Smoke and Ashes

by KemyK0

Summary:

Two years ago, firefighter Hinata Shoyo barely escaped death when a burning home collapsed around him during a rescue.

Now living in Los Angeles, a new emergency lands him back in the ER — face-to-face with the doctor who once fought to keep his heart beating.

Kageyama Tobio remembers every second.
Hinata doesn’t.

But some fires never die.
And fate has a way of reigniting what was left to burn.

Chapter 1

Los Angeles was unusually quiet that morning.

Shoyo Hinata had woken up earlier than usual, despite being on break from work that week. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, and the warm air—heavy with the scent of salt and asphalt—beckoned him outside. He’d thrown on a pair of old shorts and a white t-shirt with faded Japanese lettering, and was pouring his second cup of coffee on the balcony when he felt it.

The smell—that familiar, stinging mix of burning plastic and dry wood. He turned sharply toward the street and saw it: dirty gray smoke rising about two blocks to the south.

His heart jumped. His legs were already moving before the thought even caught up with him.

“You’re not on duty… You’re not…” he told himself as he ran barefoot down the stairs and across the street. But it didn’t matter. He was a firefighter. Always. He couldn’t just stand by and watch.

When he reached the house, a few neighbors were already outside—some filming, some shouting. Smoke billowed from a second-floor window. The front door was ajar.

“Is anyone inside?” Shoyo shouted. No one answered right away, but a woman called out:

“I think Jennifer’s little boy is in there! I saw him go in earlier, but she went to the store!”

Shoyo didn’t hesitate.

No helmet. No oxygen mask. Just a pounding heart and reflexes honed through years of training and experience. He dove into the house.

The heat hit him like a wall. With every step deeper inside, the air grew thicker. His eyes burned, his t-shirt was already soaked with sweat, and his hands reached, searched, felt—something, someone.

“Hey! Kiddo! I’m here, it’s gonna be okay! Just call out!” he yelled between coughs.

A faint whimper. To the left. Under the kitchen table.

Hinata crouched down, crawling through the smoke, and saw the eyes—wide, frightened, filled with tears. A little boy, no older than six, trembling and clutching a stuffed dog to his chest.

“You’re lucky, little guy,” Hinata whispered, scooping him up. “Come on, we’re getting out of here.”

Getting out was harder. The smoke had thickened, black and choking. The ringing in his ears intensified. Voices outside were muffled. With every step, he felt slower, less steady. But he didn’t stop.

The door. Light.

A step.

Another.

Fresh air.

Shoyo dropped to his knees in front of the house, still holding the boy, until someone took him from his arms—probably a neighbor or a responder who’d just arrived.

“We need an ambulance!” a voice shouted near his ear. “The kid’s having trouble breathing!”

Hinata tried to get up, but the world spun. The fire behind him was already devouring the upper floor.

“You’re okay,” he whispered to himself. “It’s all okay.”

*

Shoyo was sitting on the stretcher—but not by choice.

He was in the ambulance, oxygen mask hanging loosely around his neck after he’d already pulled it off. He kept trying to stand, to jump out, even though his legs burned and his arms bore clear signs of burns.

“Where’s the boy?” His voice was hoarse, but the urgency made it sharp. “Is he okay? Is someone with him? Please, just tell me something!”

“We need to take care of you, sir,” the EMT insisted.

“No! Not until I know how the kid is!”

The chaos at the hospital was routine, but Shoyo brought in an extra dose.

They got him off the stretcher, but he refused to lie down. His eyes scanned constantly, searching for something—or someone. His ears were attuned to hear only one thing—that the boy was alive.

“Please! I just need to know if he’s alive!” he shouted as a nurse tried once more to ease him into a bed.

Just then, a man with a warm smile and strands of silver in his hair stepped into the room—Dr. Sugawara Koushi.

“Shoyo,” he said gently. “The boy’s in good hands. Our emergency doctor is examining him now. But you’re injured, and we don’t yet know how seriously. We need to take a look at you. Understood?”

“I’m fine, Suga.” Shoyo muttered, but his voice had softened. His eyes were still hazy from the smoke, yet guilt and fear were plain within them.

“Listen…” Suga added, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t help anyone if you fall apart yourself. I know that look. I know you. I know what you carry. Let us help. Please.”

Shoyo gave a barely visible nod.

