Hinata woke up to see the morning sun streak across the window—though he realized the window was not his own. He shifted around the bed he lay on and began to sense that other things seemed out of place: his pillow felt firmer than usual, the blankets smelled of a different fabric softener, and he wasn't wearing his typical home clothes—he had on a shirt and a pair of jeans. Feeling his cellphone trapped under his thigh, Hinata rolled over to pull it out of his pocket.

10:02am

1 Unread Message from Sugawara: Made it home safely :)

Hinata tried sitting up, though as he did, he became afflicted by a searing pain running through his head—like a wave of knives poking at the soft tissues of his brain. Hinata took a deep breath, pulling himself together before daring to stumble out of bed and onto his feet. Groggily, he began surveying his surroundings. A tall mirror stood by the window, next to a blue gym bag and an open closet stuffed with hangers of clothes. At the far corner opposite the window was a door with a flannel hanging on a hook. By the right side of the bed was a nightstand—sitting on top was a lamp, a glass of water, and a bottle of ibuprofen.

None of these things belonged to Hinata, and it all further convinced him that he wasn't in his own home.

Hsssssssssss.

Hinata heard the faint sound of something hissing beyond the bedroom door. Mustering his wits, he opened it to find a short hallway—at the end was a room of mustard yellow walls. Hinata stumbled down the hall, the hissing noise growing louder as he did. Walking into the room at the end of the hallway, he first noticed a large window to the right. Basking in the sunlight filtering inside were several pots of large, leafy plants. The flora was arranged in front of a glass coffee table sitting on a white shag rug, and a large leather brown sofa.

"Morning."

Hinata turned around to see Nishinoya attending to a sizzling frying pan on top of a stove.

"M-morning," Hinata stuttered, surprised to see Nishinoya in such casual attire—a pair of baggy gym shorts, a baseball cap turned backward, and an old t-shirt with 'Getting Lucky in Kentucky!' written across the chest.

"How are you feeling?" The other boy asked.

Before Hinata could open his mouth, he felt another wave of pain ring through his head. "Like crap," he mumbled.

Nishinoya smirked. "There's some Tylenol and water in the bedroom if you want."

"Thanks."

Nishinoya turned his direction back to the frying pan, spooning oil over what smelled like bacon and eggs. "Do you remember what happened at all?"

"I remember standing outside the club and ordering an Uber," Hinata offered, "and then I guess I passed out because I don't recall anything after that."

Nishinoya sighed. "Well, you did pass out. We were sharing the ride together and I tried waking you up before I got off my stop to make sure you were okay making it home by yourself. But you didn't. So I convinced the driver to just drop us off at my place."

"Oh."

"And then I carried you to up to my apartment—

"Great."

"…and plopped you on the bed—"

"I can't believe—"

"…while I slept on the couch."

"Crap."

"Yep," Nishinoya concluded, stretching the syllable out with playful sourness.

Hinata chuckled nervously. "I'm sorry, that doesn't usually happen to me."

Nishinoya grinned. "I guess you had a lot of fun last night, then?"

"I suppose I did. But thanks for letting me sleepover, I really appreciate it."

"It's alright," Nishinoya replied. In one smooth motion, he turned off the stove before grabbing a dishtowel hanging by from the oven door, briefly wiping his fingers before draping the cloth over his shoulder.

The whole scene was still coming as a shock to Hinata, having never been to Nishinoya's apartment before. The place had a vibrant, urban charm to it, through its use of different colors and textures—like the makeup of the city itself. The most prominent example of such was in the living room and connecting cooking space—the yellow walls of the living room ended abruptly, turning into exposed red brick, which then wrapped around the kitchen. Similarly, black cabinetry snaked around one corner of the cooking area before extending out from the wall to form a small breakfast bar that partly divided the kitchen from the living room. The kitchen itself was simple, though functional: a humble fridge sat next to the front door, and an equally modest stove was nested in a nook between the cabinetry. The countertops were white, matching the white dining table set sitting in the middle of the kitchen, adorned with a large pile of unopened mail. And then there was Nishinoya, standing in the middle of it all, carefree in bare feet and clothes that had seen one too many washes. "You're umm…welcome to stay for breakfast if you like?" He offered. "You know, get some food in you to help with your hangover?"

"Who said I was hungover?" Hinata asked. At that moment, this headache throbbed once again as if to call the boy's bluff.

