You belong among the wildflowers

You belong somewhere close to me

Far away from your trouble and worry

You belong somewhere you feel free

You belong somewhere you feel free

-Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers

It's funny how you never know how incredible it feels to fall asleep with someone wrapped in your arms until they're there, so close to your skin that to separate would be like removing a limb, and you decide that you can never return to sleeping alone under empty sheets and lonely dreams. One little thing; one invisible exhale against my collarbone as sleep sits just on the edge of my vision, one quick tug of my shirt in the middle of the night as he pulls me closer, as if there was a closer, one lock of hair falling across his forehead in the moonlight when there is no color but only two hearts beating in the pale glow; and I am hooked. I'm addicted to something I spent my whole life without and never felt the need to have. I guess "it only takes one time" is true about every intoxicating substance.

I've slept next to Hinata before but it had never felt the way it did that Sunday night, my head still swimming the next morning in the afterglow of love, coming down from my high.

"Hey!" Hinata's voice, so much bigger than himself when he wants it to be, pulls me to the surface. He's standing at my stove, a spatula in one hand and the other on his hip as he tries to get my attention. This has happened before, I think, remembering a morning not unlike this one that feels as if it happened in a separate lifetime. Oh how far we've come.

"Yeah?" He shakes his head at me, his eyes betraying his affection, and lifts his hands to repeat himself for what I'm sure is the third or fourth time.

"How many pieces of toast do you want?" The sleeve of his shirt falls down his scrawny arm and as he pushes it up I realize that it isn't his shirt at all. When did he manage to steal my clothes? I can't complain, it looks better on him than it ever could on me, falling well past the waist and exposing a good amount of smooth pale skin between his neck and shoulder.

"Two," I answer, and he nods, apparently satisfied as I pull an almost empty jar of jam from the door of my fridge (and some milk because damn am I thirsty). Minutes later we're both sat at the table in the living room, steaming plates of eggs and toast in front of us.

Hinata, as it turns out, is a great cook, and I am thoroughly convinced that the scrambled eggs I'm chewing on are the most perfect eggs ever to be cooked; and I'm not just saying that because my boyfriend cooked them.

Boyfriend. It still feels odd to say; that Hinata Shouyou is my boyfriend. That I have a boyfriend in the first place.

"So what's your schedule today?" Said boyfriend asks, the movements of his hands barely catching my peripheral vision in time to read them. He has jam on the corner of his mouth, a swipe of color across his stuffed cheeks, and I leave it there. It reminds me of paint, though I'm sure it tastes much better.

"My classes are over around three, but I need to record my new song before I go see Yamaguchi this week so I'll probably be a few hours later than that," I tell him, shoving another forkful of eggs in my mouth. This sure beats cereal. "How about you?"

"I don't know yet," he answers, pausing to wipe at his cheek and looking surprised when his fingers come away sticky. He just licks them and continues. "I'm all caught up on commissions right now, which is what I usually do on weekdays. Maybe I'll clean or something. Natsu will like that."

He frowns visibly over the word "clean", and I don't blame him. Both of our apartments would be considerably dirtier if not for the fear of disappointing our respective caregivers; aka Natsu and Suga. I never really gave much thought to when he found time to complete the art commissions he uses as disposable income, most everything else he needs paid by Uncle Ittetsu.

"Why don't you come with me?" I ask, the words spilling out before the idea even finishes forming in my mind.

He cocks his head to the side, that familiar questioning look in his eyes as he slows his chewing. "To work?"

"Y-yeah," I stammer, "why not?" The thought starts to gain momentum in my mind, unable to find any good reasons against it. Why not?

"Are you sure that's okay?" He asks, trying to be tentative but I can see the flame of excitement light behind his irises.

"Definitely. We'll leave early and talk to my boss. He's a cranky old asshole; you'll love him." He nods, shoveling the last few bites of egg and toast into his mouth before hopping up and grabbing my plate, setting them both in the sink before I can stop him.

