If there's a god that could save me

I'd ask that he open the skies and do it now

But it's just a chemical,

I'm not a snake

I'm just falling apart again

Look at me, I'm sobbing like a child.

-Ludo

I've only ever put real effort into one thing in my life; my music. Everything else was pushed to the back burner. In school I skated by with a small amount of natural skill and an affinity for bullshitting assignments; barely enough to earn me grades that were just passable so that my music portfolio could carry me on a college application.

Nothing ever interested me like music. I was uninspired, wandering in a world devoid of meaning until that day my dad bought me my first guitar, and from then on it was all I cared about. Math was too dull, writing was too difficult (I was anything but eloquent), and science definitely wasn't for me. I couldn't put any effort into those things because they were unimportant. I had no passion to drive me toward them.

The only time I felt alive was when I had a melody breathing fresh air into my lungs in time to the drum beat of my heart. Whether the notes were sweet or sour they were there and they were constant and I never had to fear being alone while they were with me.

That being said, I've been working extremely hard at my sign language lessons. I've done pretty well with the vocabulary, though I still get tripped up on grammar sometimes, but with Asahi being such a patient teacher I've improved greatly. Honestly this guy is too calm for his own good; sometimes it's a bit scary. I can understand why he does well working with children.

"So how's it been going with your friend?" Asahi asks as we're walking out of the rec center towards the parking lot. We had been working on my reading speed today, with him signing simple sentences at different speeds for me to get quicker with my comprehension. Hopefully I'll become good enough that Hinata won't have to sign slowly at me like I'm an idiot anymore (I am an idiot but that's beside the point).

"I- what?" I stutter, the mention of Hinata catching me off guard. Asahi watches me fumble over my fingers twice a week so I'm sure he doesn't need any more reason to think I'm a blubbering moron, but he should probably avoid speaking to me at all times since I'm prone to sentences like this that contain more "um" and "huh?" than actual words.

"Tooru said you were doing this for a friend," he chuckles. "They must be pretty special to you. I've never had a student that tried as hard as you do." His smile is warm and genuine, which only makes my cheeks flare up hotter than they normally would.

"Oh, uh, yeah. I'm doing it for my neighbor."

"Seems like a lot of trouble for someone who's just your neighbor," he muses, swiping his fingers across his cheek to push a fallen strand of hair behind his ear. Being the end of the day some of his hair has started to fall from its bun, framing his face nicely with the thick dark strands.

"We hang out sometimes," I mumble, kicking at some particularly interesting pieces of asphalt by my shoes.

"Ah, I see," he chimes. I don't look up because I can just hear that knowing smile that everyone seems to have on when asking me about Hinata in his voice. I understand Suga and Natsu doing it but there's no way Asahi is part of the secret "We Apparently Know More About Kageyama's Life Than He Does" club, right?

My thoughts are cut off by a telltale buzzing in my pocket. I fish out my phone and find Hinata's name flashing at me on the screen. Speak of the devil. Not that Hinata is a devil; he's more like a bunny, or an overly excited puppy.

No exclamation points. No smiley faces. This must be serious.

"Everything okay?" Asahi prods gently, reading the concern that is probably plastered across my face.

"Yeah! It's fine. That was him actually," I confess, finally looking up. "He was just asking if I wanted to come over."

"Well that sounds like fun," he smiles and nods at me, a wicked glint in his dark eyes despite his soft smile. "I won't keep you any longer then. See you on Thursday, Kageyama!" He waves, turning to make his way toward his car. I don't bother returning the gesture; my mind clouded with thoughts other than common manners.

As I make my way down the familiar streets that lead me home I wonder about the way that everyone has seemed to look at me differently these last few months. Friends, and even strangers, have started to smile at me more, slyly or otherwise, and I wonder if it's because I've been doing something differently. Maybe I've been happier, more open to others, and those around me are starting to reflect that. Maybe I'm not as closed of a book as I've always assumed.

