Cause I'm just one of those ghosts

Travelin' endlessly

Don't need no roads

In fact, they follow me

And we just go in circles

And now I'm told that this is life

That pain is just a simple compromise

So we can get what we want out of it

- Paramore

The collar against my neck is stiff and smells of mothballs, chafing against my skin with the roughness of both age and metaphorical burden. Hinata's fingers work at the wide knot just below my Adam's apple, meticulous and calculated as always. I think I fell in love with those fingers before anything else, imagining them against my skin and so far from disappointed when I finally felt it. He finishes tying my tie, looking up to meet my eyes with that familiar warm glint to his irises.

His hands are still gripping the tie, feeling like a noose around my neck, and while usually I'd feel suffocated by the sensation I figure if he wanted to strangle me I'd let him. I'd let him stab me straight through the heart and I'd thank him afterwards. But he doesn't; he just lets go and trails his hand down my chest, subtly yet not so subtly lifting himself to his tiptoes, pretending that he doesn't need to lean on me to keep himself upright.

My hands snake around his hips, resting on the small of his back, fingers slightly under the hem of his shirt as I duck my head to meet his lips. His taste is like liquid fire down my throat, the only whiskey I'll ever need because he's just so damn intoxicating.

"You look good," he smiles, pulling away and settling back flat on the ground. He's lying, of course, but I appreciate the sentiment. I turn to the mirror on the closet door of my old bedroom, eyeing the way the old suit sags against my shoulders and waist, hanging like a cheap costume on my lanky limbs.

Mom had insisted I dig something out of dad's old clothes in the attic since the black sweater I happened to throw in my suitcase apparently wasn't "proper funeral attire". Hinata and I had climbed up to dig through boxes but I ended up just grabbing the first thing I found and bolting, the attic stifling and dark and much too far out of my comfort zone. Dad and I were similar in height but he was much thicker, much more wide shouldered and bulky, and I look like a child trying on his clothes.

The three of us had somehow ended up back home in the early morning hours after mom finished all of the paperwork nurses were shoving at her, the drive home such a blur that I'm not sure it actually happened. Surprisingly mom refrained from asking questions about Hinata, which just left the ominous feeling that an interrogation was looming over our heads, threatening to drop at any second. The three of us collapsed on the living room sofa, mom pulling up a quilt on one side of me and Hinata laying his head against my shoulder on the other. We slept like that, a pile of exhausted hearts and weary eyes all resting for a few precious hours as we shared warmth on borrowed time. It was the best I've ever slept, my thoughts retreating to a place where I believed I could control them.

"Here, try this on," I say, rummaging through my closet after stepping away from Hinata's lips. It was mom's idea to see if he fit any of my old clothes from middle school, and I tried not to think of how apparent my emo phase was as I pull out a black dress shirt and skinny jeans, offering them to him sheepishly. I even find some dark suspenders in the back.

He tosses them on the comforter of my bed, starting to pull off his shirt without a thought, and you could probably cook pancakes on my cheeks. Should I turn away? No that's stupid, isn't it? I mean, we haven't talked about if we're dating or not but we're definitely something. Besides, I don't actually want to turn away. My eyes trail over the skin of his back, soft and pale, freckles on the tops of his small shoulders.

He pulls the shirt on, starting to work the buttons with those beautiful fingers, but I stop him, covering them with my own. I don't know what's gotten into me but I've been so affectionate these past few days, like the part of me that needed to touch and taste and smell another human being was repressed for years and now the dam is broken and I can't stop. My hands are on his shoulders, down his sides, on his neck, on his face; just feeling his skin and absorbing his presence as he giggles. I could do this for hours, could explore every inch of him countless times and never grow tired, but the vibrating phone between my thigh and his hip has other ideas.

I try to ignore it but Hinata pushes me lightly away, pulling the phone out for me and holding it up with a pointed look. I sigh, taking it from him and sliding the green button over the familiar face on the screen. "Hey Suga,"

"Kageyama! Where are you? What's going on? Hinata didn't tell me what happened and I've been worried sick," he stops to take a breath and I can hear Daichi's low voice in the background probably trying to calm him down.