"Hinata, I'm hungover, And I'm not the one who passed out."

Hinata sighed. "Alright, fine."

Nishinoya smiled. "There's also some spare clothes and a towel in the bathroom if you wanted to shower too. It's down the hallway to the right."

…

Nishinoya's bathroom was a standard affair—a tidy though unremarkable room of white tiles and porcelain stocked with the typical drugstore brands of hygiene products. It was a far cry from the bathrooms of other boys who Hinata had dated before. They all lived in newly built condominiums, with Hinata's most recent ex-boyfriend residing in a rather luxurious place within the downtown core. The condo itself boasted walnut floors, high ceilings, ornate light fixtures, and the latest in smart home tech. The bathroom therein was essentially a spa, having ample space for both a jacuzzi and a separate shower with teak floors. It was all quite the arrangement, as was their relationship. Working in marketing, Hinata never thought he would have fallen for the bullshit underneath. Hinata meditated on it while washing off last night's alcohol-infused sweat with a bar of Irish Spring.

After bathing, Hinata toweled himself off and changed into the spare clothes Nishinoya set out for him—a pair of gym shorts and a shirt with "Disneyland" printed along the front. Before leaving, he rummaged through Nishinoya's medicine cabinet, finding a bottle of mouthwash to freshen his breath.

Walking down the hallway and into the kitchen, Hinata discovered Nishinoya standing over the dinner table. The boy was staring down at the arrangement of plates and silverware as if perplexed by the placement of it all.

"It looks great," Hinata remarked, startling Nishinoya.

"Ah, there you are," the boy replied. "Ready to eat?"

"Oh, definitely."

The two boys then took a seat, and breakfast ensued—warm toast, bacon, eggs, and coffee. Hinata dove first into the bacon, allowing the salt and grease to further awaken his senses and put his growling stomach at ease.

"It's delicious," Hinata noted after a few delightful chews.

Nishinoya beamed, gulping down a bite of toast covered in strawberry jam. "Thanks. It's probably the only thing I can cook well."

Hinata's furrowed his brow. "Really? Cooking's hard to not pick up when you're living on your own."

"I mean, I can cook other things—but breakfast is perhaps my favorite thing to make."

Hinata held his bacon-tipped pork up in the air. "Well, it's just what the doctor ordered," he remarked.

"Not a doctor, but a p—

"A paramedic," Hinata clarified, before rolling his eyes (this distinction had become a running joke between them as of late).

Nishinoya chuckled quietly, taking a sip from his coffee mug.

Hinata continued, "So, umm…what did you think of last night?"

"I didn't think I'd enjoy it so much. Although, to be honest, I don't like not remembering things."

"Really? Like what?"

Nishinoya set his mug down." Well for one, I remember someone getting upset me making them spilling their drink all over their shirt?"

"That did happen. And it's not your fault. It was his idea to bring a drink onto a crowded dance floor."

Nishinoya nodded. "Fair point." A few chews later, he brought up his second point. "I umm...also remember someone puking?"

Hinata set his fork down. "So it was Suga first."

"First?"

"Yeah. He has this talent where he pukes from drinking a lot, but then he goes straight back to partying after."

"That's pretty wild for a catholic school teacher."

Hinata giggled. "He's quite the model citizen. But then Daichi threw up after, and that was when it was time to leave. He rarely does when he parties, and Suga got concerned."

Nishinoya's eyes widened. "Oh god, I hope he's okay."

"Yeah, I got a text from Suga—they made it home safely."

The two of them continued eating, all the while marveling at how the other indulged in something as extraordinarily mundane as breakfast. For Hinata, his curiosity lay in the small differences between them. Nishinoya forewent salt and pepper on his eggs for (precisely) four drops of tabasco. Hinata ate his toast with jam, but only after laying on a bit of margarine prior. Both boys preferred their coffee black, though this was established several dates prior. Unlike their previous dates, they had their meal in relative quiet, giving over to nursing their respective hangovers. Though the silences were filled with stolen glances, either boy looking at their plate or toward the window if the other caught them staring. It wasn't until after they finished their meal, that their eyes met for the first time that morning. Hinata peered from behind his mug, to see Nishinoya smile awkwardly, before chuckling to himself.

"What are you thinking?" Hinata asked, taking another sip of his coffee.

"I was just remembering you dancing."

Hinata beamed. "Was I good?"

"I mean, you were better than me."

"Does that matter if you had fun?"

