Work Text:
‘Like my shadow in your sun,
and the lone man in the crowd,
it gives a voice to loud words
with its own silence.’
“I don’t get it?” Shouyou asks, propping his head on his right palm and looking at Sugawara. “How can you be loud by being quiet?”
“’Shadows and lonely men’-” Lev chimes in, peeking from above everyone’s heads. “-they don’t even have anything to do with sound!”
Sugawara sighs, jerking the newspaper away from his juniors’ prying eyes. “That’s why it’s called poetry,” he tells them, looking back at the words inked in black. No matter how much he stares, they just won’t rearrange themselves into a perfect 5 letter across word with the letter ‘h’ nestled in between.
“I thought it was a puzzle?” Shouyou wonders out loud, his eyes hovering over to the carnations on the right.
“It’s a poetic puzzle,” Sugawara corrects him, squinting his eyes at the paper. Maybe he should get his glasses from the back. “I don’t understand. Does he mean something abstract like feelings? What gives words a voice with silence? It has to be feelings.”
“Love type feelings?” Lev asks, walking around the counter to one of the bouquets in the corner. His face splits into a wide grin. “Oooooh, that is poetic!”
“It’s not,” Sugawara sighs, ruffling up the newspaper into a cylindrical roll. “It’s nonsense, that’s what it is.” He spares a glance at the backdoor. “Maybe I’ll do better after a nap.”
Both Shouyou and Lev snap their heads in his direction, raising their hands with a jerk. “I’ll watch the desk!” they both yell in unison. Sugawara blinks as Shouyou and Lev look at each other, petty words and over-the-top glares being exchanged. Shouyou has the carnations in his hand while Lev is carrying the massive bouquet of sunflowers. Before he can say something to prevent a familiar catastrophe, the bell chimes and a customer walks in.
“Welcome!” Shouyou and Lev chime together, and Sugawara smiles at the familiar face. “Hey,” he says, watching Kuroo walk towards the desk.
“Hey yourself,” Kuroo says, the corners of his lips lifting in a lazy smile, as he places the tray of coffee cups on the desk. He looks between Shouyou and Lev. “You boys taking those somewhere?”
“I was going to keep them by the window,” Shouyou tells him, eyeing the carnations again. The red petals are drooping, from where Sugawara can see. “They look a little dead.”
“I was going to give one to boss!” Lev exclaims, rapidly removing a sunflower stock and placing the pot on the ground. “Maybe the sunflower has some answers? Like, it’s named like the sun, right?”
Kuroo looks back at Sugawara. “I am not taking him back,” he says, a thumb pointed at Lev.
Sugawara looks at Lev and motions at the flower pot. “Put that back, Lev. And put these flowers in the veranda, next to the glories.”
Lev makes his way to the veranda as Shouyou walks out of the shop. Kuroo sniffs and rubs his nose. “You still got the purple ones?”
Sugawara turns around and starts walking towards the back room, pushing away the flower petals on the floor with his feet. “Only for buying customers.” He raises his voice just as he opens the door. “Lev, please come and sweep the mess here!”
“Hey now – I get you guys free coffee every morning!” Kuroo exclaims empathetically, raising his voice. Lev comes around him, singing the sesame street theme.
“In return for the three very expensive bouquets you mooch off us every week.” Sugawara responds after a few moments, walking back with glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.
Kuroo taps the coffee cups. “Best coffee in town, bud.” He says, winking at Lev who gives him a thumbs up.
“More expensive than your day meals, bud.” Sugawara retorts, arms spreading in a wide gesture to motion the flower shop.
Kuroo gives him a smile. “You guys run a highway robbery.” He remarks, shrugging his shoulders.
“If you’re done,” Sugawara says and trails off, pointing his hand at the door. He goes back to staring at the paper. Maybe fifth time’s the charm, he thinks.
“Oh?” Kuroo peers over the counter, pushing the coffee tray out of the way. He peers at the newspaper, eyes fixed on where Sugawara’s fingers are tracing the sentence. “What’s this? You are still stuck on the number 5.”
“If you-”
“It’s schwa.”
Sugawara pauses, and looks at Kuroo. “What?” he asks.
“Sc-h-wa.” Kuroo repeats, exaggeratedly dragging the word across three syllables. “The word for silent syllables in a word. Well, almost silent syllables.”
Sugawara blinks at him, and then looks at the paper. “How do you even spell such a word?” he asks feebly, raising his arm to massage his forehead.
“Our boy is a grown-up pain in the ass.” Kuroo says, voice fond. He leans in a little, voice dropping. “Word on the street’s that our boy has done a lot of growing up.”
Sugawara narrows his eyes. “I don’t want to hear it.” He tells Kuroo, turning away and placing the paper on the stool.
“He’s experiencing manhood.” Kuroo continues, placing his elbows on the desk. “The age-old affliction has creeped upon him.”
Sugawara starts, “Another word-”
“Spring finally bloomed in the frozen winter waste!” Kuroo interrupts him, backing up from the desk and throwing his hands up in the air. He stands there, absolutely still, Lev stopping his sweeping to look at him with wide eyes.
Sugawara looks at the glass door. No customers on the street. Luck hasn’t completely abandoned him as yet, he thinks. “How does Kenma put up with hearing this all day long?” he asks, lightly nudging Lev with his shoulder to go back to sweeping.
“He doesn’t.” Kuroo responds, bringing down his arms. “Which is why I am here.”
“I think you are mistaken.” Sugawara tells him, picking up a cup of coffee.
“All fifty-seven of us on the manhunt for the mystery muse?” Kuroo asks, the smile on his face growing wider.
Sugawara stops mid-sip. He looks at Kuroo, goose-bumps crawling up his skin. “This is officially the most small-towner thing you have ever done, Kuroo.” He tells his friend, shuddering a little. “Where is the haughty city boy?”
Kuroo laughs and points a finger at him. “Pretend to be all the elitist you wish you were, but we all know you want in.” he says.
Sugawara says nothing, sipping his coffee. He thinks back on the young boy in school, with his angry eyes and silent meals at lunch time. “Who are the favourites?” he asks.
“That’s the thing,” Kuroo says sadly, “there is no one. The ice prince seems content in sustaining on minimal contact. That, or we are romanticising a misanthrope.”
Sugawara thinks of the young boy again, of the way his eyes stayed trained on his meals and milk cartons, the wistfully staring girls miles from his vision. He glances at Kuroo, strategically placing the coffee cup before his lips. “You looked only at the girls?”
A sly grin spread on Kuroo’s face. “Oh Suga. It’s you after me, in this god-forsaken place.”
.
.
.
The Lexicographer’s Muse
.
