looking behind her as mom and Aunt Chiyo walk out of the front doors followed by the rest of the funeral party. "We're all heading back to your house. Want to ride with me?" She pulls her keys out of her pocket with a smile and I nod, Hinata doing the same.
Aunt Chiyo climbs in the passenger seat of mom's car and Hinata and I follow Aunt Mayuri to her beat up minivan across the street, yet another indicator that she should be a mother. Soft rock plays from the radio as we sit quietly for most of the ride, but she turns it down about halfway there.
"Your speech was really beautiful, Tobio," she tells me, an odd seriousness in her eyes. "You know, your father and I didn't really get along when you were younger. He used to tell me that I was coddling you too much when I would encourage you, and I usually kept quiet about it so I wouldn't upset your mom but God, did he piss me off." I can't help but laugh at that, and she stops to look over at me and smile.
"But I think you and I are very similar," she continues. "After a while I started to understand the way he thought, and though I didn't agree with it I respected it. And I guess it paid off because you've turned out to be a wonderful young man."
I don't know what to say; I'm terrible at accepting praise so I sit squirming in my seat, spitting out a quick, "thanks, Aunt Mayuri."
"Too bad you got the worst of the tempers from both sounds of the family," she chuckles, smiling to herself. "Mine and your dad's. The best of both worlds."
"At least I didn't get Aunt Chiyo's sensitivity," I joke, earning another laugh from her. She looks so much like mom when she smiles, her eyes crinkling in the same places and mouth stretching the same way, but it's much more genuine and lacking the saccharine honey drip.
"It's in you somewhere. Let's just hope you don't get pregnant," she teases, and now I'm laughing. It feels foreign in my lungs but not unwelcome.
"I don't plan on it."
We pull up to the house a few minutes after mom and Aunt Chiyo, parking in the driveway behind the other car. Walking into the house with Hinata by my side and a lightness to my chest that feels like a new beginning. It's as if everything leading up to now was the prologue to my life, preparing me and shaping me for phase two where I can actually start living.
Everything around me shines with the freshness of spring rain, cleansed of the grime that had sullied it before. The future seems hopeful for once, and I'm ready to dive into it.
***
Hinata and I sit and talk with mom and her sisters for a few hours, and I let it soothe me, this feeling of being completely in the open. Usually this vulnerability would make me feel like a deer out in a meadow waiting for the booming crack of a gunshot, but I feel safe. When Hinata's hand finds my knee casually during conversation I don't dodge it, and I don't shy away when I absentmindedly lay my arm across his shoulders.
The sun is starting to set when we finally announce that it's time for us to head back home. If we stay any longer we wouldn't be home until sunrise, and I have work and an apartment waiting for me (assuming Oikawa hasn't ruined it yet; or worse, decorated).
Aunt Mayuri offers to drop us off at the train station, grabbing her keys from the table when we walk back into the living room with luggage in tow.
"Are you sure you'll be okay?" I ask mom for the hundredth time, and she rolls her eyes exactly the same as the first time.
"I'll be fine, Tobi," she answers, grabbing my cheeks between her palms and looking me over as if she won't see me for the next decade. "Just make sure to call me, okay?" She stands up straight enough to throw her arms around my shoulders, lingering in the hug for just a second longer than would suggest she's really okay.
"And you," she adds, letting go of me and turning to Hinata, putting a hand under his chin to lift his smiling face to hers. "Take care of him."
"Yes ma'am," he laughs, saluting her with one hand. His smile is infectious, and I watch it spread to her artificial dark lips before pulling him into a hug.
Aunt Chiyo's loud sniffle as she pulls another tissue from her purse is our cue to leave, and this time when I walk out of the front door of this old creaking house with a suitcase in my hands it's with a sense of contentment in my heart instead of a vice digging metal teeth into my chest.
I hum along to Aunt Mayuri's soft rock as the shadows on the street lengthen and disappear, casting a comforting blanket of shadow across the town until we reach the station.
"You boys have a safe trip," she tells us as she parks in front of the gaudy fluorescent signs that cast garish neon light across her face.
"Thanks," I mutter as Hinata waves brightly, wanting to say more but not exactly sure how. Hinata watches the way I shift my weight nervously between my feet and touches my arm gently, nodding before walking off to buy our tickets.
"Tobio," she continues, pulling me back to her. There's a soft sort of reverence painted in her eyes and a distance in the way she gathers her words. "Keep that temper in check, alright? And be patient with yourself, even when you think you don't deserve it." For a moment I think I see a tear welling in the corner of her eye, and I get the feeling that she understands all too well the demons that lie dormant under my skin.
"Yeah," I answer, letting my lips quirk up just a bit as I nod. "You too."
"Will do, kiddo," she beams, all traces of sentimentality gone as I shut the van door and wave one last time. She waits until I meet Hinata at the front door and we step inside to drive away.
On the long ride home it's my turn to tell old stories; memories from before everything went to shit and eventually righted in the most inconvenient of ways. Hinata hangs on to my every word to the point that I start to feel bad as his eyes droop and his head nods every few minutes, just to jerk back up and resume laser focus on my face.
I tell him about when my dad and I walked into that music store when I was eight years old and emerged with a mahogany beauty clutched between my small hands. I casually leave out the words he said to me after I clambered into the passenger seat that still linger in the back of my mind.
I tell him about how mom used to set up play dates for me with the other neighborhood kids. She'd practically have to drag me kicking and screaming down the street and then smile pleasant enough for the both of us and I stood scowling at the door. I don't remember much from the actual play dates themselves except sitting around in the bedroom of a kid I barely knew the name of and wishing I was back home with my guitar instead as our mom's sat and talked over coffee and plastic laughs.
