He feels his arm pop, the socket where his humerus used to sit burning, pulsing.

"You're such a little slut." His eyes are blindfolded, two arms pulled back until they disappear into the haze, they're not his anymore, just like his flesh, his sanity. Cold rough hands, hands that smack his ass and grip his hair, crawl all over his cheeks, pulling him closer and slamming him into the red hot dick. Hinata groans, brain fried and foggy, sways his head to the muddled pain and pleasure, and he's not here right now, leave a message after the beep.

"You love it when I hit you." A resounding slap. "When I jumble your insides." He's going faster now, and Hinata can barely keep up, pushing his ass against the man's cock, grinding into that thunderstick like there's no tomorrow. Each time he hears the slick of friction, and when he hits his prostrate Hinata could swear he sees stars.

"M-more."

"What was that?" Hinata scowls; he knows he definitely heard him.

"I w-want more." The man suddenly pulls out, and the ginger's left feeling cold, empty. A whine escapes his throat, trying to get back into the heat, trying to stuff his insides again.

"Uh-uh. You gotta say it right." He's still panting loudly, cheeks red and flushed, but the white and the galaxies are starting to fade, and he tries to twist his way closer, wants it, needs it. The sheets are soaked, and so are his thighs, spice and musk mixing together with bitter tasting spunk, and oh god he's so empty.

"P-please." Tears of humiliation and frustration accumulate at the corners of his eyes, and he's starting to feel warm again, feels the bubbly hot pleasure leaking out his dick and wetting the mattress some more. "Please daddy."

And then the dick slams into his ass.

"What a good boy." Hinata melts into the throbbing high, mouth wide open and bits of dribble flowing down his lips. He can't control his body now, he's floating right above the stars and can almost pick them with his hands, forehead getting rug rash from the sheets. His hips are quivering, almost giving out, his walls clenching, aching. The whole bed shakes, squeaking with each pounding thrust, and for a second Hinata wonders what the neighbors must think. His hole constricts, feels the member hitting his intestines, his gut, wonders whether any farther and it'll pop up his throat.

"You're so fucking tight." A couple more thrusts, each one more desperate and animalistc than the last, and Hinata feels his insides fill. He cums too, hot white spunk hitting his stomach.

There's no kiss or cuddling or gentle fleeting touches, just a quick wipe down and rezipping of some jeans. Oikawa Tooru throws on a shirt, fixes his hair in the bathroom mirror, and walks out the door.

"Love you," he says.

There's no love.

He doesn't cry; he's not a girl after all. Back then the bright-eyed boy had just stepped foot in a gay bar for the first time in his life, and was swept away by the tall and pretty elder man. He bought him a drink, introduced himself as Tooru, and from then on it's history.

The splooge has dried, cream colored flakes crunching in his weight, and he pops his arm back into his shoulder. It's thursday, and he's come to hate thursdays. 'Cause that's when the wife's home, and Oikawa gets to run back and play house like the sly bastard he is.

It's still five in the afternoon, so Hinata rips off the sheets from the mattress, throws it in the tub and turns on the shower. The hot water scalds his back while he loses himself in the steam. He might as well freshen up before buying some groceries. Fridge is full of empty egg cartons and expired milk.

At 5:15 he's on the streets, hair still damp and glowing red in the sun. The convenience store is just a couple blocks away, so he's strolling, in no hurry. When he nears the crosswalk, he closes his eyes, plays The Game like he does when he mixes up all the pills in the drawer.

He doesn't get hit.

There's an old bike parked outside the curb, one Hinata never saw before, which is odd 'cause it's a small town and he's probably seen them all. The old man on the counter, bleached blond hair spiked up in a frizz, stares at him as he walks in. Nods even.

"Fancy seeing you here, brat." There's no bite to it, just the usual, just a teasing greeting.

"Hey old man Ukai." The man lifts up his newspaper, buries his head in the gray lines. Hinata heads towards the deeper part of the isles. He's looking for some pork, tomatoes (because he needs his daily vegetables and don't you dare call it a fruit), and some day-old marked down onigiri. Caramel eyes catch the label of "fried pork," and he reaches for it, almost taken back when his fingers touch something warm. Soft.

"Whoops, sorry." The other guy jerks his hand back, head down and muttering his apologies. He sees the glow of the taller guy's ears, and almost laughs. Well, ain't that cute?