.
.
“I,” Shouyou starts, and then stops. He can feel the familiar burn behind his eyes, and the lump in his throat. He tries again. “I don’t understand,” he tells the old man intently staring at him across the table. “You want it gone?”
“Yes,” the man tells him, voice devoid of emotion. “I am leaving and there’s no point in that house staying around. Here is the number of the buyer,” he says, sliding a folded piece of paper across the table. “Show him around.”
Shouyou looks at the paper. He imagines his childhood home; its wooden walls and creaky flooring, the tapering window sill, the smell of his mother’s cooking in the evenings, and the evening glow of the sun on his messy room. It will all end with this one paper, he thinks.
“I can’t,” he tells the man, raising his head to look him in the eye. “It’s my home.”
“CUT!” comes a loud voice.
Shouyou blinks once, twice as the old man groans before glaring at him. “What is wrong with you? You are supposed to accept it!”
“How can I?” Shouyou protests, getting off the chair and taking a few steps away from the man. “It’s my childhood home! I can’t give it up!”
“You can’t but Hermes does!” the man, Daishou, tells him. He gets off his own chair and shakes his head. “This ain’t your story, kid. Stop being stupid.”
“This is stupid,” Shouyou mumbles, crossing his arms and turning his head to stare at the empty seats. Well, almost empty. Their lovely assistant playwright is right there, looking at Shouyou with a face he is sure he saw on Sadako when he was five.
Shouyou is just wondering if he should take the backstage exit when the playwright gets up and starts walking in his direction. Every step of his increases Shouyou’s breaths, and he turns around, running to take cover behind the director. Tanaka startles, turning to stare at him in confusion. His attention is diverted by the loud steps of the playwright on the stage, and he sighs.
“Hinata,” the playwright says, voice closer than Shouyou would like. “Come here.”
“Never,” Shouyou whispers. He looks up Tanaka and makes his best puppy eyes.
“Let it go, Kageyama,” Tanaka tells the young man glaring at them. “Hinata got too into character.”
“But he didn’t,” Kageyama says, gritting his teeth. His eyebrows are beginning to furrow and woah, Shouyou needs to leave now. “He forgot the character and got caught up in himself. Again.”
“Well what kind of a person gives in that easily?” Shouyou retorts. “Hermes should fight for his home!”
“But Hermes doesn’t.” Kageyama says, voice raised and toppling over unsteadily. Shouyou knows from experience that Kageyama is a few moments away from lifting the chair and throwing it someplace that hurts. “So stop doing your stupid shit and get back into character, dumbass!”
Tanaka interrupts. “Okay Kageyama. Hinata will do just that. But rehearsals for today are over. Your scenes are done, so leave now.” He ruffles Shouyou’s hair, slowly pushing him away. “Both of you.”
Hinata sniffs and walks out, picking his bag from near the stairs and bumping into Kageyama. He starts running at the exit, the sound of Kageyama’s steps egging him to put more distance between them.
He races all the way to the river bank, eventually dropping his bag and flopping on the grass. It’s late in the night, and he has classes and a part-time job tomorrow to prep for, but the wind is caressing his skin and the river is making all these sounds he hasn’t heard since he was six and wandering in the sun all day long. So he closes his eyes, letting nature fill his orbit with its sounds and warmth.
His mind travels to Hermes. He imagines the fifteen-year-old with no one in the world, and a home that should house memories of the only loved years of his life.
“Why would you give up, Hermes?” he asks the sky, slowly opening his eyes. “That home should mean everything to you now.”
“Because he needs to move on.” A voice responds from somewhere above him. Shouyou freezes, remembers his mother’s laughing voice warning about the water spirits, and wonders what they are going to do to him. He rolls his head above to see a pair of white converses, faded jeans and angry blue eyes.
“God, Kageyama!” he exclaims, finally finding his voice. “What are you doing here?”
Kageyama walks around him then, narrowing his eyes. “What are you doing here?”
Never the response I want, Shouyou thinks. “Working through your script.” He tells the angry boy, rolling away a little.
Kageyama’s voice rises, his fists clenching. “If you try improvising one more time-”
“Why are all your characters usually like this?” Shouyou interrupts, watching a dragonfly settle on his right knee. It’s the first one he has seen in days.
“What?” Kageyama asks, voice losing some sternness.
“They give up and move on so fast.” Shouyou explains, eyes focused on the dragonfly. He starts getting up slowly, careful not to move his legs. “I mean, they are focused on their life goals. But when anything goes wrong in their personal life, they don’t try mending it. Just up and move on.”
Kageyama is quiet for a few moments. “That’s the logical thing to do.” He tells Shouyou eventually, looking away from him.
Shouyou starts leaning towards the dragonfly. It’s almost in his reach. “But they shouldn’t have to do it.” He whispers, fingers shadowing the dragonfly, which takes off immediately.
“Why?” Kageyama asks over the sound of Shouyou groaning and smacking his knees.
Shouyou looks at him. “Kageyama.” He says, spreading his hands in a gesture to encompass something big. “Don’t you have any attachment to things in your house?”
“Why should I tell you?” Kageyama asks, looking at him now. There is no heat in his voice.
Shouyou frowns, looking at the river. He picks a stone and throws it towards the water. It drowns without a single skip. “Whatever.” He says, picking another stone. “Point is, you have things you wouldn’t give up without a fight. You wouldn’t give them up at all, I’m sure.”
Kageyama cocks his head to the side. “Goals are different from personal artefacts.” He tells Shouyou in the condescending tone specially reserved for the shorter boy.
Shouyou stares at him, the stone slipping from his fingers. “Wow.” He finally says, blinking rapidly. “Did you get lost in the human dimension, Tinman?”
Kageyama grits his teeth. “It’s just a house.” He says.
“It’s where he grew up,” Shouyou says, looking at the river. He picks up the stone and throws it again, watching it sink. “It’s where the people who loved him walked. It’s where he smiled, laughed, cried and spent the only moments of his life where he was loved. It’s not just a house. It’s his home. If he lets go, he will be homeless. And he is already loveless.” Shouyou looks at Kageyama, whose frown has disappeared. “Tell me, Kageyama. How does someone like that just let go?”
Kageyama tells him nothing. He stays silent as Shouyou picks and throws the next five stones, watching them sink every time. Shouyou still picks up the sixth one, and then looks at Kageyama. His eyes are wide now, the way they get when Tanaka gets curry rice for lunch. Kageyama looks back, lips a little parted, and Shouyou has a fleeting image of the wind flying away with all of Kageyama’s words and sounds, leaving laughter in its wake.
“I won?” he half-whispers, staring at Kageyama.