I've been expecting this for a while now, ever since Hinata told me that he got directions to my hometown from Suga. "I'm fine, Suga. I'm at home. Hinata's here with me," I stop, hoping he can't tell from my tone what's going on between us, which also begs the question: what is going on between us?

"He made it? He came over super worried about you but wouldn't tell me why which made me worry too and, oh god, I've been such a mess," he pauses again, another familiar voice piping up behind him. "No I'm not going to ask him if he took your sweater, Oikawa, hush. You two are too loud I'm going in the other room."

I drop onto my bed and look up at Hinata who's just finishing buttoning the skinny jeans I pulled out for him as Suga moves through the hallway and closes a door behind him. The jeans fit perfectly and I almost laugh, imagining him standing next to a thirteen year old me and barely measuring up. "Okay, anyway, what's going on Kageyama?" Suga's voice pulls me back down, but my eyes linger.

"It's, uh, a long story," I answer, the heaviness of the last few days starting to settle back on me and washing away the short respite I found on Hinata's skin. "My mom called and told me to come down because dad had a heart attack. That's why I left so quickly. I didn't mean to worry you guys." That's only a half truth. I knew they'd be worried, I just didn't allow myself to think any farther than my own bubble of concern.

"No, no don't worry about it at all its fine. Is he okay? How's your mom?" How can he be so concerned over two people who treated him so poorly? People that I've spent the entire time I've known him trying to forget?

"Mom is doing alright I guess," I start, beating around the bush for no apparent reason. I watch as Hinata wrestles with the suspenders I gave him, smiling despite myself as he struggles with one hand behind his back and his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. "But dad, uh...dad passed two nights ago." I didn't expect the twinge I hear in my throat. "The funeral is on Monday, we should be home after that."

"Oh, Kageyama I'm so sorry. Are you okay? Do you want me to come for the funeral?" Hinata turns, finally latching the suspenders and taking a seat next to me. He lays his hand palm up on the comforter and I draw lazy circles on the pad with my fingertips.

"Suga, you only met him once and he was a dick to you,"

"Yeah but you-,"

"I appreciate it, really I do," I cut him off, not in the mood for one of his classic "I know deep down you really need me so just say the word" speeches, "but I think I can handle this one. Dad and I sort of...talked, about things, and mom and I have been getting along fine so there's not really any worry. Besides, Hinata is here." That sounded a bit harsh after it came out, like Hinata has replaced him which is so far from the truth.

"You sound like you're taking it pretty well," he says, no sign of betrayal in his voice, thank god. "I'm still worried about you though. Call me the second you need me, okay? I don't care what time or how stupid it is. Call me. Promise?"

"Promise," I answer, and it's probably not a lie.

"And tell Hinata I said thank you," he adds, a soft sort of reverence in his voice. "For being there."

I look up at Hinata who smiles softly, closing his palm around my fingers and running his thumb across my skin. "Will do," I answer, but I'm not sure that's a request I can fulfill. A million thank you's wouldn't be enough.

"I think Daichi and Oikawa are arguing over the remote again. I need to go before they break another cup or something. Call me, okay?" I can hear him open the door and head back down the hall, the sound of two voices becoming louder in the background.

"I already promised. See you when we get back," I say, hanging up and falling back onto the comforter but careful not to pull my hand from Hinata's.

"Suga says thanks for coming out here," I mumble, not expecting him to be paying attention, but he squeezes my hand in answer. He pulls the sleeve back of the bulky suit jacket I still have on and carefully traces letters onto my arm.

I did. I needed him so badly and he knew it. He knew it despite everything I did to throw him off the trail. There's so much I want to say. I want to ask him why; why he puts up with me, why he loves me, if he still loves me, what we are; but I just settle for "I love you."

He traces his answer on my arm, and I figure I can never get tired of the feeling of those beautiful fingers against my skin. I start to sit up, planning to pull him back down with me, but mom's footsteps sound in the hallway, followed by a light knock at the door.