"What are you looking for? Maybe I can help." He eyes the other figure, taking in the lean build, long limbs, and dark ebony locks feathering his face. His jawline is sharp, but he's still got some baby fat here and there, and his blue gaze is hard, steely even.

"Uh, I'm just browsing." The stranger's brow furrows, eyes concentrating with the red hot intensity of a thousand suns. Hinata leans in a bit, trying to read the young man next to him, trying to bring his mind off other things besides lit cigarettes and death.

"How about the ume? It's in season." No, it's not.

"Thanks." Strangerboy grabs at the packaged lump of rice, blinks, grabs some more. He's walking to the counter now, and the ginger follows, basket full of groceries bent and swaying.

"So, you're not from around here." Dark blue eyes widen, watching him closely. "It's a small town," shrugs Hinata.

"Right," says the man. Ukai rings the items up, not even sparing Hinata a single glance. The two guys leave the store, one marching briskly and the other practically flowing behind him.

"That's your bike?"

"Why are you following me?" Hinata makes an offended face, lips peeling back to reveal shiny white canines.

"Well you're new, so I thought you'd need a friend."

"I don't need anything." Then, as an afterthought, "How do I get to Karasuno Hospital?" Cheeks flush pink again, hot and heavy, and you could probably fry an egg on those things. Hinata grins.

"Exactly."

They don't speak much on the way, or rather one of them's dead silent while the other's talking up a storm. Hinata's here dishing out his whole life story, some bits real, and some totally comically fake. But it's all thrilling and fun. He mentions that he's 24, a pilot, and single, whose life's dream is to fly. That his name's Hinata Shouyou, and to please call him Shou-chan.

"If you're a pilot, then don't you already fly?"

"Shh, Stranger-kun. Don't sweat the details. And it's not 'you,' it's Shou-chan!"

"I'll call you that when you don't try to pass off fibs about yourself as real. And the name's Kageyama."

Kageyama yawns, eyes half slitted and beautiful, and Hinata thinks of ducks.

"No fair. Don't I get a first name too?"

"Be glad I don't call you idiot."

He learns that the boy moved here from Tokyo, that's he's a second year in uni, trying to make pro in volleyball. And his favorite idol's Mai-chan, the one with the lisp and freckles. That he doesn't like to be touched.

"Oh right, you got all red before. Could it be..?"

"I don't know what weird ideas you've got in your head right now, but it isn't any of those. I have..." The taller boy looks down, lips trembling, tightening, and if Hinata didn't feel like keeping his life he would have laughed out loud. "a condition. Got it? I get a stupid blush whenever I touch someone."

The tires of the bicycle are spinning with a squeak, wheels of fortune where the only prize is a rock in the face. Kageyama wipes some sweat off his brow. He doesn't spot the bright eyes that practically drool over the sliver of skin, that sneaky skin that sneaks from his rising shirt.

"It's so embarrassing. I can't even get a girlfriend." Ah. Hinata notices how his own body leaps back a bit, suddenly maintaining a larger distance from the other. He doesn't want to admit the slight wave of disappointment crashing into his form right now, gotta take a deep breath and smile right now.

"Psh, you think that is bad? I never had a girlfriend either." Kageyama stops in his tracks.

"Huh. That's pretty pathetic."

"H-hey! I don't need to hear that from you, ya brat! Who's the one that can't even hold hands!"

"S-shut up! At least I'm not an old man like you! And what 'brat,' I'm taller than you!"

"Give me your number!"

"Huh?" The summer breeze rolls by, tossing black and orange locks into flight. There's a chime in the air, and Hinata realizes it's Kageyama's hands twiddling absently on the bike's bell.

"I said, let's trade digits. We're already here," he points at the grand white conglomerate of buildings, "and since I find you interesting, it'll be a shame to let such a chance go by."

"Are you hitting on me?"

"Who knows," a shuffle of cloth, shrugs, "You can't deny we've got chemistry. And I'll even help you get over your thing."

"What the hell? You're kind of an idiot." But he gives his number anyway.

.

.

"Don't touch me!"

"Sorry, I have a condition."

It's noon and the kids from the elementary school are flooding the park, loud yelps and screams and pale-faced teachers running after little devils. It's noon and he should probably be job hunting right now, the stacks of bills and free employment newspapers overtaking his kitchen counter. He tilts his head back, eyes glazing but still burning from the sun's rays, lips parted and bruised but he's craving the hell out of it.