"Hey! I wasn't finished," I call after him, but he's already down the hall and in my room, the sound of metal hangers against wood reaching me as he rifles through my closet, probably looking for a sweater that won't look like a dress on him.

My knees creak as I stand up from the floor, my cheeks aching from the huge stupid smile on my face as I follow him. There's a sense of oneness to everything now, highlighted as I watch him pull clothes from my closet, measuring them against himself before tossing them behind him onto my bed. The idea of these things being mine; my clothes, my bed, my room, feels less defined in this moment, the words our clothes, our bed, ourroom, filling the sentences with much more substance.

It's about thirty minutes before I manage to get Hinata out the door; one of my long sleeved shirts hanging low on his shoulder and tied in a knot at the waist and a bag full of "supplies" slung over his shoulder.

I've always loved walking to work in the mornings, just early enough that no one else is on the street and the sun is barely settling into its place above the horizon. It's the quick inhale the earth takes before starting its day, the exact type of comforting aloneness I've been accustomed to. But now, with Hinata walking by my side, his fingers entwined with mine as he swings our arms lightly between us, I realize that I want to share all of my quiet secrets with him. I want him to be a part of all of my lonely moments and silent dreams.

That beloved silence is interrupted by a loud wolf whistle, and I look up to find Oikawa leaning precariously out of the window of his new apartment. "Good morning, boys," he trills, wiggling his fingers and probably his eyebrows.

I try to ignore him and pull Hinata along but he stops to see what's caught my attention, smiling and waving up toward Oikawa's open window. "Morning!" He calls, wrapping the hand that isn't in mine around his mouth to carry the sound.

"I hope you fall," I growl, praying it's loud enough for him to hear before flipping him off and continuing on our way. If I have to see him every morning I'm going to change jobs this afternoon.

I lead us straight to Ukai's office when we get to the rec center, knocking lightly on his open door before walking in.

"Well what do we have here?" He smirks, ashes falling from the lit end of his cigarette with each word.

"I came to introduce you to someone," I tell him, stepping to the side as Hinata waves sheepishly from behind me. "This is my neighbor, Hinata. He's going to spend the day here, if that's no problem."

Ukai raises one eyebrow at me, taking one long drag from his cigarette before leaning his head back to exhale toward the ceiling. "And?"

And? And what? I open my mouth to answer before I realize what he means, my cheeks flaring up despite myself. "He's my neighbor and my boyfriend," I mumble. I'm not ashamed or anything, I just wasn't planning on having to announce our relationship immediately.

"Hah!" He shouts, sitting up in his chair suddenly, eyes going wide as a smile spreads on his face. "I knew it!"

"Knew what?" Hinata whispers, tugging lightly on my sleeve.

"I knew something big happened! That was you, kid?" He asks, peering over at Hinata. "You're the one that knocked this grumpy brat on his ass?"

"Yes sir!" He laughs, the apprehension melting from his face as he realizes Ukai isn't as scary as he looks. He raises his hands to sign, "It's nice to meet you!", still beaming.

I translate and Ukai just nods, standing up and walking toward us. "Nice to meet you too, kid," he beams, putting one hand tenderly on Hinata's shoulder as he uses the other to roughly pat my back. "Take care of him, okay? He was a train wreck before you came along."

Hinata nods and Ukai smiles, softer this time, with less teeth and more warmth in his eyes.

"Alright alright, we have to go. Class time," I announce, ushering Hinata out of the office before Ukai can elaborate on just how hopeless I used to be. "See you later."

I introduce Hinata in every class I have that day as to avoid unwanted questions while I'm teaching, feeling like a kindergartner at show and tell, presenting his most prized possession. Hinata eats it up, smiling brightly for all of my students; a haphazard grouping of teenagers, old men, and house wives trying their best to gain a new skill or just to occupy their time.

He sits off to the side of the circle of chairs in the center of the room, a sketchbook from his "supply" bag balanced on his knee as he focuses on the movements of his fingers, his tongue poking out between his lips when he erases. Paying attention to what I'm teaching proves to be difficult with him there, drawing my eyes his way with almost every movement.