Just as Suga turned toward the nurse, the door slammed open.
The Captain.

Sawamura Daichi.

Shoyo’s head lowered slightly before the man even spoke, as if he already knew what was coming.

“YOU ARE A COMPLETE IDIOT!” Daichi’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “No gear?! What the hell were you thinking?!”

“The kid was inside.” Shoyo murmured.

“And what, you were going to sacrifice yourself?!” Daichi’s voice overflowed with anger and pain, tangled into one. “You’re not alone, Hinata. You have a team. You have me. Next time, think before you run into a fire in a t-shirt and bare feet!”

Shoyo didn’t answer. He knew Daichi was right.

Finally, he let himself sink into the hospital bed. Allowed Suga to begin the exam. His hands were red and stinging, with blisters already forming in some spots. His legs too. His once-white t-shirt was now gray with soot, riddled with holes at the sleeves. His hair was tousled, carrying the sharp scent of smoke.

But his eyes—they were still searching.

*

“Just sign here and here… and you’re free,” said the smiling receptionist, handing Shoyo the final form.

He nodded, scratched his slightly burned shoulder, and took the pen. His hand trembled faintly from exhaustion, but at last, it was all done.
The boy was safe. He was alive.
He was burning—literally and not—but he was alive.

“And you don’t need to come back for a follow-up unless—”

“He’s not coming back,” interrupted a voice from the side, with that familiar steel tone that could crack brick.

Shoyo closed his eyes.

Daichi.

“He’s not coming back,” the captain repeated, standing beside him with arms crossed. “Because if I see him even in the parking lot—let alone crawling into another burning house before the end of the week… I. Will. Kill him.”

“I’m just filling out paperwork, Captain,” Shoyo sighed, trying to look innocent. “Then I’m going home. I promise.”

“You promise? Promise?!” Daichi’s voice rose. “Like the last time you said ‘I’m just grabbing coffee’ and we found you on the roof of a burning warehouse?!”

“That was months ago,” Shoyo muttered.

“Yeah, and I still have nightmares about it. Listen to me. I’m driving you home myself. You’re going to stay there. You’re going to sleep, eat, watch dumb Netflix shows, and heal. Got it?”

”…Got it,” Shoyo grunted, bowing his head out of habit.

As the scene played out, a doctor with black hair and deep navy eyes—who had until now been quietly speaking with a colleague—turned and paused to watch.

His eyes settled on Shoyo.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“This one’s clearly a total idiot,” the thought came to him effortlessly. There was no anger in it—more like a puzzled curiosity about this… extremely stubborn and reckless person.

And yet, despite the chaos surrounding him, there was something in Shoyo’s eyes that felt… calm.

And for the first time in a long while, Tobio Kageyama didn’t move on.
No urgent patient. No alarms.

Just the boy with burned hands, a slightly slumped shoulder, and eyes that looked at life as if he’d already won—despite everything.

*

“Tell me honestly—how are you still alive?” Daichi growled as he buckled his seatbelt and started the engine. “Because if I’d only heard the EMT reports, I’d have thought you were headed straight to the morgue.”

Shoyo sat in the passenger seat, hands wrapped in bandages, still faintly smelling of smoke. The burns stung, but he pretended not to feel them. He stared out the window, quiet, as the car slowly rolled through the streets of LA.

“You know I didn’t have a choice,” he murmured.
“You did. And you didn’t need to be a hero.”
“I’m not a hero.”

“No. You’re not.” Daichi shot him a sideways glance. “A hero knows when to back off. You’re… a stuntman with a fire extinguisher.”

“Ha. I like that. Might use it for Instagram.”
“Shoyo, seriously!” Daichi’s voice sharpened again. “I’m not going to lose another one of my people.”

Silence.

Heavy. It hung between them like the smoke from that fire two years ago.

“I know...sorry.” Shoyo whispered.

When they pulled up to Shoyo’s house on a quiet street in Silver Lake, the evening sun was just dipping behind the hills. Daichi walked him all the way to the door, insisting he wouldn’t leave until he was sure Shoyo was inside and safe.

“And don’t forget—if I see you anywhere else before Monday…”
“You’ll kill me. Yeah, yeah. Got it.”

“Rest. That’s an order.”