There's dust and leaves in his hair, rough hands sneaking down the mouth of his shirt, yanking and hungry until some buttons pop. He feels the rough hardness pressed against his crotch, swaying to the rhythm while he hangs on for dear life. Trembling hands hesitantly land around the taller man's shoulder, and if he closes his eyes it'll almost feel as if they're hugging. Almost.

The kiss breaks.

"Suck me off."

Hinata blinks, a wry smile spreading on his face. But he gets down on both knees, unzips the zipper with his teeth. There's a large tree blocking off both their figures, and behind them is the great outdoors. He reaches into the boxer briefs, takes out the semi hard dick. Puts it in his mouth.

"Ah...fuck." There's a little girl asking for jumprope, a little boy screaming tag. Hinata slides his tongue over the pulsating cock, bobbing his head up and down, own hands unbuckling his belt with a click.

"Don't," says Oikawa. The warmth growing in his pants goes back unattended. He widens his eyes, feeling the dick thrust past his throat, scraping his insides. Bits of dribble drip down his neck, and it's sticky, messy. His hair is yanked back, stinging and aching but at least it's his throat being fucked and not some other guy's. Hinata sneaks one last glance at the man using him like a pocket sleeve, tries to convey all the emotions and dreams locked inside his heart since their first time together.

"Close your eyes." It's all dark now. The thrusting roughens, quickens, and pretty soon he's washed away by the bitter tasting guilt, the cold nights alone, the yearning for something not his.

He swallows.

"Oh shit, it's this late?" Oikawa glances at his watch, pulls up his pants, zips them in a jiffy. His suit is a bit wrinkled and there's a flush to his face, but otherwise he looks normal. The elder man flashes him a frivolous smile, his eyes just missing the top of Hinata's head, like he's not even looking at him. "Love you."

And he watches him leave. Away from the shadows and back into the light of the sun. His throat burns and Hinata thinks of graves.

Love you. Love you. Love you.

"You fucking liar."

He finds the tall and dark haired youth by the convenience store again, and it's a thursday to boot. Suddenly the evening's not looking so hopeless anymore. His back is aching and the curtains to his place are drawn, a dark musky gloom within. He heads for the milk isle, careful not to knock down some cans of beans on the way, trying hard not to think of funerals.

"Yo!"

Kageyama turns to leave.

"Hey! Wait up!"

His strides are longer, so Hinata tries hard to keep up. "Why are you running? Scared or something?"

"Hah?!" Well, that, caught his attention. The ginger smiles, trying not to wince at the throbbing on his mouth. The salty redness on his teeth.

"What the hell's wrong with your face?"

"Hehhh? Are you worried about me?" He sucks his lip, tongue dancing over the swollen flesh.

"I just think you look stupid."

"This is what we call a love bite, for all you virgins out there."

"I'm pretty sure your lips aren't supposed to bleed like that." A blink, stagger. "And what the hell? I thought you said you were single!"

"Jealous?" Wriggling his eyebrow, Hinata hasn't felt this silly in years.

"You wish." They're outside the store now. Hinata reaches into his pants pocket, pulls out a Marlboro and lights it. Brings it to his lips and starts puffing. Kageyama eyes the flame, the wispy smoke escaping into the atmosphere.

"You know, you're gonna get lung cancer like that."

"Don't need lungs where I'm going." He taps the bud of the cigarette, watching as the gray ash tumble to the floor.

"What'd you say?"

"So, where're you headed?" The ginger straightens up, flashing a wide grin. "Hospital again?"

"Yeah," Kageyama looks down, frowning, a shadow looming over his face.

"Let me tag along."

"Why?"

"'Cause you looks like you need the company. Plus, I don't really have much going on right now."

"Don't you have work to do? Planes to fly?" Hinata narrows his eyes, smile falling off his face for just a moment, just a second. Luckily, it seems to go unnoticed.

"Thought you said you didn't believe me," he leers.

"I don't." And then, azure eyes looking away: "I'm not gonna wait."

They make it to Karasuno Hospital with no problem, Kageyama chaining his bike to a pole and shuffling his feet into the lobby. Hinata's just looking around, stuck close by the younger man's side.

"So who are we visiting?" The doors to the elevator close and they're brought up to the fourth floor. Stroke unit. The hallways are quiet, a mellow green splashed all over the walls, and they make a turn into one of the rooms.

A woman sits in one of the hospital beds, long dark hair framing her face like curtains. The instant she sees the two, she smiles.

"Tobio," her eyes glisten with pride, "and friend, hello."