"Come in," I call, and Hinata starts to pull his hand away from mine but I squeeze it tighter. He means too much for me to hide him any longer. I'm not ashamed of this, and I don't want him to feel like I am.

"Are you boys hungry," mom asks, popping her head in the door and trying to look as if her eyes aren't dry and her cheeks aren't hollow. "I was going to go out if you'd like to tag along. Oh that suit looks nice, honey. I knew you'd find something up there."

I turn to Hinata who nods, and sit up. "Yeah we'll be out in a minute. We just have to change."

She closes the door without an answer and I listen to her steps as she heads back down the hall, a distinct jingle as she grabs her car keys off the table.

I know that there's a barrage of questions waiting for Hinata and I on this trip, but oddly enough I'm not worried about it. I spent too many years in this house, in this town, hiding the things I loved from people who threatened to take them away from me, and I can't do that anymore. I won't do that anymore. I love Hinata, more than anything I've ever loved before, and I'm ready to let it show.

***

I should've been afraid. I should've been very afraid, I think to myself as mom pulls into the parking lot of a buffet restaurant. The ride over had been pleasantly quiet and I let myself get too comfortable, answering that anything was fine when mom asked where I wanted to eat. It's my own fault that I've ended up in this den of earthly hells.

Hinata practically leaps from the car, bouncing excitedly as we head up the front sidewalk. "I love buffets," he signs to me with a smile, and I start to rethink our relationship (can I use that word?).

Mom's shoes click against the pavement and mine drag, creating an unpleasant scraping sound to match my unpleasant feelings. I scan the crowd through the wall of front windows, trying to see how many sticky children and pushy adults there will be to deal with, focusing so intently that I almost bump into mom when she turns around abruptly. "Oh!" She starts, slapping a hand to her forehead. "Tobi, I totally forgot you don't like buffets. Do you want to go somewhere else?"

The fact that she remembers such a small fact about me catches me completely off guard. If her knowledge of how I take my coffee had been any indication I thought there were a ton of things she never cared to remember or learn about me. "N-no," I stutter, pushing my hands in my pockets because I honestly don't know why I'm saying this. "It's fine, mom, really. Besides, Hinata loves them and we're already here."

"Are you sure, honey?"

"Completely," I answer, pulling the door open for the two of them to enforce my willingness. I think I might be a bit of a masochist.

It's a tough journey from the counter to the table, a sea of children and unsanitary silverware swimming before me as I struggle to wade through and find the least offensive food. Salads of any kind are out of the question, too many dairy based components for my comfort level, so I settle on some nice, safe, steamed vegetables. Not the tastiest option, which makes the probability that they've been touched lessen.

The three of us survive, making it back to the table at relatively the same time, neither mom or Hinata seeming quite as stressed out as I am. Hinata's plate has a spoonful of macaroni salad on the side and I try my best not to think about it. How much does making out with him really mean to me?

"So, boys," mom starts, unfolding her napkin and placing it on her lap, "what's new?" She looks gaunt and tired, so I let the dumb question slide.

"Nothing much," I say, feeling Hinata's eyes dart between us to follow the conversation. He's been staying at the house for two nights now, but conversations between the three of us are still slow and clunky. "Suga called to check on us earlier." I don't look up as I say it, the thought of past events still weighing heavily on Suga's name.

"That was nice of him," she says as she lifts a spoonful of soup to her lips. I wonder when the last time she actually sat down to eat was because the food seems to perk her up significantly. I don't really know how mom is handling everything since she's careful to hide her apparent exhaustion and stress when we're in the same room. I guess that's where I get it from.

Honestly I'm not even sure how I'm handling it. I keep switching between feeling at peace with what happened and having the feeling of overwhelming grief crashing down on me in episodes. All I know is that I've been super clingy to Hinata and I hope he isn't annoyed with me because he's the main reason I haven't fallen apart.

