For you, there'll be no more crying.

For you, the sun will be shining.

And I feel that when I'm with you,

It's alright, I know it's right.

And the songbirds are singing, like they know the score.

And I love you, I love you, I love you, like never before.

-Fleetwood Mac

There's a certain sense of humor to the world and the way lives unfold, all layering on top of each other and merging at the strangest times. There's an odd sense of irony to it all, staining the corners of our existences with the feeling of artificiality, because how can these things we go through happen to us? We're all just unsuspecting cogs in the machine of reality, spinning the way we're designed with nothing to discern us from the gears chugging along next to us.

How is it that when I was in desperate need of a light in my life I was given the sun? How is it that my world that was lacking so much color was blessed with this tiny vibrant person? And how is it that I am sitting in his living room unable to breathe as his mother's voice chills me to the bone with five simple words?

My fingers slack where they hold the phone, almost dropping it onto the floor. I struggle around my tongue to form words as the static silence on the phone speaker starts to become too much. "I-, uh, I'm sorry ma'am, I don't know what you mean."

"I mean that last time I checked my son could hear just fine," the woman, Hinata's mother, snaps, and I wince. Her voice is like the crack of a whip, sharp and stinging. It's odd, now that I think about it I don't remember Natsu mentioning anything about her when she told me the story in the coffee shop.

I struggle with words, not knowing how to respond to this woman or how to interpret her claims. There's the distinct low rumble of a man's voice on the other end of the line and a rustling as I assume she puts her hand over the receiver, mumbling back something quick and direct. There's another rustling and then she speaks; "I have to go. I need you to give a very clear message to my son. I want him to meet me at the diner; he'll know what that means, on the tenth. Sometime around three should work. Goodbye."

The abrupt hang up isn't quite as jarring as the rest of the experience but I still jump at the sound. Hinata turns to me, cocking his head to the side to silently ask me if everything is okay. I nod, but he doesn't buy it, scooting closer to the end of the couch near where I sit on the recliner, deflated and confused.

"Who was that?" He asks, a tender tone conveyed in the way he moves his hands. His delicate fingers make my heart skip a beat and I'm reminded of why I came here, only to push it down immediately. He doesn't need to hear that now, doesn't need the burden of my feelings weighing on him along with the information I'm about to give him. That I have to give him, no matter how little I want to.

"It was a woman," I explain, deciding to sign so he won't see the way my lips tremble over the words. I want to be strong for him. I want to do what I can to help him through whatever shit storm will most likely come from this. "She said...she said she was your mother." The words feel heavy in my palms.

Confusion crosses his face, then realization, followed shortly by the mixture of fear and hurt I'd been expecting. He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing and sticking like all of the questions he undeniably has, with no answers to cushion their grind against the walls of his throat. "Did she say what she wanted?" His hands tremble and I want so badly to wrap them in my own and lessen their burden, but this is not the time, and it's definitely not my place.

"She wants you to meet her at the diner at three on the tenth. She said you'd know what that means." I expect more confusion, "the diner" not seeming like a clear enough explanation to me, but he just nods, letting a tiny sigh escape from between his lips as he squeezes his eyes shut. And then he's up, crossing the room and scribbling on the calendar next to the doorway to the kitchen, his ginger eyebrows furrowing as he adds in the meeting time and place.

When he finishes he walks into the kitchen, pots and pans shuffling around as he rifles through the cabinets followed shortly by the hollow metal sound of him setting something on the stovetop. I don't know what to do, my hands glued to my kneecaps as I sit motionless in the recliner, at such a loss for words you'd think it was myabsentee mother that had just called out of the blue. A kettle starts to whistle in the kitchen and continues for a few minutes before I decide to go check on Hinata.

The kettle is screaming, probably more steam that water by now, and Hinata sits on the floor below it, knees pulled tight to his chest and face buried so far between his arms that all I see his a mess of wild orange hair. I turn the fire off beneath the kettle and move it away from the stove before settling on the floor beside my huddled friend, matching his form and laying my head sideways over my arms so I can look at him.