"Mom."

There's a certain elegance about her that not even the oversized gown and pale face could cover. Her expression is warm, gentle even. So different from the sulking ball of scowls by the bedside. Hinata finds himself staring, and catches himself before he comes off an idiot.

"Hi, I'm Hinata. I hope you don't mind me being here."

"Not at all," a tinkle of bells. "I'm so glad Tobio has a friend in these parts. It's been years since he's been back at Sendai."

"Listen, can you wait outside?" says Kageyama, a strange kind of urgency in his tone. "I've got something to discuss in private." Hinata shrugs, waves goodbye to the woman, shuts the door behind him.

Outside by the halls is the familiar scent of bleach. Green metal doors line the walls, all shut, all silent. There are folded wheelchairs littering the sparse empty space, buttons beeping by the nurses' station. After about ten minutes of loitering the halls, Hinata watches as the younger man leaves the room.

"How was it?"

"...fine."

He doesn't press him, just walks silently by his side. Pretty soon they're outside, the brisk evening air sending shivers down his spine. Kageyama wheels his bike towards the crosswalk, an unreadable sort of expression on his face, and Hinata feels that if he doesn't hold on to the boy right now he might just disappear.

"Slow down!"

"What?" The ginger reaches the other man, the blinking white walk sign drawing over a crowd. He places his hands on Kageyama's shoulders, doesn't give a damn when the youth jerks away and blushes.

"Are you hungry?" Hinata gets a face thrown at him like he's crazy.

"What?"

"I said, are you hungry?" The shorter man stares him straight in the eye. "'Cause I'm starving!"

Among all the warmth, ire, and confusion, the ginger somehow convinces Kageyama to come over for dinner, since they're such great friends now. They share a meal together, hamburger steak with a side of rice and potatoes. And just a drizzle of wine, just to wet the whiskers. The apartment's small and dusty, but for the first time in years feels like a home.

"I can't believe you cook," says a wide-eye bewildered Kageyama. He's lying on the tatami mat, long limbs jutting at odd angles, stomach bloated.

"I can't believe you can't," huffs Hinata. The burnt pans and dirtied bowls in the sink speak volumes. "Aren't you a full grown adult?"

"Shut up," says Kageyama, in between hiccups. There's a slight flush on his face, and the ginger thinks it's cute.

"So whadaya talk about? With your mom, I mean."

"Hmm." The younger man scowls, then chuckles. "She asked me why I'm here."

"Huh?"

"Well, more like why I moved and transferred schools. I had a real good sports scholarship back in Tokyo, so she was very concerned." More hiccups. Hinata doesn't know when he crawled this close to the tipsy boy.

"I couldn't tell her why," he chokes, voice breaking. His chest heaves up and down, a rhythmic dance, and Hinata swears he's still sober.

"Your mom," starts the shorter man, softly, hesitantly. "She's...sick?"

"Paralyzed from the waist down." The dim ceiling light flickers, a sickly yellow glow swallowing the room whole. "She had a stroke while I was in school."

"You mean, back in Tokyo?" Kageyama rolls over, face hidden in his bangs. The breathing slows, low murmurs rumbling on the floor.

"Yeah." A shuffle. "I didn't even know until the next day. Seemed like they couldn't get a hold of me. But it's not like I could just leave it like that. She's my mom, you know?"

"What about your old man?"

"Beats me. Not sure if I even have one," he slurs. Silence. Hiccups. There's a cobweb stitched carelessly in a corner of the ceiling. The older youth eyes it, stares even, tries to push out all the weird emotions bubbling in his chest. Feelings are bad, scary.

"Hey," says Hinata.

"Mm?" Caramel eyes are downcast, a sole finger tracing circles on the mat.

"Wanna see something cool?"

"Are you hitting on me?" A choke, and Hinata's sputtering.

"L-look, I'm just trying to - you know what, forget it."

"I'll go."

"Huh?" The darker figure suddenly shoots up from the ground like a rocket.

"I said," Kageyama looks him straight in the eye, "Show me."

He takes the taller man to his room, long heavy torso draped over his shoulders. It's a piggyback ride straight from hell. The door to his world creaks while opening, and the mattress is bare, lumping in even. But the walls.

"Wow..." Kageyama sighs as Hinata dumps him on the bed. His long, outstretched fingers reach for the multitude of colorful planes fitted neatly in shelves on the walls. Some of them even hang as mobiles from the ceiling, suspended in a dreamy sort of flight. "You really like planes," he says.