That snaps Kageyama out of silence. “No dumbass!” he retorts loudly, shaking a fist in Shouyou’s direction. “I am thinking of words your small brain might comprehend.”
Shouyou sticks out his tongue, getting up and brushing his pants. He picks his bag and looks up at Kageyama. “You suck!” he tells him, starting to jog backwards. “I am gonna go home and practice some more!”
He turns around and runs off, briefly stopping at the corner to look back. Kageyama’s black silhouette cuts into the dark backdrop of the river, and Shouyou is reminded of dust-laden wall pictures, silent hallways, and broken swings in the backyard.
He rubs a hand over his chest, turning around and resuming the run back home.
‘Sand in my fists and sand in the wind a moment later,
your words for me
before this ends and you begin another.’
“This feels like a diss,” Sugawara murmurs, circling ‘another’ with an orange highlighter. “Is he calling his muse a loose character?”
Daichi stares at the paper and shakes his head. “Not you too.”
Sugawara bumps his shoulder into Daichi’s. “What?” he asks, mind thinking of all possible nine-letter words that could be synonymous with temporariness.
“The bet.” Daichi explains, tapping his finger on the words Sugawara has been circling for the past thirty minutes. “You are in as well.”
“How do you get that from me doing a crossword?” Sugawara asks with a sigh, closing his eyes and leaning against the sofa. “God, they should really replace these. I’m resting against concrete right now.”
Daichi chortles, leaning on the table and picking up his mug of coffee. “You hate crosswords.” He says after taking a sip.
Sugawara keeps his eyes closed, moving against the backrest. “Do not.” He retorts.
Daichi shakes his head, placing the coffee mug back on the table. “You tore up all the newspapers in our dorm room once.” He reminds Sugawara, the smile on his face dropping a little. “I had to start reading news apps after that.”
“Once.” Sugawara tells him, eyebrows furrowing.
“That was your first and last foray.” Daichi reminds him.
Sugawara opens his eyes, staring at the ceiling. “The pool’s getting bigger.” He tells Daichi. He can’t think of any word. Damn Kageyama.
“Who is your money on?” Daichi asks, tapping a finger on their table.
Sugawara turns to look at him, a smile on his face. “Depends on how today goes.” He says, eyes shifting from Daichi’s face to a tall figure seated a few tables away, silently sipping his coffee.
“What?” Daichi asks, his eyes already following Sugawara’s. He has his answer when he sees the familiar face of his junior drinking coffee and minding his own business, oblivious to the unhealthy interest of others in his life.
“Our target is there.” Sugawara tells him with glee, straightening up. “Look at him innocently sipping that coffee. This is the third time this week, so I am guessing he’s a regular. Think it’s the pony-tail girl?” he asks, watching a brunette pass by Kageyama’s table, her eyes trained on him.
Daichi groans, bending down and pulling his face in his hands. “I can’t believe we are stalking someone.” He mutters in his hands. “My junior, no less!”
“I don’t think it’s her,” Sugawara says, one hand patting Daichi’s shoulder. “Maybe we are really looking at the wrong crowd.”
“I don’t want to have anything to do with this.” Daichi tells him in a stern voice, the impact muffled by his hands.
Sugawara starts humming softly. “Maybe I’ll find something at his office,” he says, watching as his part-timer enters the diner and makes his way around the tables. He is about to call out to him when Shouyou sits opposite Kageyama, who looks displeased at this turn of events.
“Huh,” Sugawara says. “I thought Hinata and Kageyama were not on great terms.”
Daichi looks up from his hands, squinting his eyes. “Are we still doing this?”
“Think of it like this,” Sugawara says, eyes watching Kageyama get more agitated as Hinata picks his coffee and stares at it with incredulity. “The sooner we get done here, the sooner I can start devoting my time and resources to promoting your company’s breast cancer awareness campaign.”
Daichi whips his head to look at him. “You are contracted to do that!”
Sugawara shakes his head. “Subject to time constraints,” he says. “I do my best work when my mind isn’t diverted,” he adds, giving Daichi a smile.
Daichi sighs, picking up his coffee again. “The halo comes with horns,” he mumbles, clearing his throat when Sugawara frowns at him. “Have you seen any of Hinata’s plays?”
Sugawara shakes his head.
“Hinata has been in the theatre for three years now.” Daichi explains, pausing to take a sip of his coffee. He makes a face. It has gone cold. “Till a few months back, he had no formal stage artist training. Only what he had seen on television and read in magazines.”
“Nearly a year ago, he left his production agency and joined Tanaka’s troupe. They are small, but they have toured the country and done some quality plays. He convinced them to take him as a trainee.”
Sugawara hums. “I already know all this. What does this have to do with Kageyama and Hinata’s plays?”
Daichi glances at the duo bickering now, Hinata pointing all ten of his fingers in Kageyama’s face, and Kageyama clutching the table with both his hands. “Around the time Hinata joined Tanaka’s troupe, Kageyama also made a shift to playwriting.” He says, eyeing the coffee mug the waitress places by Sugawara’s arm.
Sugawara stares at him. “He hasn’t always written plays?”
“Kageyama is pursuing a degree in linguistics,” Daichi tells him. “And he has previously interned as a lexicographer, so he works for the Times as the crossword maker. It seems like he is experimenting all possible roles he can undertake with his language skills.”
“It’s weird how someone as socially inept as Kageyama wants to write plays on human emotions,” Sugawara comments, sliding the coffee mug towards Daichi.
“You will be surprised,” Daichi says, taking the coffee mug and smiling at Sugawara. “Kageyama is exceptionally talented in analysing people and their motives. All his characters are calculating, focused and manipulative. And I think it’s so because Kageyama makes plot lines which are human games. There is always the central theme of a materialistic motive – greed, anger, vengeance. He can’t write normal, ordinary characters with normal emotions. This is why he is working as Kuroo’s playwright assistant.”
“They are leaving,” Sugawara interrupts, and Daichi turns to watch Hinata scurry out of the door, Kageyama drinking his coffee. A few moments pass and then Kageyama gets up, walking out of the door with a pace unusual of him.
“Huh,” Daichi says, and Sugawara jabs him with his elbow. “Ow! What?” he asks, rubbing his arms. But his eyes are still on Kageyama’s vacant seat.
“You never got to the point,” Sugawara remind him, sliding the coffee mug towards himself. “So what happened when Kageyama started writing plays for Hinata’s team?”
Daichi blinks and looks at the paper. “They clashed,” he says. “Hinata has been an emotional actor – he gets in the skin of his characters, but gives them a humanness, no matter how bad they are. Kageyama’s characters all lack the good emotions – they are more focused on their calculations and carefully laid plans.”