Somehow I make it to the end of the day, and Hinata and I grab some snacks and sodas from the vending machine before heading to the recording studio. Hinata's eyes light up as we walk in, his fingers hovering lightly over the panels of buttons and the equipment lined up against each wall.

I start to boot up the computer, logging into my account and setting up the recording software when I hear "Kageyama, look!" behind me. The chair creaks as I swivel, finding Hinata with a microphone muff pressed under his nose like a walrus mustache.

"This is professional equipment," I tell him, trying but failing to hide my amusement.

"Everything in here is so cool," he signs, stepping closer to me and (thankfully) away from the expensive mics. "It reminds me of a space ship or something. You know how to use all of this?"

"More or less," I shrug, trying to hide the way his words make me feel kind of cool.

He spends the next ten minutes pointing out different buttons and pieces of equipment, asking me what each of them does and beaming when I give him as answer (I only make a few of them up).

"You're so smart," he tells me after he starts to ask about buttons I've already explained, leaning in close to where I still sit in the oversized computer chair, actual computer long forgotten. Without warning he climbs on my lap, legs folded on either side of me on the cushioned leather, looking down at me through half lidded eyes. "I love you."

I try to answer but he cuts me off with a kiss that tastes like Cheetos and apple juice. His hands are in my hair and I rest mine on either side of his narrow hips, leaning up and into the kiss, trying to gain the control that he refuses to relinquish.

There's a primal sound in the base of my throat when he slips his tongue between my parted lips, and I'm sure he can feel the way it vibrates, but all too soon he pulls away. I'm breathless as he leans his forehead against mine, wrapping his arms around my neck and smiling.

"I didn't know you were so into sound equipment," I smirk, trying to look calm despite the quick rise and fall of my chest and pink tinge I can feel to my cheeks. "I can teach you all about some instruments too if you keep paying me like that."

There's a gruff cough from somewhere behind Hinata, and I know who it is without even looking. I stand suddenly, Hinata slipping off of my lap as I stick out one hand to keep him from hitting the ground and ignoring the most likely angry look he gives me. "Ukai! Uh, hi! How are you, boss?"

"I'm good," he smirks, and I feel as if I could vomit at any second, "looks like you're doing a bit better though."

Hinata steps behind me when he sees Ukai in the doorway, huddling his frame until he's almost completely hidden. "I guess you could say that," I mumble.

"Getting a lot of work done?"

"Not yet. I was just about to start."

There's an uncomfortable silence for a few moments that seem to stretch on for minutes as I sit under his gaze wishing I could disappear or puke or both. "Well," he continues, "I'm heading home so make sure you lock up when you leave."

"Yes, sir," I say, barely a whisper, my eyes still focused on the ground.

"And Kageyama," he adds, and I have to practically drag my eyes up to meet his extremely amused gaze. "Take a breath, kid. You look like your head is going to explode." I nod, but I don't actually do as he says until the door clicks into place behind him.

Hinata laughs when he steps out from behind me, grabbing my sleeve and trying to pick up where we left off but I refuse. Eventually he gives up, plopping down in the chair and crossing his arms as I take my guitar behind the soundproof glass and start actually working.

He watches as a play, and eventually I see him pull his sketchpad back out but I try my best to immerse myself in the song. After about two hours I finish, waking a droopy eyed Hinata up from where he's curled up on the leather chair.

"Ready to go home?"

He nods, sitting up and stretching his arms high above his head. "Are we allowed to make out there?" His signs are slow, his mind still groggy.

"Of course," I answer, taking his hand as we make our way out of the studio and towards the front doors, the fluorescent lights oddly eerie above the darkened windows of early evening. "But if Ukai shows up there too I think we should break up."