"Hinata, honey, slow down you're going to choke," mom chides, pulling me out of my thoughts to see Hinata shoving bites of macaroni and cheese in his mouth. He looks up, a glob of cheese on the corner of his bottom lip, and shoots her a thumbs up.

"That's just how he eats," I tell her, wondering if she can hear the fondness in my voice like I can. "He'll be fine."

She seems unconvinced; eyeing him with worry as she delicately cuts a piece of her pot roast. "By the way, how did you two meet? I don't remember you mentioning him when you talked about your other friends," mom asks, and thankfully Hinata has his head ducked over his plate. I was stupid for not mentioning him and it's just not something I want him to know about.

"We're neighbors," I say, and Hinata nods as he looks back up and joins in the conversation. It feels odd using the word neighbor to describe him, after everything we've grown to be beyond that point. "And we've been hanging out for a few months now. Almost all of my new friends are from him."

"I see," she hums, looking between the two of us. Hinata averts her gaze, looking as if he's afraid to say too much and deciding to just say nothing at all. "Is that all? You seem really close."

"Yeah, we're pretty close." I want to say more but my tongue feels thick. She obviously knows there's more between us and I don't mind telling her more, this new openness I've found between us doing wonders for our relationship, but I can't think of the right words to describe it.

Hinata puts his hand on my knee, and I squeeze it lightly with my own. He nods at me with a gentle smile that says everything I need to know. "Mom, I....we-,"

"It's okay, honey," she smiles, putting a stop to my stuttering. "I know."

"You do?"

"Well I have an idea," she continues, pushing her half eaten plate away and sipping her coffee. "I knew when you were smaller that you weren't interested in little girls, and after a while I figured that you weren't interested in anybody. But I realized that that was wrong too, that you're so full of love that it's hard to distinguish what you consider friendship and romantic love. I never talked to you about it, and I definitely never talked to your father about it, but I came to the conclusion that when you finally fell in love with someone you'd fall completely, regardless of gender." She stops, the table going quiet until I'm sure she can hear the beat in of my heart. "But then again I may be wrong; I never even stopped to ask."

I'm completely blown away. I spent twenty four years thinking this woman knew absolutely nothing about me, assuming that she couldn't give two shits about the way I felt while all along she knew me better than I knew myself. It took me years to understand myself and she just summed up everything in a few sentences. I'm speechless, so Hinata speaks for me.

"Mrs. Kageyama," he says, his voice grounding me just enough to pay attention to the conversation.

"Please, call me Kanami." She smiles at him and he nods, taking his hand out of mine so he can sign.

"Kanami," he signs, and my voice wavers slightly as I translate. I wonder if she loves the way her name sounds on his fingertips like I do. "I don't have an answer to give you, about what we are or what we consider our relationship to be, but there's one thing I know for sure. I love your son, and I want to be with him, to support and encourage him every day for the rest of my life."

There are tears in mom's eyes when I look back at her, matching those I can feel in my own. "Th-there you have it," I mumble, stumbling over my words like an idiot which only makes Hinata smile wide and bump me on the shoulder with his head.

"That's all I've ever wanted to hear," mom beams, reaching across the table to grip Hinata's hand in her own. "Thank you so much."

Hinata just giggles, squeezing her hand before jumping up from the booth seat with a new brightness to his eyes. "Ice cream?"

He pulls me with him back through the sea of people towards the soft serve machine, his hand warm and soft in my own. I can honestly say I never thought I'd reach this point; a healthy relationship with my mom, good friends back home, and the love of my life by my side, but I'm so happy that I have. Despite the events that brought us here, despite every up and down and snowstorm we've weathered together, I feel content with what I have. My true family is one member bigger and I could never even start to repay him for everything he's given me.

***

Most of the wooden pews shining under the lights in the musty funeral home are empty, a stiffness to the air as a few people whisper to each other, not daring to speak any louder while waiting for the service to start. How many people would show up if I died? How many lives have I touched enough for them to want to tell me goodbye? Ten? Twenty? I'm not sure, and I don't think it's really a question I want answered.