The shorter man leaves the room, returning quickly with a cold glass of water, floor planks squeaking with each step. He hands the container over.

"Drink this." Kageyama complies, closing his eyes and parting his mouth in an 'ah' fashion.

"W-what are you doing?!"

A glare, cold enough to freeze snow and lava.

"You told me to drink. And in case you haven't noticed, I'm pretty inebriated right now."

"Could've fooled me." And then, half jokingly, but half seriously: "Aren't you a bit too defenseless? I could've jumped you at any time."

"So you're saying you're gay?" Suddenly, silence. There's a breath being hold somewhere among the darkness.

"And what if I am?" Hot, it's getting hot and Hinata feels sweat dripping down his neck.

"Well, it was kind of obvious. With you staring at my butt and everything."

"You saw that?!"

"What the hell?" laughing weakly. "Don't actually admit it." Maybe it was the alcohol, but Kageyama seemed cuter than usual, cheeks flushed redder than when he accidentally bumps into the ginger while walking. He knows this is a bad idea, a sleeping dragon waiting to roast him with fire and chew his heart for breakfast, but Hinata doesn't care because it's only with Kageyama that he doesn't think of death. He draws his face closer, half lidded eyes gleaming in the dark, hair ruffled and messy and noses almost bumping.

"Hinata?" He blinks, thrown off his reverie. The shorter man picks himself off the brunet, head a bit dizzy and spinning circles.

"Sorry." His phone suddenly rings, Darth Vader's theme blaring in the quiet room. "Excuse me," he says, because it's polite and he doesn't want to seem as more of a douche than he already is.

"H-hello?"

"I'm coming over." The voice from the phone is velvety, drenched with authority. Hinata throws a quick glance over his shoulder, sees the dark ball of snores on his wrinkled mattress, and sighs.

"I'm kind of busy. Can we have a raincheck?" The line on the other side is silent, and then a shuffle could be heard.

"I'm leaving for Hokkaido tomorrow." Ah. He doesn't realize when his hands started shaking by his side, the bitter tasting words just threatening to leave his lips.

"What about your wife?"

"She's coming along." A pause. "and so is my daughter." So he's finally being left behind. Not that he had ever been brought along to begin with.

"T-then," oh gods, he is not thinking straight right now - "if you don't mind there being an audience. You can come." There. he said it. Those terrible words that can never be taken back. Hinata slumps on to the floor, heart thumping like crazy in his chest, hoping, just praying his ears aren't as good as he thinks they are.

"...Okay." And the line ends with a click. He's going to do this. He's really going to do this. He'll finally be one step closer to freedom after tomorrow, and he can finally pack up and leave this town with just a bag and the clothes on his body. It would be a parting gift for himself, and though most might think differently, he sees this as a show of his strength. His unwavering decision to face the devil head on. Hinata returns to his room, plops down by the foot of the bed. He edges closer, brushing off the stray threads covering Kageyama's face, apologizes to the younger man in his head.

Maybe he'll go back to flight school. It was only his second time failing, after all. He probably still has Kenma's number stashed somewhere, and it's been ages since he visited the cat-like man. The younger boy is fast asleep, a peaceful sort of expression on his face, and Hinata bites down the beads of regret.

Yeah. That seems good.

He doesn't get a chance to lock the door, there's hands on his throat tugging, pulling, leaving sharp red marks on his skin. His mouth is pried open, teeth banging and thrashing, his tongue melting into the limp of his body. Shoes are kicked off, coats tossed to the floor, and everything else is a blur.

"Bed," the taller man grunts out. They're tumbling through the hallway now, mouths still connected, a frantic sort of dance taking place. A crash, and they're in his room, the faint smell of alcohol in the air.

"Who's that?"

"Your replacement." He quirks an eyebrow, tearing the shirt off Hinata's body. Hinata sits there on the mattress, slim hands reaching out and pulls the man down with him. The remaining clothes are ripped off, and the ginger's eagle sprawled, naked as the day he's born.

"You're so full of it." The taller man places kisses down his abdomen, tongue setting off a fire in the his heart. A clink, and the pants go off. "Suck."

Hinata crawls over to the twitching dick, wraps his tongue around the shaft. Running it down, until his nose is buried in the coarse curls. Tries to muffle the slurping, a bulge in his inner cheek.