“Must be a mess for Tanaka to handle, especially with his temper,” Sugawara observes, looking at his watch.
Daichi looks back at his coffee. “That’s the thing,” he says. “They complemented each other very well, theoretically speaking. Kageyama painted the entire picture, outlining every aspect of the character. All Hinata had to do was fit in and simply act it out. It helped him because as a rookie, he got everything tailor-made. It helped Kageyama because he found someone who happily fit in his set characters, without a word of complaint, unlike the previous actors. But the first time it happened, everyone was amazed. The best of Kageyama was displayed through Hinata, and the best of Hinata shone through Kageyama.”
Sugawara nods his head. “Guess that makes sense.” he sighs. “Though this doesn’t get me any closer to understanding Kageyama’s object of affection.”
A few moments of silence pass before Sugawara realises Daichi is staring at him. “What?” he asks, patting his face. “I got something on my face?”
Daichi blinks, shaking his head from side to side. “It’s true, what one of Kageyama’s characters once said,” he says, laughing. “The deeper you walk in, the further you get from the centre.”
Sugawara narrows his eyes. “What are you saying?”
Daichi smiles, sipping from the cup. “I am saying I want in on the betting pool.” He says. “Oh, and the word you are looking for is dalliance.”
“An actor?” Yachi asks, shuffling the papers in her hands.
“Yeah!” Shouyou exclaims, jumping up in his seat. “I’m gonna go to Broadway one day.” He tells her, kicking his legs. No matter how much he stretches out his legs, his feet just won’t touch the floor.
“So you won’t stay in Japan.” Yachi observes with a small smile on her face and some sadness in her voice.
“I will keep visiting Japan, of course,” Shouyou assures her, and when the look on her face doesn’t change, he crosses his fingers over his heart. “Every weekend.”
Yachi chuckles, her eyes going back to the papers in her hands. “It will take you a whole weekend to just fly here.” she informs him.
“Huh?” He mumbles, surprised. He had never tried finding out about how far America really was. “Really? Then why don’t you come to New York as well?” he asks, imagining her sitting in the dark rows of the theatre on every full-house weekend show, while he’d be up on stage, living a character people only read about in books.
“Uh no thanks.” Yachi says, shuddering a little. “Those gigantic Americans scare me. They look like they could trample over you at a moment’s notice.”
Shouyou thinks about it, taking a sip of his soda. Americans did look big and intimidating, and with Shouyou’s height, they’d come across even worse. “There is no one scarier than Kageyama out there.” He says after a few moments.
“I agree.” Yachi says, nodding her head. “If he smiled more, people would like him more. Maybe even his crush.”
Hinata spits out his soda. “C-crush?” he coughs out, thumping on his chest to calm down the coughing.
Yachi hands him her handkerchief. “You don’t know?” she asks, patting his back. “It’s the talk of the town.”
Shouyou coughs some more in the napkin. With great difficulty, he tries again. “What-”
“Kageyama’s been writing love poems.” Yachi tells him, her eyes staring off in the distance. “Really, really romantic poetic puzzles. Who knew we’d see this day?”
Hinata laughs. “Yeah right. He can’t even smile without scaring the birds off trees. He can’t even walk up to someone and say Hi like a normal person. You are telling me this guy writes love poems?”
Yachi hums a little, her eyes a little glazed. Her eyes suddenly go wide. “He says hi to Hoshiumi every time they run into each other.” she tells him, cocking her head to the side.
It’s not a good day for Shouyou’s throat. “W-what?” he stutters out.
“You don’t remember?” Yachi asks. “A few months ago, Kageyama walked up to Hoshiumi and struck up a conversation with him. Yamaguchi and I were so surprised.” She says, eyes flitting over to Yamaguchi on the stage. The freckled boy is busy trying to lift the giant cardboard tree off the steps of the stage.
“What?” Shouyou exclaims, finally finding his voice. “What was I doing?” he demands, mind racing to remember the last time he met Hoshiumi.
“You were having a staring contest with Hoshiumi.” Yachi tells him, eyes back on the papers in her hand. “Something about buying the same t-shirt.” She says.
“Ah, the cool ace one!” Shouyou says, recalling the coolest t-shirt he had bought in a long time. It read The wise and otherwise, the ace and no ace.
“Ha… yeah, the cool one.” Yachi says, deciding today was not the day to regale Hinata with more unpleasant truths.
Hinata clutches the cup in his hand. “Why is he like this with me?” he mumbles. “Wouldn’t kill him to be civil every once a while. Ugh. That asshole.”
Yachi stares at him. “You guys have known each other for a while, no?” she asks, thinking back on the first time she saw Kageyama and Hinata at each other’s throats.
“Years now.” Shouyou tells her, sipping the soda. “We met two years ago in the performing arts academy. Kageyama was studying linguistics and creative writing. I was in theatre acts.”
Yachi blinks. “Those are different departments.” She points out.
“Yeah.” Shouyou shrugs. “His department wrote a play for which the groups in our department had to compete. We had to act out an act of the play.” His voice falls to lower octaves. “My group performed the best it ever had, but lost. Afterwards, he specifically sought me out to tell me my acting sucked.” Shouyou’s voice rises, anger filling it. “Asked me what I had been doing all this while. Such an ass!”
“And now you guys are working with the same theatre production…” Yachi says, her voice soft with wonder.
“Yeah.” Shouyou says, sighing a little. He blows bubbles in his cup. “We ended up applying to the same troupe at the same time.”
Yachi chuckles. “Life is funny.” She says, gathering her papers and getting up.
“How?” Shouyou whines, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. He remembers the day as clear as water, can still see Kageyama’s face mirroring the shock and unhappiness in his own and his hands dropping the script.
He opens his eyes and turns to see Yachi smiling at him. “You come full circle to the same people, sometimes.” She tells him, whistling in Yamaguchi’s direction, who looks up and enthusiastically waves at them.
Such optimism,
such cowardice,
seeking complacence where there can be more.
“These just keep getting sadder,” Sugawara says, pen sticking out of his mouth.
Akaashi blinks, looking at the newspaper in Sugawara’s hands. “I say that for Bokuto every time I see him.”
“I heard that!” Bokuto exclaims from the floor, where is leaning over a pot of daffodils.
“I wasn’t trying to not let you.” Akaashi says, turning around to look Bokuto in the eyes.
Bokuto’s lips curve down, and he bends further down, shadowing the daffodils from the sun. “You could hold back your punches sometimes, Akaashi.”
Sugawara shakes his head, pushing aside the newspaper and giving his best customer smile. “Flowers for?”