Nishinoya grinned. "I suppose you're right."

Hinata set his mug down on the table. "For what it's worth, I'm actually surprised you haven't gone out dancing before."

"I mean, I sometimes dance when I'm by myself."

"So you're just shy?"

"It's a long story," Nishinoya brushed off before setting his mug down.

Hinata leaned in. "So?" He retorted teasingly.

Nishinoya sighed. "When I was eight, I was at this wedding reception. All the kids were dancing, and they formed this circle where they'd go one at a time into the center and show off their moves. Anyways, I minded my business dancing at the edge when—

"You got pushed in," Hinata concluded.

Nishinoya nodded. "I danced alone for like…ten seconds? But it seemed like a lifetime, and all I remember is people laughing at me."

"Sounds rough."

"Indeed it was. So no, I'm not a fan of dancing in public," Nishinoya concluded, leaning once more back into his chair. "But it seems like you know a few moves yourself?"

Hinata bit his lip. "I've picked up a few things from music videos and movies. But I don't think I'm good—I just have fun doing it."

"Well, it was good enough for someone to try and buy you a drink."

Hinata scoffed. "And what's that supposed to meant? I'm some sort of…attention seeker?"

Nishinoya winced humorously. "That's not what I meant."

"I would have had that free drink if you didn't step in to say I was 'taken.'" Hinata fired back. "I never took you to be the possessive type."

Nishinoya paused, smiling warmly. "I guess we both have our faults, don't we?"

Hinata beamed. "I suppose so."

At that moment, Nishinoya leaned in closer to Hinata, biting his lip as if to draw Hinata's attention to their suppleness. Under the table, he felt Nishinoya's calf graze lightly against his own. All the while, the boy kept moving in closer. Hinata held his breath with anticipation. "Your coffee's getting cold," Nishinoya remarked, before swiftly getting up from the table to collect the dirty plates and silverware.

Hinata rolled his eyes once again. "Do you need help?"

"I'll be fine. How about you head over to the living room? I'll be over in a bit to give you a tour."

"Yeah sure," Hinata agreed, leaving the kitchen while muttering curses regarding Nishinoya's prank. He paced around the space, enjoying the sensation of the shag rug poking between his toes and basking in the sunlight that filtered through the balcony window. Looking through the glass, he observed a scenic fall morning—a neighborhood of colorful storefronts bustling with cars and pedestrians in light jackets. Hinata then turned to the assortment of potted plants that sat by the window: a few ferns, small cacti, and one large plant Hinata believed was monstera (he had a friend who was quite the botanist and may have called a similar-looking plant such).

Against the wall closest to the hallway was a TV on a stand that doubled as a shelving unit for several books and machines. Hinata pointed out an audio receiver, a game console, and a laptop—though what intrigued him most was a turntable sitting next to the television. Located on the floor conveniently nearby, Hinata also discovered a milk crate containing a collection of vinyl records. He set his coffee down on the shelf and began flipping through them, reading each artist quietly to himself as he did so.

"Elvis Presley…Billie Holliday…Frank Sinatra…"

"Have you listened to anything by them?"

Hinata turned around to see Nishinoya drying his hands off with a dishtowel.

"Maybe. But I don't know any of their songs by name."

Nishinoya tossed the towel onto the couch before walking over and kneeling down next to Hinata. "I get most of them from my parents," he explained. "They send one out on my birthday and different holidays."

Hinata nodded. "Can we listen to something?"

"Sure, why not. What would you like?"

Hinata hesitated. "I'll let you pick something."

The boy then scooched aside, allowing Nishinoya to fumble through the records—brow furrowing with intent as he rummaged through. "Ah, this one's pretty good," he declared, setting aside his selection. "Have you ever used one of these before?"

Hinata shook his head. "Nope."

"It's pretty simple," Nishinoya said before giving a rundown as to how the turntable worked. Hinata noticed a friendly eagerness to it all, in the way Nishinoya would phrase and rephrase what the various switches did, and how his eyes lit watching Hinata placing the record on the turntable. It was as if the Nishinoya had been waiting to share that part of him with someone.

"...and then you move the arm, so the needle lines up with that line on the record."

"Like…that?" Hinata asked, cautiously enacting Nishinoya's instruction.

"Yep—and then you just flip the switch and you're done."

"Well, here it goes."