I don't know how many minutes pass, but I just watch as he breathes in and out, wondering what kind of thoughts race through his head and what I can do to lessen their sting. When he finally lifts his head there are glittering drops clinging to the ends of his lashes, his brown eyes shining with freshly shed tears. I hadn't even noticed he'd been crying, which just makes me wonder when he got so good at hiding it? How many times had he cried alone as quietly as he could manage until the silence came easily?

"When your mother asked for you," I say, breaking the stillness of the room, "I told her you couldn't come to the phone because you can't hear, but she said that's ridiculous and that her son isn't deaf. What did she mean?" I feel as if I'm prying, but my concern overrides my sensitivity.

He doesn't answer at first, resting his chin on his arms and looking past me, training his eyes on the wall. I don't push him, knowing too well the need to collect yourself before answering such heavy questions. Finally he unfolds his arms, still not quite making eye contact as he signs. "I wasn't born deaf. There was," his hands start to tremble and I instinctually reach out to cup my hand over his knee, hoping to calm him but ultimately causing my own pulse to spike. "I had an accident when I was about ten and I ended up pretty hurt. That's how it happened. My mom left my dad right after Natsu was born so she doesn't know."

There are so many things I want to ask, so many extra questions sprouting from that single answer. I want to know how he got hurt, /who/ hurt him. I want to know more about his parents. I want to know if he's okay, but I don't want to push him any more so I settle on something simple. "Is that why your voice is so clear when you speak out loud? I always figured you'd just practiced a lot."

He smiles, chuckling a little bit as he nods his head "yes", and I use the opportunity to pull my hand back. There's an absence of warmth in my palm and an excess of heat on my cheeks, his smile hitting me like a sunbeam. But it's gone as quickly as it came, his serious expression returning like cloud cover.

We sit like that for a few more empty minutes, the light filtering through the windows starting to darken and elongating the shadows across the kitchen floor. "Can I ask you a question?" Hinata asks, and I barely catch the movement out of the corner of my eye.

"Sure," I shrug.

"Will you go with me?"

My breath hitches in my throat as he turns to me with those big chestnut eyes, and I realize two things. First, I'd follow him to the end of the earth if he asked me to. I'd walk into oncoming traffic if it meant I could hold his hand. Second, I am royally fucked.

I nod, not knowing exactly how to answer with the right amount of excitement without making it sound like some vacation trip. He doesn't bounce the way he always does when he's happy; he just smiles weakly and stands up, grabbing the kettle and pouring out the now cold water.

I head home shortly after, and just as I wave goodbye and step over the threshold he wraps his tiny arms around my chest the exact way had the day he gave me that painting. I awkwardly pat his shoulder, completely caught off guard and hoping he can't feel how hard my heart beats beneath his ear. "Thank you," he whispers, squeezing a little tighter before stepping away and closing the door, leaving no time for me to respond even if I had been capable of doing so.

As I head back into my own apartment, the quiet darkness so much emptier than across the hall, I can't help but think of how rocky of a day I've had. In the span of a few hours I realized I am disgustingly in love with one of my closest friends and now I'm going to meet his mother. It's the kind of ridiculous thing that really could only happen in this world that seems to have a personal vendetta against me. To reiterate my thoughts from earlier, I am completely and undeniably fucked.

***

"I still can't believe you let me do that," Suga sighs, shaking his head as if whatever he's upset about is my fault.

"Are you still hung up on that fake wedding thing? I doubt anyone even remembers," I tell him, glancing away from the TV where I'm currently destroying Oikawa in Mario Kart to see his expression.

"Are you kidding!? Everyone remembers! They all texted me about it the next day!" He buries his face in his hands and groans.

"Well, what did Daichi say about it? Hah! Take that Asskawa!" My cartoon motorcycle carrying a fist pumping Bowser crosses over the finish line just before the kart carrying Princess Peach does, earning an indignantly stuck out tongue from Oikawa. He immediately starts to select a new set of races, skipping over the trophy ceremony, and I turn back towards Suga.