"Why so quiet?" A grunt, heavy panting. "Don't want him to find out?" He's suddenly shoved aside, pinned down on his stomach, cheeks straight up. He hears the creaking of his bedroom drawer, feels a cool sticky liquid drip on to his ass. Loud smacks to to the plump round flesh, as if daring him to stay quiet. A long finger is inserted, and then another, scissoring into the puckering flesh, so rotten, so pure. There's a fog in his head now, and he whimpers, tongue hanging uselessly past bruised lips.

"Such a pervert." A third finger slips in with a pop. "You're actually getting off on this." Hot flesh and heavy pants make a boy go dizzy.

And then a thicker, coarser rod slides up his entrance.

"Hnngh." The ginger arches his back, the instant fullness too heavy, too intense. The bed is shaking, and in between the high of getting fucked brainless Hinata glances over at Kageyama, still asleep but slowly rolling over. His dick twitches, getting lost in the squelching of flesh and body heat.

"You think by doing this, you'll get rid of me," says Oikawa, teeth gritted. "But it won't happen. It'll never happen."

Rough hands grip his cheeks, slamming hard into the soft velvety cave, and it's falling, painful, a quickie. Sweat and lube drip down his legs, all gooey, all wet, and he's barely holding on now.

"You'll never be free."

There's a warm wave of something swallowing his body and filling his insides, but all Hinata feels is winter.

Kageyama wakes up with a pounding headache, lips chapped and cracking like a desert. He can't really recall what happened in the evening, just that he mooched off dinner from a certain ginger and drank a bit, just a bit, too much wine. He peels himself off the mattress, dark blue eyes catching peculiar white stains on the quilted top. Strange. Where could the shorter man be?

"Hinata?" The taller boy stumbles out into the hall, barefoot and breathless. Suddenly, he remembers part of his dream, loud reckless panting and two figures wrestling in the dark...

Oh, that's right. There was a man last night, a tall ominous man in a designer suit. He had been too wasted then to get up, or stay awake, for that matter. It makes his stomach churn, remembering the flashes of two guys making out right next to him, that cold stare, those even colder smiles. What did Hinata see in that man anyway?

He checks each room and each are empty. Kageyama's starting to think he's in the wrong house, that he somehow stumbled into the neighbor's home or something. There's nothing on the walls that would suggest Hinata's ownership, not a single family portrait in sight. He heads back to the room with the bed, and sure enough all the colorful planes are gone from view.

"What the hell?"

A cold breeze cruises into the room, a single window slightly ajar. There's a picture frame face down on the night stand, small and dusty and almost unnoticeable. He flips it up.

It's empty.

Scratching his head, the brunet picks up his bearings and bolts. He leaves the quiet contemplation of the house and flits through down the streets...

...right into a certain orange-haired man.

"Ouch!" Kageyama looks up, and it's Hinata, in all his bright-eyed glory.

"H-hey Kageyama! Why are you here?"

"What do you mean why?" he grits. "I woke up and the whole place's empty, of course I'd leave!"

"Oh."

"So why is everything gone?"

"Ah, you see I kinda got evicted," says Hinata, twiddling his fingers.

"What?!"

"All my stuff's at a friend's place right now. So sorry I didn't say anything! I'll just need some time and I'll have everything back to normal."

Kageyama studies the short hunched over figure. There's a limp to his walk, an off to his beat, and a suspicious red puffing to his eyes.

"You don't have to apologize," he observes the bag hanging from Hinata's wrists. "What's that?"

"Oh this? Just some bottled tea and sandwiches. Thought you'd be hungry." The brunet catches a suspicious looking red spot on the ginger's neck, eyes narrowing just a bit. He doesn't say anything though, and just presses down hard on Hinata's head, ruffling the orange strands.

"Hey, what the hell -"

"S-shut up," says Kageyama. And then quietly, almost so soft you'd barely hear it: "You can rely on me."

"Huh?"

His hand is gone now, back by his side, and his steely gaze locks with the ginger's own. There's a certain sort of fragility in Hinata, and Kageyama fears if he doesn't reach out now he'd be gone by the night.

"I said you're an idiot!"

"W-what! You take that back!"

"As if, dumbass!"

This is fine, thinks Tobio, mid stride and sprinting down the sidewalk. Hinata's right behind him, right by his coattails, and it's exciting, exhilarating even. This much I can still do.

Little does he know, and to the pleasant delight of the shorty, he'd actually be willing to do more in the coming months. Much more.

/Fin./