“White lilies for the grave, and red roses for the window sill.” Akaashi tells him, waving a hand at Bokuto who is slinking out of the door to hang out with Hinata by the veranda.
“Whose is it this time?” Sugawara asks, bending and rummaging under his desk for the prepacked bouquets.
“Bokuto’s Chewbacca toy.” Akaashi responds from above, voice slightly muffled and completely dead.
Sugawara peeks up and eyes his most loyal customer. “You have a very interesting life.” He tells him.
“He does.” Akaashi corrects him, pointing a finger behind him to where Bokuto is gesticulating in Hinata’s face, who is soaking it up like a dry rag. “I have a job.” He says, pointing at his secretary badge.
Hinata’s excited wails of ‘It’s happening!’ comes floating in the comfortable silence.
Sugawara gets up, having found the bouquets, and places them on the desk. “Sometimes I wonder if they separated at birth.” He muses, ringing out the purchase.
“It must have happened in the interest of the universe.” Akaashi tells him, removing his wallet and placing his card on the table.
“Can’t Bokuto get him an internship?” Sugawara asks, taking the card and swiping it through the card machine. “I am pretty sure some part of his family conglomerate would be investing in a Tokyo theatre troupe.”
Akaashi looks behind him at the overzealous duo. “Hinata hasn’t asked for one.” He says, voice a little less dead. “I feel like they have some mutual understanding.”
Sugawara hums. “Here’s the flowers.”
“Thanks.” Akaashi says, picking his card and placing it back in his wallet. “The answer’s probably Panglossian.”
Sugawara stares at him. It’s beginning to bother him now, how people around him seem to know the answers. “How… how did you….” He starts, trying to get a word out.
“I am a linguistics major,” Akaashi tells him.
Sugawara stares at him. What were the odds? “Really?”
“No.” Akaashi says, pursing his lips. “I saw a girl solve this on the train this morning.”
Sugawara narrows his eyes.
Akaashi shrugs. “I’ll take it where I can get it. He lets me get none.” He points behind him at Bokuto.
“Also, about the muse.” Akaashi starts, looking at the newspaper pushed on the side.
Sugawara leans in, heart thumping. “You know something about it?” he asks.
“I don’t personally know Kageyama, but I know Oikawa.” Akaashi tells him, eyes fixed on the crossword. He looks up at Sugawara. “If you ask me, there is something off about this whole thing.” He says.
Sugawara leans back and rolls his eyes. “You are overthinking this.” He says, voice disappointed. “It’s not a conspiracy.” He tells Akaashi.
“Yeah, it’s not.” Akaashi agrees, looking at his watch.
Sugawara looks at him, trying to read him. “What do you mean?” he finally asks.
“Where Oikawa is involved, nothing is as it seems.” Akaashi says, and with that obscure remark, walks out to drag Bokuto on the train back to Tokyo.
Shouyou stares at Kageyama. He imagines a world where people’s thoughts write themselves over their heads like the scripts Shouyou reads late in the night, and wonders what Kageyama’s would say. Something about milk, maybe?
“What?” Kageyama asks, eyes catching Shouyou’s unblinking ones. He looks irritated per usual, but there’s a spark of curiosity there.
Maybe I don’t need mind-reading abilities with this one, Shouyou thinks. But Kageyama’s looking at him expectantly, so now Shouyou’s got to say something.
“Uh,” he starts unintelligibly. Then stops. Tries again. “You… you got a lover Kageyama?”
Shouyou physically feels the air desert the room. They are transported to an alternate dimension, where Kageyama and Shouyou have conversations about the strange world of love and romances.
Kageyama often looks at Shouyou the way his little sister looks at creepy-crawlies. But the way Kageyama’s looking at him right now has him wanting to crawl back in the hole he supposedly came from.
“What?” Kageyama asks, voice calm. Calm voice with Kageyama is never a good scenario, and Shouyou needs to back-peddle as soon as possible.
“L-lover!” he clarifies instead, heart running a mile a second. “I said lover!” he says louder. There is no one in this tiny backstage room with them, but there are people outside, so hopefully someone will hear him and come in.
“I heard that dumbass!” Kageyama says, voice a little louder. Shouyou’s heart slows a little. “Where the hell is this coming from?”
Shouyou takes in a deep breath and leans a little across the table. “Yachi told me everyone thinks so.” He tells Kageyama, watching his face for any reaction.
Kageyama’s features contort into confusion. “What?” he asks, and then as though to himself, says, “Why…”
It’s all or nothing, Shouyou decides. “You are writing love poems?” he asks Kageyama.
Kageyama raises an eyebrow. “No?”
Shouyou blinks. Kageyama doesn’t lie. Nor does Yachi. “She said you have been….” He tries again, voice wobbling against his will.
A few moments pass before Kageyama’s features iron out into their usual impassiveness. “Oh.” He says, voice heavy with certainty. “That.”
Shouyou’s heart resumes its marathon. Kageyama knows about the love poems, Shouyou thinks. He writes them, he realises. “Yeah. That.” He says, watching Kageyama’s eyes.
There is no emotion on them, and no explanation on his lips. Shouyou waits a few more moments, but Kageyama remains still, looking back at him without blinking.
He decides Kageyama needs a little egging on. “I didn’t know about this.” He says, giving Kageyama his best friendly smile.
Kageyama blinks at him, going back to reading the script in his hand. “If you got time for this, go and memorise your dialogues in the sixth act.”
“You like someone?” Shouyou presses on. He leans a little more, hands clenched into fists on his knees.
Kageyama doesn’t look up. “Read the script.” He says.
“I mean it’s weird.” Shouyou continues, finally saying out loud what has been bothering him for a week now. “You are Kageyama. Nothing outside of writing has context for you.”
“The script,” Kageyama repeats, now looking up. His voice takes on an edge.
Shouyou knows he should stop, but he can’t. He’s never been able to. “I mean… ugh.” He continues. His words are no longer a string of letters, just the gibberish of abstractness floating around in his head since Yachi’s happy voice said Kageyama’s been writing love poems. “Just saying it’s weird. Almost like it’s not you.”
Kageyama slaps the script on the table and glares at Shouyou. “As if you know enough to decide what’s me and what’s not. You don’t even know your written characters, with every single aspect of their character outlined and summarised for you.”
This is familiar territory, Shouyou realises. Kageyama is challenging him. “I know enough.” he says, leaning back.
“Sure.” Kageyama says, and opens to mouth but Shouyou doesn’t give him the chance.