***

The walk home is short, maybe because I hurry, or maybe I'm just too preoccupied to notice the sidewalk moving along below my feet. Hinata's text runs through my mind over and over, and I'm sure that I'm just being paranoid, but his words seemed a bit...apprehensive?

I've never known him to be nervous about anything. Hinata always dives headfirst into life; he throws caution to the wind and says whatever pops into his head. He's an idiot, but I love that about him, which only makes me worry even more about whatever is bothering him.

I stop by my apartment before heading over to his, throwing off my coat and changing into a clean shirt that doesn't smell like old cement buildings and guitar string wax. I brush my teeth and run my fingers through my hair a bit, just to freshen up.

I shoot him a quick text as I stand outside his door.

I can hear him inside, scurrying around like a mouse before opening the door. He doesn't meet my gaze, brown eyes downcast, and the seed of worry that's planted in my chest starts to sprout.

"Hey," he says out loud, still not meeting my eyes. I'm thankful because I don't want him to see the way I perk up at his voice, that elusive sound I only hear once in a while, and every time I'm caught off guard by just how beautiful it is.

I know it's selfish of me but sometimes I wish Hinata could speak more often just so I can hear him every day. What if he could sing? What if we could team up and he could sing along to my songs with that angelic voice of his, matching his tone to my melodies and turning it into something new. Art that we could create together.

But as Hinata takes his seat on the couch, mouth closed and lips pulled tight with apprehension, I'm reminded again that my imaginary version of Hinata isn't real. Hinata his own person and there's so much about him I still don't know. So many levels I have yet to explore but am more than willing to descend. But what I do know is sitting right in front of me, solid, true, and beautiful.

"I listened to the CD you left," he signs, finally looking up to meet my eyes. "I hope that's all right," he adds.

"That's why I brought it over," I shrug, my hands moving much smoother over the words than they had weeks ago. I'm a bit disappointed that I wasn't here while he listened to it, but I push the thought to the back of my mind. I can mope about it later.

"What was it about?" His eyes are alert now, studying my face with an intense curiosity that fits there so much better than worry.

I hesitate, wondering how open I can be about it without getting too personal. Not that I don't want to open up, but I'm not sure if Hinata would be comfortable seeing the sappy poetic side of me that comes out when I talk about my music.

But then I think: fuck it.

"The stars," I start, checking his face for any sign that I should stop. Finding nothing but genuine interest, I continue; "the way they looked on the first night we hung out. As we walked home they looked like music notes sitting on the power lines, and it felt like they were placed there specifically. Almost as if the universe wanted me to remember that moment." That last bit might have gone a little too far.

He doesn't answer, just looks at me with a sort of twinkling awe that might annoy me on someone else but from him it turns my heart into a hummingbird, flitting around inside my chest.

"I have something to show you," he tells me; hopping up from his spot and heading down the hallway, not bothering to await a response. I realize that I haven't sat down since I walked in, but I'm way too anxious to stay still so I remain standing awkwardly next to the recliner, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.

The apartment is strange empty. While my own feels fine when it's dark and quiet, I always expect Hinata's to be bright and lively, Natsu and Kenma taking up their usual spaces on the sofa. Silence doesn't belong here.

Hinata returns a few minutes later, a large canvas tucked under one arm and I'm surprised he can carry it so easily considering it's about half his height.

He heaves it onto an easel in the corner of the room and takes a step back, eyeing me sheepishly.

"I started this after I heard that first song," he tells me, a slight smile playing at his lips despite how scared he looks. "I guess we inspire each other."

It's me. There in the center of the canvas is me, tall, dark, and brooding, holding my guitar out to one side and a music sheet in the other. Behind me there's swirls of color in skillful swipes, a mix of varying brush strokes and breathtaking chiaroscuro.

And I know it must be gorgeous, it must indescribably beautiful, but to me it's a muddled mess of yellows, browns, and blues. A swampy bastardization of Hinata's masterpiece. His hard work, his vision, reduced to nothing but a crude palette and rough shapes.

"I...I can't," I whisper, shaking head, and I'm not sure if he could read my lips. I don't know if I want him to.

