Oh, gosh. I don’t even know how to react to this in an adequate manner.
Thank you so much, first and foremost. For sending this message and admitting that you feel this way. I am unsure how serious you are about this crush, though, and I hope you will be okay!
Maybe Kageyama never would’ve noticed that something’s off with Hinata – if he hadn’t opened his eyes during one of the secret after-school kisses. Everything is normal, Hinata’s soft mouth is warm against his own, and Kageyama is happy that he can nip and lick at his bottom lip a bit, that he can slide his fingers over Hinata’s neck. Everything is good, until something ice-cold brushes his cheek.
Kageyama shudders and blinks. His breath knocks out of his lungs with a yelp.
A black thorn protrudes from Hinata’s temple. His eyes are closed, and between his brows is a dark hole, with a slit of red gleaming inside. It looks like a third eye. Oh God. Kageyama cannot breathe. The thorn brushes his cheek again, and then he screams.
Hinata jumps and pulls back. “What the hell?”
“You – there was – “ Kageyama stutters, stumbling back, raising a hand to point at – oh. Hinata blinks at him. His forehead looks perfectly normal, except for a worried frown, and his temple is clean.
“Maybe you should go home. You look a bit sick.” Hinata grabs his bag and pats Kageyama’s shoulder, before kissing his cheek. “See you tomorrow?” Kageyama can only nod, standing paralysed and shivering as Hinata’s steps fade. What the hell? He – he must’ve imagined that. Thorns, a third eye. Bullshit.
Later, he feels guilty for pushing Hinata away like that. He sends him a text with “wanna have a sleepover tnight?”, and offers that they can play games and – yes – make out a bit. They’ve only been together for a few months but Kageyama is pretty damn sure that this is special. He’s glad when Hinata agrees to come, and even accepts his apology.
It’s the first time that Hinata is over at his place.
Things don’t really go that well. Hinata seems a bit distant, even when Kageyama tries to kiss him again. It’s not even midnight when Hinata says that he’s tired and wants to sleep. Kageyama frowns but lets him. He watches the dark form of his boyfriend on the futon besides his bed for a long time, before…
It feels a thousand years later when ice-cold breath brushes over his face. Kageyama blinks. When did he fall asleep? “The hell, Hinata-“ There’s moonlight falling into his room, illuminating the dark figure leaning over his body.
It’s Hinata – and it’s not. His body is distorted and smeared with blood, and when Kageyama opens his mouth to scream, a thick thorn slams down on his lips and worms its way into his throat. Hinata’s laugh is so low that Kageyama’s stomach turns, he gags, oh God – this can’t be real, but then Hinata’s skin starts to fall off-
“Y’know, darling, this is a really nice body. Young and fresh. But…”
And this thing, this horrible creature, opens its third eye and licks its tongue over a mouth full of sharp, white teeth. Kageyama’s vision fills with crimson.
“It’s starting to get a lil’ rotten in here. So – thank you for inviting me in, Tobio.”
-thaws into a lake of gratefulness-
Thank you, oh my gosh. Evoking real emotions in people is one of the best compliments that a writer can get, in my opinion. It is a privilege that I can post my writing on this website and get such a warm, welcoming and nice response.
You are very much welcome. ♥
“You never tell me ‘I love you’. I wonder why,” Tooru says.
“Hold still,” Iwaizumi mumbles, slipping warm fingers over Tooru’s knee, feeling for tension in the muscles. “Does it hurt? Are you sure you can play? I hope you had breakfast, idiot. Did you sleep okay? I don’t want you on the court if you’re feeling bad – wait. What’d you say?”
“Nothing.” Tooru smiles. “Nothing, Iwa-chan.”
“You’re so protective, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says as Hajime’s hands wrap his knee in sports bandages. “It’s amazing how careful you are with me.”
Hajime tugs the bandages until they sit right and drops his head against Tooru shoulder. “You’d do the same if you had something that’s irreplacable.”
The silence is white and golden. Tooru closes his eyes and breathes into Hajime’s hair. “I do,” he says. His fingers are pale agains the bronze of Hajime’s skin when he laces them up.
They breathe together until their heart beats align.
“You should be proud, Jeanbo. There are only a few men who stay a soprano even after voice break.” His mother smiles, warm fingers running through Jean’s hair as she hugs him tightly. Jean hates that he’s still comforted by this even at sixteen, that his tears and dark sobs stop coming after an hour or so, that he almost forgets about the teasing of his classmates about him singing the solo in the town’s small choir. They’ve always looked down on him. Now, it’s bullying.
A soprano. He had hoped for tenor, at least, but his voice break came and went without any change to the melodies echoing in his throat. Speaking, yes, that works, but he’s got no friends to talk to anyways, and as soon as the ‘gay’ rumours start, all is lost. It’s true, yet he wishes it wasn’t. He loves singing and he loves boys. None of it is right to the people that share a classroom with him.
“It’ll be alright,” his mother hums, a melody of Jean’s favourite song on her lips. “Everything will be fine. You’ll find your place, somewhere, believe me.
Jean finishes school without knowing what a camping trip with friends feels like, but knowing very well what the words ‘fag’ and ‘disgusting’ feel inside his chest.
His mother cries and kisses him goodbye when he leaves for a town that’s bigger in mind and smaller in space than the cold village he grew up in. It will take time to figure out a major, but he’s got a flat and food and a warm bed, and – his university has a choir.
On his first day of university, Jean enters the rehearsal room. There aren’t a lot of people to audition, and he’s up quicker than he’s hoped. The choir’s leader is a short man with dark hair and even blacker eyes that frown at every applicant equally. He points out that Jean’s choice of song is “a bit unconventional, isn’t that a duet?” And before Jean can say anything else, the choir leader waves another singer closer, and asks whether he’s familiar with the score.
The answer is a yes. The other singer has a nightsky of freckles on his nose, and a smile that drags the floor away from underneath Jean’s feet. He quickly looks down when the man stands by his side.
“I’m Marco,” he says, but the choir leader orders them to start already, and Jean’s world blurs into a caleidoscope of music and melodies as soon as the first word leaves Marco’s lips.
No more talk of darkness
Forget these wide-eyed fears
I’m here, nothing can harm you
My words will warm and calm you
The warm shivers running through Jean’s blood shouldn’t feel so good. He closes his eyes and listens, floods away with the heavy drawl in Marco’s voice, some accent he doesn’t know and cannot care about. It’s like they’re singing together, for each other, voices and words melting together. His part comes up – and Jean breathes, natural, opens his mouth.
Say you’ll love me every waking moment
Turn my head with talk of summer time
Say you need me with you now and always
Promise me that all you say is true
That’s all I ask of you
The room is quiet around them. Jean doesn’t notice the taste of salt on his lips until a hand comes down on his shoulder. Somewhere, in the back of his vision, he can see the rest of the choir staring as he opens his eyes. But right in front of him is Marco, fingers curling around Jean’s shaking shoulders, and the words
Love me, that’s all I ask of you
on his lips. Marco smiles. He brings a hand to Jean’s face to wipe his tears, and says something that sounds like “welcome” through the daze of emotions inside Jean’s head. Jean blinks and smiles back, weak, overwhelmed.
“I like your voice,” Marco says, suddenly.
Jean’s first day at university is new and strange and nerve-wrecking. And still, he couldn’t have asked for more.
Moami 