“Loves milk cartons, animals, writing, working out.” Shouyou says, all in one breath. Kageyama is stunned into silence, looking at him with wide eyes. “Hates inefficiency, procrastination, alcohol. Good at writing, imagining, analysing, memorising, athletics, and routine. Bad at networking, handline animals, reading social situations, behaving like a human.” He pauses, taking in a deep breath.
Kageyama seems to come back to his senses. He narrows his eyes and leans forward. “I am not-”
“Likes Hinata Shouyou, but won’t admit it.” Shouyou cuts him again, grinning and sticking out his tongue. “Secretly thinks he is super cool and super good at acting, but is too proud and jaded to admit it.” He says, smiling at Kageyama’s open mouth. These are the favourite parts of his interaction with Kageyama, ones where he gets the fast words in and Kageyama keeps staring at him in speechlessness.
“You-” Kageyama begins again, gritting his teeth.
“Rumoured to be in love with someone,” Shouyou continues, voice low and eyes fixed on Kageyama. “Fact unconfirmed. Is he?” he asks again, heart absent in his chest. It’s suspended somewhere in the vacuum of the room he and Kageyama are in, holding itself in like the air in the room.
Kageyama stays silent, eyes returning to the script on the table. He picks it up again.
“Don’t be so secretive Kageyama.” Shouyou says, trying to keep his voice even. “My life’s an open book!”
The sound of the pages of the script turning fills the room.
“If you tell me I could help you.” Shouyou tries again, waggling his eyebrows for added effect. This gets Kageyama’s attention, and he looks up from the script.
“You have no experience.” He tells Shouyou, a note of haughtiness in his voice.
The air is flowing back in the room, and his heart is back in his chest. Shouyou should feel relieved, but strangely enough, that’s not the emotion flowing through his veins. “I.. I know enough!” he says, trying to focus on their current thread of conversation.
“Please.” Kageyama says, scoffing slightly.
Shouyou looks at him, irritation coursing through him. “I know what you need to do.”
“You don’t even know what you should be doing.” Kageyama tells him, annoyance of his own colouring his voice. “I have to tell you all the damn time.”
Shouyou gets up, picks the copy of the script and starts walking towards the door. “You just have to start being honest,” he continues. “Start letting someone in your space. I’m going to practice the fifth act,” he tells Kageyama, shutting the door behind him.
He pretends to not hear the It’s the sixth act, dipshit, following him through the door.
To the lonely wanderer,
who might have glimpsed this smiling mirage
of a home in the wilderness
“They don’t want me to get these,” Sugawara says, sadness in his voice.
The blond stares at him.
“Oh sorry,” he apologises, smiling. “Purple glories, right? A moment.” He goes in the back room, picks the vase and walks back to the reception, placing it at Kenma’s hands.
“Here.” Sugawara says, flashing another customer smile. “Have a nice day!”
Kenma nods, picking the vase and nestling it in his arms. He frowns a little at the weight, before quickly looking at Sugawara and the newspaper in his hands. “It’s Hiraeth.” He says.
Sugawara looks at him, then at the newspaper, and starts laughing. He laughs even as Kenma backs away a little from the counter, eventually breaking into sobbing sounds. There are no tears in his eyes, but internally, Sugawara can feel the floodgates open and flood his insides.
“I am not even surprised anymore,” he mumbles, filling in the column. “How do you spell it?”
Kenma stays rooted to his spot, entrenched by the pending payment. “H-I-R-A-E-T-H.”
Sugawara nods, pencilling in the words. He blinks before looking at Kenma. “Is this even English?”
Kenma shakes his head in negative.
Sugawara stares for a few moments, before looking back at the newspaper. “That’s not fair.”
Kenma says nothing, eyes flitting from the desk to the flowers in his hands.
“But you still know the answer,” Sugawara says, eyeing Kenma and ringing up the cash counter. “So I’m guessing it’s not that unfair.”
Kenma blinks, lowering his head to further draw his blond curtain of hair over his face.
“This is how Kuroo gets all his answers.” Sugawara continues, laughing to himself a little. “At least one’s in my lane.”
Kenma nods a little, and removes cash from his pocket to place it on the counter. Relief fills his features as he turns around, but it’s short-lived when an excited voice cuts through his march home.
“Hey Kenma!” Lev’s voice booms loudly, coming up from behind Kenma. “I never see you around anymore!” he says, opening his arms wide and beckoning Kenma for a hug.
Kenma shuffles away, features scrunched in horror.
“Lev, go back to cleaning.” Sugawara tells his employee, sighing. “Stop bothering him.” he gives Lev a stern look, which bounces off the other and falls flat on the floor.
“Bother?” Lev asks, genuine surprise in his voice. “We are close friends! I even roomed with him and Kuroo for a while!” he tells Sugawara with flourish, looking at Kenma with all the love in the world.
Sugawara chances a look at Kenma’s face, sees the goose-bumps on his arms, and rolls his eyes.
“Yeah… go get the white bouquet from the back.” He tells Lev, who, after telling Kenma to wait around, hops into the back room. Sugawara nods at Kenma, who bows to him once before making his way to the door. Which is where he runs into Hinata.
“Hey Kenma!” Shouyou says, eyes wide and mouth stretched in a grin.
“Hey Shouyou.” Kenma responds, none of the previous discomfort in his soft voice.
Shouyou looks at the glories in his hands. “Oooo flowers!” he observes, and looks at Kenma. “For what?”
Sugawara watches as Kenma responds without hesitation. “Mom’s birthday. Dad wanted me to bring the flowers when I go visit them.”
Shouyou nods. “Wish aunty on my behalf!” he says, and turns to look at Sugawara.
Sugawara smiles at him, hands spreading over the newspaper. “Your friend’s pretty smart.” He says. “Told me the answer.”
Shouyou sighs. “Oh, that.” He mumbles, voice bitter.
Kenma pauses, turning around to look at Shouyou. His eyes zero in on Shouyou’s face, and Sugawara is reminded of the many tales Kuroo has told him of Kenma and his people analysis. “What happened, Shouyou?”
Shouyou picks the watering can from near the door and starts watering the flower pots near the entrance. “Kageyama won’t tell me who it is.” He says, voice low.
Sugawara stares at Shouyou. “What?” he asks.
“I asked him.” Shouyou explains, bending to water the green roses. “About the secret crush. He won’t answer my questions. He doesn’t even have anyone else to discuss it with. Why not tell me?” he mutters, shaking the can a little.
Kenma adjusts the vase in his hands. “No experience?” he hazards a guess, and Sugawara chokes out a laugh.
Shouyou immediately stands up. “I do!” he protests, puffing out his chest a little.
Sugawara smiles at him. “Have you dated before, Hinata?”