Daichi turned back to his car, and Shoyo nudged the door open with his shoulder and stepped inside.

“Mochi?” he called softly as he shut the door behind him.

From the living room came the sound of paws on hardwood and a deep, low growl before a large shadow bolted toward him.

“Hey, girl, easy! It’s me!” he laughed, just as a big female Rottweiler barreled into him, nearly knocking him into the wall, bouncing with excitement.
“Okay, okay! I missed you too!”

Mochi licked his bandaged hands anxiously, letting out a soft whine, as if she could sense the pain beneath his skin. He knelt slowly, ignoring the sting, and buried his face in her black fur.

“I’m okay, I promise. Nothing serious. Just a few burns… and a near-death threat from the captain. The usual.”

Mochi curled up next to him, resting her head on his thigh.
The only home he had left.

*

“I’m telling you, it was complete madness,” Dr. Sugawara’s voice trembled slightly as he sank into one of the chairs in the doctors’ lounge. He still smelled faintly of smoke, even though he had only examined the patient, not gone into the fire.

Tobio stood by the window, hands tucked into the pockets of his white coat. He looked perfectly calm, but his eyes were fixed on the horizon, where the sun was sinking behind the city.

“That Hinata guy…” muttered Dr. Yamaguchi, one of the younger surgeons, shaking his head. “He went in wearing shorts? No mask? How the hell did he survive?”

“More than that—he got the kid out on his own. Then refused treatment until he heard the boy was safe.” Suga made a face. “Shoyo...he is something. Remember him? Two years ago, he was impaled through the abdomen by a beam.”

“Wait… what?” asked Dr. Kiyoko, a resident in intensive care, just as she was pouring herself a cup of coffee. “That case? With the firefighter who didn’t make it?”

“Mhm.” Suga nodded grimly. “It was brutal. Shoyo barely pulled through. He… was Tobio’s patient.”

All eyes turned toward Kageyama, who finally turned to face them.

“That was him?” he asked calmly. His voice was soft, barely above a whisper.
“I didn’t see him after the surgery. He was in a coma for nearly a month.”

“Yeah. Same guy. Today he shows up without oxygen, covered in burns, seconds from collapse. And he was still only thinking about the kid.” Suga leaned back in his chair.

“Huh.” Tobio sat down slowly. He said nothing else.

Yamaguchi chuckled under his breath.

“His captain looked like he was going to murder him right there. Yelled so loud, the nurses actually stopped breathing.”

“Daichi,” Suga said with a smile. “Head of their unit. Great guy. Needs valerian.”

“Shoyo Hinata…” Tobio murmured, as if tasting the name in his mouth.
He had read it years ago in the report. But back then, it had meant nothing—just another trauma case. Emergency surgery. Severe injuries. Barely saved.

Now the name had a face. And eyes. And a voice.

“He seems like an idiot,” he said finally, flatly.

“Oh, absolutely,” Suga grinned. “But also one of the best firefighters on the squad. And one of the most dangerous. Especially to himself.”

Kageyama gave a small nod.

“Well, at least now we know you’ll be seeing more of him,” Suga added with a sly smile. “We’re keeping the kid under observation for a few more days. And Hinata… I’m sure he’ll be back to check on him. Even if he has to climb through a window.”

Tobio didn’t reply.

But the thought was already burning in his mind—
He’ll be back.
And this time, Tobio had no intention of forgetting him.

A few minutes later, alone in the room, Tobio opened the patient’s electronic file.

Hinata, Shoyo. 25. Firefighter.

The photo in the system was old—taken before the injury. He was smiling. His messy orange hair slightly tousled, his uniform unevenly buttoned.
That smile didn’t belong to him anymore.
But in his eyes… that same fire still lingered.

The look of someone who doesn’t give up.
Ever.

Tobio stared at the screen for a long moment.

Then closed the laptop gently.

“Idiot or not…” he muttered. “There’s something about him.”

And for the first time in a very long while, something stirred in his chest—not duty, not alarm.

Something warm.
Quiet.
And terrifying.

*

The sun was already rising, and Los Angeles stretched itself into the new day. The streets hummed with rhythmic traffic, the buzz of early scooters, and the chatter from open café windows.

Shoyo stood in front of the hospital entrance, wearing sunglasses and a gray hoodie pulled low over his face. His hands were still bandaged, legs slightly swollen, but he was there—walking almost normally. Almost.

