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If photographs of you are as close as I can get, then that’s as close as I’ll get.
If the edge of the land, is as close as I can get, then that’s as close as I’ll get.
If right up beside you is as close as I can get, then that’s as close as I’ll get.
I have and always will be, as close as I can get.
Iain S. Thomas, I Wrote This For You and Only You
Right now there are exactly three things that you are sure of. One. Memories from when you were once fourteen are now crashing and breaking and tumbling into the forefront of your mind with all the grace of a newborn calf learning how to walk, and they are laughing almost maniacally at your inner turmoil, reminding you of gymnasium stairs and promises and angry, angry tears. Two. In reality you are actually just standing in the middle of a nondescript hallway somewhere in the Kamei Arena Sendai gym, somehow twenty-one but still a boy. Three. You are certain that the world is about to end, and the only thing you can think about is seeing his smile again.
He is there, right there, the closest he has been in years, in all his flaming haired glory. He is no more than ten feet away from you, and the earth is seriously going to crumble beneath your feet. You reach an arm out. Even now, Hinata Shouyou has always been just out of reach.
And you, Kageyama Tobio, are in love with your best friend.
You, boy-king, were born with a shining scepter gripped in your small, clammy fists, golden crown draped lopsidedly over your head, love-filled heart near bursting. You work hard, harder than probably any mortal ever has on this earth, to remain seated upon your throne. And you do. You have sat on your throne for years, scowling and seething, setting higher, faster, better—
You topple off your seat. Your crown of gold shatters. Twisted ankles, bruised knees, sprained wrists.
No matter! a voice says, hauling you up by your arms and forcing you to stand on shattered limbs, each new step forward a step on two broken legs. I’m here! it says, seemingly filled with boundless energy. A new crown made of crows’ feathers and love and determination, crude but a million times more beautiful than the previous one, lands on your head. It does not hang crooked over your eyes this time, no— it fits perfectly. It is everything you have ever wanted. A flash of orange disappears beyond your peripheral.
Until then, all you had ever known was volleyball, volleyball, volleyball. Until then, you had not known anything about the concept of love or soulmates, minus the cheesy romance films your sister had forced you to watch with her when you were younger. You had revolved your entire life around volleyball, always putting it first before anything else, even yourself. You try not to think about uncoordinated spiker hands, a vertical of three hundred and thirty-three centimeters exactly, and the sharpest brown eyes you had ever seen. You do, however, wonder if you could love something more than you do volleyball.
Your heart thrums and grows and burns bright within your chest, lodging itself in every crack and crevice of your ribcage, akin to a new volleyball being pumped full of air. You can not bring yourself to move from where you are standing in that nondescript hallway; feet, ankles, knees rooted in soil. But you can unroot yourself, maybe. You can stand beside him in the sky, maybe. Where he has always belonged, always ambitious, always reaching. Where you have always belonged, by his side, never faltering, not even for a moment. Like you had always promised. Your blood roars.
And suddenly he is turning around, tearing you from your thoughts, eyes dancing with mirth. For him, it has been three years. For you it has been an eternity, and then some.
His smile is exactly how you had remembered it, all warmth and love and everything you have ever wanted. Beach sunsets and early morning runs and the squeaking of volleyball shoes. It looks a little like happiness and a lot like the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. The sun and all its stars would likely freeze over before he does. You keep your eyes trained on him, this same boy you've known for what feels like a thousand lifetimes. It still is not enough. You don’t think it ever will be. (From the corner of your eye, you can see the ghosts of everything you once knew. They have never left, even after all this time. They have not bothered you in seven years.)
You have wandered this world for far longer than anyone else around you has, wandered for longer than you have been alive. You have known more loss than can fit comfortably in your person. You have known what it is like for people to leave. You have known anger, sadness, grief, everything in between. You have known all of it, with the weight of the world on your shoulders.
Your entire life you had begged for something more, yet in return you only ever had more been taken away from you. You would give all of yourself to anything willing to take you. And he was more than willing. He takes and takes and takes, screaming and demanding and— and he is perfect. He wants every last part of you, tosses and traumas and crowns and all. He is perfect.
A million light years away, a star collapses. You hear it very clearly.
You serve the ball, ever-trusting, ever-fond, giving what you have always had too much of. You find it natural to love him, a close second to how natural it feels to set the ball.
I'm home! Hinata Shouyou says. Your eyes meet through a seemingly endless wall of net. Took you long enough, you say back.
I said my arms are very long and your head’s on fire.
I said kiss me here and here and here
and you did.
Richard Siken, Crush