Hinata pressed the designated button, the machine whirring as the cartridge needle descended on to the vinyl. Moments later, the apartment was filled with the soft melody of orchestral strings. A male voice sang:

They asked me how I knew my true love was true.

Hinata stood up, reveling in the crescendo of violins and choral singers. The music resonated with the nostalgia of California in the 50s—something to be heard on the radio while driving down a boulevard of palm trees and bungalows. It felt like a bygone anthem for an era of young love in neon diners and drive-in theatres, of pomade and nervous kisses.

Nishinoya got up to stand next to Hinata. "Do you like it?"

Hinata smiled warmly. "I do. It's different, but in a…good way."

Nishinoya beamed. A moment passed between them before he offered the next words:

"Should we...dance?"

Hinata chuckled nervously. "I've never danced to something like this before."

"I mean, neither have I."

I, of course, replied something here inside cannot be denied.

Hinata nodded hesitantly before stepping towards Nishinoya, arms wrapping around Nishinoya's neck, while the latter's hands found Hinata's waist.

Hinata laughed. "I guess it's good to try everything at least once."

Nishinoya smirked. "Words of the wise."

They said someday you'll find all who love are blind.

It took a moment for the two of them to find their rhythm, though soon enough, they began to effortlessly sway to the tempo of the music.

"So…" Hinata ventured, "There's one detail you'll have to fill me in on from last night."

Nishinoya moved his head back as if trying to observe Hinata's face more clearly.

Hinata continued, "Last night at the bar, why did Sugawara bring up that story of how Daichi asked him out?"

When your heart's on fire, you must realize—smoke gets in your eyes.

"Oh…they were just asking about us."

Hinata nodded. "I see."

Nishinoya cleared his throat. "Speaking of which…have you thought about how this is working out?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, have you thought about whether you like being friends or…?"

"Or?"

Nishinoya chuckled nervously.

Hinata smiled. "I mean, it's been nice hanging out with you, Noya."

Nishinoya grinned with relief. "That's great! I can say the same for you."

"Although, I have to say…" Hinata noted, "none of them ever spilled tacos on their shirt."

Nishinoya smirked, recognizing the allusion to their second date when he spilled barbacoa and salsa on his shirt during dinner. "Well, I've never met someone who literally jumps at jumpscares."

"Well, I didn't get the memo that old horror movies could actually be terrifying," Hinata protested.

So I chaffed them, and I gaily laughed. To think, they could doubt my love!

The two of them giggled, briefly reminiscing on the string dates that led this moment.

"But for the record, I don't mind holding you through the scary stuff," Nishinoya stated.

Hinata smiled. "I guess I wouldn't mind helping you clean up after yourself, either."

Nishinoya giggled. "I'd appreciate that."

Yet today, my love has flown away. I am without my love.

They continued dancing, nervous smiles acknowledging the corniness of their living room waltz—yet, their eyes remained on each other, determined to stick with the moment. For Hinata, it was a stark change of pace from the boys he dated before. Nishinoya didn't smell like a thousand-dollar skincare routine (if anything, Hinata could barely make out the scent of bar soap hidden beneath the aroma of skillet grease and coffee). Neither were they slow-dancing in some swanky penthouse high above the city.

Sure, Nishinoya won points for humor and good looks, though his charm lay in something far more endearing: Nishinoya cherished every excuse to spend time together. No matter how hard he tried to hide his enthusiasm behind small pranks and jokes, his affections were revealed in all the little things he'd do or say. Simply put, the boy was just eager to be in love—something Hinata hadn't felt for himself in quite some time. Reflecting on it, Hinata found stirring within the words that had been stuck on his mind for the past few dates. He was about to bring them up when Nishinoya spoke first.

Now laughing friends deride tears I cannot hide.

"Hinata…"

"Yeah?"

"Would you umm…"

"Yes?"

Nishinoya heaved a deep breath. "Would you be my boyfriend?"

Hinata's eyes widened with surprise. He moved his head back to more clearly observe Nishinoya's face, noticing the boy's lips tremble with anxious sincerity. Slowly, Hinata's warmed with a soft smile, and the air sparked with humble laughter before he gleefully buried his face within the crook of Nishinoya's neck. Hinata then replied, "You beat me to it."

Nishinoya's chest swelled with a sigh of relief. He then craned his neck to the side, cradling Hinata's head with his cheek while they swayed to the music.

So I smile and say, when a lovely flame dies, smoke gets in your eyes.