“No but I liked my teacher in 5th grade,” Shouyou begins, counting off his fingers. “– and a senior in college was pretty cool... everyone would get stars in their eyes when she’d walk by!”
“That’s… that’s something.” Kenma tells him, smiling a little. Sugawara looks on with some interest.
“Yeah well Kageyama’s never even liked anyone before!” Shouyou exclaims, eyes flitting between Sugawara and Kenma.
Sugawara agrees with the hypothesis, but Kageyama had a knack for surprising people. He remembers the time he saw the young man trying to pick up a cat threateningly pawing at him. New things were learnt about his apparently emotionless junior that day. “How do you-” he starts, but Hinata cuts him off with a shake of his head.
“Pretty sure.”
Kenma adjusts the vase in his hand, and then looks at Hinata. “It’s bothering you a lot, Shouyou.” He remarks, and Sugawara is reminded of the cats in his neighbourhood, silently watching everyday folks from their high perch on walls.
“It’s just weird, this whole thing.” Shouyou says with a sigh. He looks at Kenma. “I won’t keep you, anyway.” He says, and walks to the back room. It is only after the door shuts behind him that Sugawara smiles at Kenma, and remarks, “Will it be cheating if I try some good ol’ manipulation, in the interest of a cute junior?”
Kenma shuffles towards the door, eyes uncertainly flitting towards Sugawara. The florist goes back to reading the paper, when Kenma’s voice comes floating in from behind the safety of the door.
“Your bets are misplaced either way.”
Congrats Shouyou, Kenma texts him later.
What for? Shouyou texts back, slightly confused.
Right. My congratulations are misplaced as well, it seems, Kenma responds.
Shouyou asks him about it later, but Kenma just shrugs it off.
The commotion happens a week later, when Iwazumi drags Oikawa into Sugawara’s shop at eight in the morning. Sugawara takes one look at Oikawa’s purple eye, the platoon of people following in behind Iwazumi, and the anger written all over his face, and removes his phone.
“No need to call the police,” Iwazumi tells him, shaking Oikawa by his collar. “Everything’s under control here.”
“I’ll be the boss of that, good sir.” Sugawara tells him with a pleasant smile, fingers flying over the screen. Lev comes out of the room and gasps audibly, hands flying to his face. “Are we having a party, boss?”
Sugawara concentrates on his task. He has Daichi and Asahi on speed dial. The dial tone goes, till a phone rings from somewhere in the crowd. Daichi pushes his way out of the crowd, face apologetic and amused. Mostly amused.
“What’s happening?” he asks, the smile falling. “Why are all these people in my shop? Why are you with them?”
“We’ve been ruined, Suga.” Kuroo’s voice comes from the crowd, and Sugawara looks behind Daichi to see Kuroo strolling towards him, shaking his head. “We’ve been played like a cat’s fiddle.”
“Oh Kuroo!” Lev exclaims, making his way around the counter, oblivious to Sugawara’s ‘don’t go there’. “What are we doing here? Playing games?”
“A pawn in someone else’s game,” Kuroo says, waggling his eyebrows. For all his antics, he appears quite irritated to Sugawara.
The florist looks back at Daichi. “Daichi?”
“Remember the crossword?” Daichi asks, rubbing a hand over the back of his head.
Sugawara crosses his arms. “What about it?” he asks, looking past Daichi to make out the faces of the people in the crowds. There are a few familiar faces in there. All those he’d been betting with, he realises.
His heart starts sinking. He looks back at Daichi, but sees no sign of alarm or assurance there. If Daichi was amused, it probably wasn’t all that bad.
“Well,” Daichi continues, lips curving into a smile. He coughs into his hand, and looks behind Sugawara. “The mystery of the muse has been solved.”
Sugawara exhales softly. So this isn’t about illegal betting, he thinks. A little calmer, he turns around to look at the duo behind him. Oikawa has his arms crossed, face settled in a pout. He looks apathetic for someone with their collar in another’s knuckle-grip.
Sugawara nods at Oikawa. “What did he do?” he asks.
“Oh?” Oikawa says, looking at the florist with narrowed eyes. “Is that any way to address a highly appraised chief editor of one of the biggest local news-”
“There is no muse,” Iwazumi tells Sugawara, gripping Oikawa’s collar a little tighter. “This was an elaborate ruse set up by Oikawa to get more dates.”
Sugawara looks between the two of them. “Okay… once again, from the top please.” He requests, trying to reconcile new facts in his head. So there was no muse? Had he wasted all his time?
Iwazumi’s voice starts getting angry. “This ass here,” he says, shaking Oikawa some more, who yelps in protest, “made his junior write those puzzles. Then he went around telling the women in town that they were the muse, the ones he had been dedicating the poems to, through the guise of his junior.”
Sugawara blinks once. Then again. And again. He looks at Oikawa. “So you are telling me,” he starts, voice halting, “that there is no mystery love?”
Oikawa sniffs a little, holding up his head. “Yes.”
Sugawara blinks again, looking at Daichi this time. “So Kageyama is not writing love poems for a mystery lover?” he asks, voice faltering.
Daichi is trying to control his laughter. Sugawara can see it in his eyes. “Yes.” He responds.
“Then…I wasted all that money and time trailing him?” he asks again. He thinks of all the nights and days he spent following Kageyama, all the people he interrogated, all the coffee he spent his money on.
“Yep.” Kuroo nods sadly, placing a hand over his chest. “We’ve been had, Suga. This is the biggest fraud of our times and lives.”
But Sugawara can’t hear him. “And all the money I bet… is lost?” he wonders out loud. He is going to be sick. Everything in the room is already getting blurry.
“Yep. Serves you right for gambling!” Oikawa finishes off, before letting out a pained cry. Iwazumi withdraws his foot from Oikawa’s shins. “You stop creating trouble,” he tells the editor in an angry voice. Then his gaze turns towards Sugawara, no sympathy there, like it should be. “You shouldn’t be betting on people’s love lives either.” He looks at the crowd behind. “This stops right here. All you guys’ money has been donated to charity.” he looks back at Sugawara. “I came here because these guys told me about you running this gig. Sorry for the intrusion. But I guess this was a good lesson for you too.”
Iwazumi says something more, but Sugawara can only hear the clink of all the coins and notes he bet in the game. All the nights he spent staying up, all the free time he spent trying to solve the puzzle and empathise with Kageyama’s tragedy of unrequited love… it plays in his head like a nightmare on repeat, one he has no control over. By the time he comes back, the shop is empty, save for Daichi, Kuroo and Lev seated around the desk.
Kuroo catches him looking at them and whistles. “Well, look who decided to finally join us.”
Sugawara stares at him. “Kenma knew,” he says.