He laughs when I tell him about my battles with grandma's cat, giggling as he kisses the thin white scars that still cover my right hand.
His eyes light up when I mention the box in my closet where I found my old music. I pull out the select pages I brought with me and he pores over the lines intently, a crease between his eyebrows and his tongue poking slightly from the corner of his lips as he reads, even though I know nothing on the page makes sense to him.
The stories stop once I tell him about meeting Suga and Oikawa in college, stepping lightly over the parts of that story that aren't mine to tell or are no longer something I want to remember. My memories aren't warm and bubbly like his were, with a tinge of golden light stretching spindly fingers across the corners, but for once I can remember them fondly. For once it doesn't hurt to look back.
It's somewhere around 3am when we climb the dingy stairwell of our apartment building, that short morning hour where the world sleeps yet everything feels strangely alive and buzzing. We've only been gone a little over a week but coming home feels like returning from a journey, one where everything changed to the point where my home probably won't recognize me. I guess part of that is true.
I hold our bags as Hinata pushes the key into his doorknob, the metal grinding bouncing off of the thin hallway walls, but he doesn't flinch the way I do. I hold out his bag when he turns back to me and he fixes me with that quizzical look he gets with his head cocked to the side. "Aren't you coming in?"
His words are silent but they ring loudly in my head. I hadn't even thought about it, to be honest. I figured we'd return to our own beds with some clandestine exchange of goodnight kisses until we figure out what to tell everyone about us, but his idea sounds so much better. We have a few hours until anyone even needs to know we're home.
I don't speak, just nod and carry the bags to the sofa, setting them down in a thin beam of light that peeks through the curtain. I've always loved how moonlight washes the color out of everything it touches; it soothes me. When Hinata steps into the light his hair only lightens a few shades, standing out even brighter juxtaposed with the paleness of his skin, and I figure I wouldn't have him any other way. He has always been the brightest color I see.
He gestures for me to follow him and I oblige, grabbing his hand so he can lead me through the dark hall to his room. His bedroom here is not unlike his bedroom back home, and it takes my breath away in the exact same way when I walk in. The walls are covered with sketches, except this time there are no flowers, no animals, only people. Mostly Natsu and Kenma along with some Kuroo, Bo, and uncle Ittetsu; but along one wall, the one directly across from the moonlit window, is me. I'm there with a guitar sitting on my knee and one lanky arm laid over the front, I'm there with a bowl of cereal on my lap and a rigidity to my form. I'm there talking to Suga, and I can see every ounce of affection I have for him reflected in the graphite lines of my eyes. There's one of me giving my speech at Daichi and Suga's wedding, looking straight into my own eyes as I view it. And there I am, throwing clothes haphazardly into the suitcase I just sat down in the living room, a frightened scowl across my brow. The lines in this one are less defined, like the hand that created them was shaking.
Hinata's hand lands on my shoulder blade, and I jump. "S-sorry," I stutter as I turn to him, taking a moment to take a breath I didn't know I was holding. "They just kind of...drew me in."
"C'mon," he whispers, eyes darting over the wall with a look of reserved fondness. He tugs my arm and we crawl under the comforter on his bed, sliding down until it almost covers our heads. I open my arms for him to scoot in, and he moves closer until the only thing between our chests is his palms.
He's quiet for a while and I figure he's gone to sleep until he shifts his head to look up at me. With a soft sort of smile he traces letters onto my ribs with one thin finger, leaving a trail of fire behind despite the chill from the night air against the window.
Tell me another story.
I think for a moment, trying to drag up more happy memories to recount before settling on the perfect one. "Did I ever tell you the story of the bird that fell in love with the sun?"
He smiles and nods with a glint in his eyes as if to say "but you can tell it again". He settles in a little closer as I start, and I can feel his thumb tracing lazy circles on my chest.
"There was a bird," I start, looking towards the foggy window but keeping my head positioned where Hinata can still read my words. "Every morning he'd wake up to watch the sunrise and fall asleep watching it set. He fell in love with the light and warmth more and more until he couldn't stand being apart from his love any longer. The bird flew up, higher and higher until he got close enough for the heat of the sun to scorch him."
Hinata shifts in my arms and I look down, watching as he turns to press his ear against my chest and close his eyes. I continue the story, letting him feel the vibrations of my voice as he drifts to sleep. "The sun, as it turns out, had fallen in love with the bird's song, so before his ashes could reach the ground he scooped them up and spread them in the sky, creating the stars."
I stop for a minute, and I'm sure Hinata is asleep by this point, but I keep talking. "I knew it from the moment I heard this story," I whisper, my voice too loud over the sound of soft exhales. "I knew that you were the sun, and I was the bird. Even if I didn't know that I loved you, and I definitely didn't know you loved me, I knew those words were meant for us. You've turned me to ashes, Hinata, burned me with the warmth of your skin and the fire from your lips. And it's incredible. You're incredible. You've turned me from a black crow chained to the earth into scattered light in the sky, and I love you so much for it. I love you more than I can even understand myself."
He sighs and sinks deeper against my chest, and I allow myself to melt into him, my eyelids starting to drag with every blink. As I drift off I do my best to commit everything about this moment to memory, not wanting a single detail to escape me. Not this feeling, this place, these thoughts; nothing. I want this to be the first and last thing I think of every day for the rest of my life, and I want him to be pressed against me exactly like this every time I remember, creating new stars in the sky with every breath he takes.