***

Yamaguchi's office is so much different than Ukai's; and it's not just the difference in the buildings, or the addition of a proper reception and plush chairs that makes it that way. The atmosphere is different, smelling of the fresh reams of paper stacked in copy machines and the waxy leaves of ficus plants that are real and not at all plastic (I checked) that stand in the corners, instead of stale cigarette smoke and well worn leather. It's brighter, with those basic landscape paintings you find in doctor's offices hanging on the too white walls, unlike the heavy curtains Ukai always has shut except for when he decides to let his smoke flow through the cracked widow.

Yamaguchi's office is much more inviting, much friendlier, but I'd choose Ukai's in a heartbeat. Everything here has an air of artificiality, and I'm used to something raw and real.

"Mr. Kageyama?" The small framed woman at the reception desk calls me, pulling me back down from my thoughts. "You can go in now."

"Thank you," I mumble, standing and stepping towards the hallway.

The hall stretches on for a while, with multiple doors on either side, and the receptionist must notice my hesitation because she adds, "second door to the right, sir." I thank her again before heading to the door she told me, and I take a deep breath before twisting the knob.

"Kageyama!" Yamaguchi's bright voice hits my ears as soon as the door is open. "I'm so glad you could finally make it! Sorry for the wait, I had a phone call."

He stands to offer me his hand across the table, smiling with teeth as brilliant white as the walls. I shake it and we both sit. "Oh it was no trouble, sir."

"Oh no. No sirs here," he chuckles, waving away my formalities like a small bug in the air. "Please, Yamaguchi is perfectly fine. So what can I do for you today?"

"I wanted to show you a piece I'm working on for my callback appointment," I explain, pulling the recorded CD from my otherwise empty bag.

"Wonderful!" He claps, eyes practically igniting against his pale freckled face. "You have no idea how much I've been dying to hear more from you!"

"I'll try not to disappoint," I say, a bit of that old fear trying to crawl its way into my throat as I hand over the disk, but I push it down. Its claws no longer have a hold in my flesh. I have no time for fear anymore. "It's a bit of a twist on something I wrote as a kid."

"How interesting," Yamaguchi nods, sliding the CD into his computer, eagerness dripping from his fingertips. "So it's sort of an ode to your origins? Hey, that would make a great band name. I'm writing that down."

And he does, scribbling on a scrap of paper as everything loads, my foot tapping nervously against the leg of my chair. Some habits die hard. "I guess so."

The song starts slow, and Yamaguchi focuses his eyes on the far wall as he listens, tapping his pen against his chin absentmindedly. I listen for mistakes in the beat even though I made sure there were none, the notes continuing on smoothly with the type of confidence I try to exude.

I think Yamaguchi is wrong; calling this song an ode to my origins, because I think it is so much more than that. This song is a mixture of past and present; a younger version of myself meeting the man I try to be, who I am working to become with each waking breath.

It's so much more than an origin story; it's a hope for the future and a belief in change. It's transformation from one extreme to the other and everything that came along the way.

I didn't change the notes on the paper I found in my mother's house. I simply added to them, leaving the musical skeleton I built intact and just layering substance against the bones. And I did that on purpose, because I wanted this to be a reflection of who I am; and I would not be who I am without the twisting path that brought me here.

I didn't want this piece just to show who I was or who I want to be. I wanted it to show who I have been along the way, every bump included. Some things hurt to remember, but I cannot afford to forget.

"You've blown me away again, Kageyama," Yamaguchi sighs when the track ends, a soft reverence to his gaze. "That was absolutely beautiful."

"Will it work for callbacks?" I ask, the air of the office suddenly fresh in my lungs. "Is it the type of thing they'll be looking for?"

"Oh yes! I think this will work just fine," he beams, ejecting the disk and returning it to me. "It felt very personal. I can tell this piece means a lot to you. I can almost hear your heart beating amongst the chords. You have a real talent."

"Thank you," I say, blushing lightly. "That means a lot."

"Keishin was right about you."

"What?" I have no idea what he means, and I try my best to keep my thoughts from starting to run wild before he starts to explain what he means.