His face falls, draining of color. I guess he read them after all. Shit shit shit. He's frowning; the expression so out of place on his delicate features that he almost looks like a different person.

"I can't," I repeat, firmer, refusing to acknowledge the moisture stinging at the corner of my eyes.

".....why?" He croaks, all of the brightness gone from his voice. The noise is foreign, so far from the melodic sound I've grown to love.

I want to answer. I want to explain, but my heart is pounding and my hands are shaking, my brain racing and bringing up memories of almost forgotten feelings I haven't felt for years. I've spent so long slowly stitching myself together just for it all to crash down with a sunshine smile and the swipe of a paintbrush.

I shake my head again and take a step back toward the wall, wanting the feeling of something solid against my back, and trip over my feet. Hinata steps forward, a hand stretched out to grab my own, and he gets so close to wrapping my fingers in his own but I pull back at the last second and my heart clenches as hurt flashes across his eyes.

I'm so fucking stupid. Why can't I open my mouth and tell him? It's so simple. I'm willing my jaw to unglue and the words to come spilling out to fix everything I've broken in the last few seconds, but nothing happens. My lips won't move and my brain won't deliberate. And now I've hurt him. I'm pushing away someone I've worked so hard to get close to. I'm such a fucking piece of shit.

"I have to go."

I turn and leave before I have to see the look on his face, not sure if I can handle that stinging look of distress in his eyes again. That recoil in his expression that usually envelops me in warmth.

I slide down to the floor as soon as I shut my apartment door behind me, the cold wood pressing against the back of my neck.

I fucked up. I fucked up so bad.

I refuse to cry, so instead I scream. I cross my arms over my head, pressing my face to my knees and I scream until my voice is hoarse, and my throat torn to pieces. I know that Hinata won't hear and I can't decide if that makes me feel better or worse.

This is all my fault. I got my hopes up too high, got too comfortable with the idea of this happy life surrounded by others who actually like me, the idea so much more beautiful than the reality. I ignored the truth in front of me, that everything was doomed from the start because I'm an idiot who can't handle friends and definitely doesn't deserve them.

The truth is that some things just don't mix. There are colors that don't blend, notes that don't harmonize, and some people that just aren't meant to be.

***

Three weeks. I don't talk to Hinata for three weeks.

But that isn't it; I don't play my guitar, I don't go out, I only eat when Suga comes over to make me, and I only go to work because I know I have to. I call Asahi and tell him I won't be able to come to our sessions for a while and I'm not sure if I'll return at all.

The days drag on in an endless cycle of groggy dozing, blankly staring at the peeling paint on my bedroom wall, and picking up my phone to type out an apology message to Hinata only to delete it over and over again. Day in and day out the same pathetic hopelessness.

Every time I hear his door open across the hall my heart leaps into my throat, beating so hard that I choke on the metallic taste of my own self resentment.

At one point during the first week I thought I heard a faint knock at my door, my mind racing with thoughts that maybe, just maybe, it was him and he didn't hate me and everything would be fine. But then came the idea that I hadn't heard anything at all and if I went to open the door just to find the hallway empty that the disappointment would crush me so much harder than I already had been. Of course the bitter thoughts won out, only to be replaced by stinging regrets.

Suga drops by on my third consecutive Saturday of blowing him off for pizza night. He doesn't bother knocking, just walks in, not bothering to say hello (he knows I won't respond), and pulls me out of bed.

"Suga-"

"Up," he says, not giving me a chance to protest. Authority sounds foreign in his voice but I can't say it doesn't fit well.

"Don't wanna," I mumble, grabbing at the mattress and searching for my comforter to pull down over my face.

"Well you're going to," he sighs, pulling the covers just out of my reach. "You're going to get up, you're going to shower, and you're coming with me. Oikawa has Takeru today so the three of us are taking him to the park. Fresh air will be good for you."

I adore Oikawa's nephew Takeru (he's the only child that has ever liked me), and I'd love to see him, but none of that seems to matter to me right now.

"Kageyama," Suga nudges me when I don't respond, the softness I'm used to wiggling its way back into his voice. "Please get up."

