You are successfully killing me with your wonderful art on a regular basis. Thank you so, so much for transforming my words into lines. I love how you included Yaku, how he talks so casually with Kuroo who’s used to Kenma needing to recharge, aaa I am so happy. This touched my heart. Thank you. ♥
Kenma recharges in a very special and, admittedly, kind of strange way.
And Kuroo doesn’t know when it began – sometime when they were smaller and the world was loud, scary, colourful – but it’s a ritual now, one that won’t break.
The team understands. They watch with a mix of amusement and fondness, because as soon as their coach calls for a break, Kenma reaches for Kuroo’s wrist. His fingers wrap around it, tugging once, twice. “I’m tired, Kuro.”
Kuroo talks to their other teammates while he sits on the bench. Nobody even looks twice when Kenma climbs onto his lap, legs sliding around his waist. They don’t question why Kenma nuzzles Kuroo’s neck, lips a soft pressure against his skin, dark lashes fluttering above his cheeks like feathers. There were never any questions asked about what relationship is going on there, exactly, it only mattered that Kenma could play and felt good and that Kuroo was grinning.
And because nobody really pays attention to it anymore, because it became so normal in its uniqueness, nobody is surprised that Kenma always enters the court with a tiny smile after their coach calls them back into training.
Akaashi has a thousand questions.
“How can you just confess to me so easily?”
Bokuto is standing before him, and it’s strange seeing him in casual clothes, neither school uniform nor training clothes. His hair is a bit less dark and more light-streaked. He smiles, wide and shaky, even as Akaashi keeps asking.
“Why? I’m a man, you know that. Don’t you care about that? Is it because I’m your teammate? You could be mistaking friendship for affection.”
He doesn’t say: You just think you love me. But Bokuto understands. He steps closer. It’s a day past his graduation, he’s standing in front of Akaashi’s door, face hopeful and so easy to wound. Akaashi doesn’t let him in. He doesn’t flee, either. The questions pour out of him, flooding over Bokuto, because how, how-
“I’m not a girl. This won’t be so easy. Does your family know that you’re-”
That’s when Bokuto’s smile fades. “No. Parents that are dead can’t really be against it. My aunt’s got enough to do already.”
“Fuck,” Akaashi says. He didn’t know. He never asked. It didn’t come up. Fuck.
“Do you want to be with me?” Bokuto asks again, softer this time, biting hard on his lip then – he does that when he tries not to shout, Akaashi knows, why does he know about that but not about other things that could tear a heart into pieces? “But not out of pity. Just if you like me. I’ve liked you since you gave me the first toss after you joined our club. You’re amazing, Akaashi.”
It’s stupid. Akaashi is aware of that. He shouldn’t. They could make this easier; parting ways, one still in school, one in a prestigious university with a great sports team. But rationality falls in a single battle against his heart.
“I don’t know if you’re brave or really just don’t care.” Akaashi reaches out to take Bokuto’s hand and squeezes it. He hopes that his fingers aren’t shaking as hard as his knees are. “Come in already. The neighbours will talk if you keep standing in front of my door.”
Bokuto’s arms are around his waist, then, and Akaashi smiles when Bokuto hugs him so tight that it hurts a bit. “Hey, you asked me, so expect a reply.”
“I like you, Keiji,” Bokuto mumbles into his neck, sending shivers down Akaashi’s spine, and warm hands curl around his back. “I like you so much.”
Akaashi sighs. Idiot. His idiot. “Yes, Koutarou. Me too.”
self doubt.
written by @moami! she tweets these little stories that break hearts, i adore them / v
Oh Milu. I cannot stop staring. You turned my tiny tweet into such a beautiful work of art, and I love everything about this. Your colours are radiant. Bokuto’s sad expression is so real… Thank you so much. It is wonderful. ♥
The girl is wearing all black and traces of dried tears on her cheeks. “Tooru,” she says, walking inside with a tiny smile that doesn’t reach further up, “hello. May I come inside?”