Kuroo’s smile falters a little. “What?”
“So did Akaashi,” Sugawara continues, clutching his head in his hands. He falls on his knees, slamming his head on the floor. “How did I not see it? Since when have I become the obtuse one?”
Kuroo kneels down next to him, shaking him by the shoulders. “Sorry to interrupt your breakdown, but what was that about Kenma?”
Sugawara looks at Kuroo, horror written all over his face. “I’m one of you guys now,” he whispers.
Kuroo looks back at Daichi. “Did he tell you? Kenma knew? And he let me bet all that money?” he shoots rapidly, breathless, while Daichi shrugs.
Kuroo looks at the floor, putting his head in his hands. “Damn it. I’m sure this happened because I ate his ice-cream all those months ago. Damn it! If I hadn’t, I’d be the winner right now!”
Lev starts frowning. “Maybe I should make them some coffee.”
Daichi smiles, typing a text on his phone.
Thanks, I was almost one of these guys for a moment there, he sends.
This was a professional deal, Akaashi’s text comes a moment later. We are happy to help a client.
Maybe he’ll tell Sugawara about the charity being his company’s some other time.
Later that evening, he thinks about Kageyama. He knows what he saw that day.
He shrugs it off.
Maybe there’s more to the story, but it’s probably not his to find out.
Shouyou kicks the grass.
It’s been a week since the conversation between him and Kageyama. They haven’t exchanged a word, not even a glance since then. He hears about the whole muse misunderstanding from Lev in the afternoon earlier that day, amidst Sugawara’s daze and Kuroo’s loud complains.
And now, he doesn’t know how to talk to Kageyama.
Since the time he has known the playwright, conversation with him has never been a problem. Sure, the conversation has been more of a soliloquy, and there have been times when he has been scared of approaching the playwright for fear of his angry tirades, which tended to get physical at times.
But in this moment, there is a strange mix of emotions boiling in his chest. He feels like he irrevocably damaged something between them, the line that had always been so clearly drawn between them. He’s always wanted to step and stomp on it, but not like this.
Not like this, he thinks. Then how?
He takes in a deep breath. He needs to make it right.
“You should be practicing your dialogues.” Kageyama’s voice comes from right behind him.
Shouyou jumps, his heart in his throat, and fumbles forward before regaining his balance. He turns around and looks at Kageyama, who is staring down at him.
He places his hands over his chest. “I could’ve died, idiot.” He tells Kageyama.
“But you’re alive and well,” Kageyama retorts petulantly.
Shouyou looks down at his palms. “Barely,” he whispers, wishing his heart into calming itself.
“Why aren’t you practicing right now?” Kageyama asks.
Shouyou narrows his eyes. “Why are you assuming this? For all you know, I’ve been practicing dialogues in my head.”
“Yeah except you don’t,” Kageyama tells him, taking a step closer. He is three steps away from Shouyou. “You can’t ever do anything quietly.”
“Well not everyone is a taciturn dolt like you!” Shouyou tells him, rubbing his chest. He wonders if he should visit a doctor’s clinic tonight.
Kageyama’s eye twitches. Shouyou knows there’s a rant coming, so he immediately straightens up and takes two steps in Kageyama’s direction, surprising the taller man into silence. He takes in a deep breath, looks into Kageyama’s surprised eyes, and says, “I am sorry.”
Kageyama blinks at him.
“Uh the thing I said about your lov- muse. I heard about it today.”
Shouyou can see Kageyama’s eyes even clearer from up close like this. They are a dark shade of blue, but there is a single spot that shines brightly, and Shouyou can see himself reflected in it.
He’s seen them many times before, from a lot closer – during their very physical tussles – but never like this, under the night sky, beside the constantly whooshing river. There should be no one there at this time of the night, Shouyou knows – but right now, he knows it. It’s just the two of them. They are back in that strange pocket of time and space, where everything just blurs, and they remain the only clearly drawn lines.
Kageyama’s voice is quiet. “I know,” he says.
Shouyou looks down at the space between them. There is a whole foot between them. He looks up at Kageyama, who is observing him. It reminds him of the first time they met, when he’d felt those eyes on him, from across the several feet between them. They had followed him the whole time back then, have been following him since then, Shouyou realises.
He places his right foot in the space between them, the tip of his shoes touching Kageyama’s. His eyes are on Kageyama, whose face betrays nothing.
But he doesn’t step back either.
Shouyou moves his left foot and places it next to his right one. He can feel the heat from Kageyama’s body, wisps of it willowing to touch him all over. He has felt it before, in all the moments of chaos and loudness, its scorching heat threatening to burn him alive.
But in this calm and silence, it becomes a lull enticing him into its warm arms.
Shouyou doesn’t know what he is doing. He doesn’t understand why he is doing it either. His heart is pounding, climbing to crescendo with every moment, the way it does when the curtain rises in the theatre. And there is Kageyama, before him, a statue of calm, the way he always is in the same moment.
He searches Kageyama’s eyes, expecting his emotions to be mirrored in them, the way they always are, but finds a strange darkness. There is something concrete swirling in them – something certain, something solid, something resigned.
He feels the same difference he does when they are on the stage together – they are standing in the same place, but Kageyama is miles ahead, and Shouyou is still running. He takes all the steps, but Kageyama is the one who ends up waiting for him. Even now, he stepped in Kageyama’s space, but Kageyama is not here with him – he is somewhere far ahead, pages and chapters ahead of Shouyou.
“I will go to New York Broadway one day,” he suddenly says.
Kageyama keeps looking at him without blinking. “So will I,” he tells him.
“I’m going to be the best stage actor in the world,” Shouyou says.
“And I’m going to be the best playwright.” Kageyama tells him.
“I will catch up to you,” he promises, voice soft.
“Try your best,” Kageyama tells him in the same tone.
They stay there, two dark silhouettes cutting the dark backdrop of the river.
Some years down the line, Shouyou finds a book in a shelf in his room. It has The Muse written on it in Kageyama’s script, so of course he opens it.
Cthonic
He sees them behind you in the mirror,
the creatures from this vileness,
before realising he is stood at your back.
Petrichor
The scent enveloping us under your least favourite sky,
while we stand soaking after the days of fireplace.
Persiflage
Light and unfulfilling,
longing beneath the banter.
Synecdoche
I carry a world in me, and you carry one in you,
we are symbols of a bigger universe,
the part of a whole,
and maybe if we syn-ced,
the world as we know it would change.
That night he hits Kageyama over the head with the book, and runs as the taller boy chases him around their room.
It comes to bite him back the next morning when Kageyama makes his understudy practice his role for the whole session.