"He hasn't. We haven't talked about it at all. I mean, what are we going to say? I'm sorry I professed my undying love for you in front of everybody we know and fake married you? I'd probably catch on fire if he brought it up," he whines, and I can't exactly argue with him. The logic is sound.

"Well maybe you should get real married," Oikawa suggests, not looking away from the screen as he hits the side of my motorcycle and sends me off of the edge of the course. "Tsk tsk, Tobio. You should be a more careful driver."

"What?"

"What?" Oikawa turns toward us as the race ends, brown eyes wide as if he has no idea what he just said.

"Real married!? You're insane," Suga scoffs, burying his face in his hands again and blushing up to the tips of his ears, starkly contrasting with his bright hair.

"Why not?" I shrug, silently sending a blue shell to where I know Oikawa sits in first place and hoping he doesn't notice where it came from. "You obviously love each other."

"Yeah but-"

"You're practically married already- dammit Tobio! That was rude," he pouts, finally setting the controller down as the race ends and I win yet another first place victory.

"He's right," I add, standing to shut the GameCube off on the TV stand, "and you know it has to be true if I'm agreeing with him." I point my thumb sideways at Oikawa who nods, reinforcing my point.

"You act like an old married couple anyway. All you need to do is move in together and you're set," Oikawa shrugs and I nod along, becoming increasingly alarmed with our level of agreement today.

"If we move in together where will you go?" Suga asks, looking as if the idea is starting to sound more plausible to him.

"I'll live with Tobio!"

"You're out of your goddamned mind."

"Until I find my own place of course," he winks, shooting me a quick peace sign. "Wow, so mean Tobio. I thought we were close."

"But we've only been dating since, like, September," Suga argues, trying as hard as he can to find a reason why it's wouldn't work, or maybe just trying to talk himself out of it.

"So what? It's the 21st century. People get married without even meeting each other first nowadays. At least you guys actually love each other," Oikawa says, sounding genuinely comforting. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't impressed.

"Yeah I saw a TV show about that," I add, nodding at Oikawa who gives me a thumbs up. I need to be careful, if we keep getting along this way we might actually seem like friends to the untrained eye.

"Alright."

"Huh?" Both Oikawa and I turn toward Suga, a sudden determination glittering in his eyes.

"Alright. I'll do it. I'll talk to Daichi about it." He looks up, a wide smile spread on his face in place of the embarrassment and uncertainty there had been just moments ago.

There's a few moments of stunned silence before Oikawa and I jump up to congratulate him. It's wonderful, it really is, but I can't help but think that Suga and Daichi getting married would feel like attending my own parent's wedding. Not that that's a bad thing since I've basically already accepted them as my mom and dad.

"Looks like you're gonna have a new roommate Tobio," Oikawa smiles, practically glowing with devious joy.

Oh fuck me.

***

The metaphorical eye of the storm, the calm and quiet center where the frenzy of motion and emotion subsides and allows the world around it to take a wavering breathe; that is what the train ride to Hinata's uncle's house is like.

It's a short ride, just a few stops to the point where the city starts to fade and the roads seems to stretch farther, the space lending salience to the wide open country sky. I can only imagine how it looks at night, littered with a blanket of bright stars, each one brighter and more beautiful than the last, unobstructed by the dirty artificial glow of city lights.

It feels different than the town I came from, even though it's extremely similar. This place feels more open, more inviting, not tied together with dark memories and a guilt driven gravitational pull towards the things that would undo the locks I've fastened around them. This town makes me remember everything I used to love about the country, like a new start in a home I am no longer welcome in.

Hinata doesn't speak during the train ride, and I don't push him. I came here for support, not to pry out information and make this endeavor harder for him than it already is. That doesn't mean I don't worry though; my stomach twists as I watch him stare out the window at the rows of green passing by, eyebrows furrowed and worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

The same silence lingers as we get off at the station, carrying our small bags of overnight clothes and stepping out into the sunshine that feels warm for the first time in months. Maybe it's the clean air or maybe it's the prospect of spring, but I start to feel as if hope is on the horizon; a smidgen of white paint on the canvas of the world, focusing in here on this tiny boy in this tiny town.