“Of course.” He did his best to look presentable, but the nurse could only find a dark blue sweater so this one has to do. Tooru shakes the girl’s hand as firmly as he can. They don’t talk much. She has brought him some books, and he accepts them. Their conversation flows when it flares up though, natural, making Tooru remember her back when she was born and grew up and looked so much like him. She still does.
“Thank you,” the girls finally says and stands. Tooru shakes his head. It’s nothing. To her, it seems to be something.
“You were always there.” Her eyes are brown, soft and open and wounded somewhere in her soul. “You were his best friend and you were there when he – when he wasn’t anymore. The funeral, it, it was good. He’s with mom now.”
Tooru just nods. He nods. The pain has been there for so long that he barely feels it bleed out into his veins. The girl turns his wheelchair around and hugs him tightly. Her fingers gently cup his white hair, and she’s crying.
“When – when she was younger, mom said that maybe… maybe he and you, you were something else. Something closer. Was that-”
Tooru is careful when he pushes her back. There’s already a nurse outside the door, looking at him over the girl’s shoulder, her smile too gentle, understanding. But before the girl can leave, Tooru touches her young hand.
“Hajime only ever loved your mother, dear. Thank you for coming here.”
Her cheeks are tear-silver again. “I – I’m sorry. I guess mom just wondered why you never married.”
His fingers ache when he curls them around his knees. They’re ringless, wrinkled and torn by the old blue of veins, the same blood as seventy years ago.
“You father loved one person, my dear. And so did I, for all of his life.”
At first, Hinata doesn’t understand why Kageyama insist on this thing. Whenever they say goodbye, after their kiss at the crossroads that leads up the mountain, Kageyama reaches for Hinata’s sleeve. He tugs, just a tiny bit. Hinata then usually sighs and tiptoes to nuzzle his cheek and says something like “I’m glad you’re my boyfriend” or “I like you a lot.”
Today, he’s in a hurry. Kageyama barely catches him after training, because Hinata’s racing to his bike, panicking about the dentist appointment he can’t be late to. “Hinata!” Kageyama calls, but there’s no time. “I’ll call you later tonight,” is all Hinata manages to say before he climbs onto his bike. “Sorry! Bye!”
When he comes back from the dentist, his mother spares him from watching Natsu and lets Hinata go to his room until dinner. He hugs her tightly before running off, pain still throbbing in his cheek. Reaching for his phone, Hinata checks his messages – and freezes.
Do you want to break up? From Kageyama.
What the hell! No! Why, do you? He wants to call, wants to know, but Kageyama doesn’t pick up and instead there’s a new message.
You didn’t say you liked me today.
Hinata wants to hit him at first. Of course he hasn’t stopped liking Kageyama within a day! But then again… it’s Kageyama. They have their rituals, their rules, and Kageyama struggles with – things. Hinata catches himself smiling. He’ll say it every day, twice, four or five times, until it’s carved into Kageyama’s heart.
I like you. A lot. Still do. Kiss me tomorrow morning, okay?
The reply is immediate, and Hinata squeezes his phone tightly.
Okay. I like you the best.
Idiot, Hinata thinks, and my boyfriend. Maybe they’ll kiss a bit longer tomorrow.
Pic for my friend @moami based on her awesome fanfic. Read it!
Jeanette, this is so wonderful. I hope I didn’t use too much capslock when you showed it to me first and after you said you’d draw for my work. Inspiring you is an unbelievable feeling, and your art has captured the scene perfectly.
I already said it in our chat but again: Hajime’s hands are so, so nice. I can practically feel him press his thumbs on Tooru’s skin to massage the fear away. You did splendid, brilliant work on it and the intimacy is slaying me.
You may have killed me a little bit. Never stop. Thank you so much, dear. Thank you. ♡
“I’ll tell you tomorrow.” Hajime feels tears sink into his shirt where Tooru cries the words into his shoulder, soft and vulnerable and with a smile on his tired lips. “And you better listen to my words.”
