Category: Uncategorized

“I can’t.” 

Tooru’s heart shatters over two syllables. His lungs are cold, lips burning where Hajime’s touched them just moments ago. It feels like a century, a lifetime of longing for something so forbidden that he’s going to pay for it, one day, and he’ll pay a bloody price. 

The question Tooru had asked had been simple in its innocence. “Will you be my boyfriend?” His mouth tastes like ashes now, grey, white, and Hajime in front of him is the gold that he shouldn’t have wanted. 

Hajime pulls him close, warm hand in Tooru’s hair, his forehead against Tooru’s when he steals his breath with a kiss – oh please, not the last one, anything but that. “I can’t,” Hajime whispers into his mouth, voice shaking in his throat. “They can’t know about us. They’d kick me out. Nobody – not the team, nobody. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Tooru digs his nails into the muscles of Hajime’s arms and sends a prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in anymore. 

“Promise me that one day you’ll say yes.” Tooru buries his face in Hajime’s shoulder. He doesn’t cry; not when he’s with Hajime. That time is too precious, rare as the gold he’s fallen in love with like a fool. Hajime’s mouth kisses his forehead, soft, and he hums a broken “I promise” into the crown of Tooru’s head. 

Tooru walks home alone. Hajime gets picked up by his parents, smiles at his father, his eyes as dark as they always are when he’s been with Tooru. One day, Tooru thinks. And until then, he waits, and he holds onto his gold with all the idiotic hope that his mind can scratch together. 

‘I’d rather be yours in secret, in the shadows’ cold, behind closed doors – behind a fucking fortress of lies and denial, if you need that. I’d rather be your darkest sin than never be yours at all.’

Winter is Kageyama’s favourite season. Winter means a shimmer of snow caught in Hinata’s hair, the halo of gold-orange around his head sprinkled with silver in the afternoon’s light. Winter means going home slowly, hand in hand, with gloves off because Hinata insists on feeling Kageyama’s skin even though their fingertips go a bit blue. 

And, of course, winter means Hinata wearing Kageyama’s favourite hoodie. 

He looks ridiculous in it (and so adorable that Kageyama’s cheeks go even redder than they already were from the cold). Hinata lounges around on his bed, curled into a tiny ball of hair sticking up, his whole body buried into the soft grey wool of Kageyama’s sweater. It’s so fucking cute. 

“It doesn’t fit you,” Kageyama says. He flops down besides Hinata and wraps an arm around his shoulder, inhaling his scent as he pushes his nose into his soft hair.  Hinata makes a tiny giggling noise and shoves him. “Shut up, it’s comfy. And – “ He looks up at Kageyama, eyes gleaming like little suns in the dawn’s shadows licking at his face. 

“…and it smells like you.” 

“Shit,” Kageyama says, “fine. Keep wearing it.” 

Hinata’s mouth is warm and sweet. Kageyama tastes his lips, cinnamon and milk with honey and a last hint of salt from practice earlier. Hinata hums something that sounds suspiciously like “last christmas” while tucking his head under Kageyama’s chin. Winter is amazing, Kageyama thinks. He closes his eyes and breathes Hinata in, feeling the heat of his own hoodie warm up his small boyfriend.

“There’s a meteor shower tonight.” 

Tooru doesn’t ask if Hajime wants to go with him. He simply packs their old blue blanket and that picknick basket Hajime once got from a yard sale, and starts to walk. In the end, Hajime always catches up with him. Always, no matter whether it’s 4 a.m. again and the night’s dew soaks Hajime’s pants, the grass underneath his hands cold and wet when they lie down on a hill outside town, and let the sky unfold above them.

It’s all worth it, with Tooru’s warm excited hand in his own. Tooru points at the meteors dancing over the black sky, makes soft noises of happiness, and Hajime can’t understand how some people go star-gazing when all he wants to look at is right here. 

Beautiful isn’t the right word for Tooru. You wouldn’t call a galaxy beautiful. You wouldn’t describe the birth of a new star as breathtaking, or incredible, or even gorgeous. Hajime isn’t good with words, and he wouldn’t find the right ones anyways. 

There’s no symphony in the world that can explain the way Tooru’s freckles look like golden fireflies. No painting could catch the earth-shattering way that Tooru’s skin moves over his neck, Hajime’s teeth having left love-traces on his collarbone and the arch of his pale throat, and nothing – nothing, no poem or story with thousands of words – could describe the bittersweet light quaking through Hajime’s veins when Tooru whispers his name, and kisses his lips into another world, galaxy, eternity. 

‘Holy.’ || asanoya. sfw.

“Alright,” Daichi says one day and pulls Noya aside, out of the changing room and back into the gym. “I seriously can’t take it anymore. Suga, help me.” – “I’m right behind you. Noya, we have to talk.” 

Noya doesn’t understand anything. His two sempai stare at him, Daichi’s arms crossed, Suga’s forehead in wrinkles and his hands on his hips. Noya feels like he’s being stared down by his parents, and he instinctively shrinks a bit (he’s more afraid of Suga, though, because that gleam in his eyes looks very dangerous). “Uhm – what is it?” 
Daichi sighs and makes a hand gesture at Suga. “Tell him.” 

“Okay, listen. You are so damn blind, I sometimes wonder how you’re still playing as our libero. It’s the following…” 

Turns out, Noya is indeed really fucking blind. He swirls back into the changing room moments later, still shirtless, and ignores an excited Hinata jumping into his way. “Oh no, did you get scolded, Noya-sempai? Where are you going – “ 

“Asahi!” Noya says. He strides over to his teammate and simply jumps up to pull at his bun, loosening the scrunchie so Asahi’s hair falls open. 

“Wha – N-nishinoya? What’s wrong?” Asahi whirls around, clutching at his head, cheeks glowing red with nervous embarrassment. “Don’t do that, I’m sweaty and it’ll stick to my face – “ 

Noya grabs Asahi’s shirt and pulls him down. “You,” he says, bringing their faces close, breath heavy in his small lungs. “You are a goddamn idiot, Asahi. I’m so mad at you, and I’m so mad at myself because I didn’t fucking see it.” It’s impressive that Asahi’s face can still turn an even darker shade of red, but Noya doesn’t care. 

When his lips crash against Asahi’s, the changing room goes dead quiet. There’s a mere helpless whimper from Asahi when a bundle of orange and black suddenly wraps two legs around his waist and kisses him until Asahi’s vision goes white. 

Daichi wraps an arm around Suga. “About time,” he says, and grins at their teammates speechless faces. “Someone had to tell him.” 

“Tell – w-what?” Asahi manages between two kisses, his hands holding Noya by his thighs, face radiating heat and a smile that could illuminate the whole gym. Suga rolls his eyes. “That you look at him like he’s holy, like he’s a god or something.” 

‘A deity,’ Asahi thinks to himself, and lets Noya kiss him again. ‘My deity.’