It's unlike me to be optimistic like this, to expect good things to come when I know that the wind is blowing sour, but I can't help it. This place, Hinata, these feelings on the tip of my tongue fighting to keep their hold, all inspire me to be different, to be /better/. I want to be someone who deserves to be loved.

The train station has a parking lot big enough to hold maybe fifteen cars, a rough estimate because by "parking lot" I mean "dirt patch in which cars can park". Nevertheless, there are a few pickup trucks and small family cars settled in the dust. One of which, an old model Ford pickup with chipping white paint and more rust spots than chrome, has a man standing by it, smiling and waving in our direction. He's small, probably barely taller than Hinata himself, and I know at once that this must be Mr Takeda. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I know that the friendly man with big square glasses standing before me is not it.

"Shouyou!" He calls out, waving his hand frantically as if we could miss him in the small space. Hinata drops his expression immediately, exchanging it for such a genuine smile that he almost even convinces me.

"It's so good to see you," the man says, wrapping Hinata in his arms, worry ghosting over his face for no more than a second while Hinata can't see his face. I decide immediately that I like him.

"I was just here like two weeks ago," Hinata laughs as he signs, pulling away from his Uncle's small chest.

"I still missed you," he replies, ruffling Hinata's already messy orange curls. "And you must be Kageyama," he beams, turning towards me and extending his hand to shake, "I've heard so much about you."

"Really?" His handshake is firm but with a tender touch.

"Oh yes! Shouyou and Natsu both talk about you all the time. It's great to finally meet you." I highly doubt that. Natsu is too brutally honest to ever paint me in a pleasant light.

"Oh, uh, you too Mr. Takeda" I return, trying my best at a pleasant smile.

"Oh please, call me Uncle Ittetsu," he tells me, waving off my formalities.

"Where's Natsu?" Hinata asks, twisting his head around to peer into the truck cab which is visibly absent of the girl.

"She had something to take care of at school today but she should be home soon," he explains, pulling open the passenger door to the truck and motioning for us to climb in. "Ready to head home boys?"

We both nod and clamber into the truck (Hinata with much more skill than I), the three of us fitting snugly on the truck's bench seat. The roads are bumpy and the ride is anything but smooth, but the scenery is breathtaking. The crisp air leaves an edge of clarity to everything, each blade of grass and cloud in the sky sharply focused.

When the truck turns onto a dirt driveway I'm at a loss for words. The house is gorgeous; an old fashioned ranch house with a wraparound porch, painted the same shade as the sky behind it, the porch awning and window frames a clean white. I'm a twenty four year old city boy but this house makes me want to knit a sweater and drink tea in a rocking chair on the front porch like a farmer's grandma.

"Like it?" Uncle Ittetsu startles me out of my quiet awe, laughing when I jump and patting me on the back.

"It looks great. My grandma had a big ranch house like this. I used to go there in the summers," I tell him, the words slipping from my mouth before I even realize it. Why am I thinking about that? Those memories that are so distant they feel as if they're dreams. And why am I telling them to a man I just met?

"Painted it myself back when the kids were younger. They helped out on the back. Want to see?"

Uncle Ittetsu leads me around to the back of the house as Hinata heads inside with both of our bags, the slap of my shoes on the wooden porch sounding like welcome wishes. As we round the corner I can't help but break out into a huge stupid grin, the sensation unfamiliar on my tight cheeks.

The boards are covered on one half with messy (what I assume is pink) brush strokes just about the height of a toddler, broad and unrefined with chunks of the wall's color poking in between. The other half is more detailed, a perfect row of sunflowers, all facing forward where the sun rises, triangular petals surrounding furry dark centers. There are even birds, some with their wings spread wide high above the flowers and some along the bottom, pecking at fallen seeds.