Something gives me the strength to sit. Willpower? No. Guilt? Probably.

"Do I have to go?" I whine, turning to look Suga in the eye. I must look pitiful to him, but if he thinks so he doesn't say.

"Yes. And if you don't hurry up and get in the shower I'm going to drag you in there myself."

"Alright, alright geez," I groan, standing to grab some clean clothes and heading towards the bathroom.

"Make sure you blow dry your hair it's cold outside!" Suga calls after me. No matter how hard he tries he can't help but be a mom.

I let the shower water ease the tension from my shoulders, leaning my head against the cool tile and letting the anxiousness seep out through my skin until I almost believe it's all gone.

When I finally emerge Suga shoves me back into the bathroom, blow drying my hair himself and then forcing a knit hat over my head. I'm wrapped up in three layers of winter clothes before we head down the stairs. I feel his eyes on my face as we pass by Hinata's closed door but I refuse to meet his gaze, trying hard to keep up my artificially calm and collected demeanor without him seeing how my breath hitches.

We meet Oikawa and Takeru by the playground in the park shortly after, the cold weather making for a rather small group of parents and children around us.

"Uncle Tobio!!" Takeru yells when he catches sight of Suga and I, flinging himself off of the swing Oikawa was pushing him on and running towards me. He wraps his little arms around my legs and buries his face into the hem of my coat.

"Hey Take!" I laugh, and it isn't forced. "How've you been?"

"I turned this many!" He tells me, holding up seven little gloved fingers, a proud smile plastered across his face.

"Wow that's a lot," I chuckle, pulling up his scarf around his windblown red cheeks.

"I've told you, Tobio isn't your uncle. I'm your uncle," Oikawa chides, meeting us where Takeru stopped our progression to the playground. Takeru sticks his tongue out at his real uncle and starts to tug at my sleeves so that I'll lift him onto my shoulders. I oblige.

"Woooow you're so tall, Uncle Tobio! Uncle Koushi look at me!" He calls, reaching towards the sky as if he's up high enough to grab a star in his little fist.

"Be careful Take. Don't squirm too much, we don't want Uncle Tobio to drop you," Suga smiles, watching the boy look around the park in wonder as he clutches his arms underneath my chin.

"Uncle Tobio won't drop me he's the strongest uncle in the whole world!"

"Takeruuuuu," Oikawa whines, pouting and folding his arms over his chest. "You're so mean."

"Aww poor Oikawa, so reliant on the approval of a child," I tease, Takeru's energy lifting my own mood and making me feel loads better than I have in days.

Suga slaps me lightly on the arm and shooting me his classic "behave" look.

"What if we go get ice cream? Will you call me Uncle then?"

"Hmmm," Takeru answers, thinking it over and obviously toying with his uncle. "Can I get a chocolate sundae?"

"Your mom said not to give you too much sugar. How about a scoop of chocolate?"

"Uncle Tooooooooru,"

"Okay okay! You can have whatever you want!" Outsmarted by a seven year old; good job Asskawa.

Takeru starts to wriggle around until I set him back down on the grass. He grabs Oikawa's hand and starts to pull him towards the park gate, "c'mon Uncle Tooru, let's go!"

Suga lets out the giggle he's been holding in as they start to walk away from us, a serene fondness in his eyes, and I start to wonder if that's how he looks at me when my head is turned. As we follow them down the path Suga turns to smile at me, and I realize that no, that's not how he looks at me when my head is turned, he looks at me that way right in front of my eyes yet I've never noticed.

"You don't look good, Kageyama," he says gently, eyeing the dark circles under my eyes and my pallid cheeks with concern.

"Gee thanks," I scoff. It's true though, I know I look like shit.

"I just mean...well I haven't seen you like this in a while. Not since back in college, ya know? You're so shaky and I'm just really worried about you." His voice is soft but his words carry the sting of repressed memories.

"M'fine," I mumble, watching the sidewalk move along under my feet. I don't want to think. Thinking hurts too much. And I definitely don't want to remember a time when it hurt even more.