Diluculum
A something for the last scene in @moami‘s Iwaoi one-shot
Sometimes it’s hard to find words about how brilliantly gorgeous something is. I’m having this problem here.
Bee, I don’t know how to ever thank you. You are a friend that has whirlwinded into my life with your positivity and kindness and your art reflects exactly that.
I could write an essay about the vibrant intensity of the colours you used. I could praise the genius composition and whisper about how incredibly well you captured what I had envisioned. I can just say that I’m so, so thankful for this. It’s an honour to keep inspiring you.
Thank you, Bee. I’m touched. ♥
“A little bird told me that you’re in love.” Nishinoya flops down besides Yaku on the bench outside, uncapping his water bottle to take a big gulp.
“Excuse me?!” Yaku almost drops his own water bottle. The summer heat is flaring into the gym like a storm cloud of fire, intent on setting them all up in flames. Completely unnecessary, everyone is gasping for some air to get into their lungs. Kuroo and Bokuto are lying face-down in the grass outside the gym, mumbling something about teaching the Karasuno newbies some special training camp tactics. The rest of the teams is scattered all over the place.
Yaku can’t keep his eyes from wandering around, just for a second, but Nishinoya grins immediately. “So it’s true. You’re smitten.”
“I’m not! Who told you that?” Yaku feels his cheeks grow hot. “I’m… there’s nobody like that. Even if there was someone – hypothetically – I wouldn’t have-”
“See,” Nishinoya interrupts him, and Yaku is surprised about the softness in his voice. It’s so unlike the unusual loud, excited behavior that Nishinoya seems to use his energy up for. “I thought I wouldn’t have a chance with my boyfriend, either.”
Yaku swallows and looks down. “How do you know it’s a boy?” Wait. Noya has-
“Because you keep staring at Lev like a slightly angry, lovesick girl, and it’s really not subtle anymore.”
Nishinoya laughs at Yaku’s mouth falling open. “Look, nobody has to know, but a piece of advice. From libero to libero.” He leans over, wrapping an arm around Yaku’s neck, and pulls him down. “Lev is dense. He’s similar to Asahi in that. So, why don’t you wait until after training and then just kiss him? Worst thing that could happen is that it may work.”
Somehow, Yaku finds his voice back, even though it’s just an embarrassing whisper. “You and Azumane – when even – you’re gay? And – it may work?!”
Nishinoya’s grin widens. He ruffles Yaku’s hair, a gesture that isn’t appreciated at all, and then stands to empty the rest of his water bottle over his head. “Well, you’re both not very subtle. Also I want someone to talk to. And most importantly, if I don’t get away from you now, I’ll get mauled to death by a lion. Good luck, you won’t need it.” He points over his shoulder and then runs off.
Yaku only follows the direction that Nishinoya has shown him a few seconds later. Oh. Lev is standing in the gym’s door, staring at Yaku, face as serious as Yaku’s never seen it before. But once their eyes meet, Lev jolts, his cheeks take on the colour of Nekoma’s shirts, and he calls for Yaku to come inside.
Huh. Go figure. Yaku screws the cap of his water bottle back on and grins. “I’ll be right there, Lev.”
Hajime finds Tooru on a bench outside. Karasuno is still celebrating, their black and orange drowning out all blue and white and hope. The sky above Hajime’s head gleams, sunlight burns on his neck. The world hasn’t changed. He hates that it didn’t.
Tooru has his head in his hands. The line of his shoulders is carved from stone, too still, as unmoved now as it was wild in the game. The strength of his hands on Hajime’s back as he lined them up to thank everyone is gone.
Hajime stands behind him. Tooru doesn’t speak. His head sinks lower, a shiver running through his spine. “I should have – ” Hajime tries to say, and touches Tooru’s pale neck.
And Tooru turns, looks at him. His cheeks are wet. Something in his eyes has burnt out. “If you lose the war, it’s not the soldier’s fault,” Tooru says, and his voice sounds like it will shatter into emptiness right under Hajime’s touch.
“It’s the commander who has failed them all.”
Moami 