“I’m just going to check. Check. Check." He spoke to himself, as he always did when doing something he knew was a bad idea.

He stepped through the doors with the same kind of blind certainty he’d had when leaping into the flames the day before—without hesitation.

The nurse at the front desk recognized him instantly.

“Mr. Hinata?! Aren’t you supposed to be… at home? In bed?”

“Yeah. That’s exactly where I’m heading. I just wanted to…”
He raised his hands.
“Just want to know how the boy’s doing. That’s all.”

The nurse sighed. She knew his type.
The kind who simply couldn’t stop caring.

“Fine. But fast. Then you leave.”

“Like a ninja,” Shoyo said, winking.

Up on the third floor, in the pediatric unit, the air smelled of disinfectant and balloons. Shoyo walked past a few nurses, fists tucked into the hoodie pockets. He stopped at a glass door, where he saw the familiar face of the little boy—sleeping peacefully, an IV in his arm.

Relief flooded his chest like cold, clean water.

“He’s okay…” he whispered.
His smile was small—but real.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?”

The voice caught him off guard. Calm, but sharp. Low, each word measured like it had passed a filter of logic and precision.

Shoyo turned.

He was there.
Blue eyes.
Slicked-back black hair.
Tall. Steady.
A coat slightly unbuttoned. A tablet in his hand, graphs blinking on the screen.

“Oh… Hey.” Shoyo cleared his throat. “You were… with him, right? The boy.”

“Mm. I admitted him and I’m overseeing his care.”

“Is he… really okay? Nothing hidden? Internal stuff?”

Tobio nodded.

“Minor smoke inhalation. The lungs will recover. He’s responding well to treatment.”

“Good. Good…” Shoyo clenched his hands. “I’m glad. I… I just needed to know. I couldn’t… leave it at that. Not after…”

Their eyes met.

For a second.

The world didn’t move.
And… nothing happened.

Shoyo furrowed his brow slightly, like something about this man irritated him—not in a bad way, but… oddly. Familiar. Yet nameless.

“I’m Dr. Kageyama,” the man said, calmly. “You can call me Tobio.”

Shoyo nodded. Reached out his hand, still wrapped in gauze, never breaking eye contact.

“Shoyo. Hinata Shoyo.”

Tobio took it. The handshake was brief—but grounding.
And both of them felt it.
That quiet, unmistakable shift beneath the skin—
something stirred.

“Thank you. For taking care of him,” Shoyo added softly. “Really.”

“You pulled him from the fire. I just… finished the job.”

“Well… Team effort,” Shoyo attempted a joke.

Tobio didn’t laugh.
But something—something at the corner of his lips—twitched.

“You should be leaving,” came a voice from behind.

Sugawara stood with a cup of coffee and eyebrows raised high enough to reach the ceiling.

“Shoyo… we said check-in only. Now go.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going. Relax, Suga. Just talking with…”
He turned to Tobio.
”…Tobio.”

Then he started walking back down the hallway.

Tobio watched him go.

And then—
The memories crashed into him like a wave.

Two years ago.
Emergency case.
So much blood.
A beam through his abdomen.
Burns across his body.
The flatline, the resuscitation, the night shift no one talked about.

He’d held his insides together just long enough to collapse into the ER.
And Tobio had been the one to cut him open. To sew him back together.
To keep him alive.

But back then, he had only been a case. A patient number.
Now… he was walking, talking, joking.
With fire still in his eyes.

Tobio looked away, back toward the room with the sleeping boy.

Something inside him whispered:

He came back.

And next time—
Tobio knew he’d be waiting.

*

Monday morning poured over LA with its usual heat and noise. The fire station buzzed with activity—bags thumping, cranes groaning, boots echoing against the concrete floor.

Shoyo appeared in the doorway with a trace of tiredness in his eyes, but that unmistakable determination everyone knew was firmly intact.

“Welcome back, shrimp!” came Tsukishima’s voice, leaning against the wall with a smirk and a phone in hand.

“Tsukishima, can you give me five minutes of peace?” Shoyo shot back with a wide grin, struggling a little to shrug off his backpack.

“Sure, but remember—you do have to wear a helmet now. No more running around half-naked.”

“I promise. Helmet, gear, the full package.”

Across the room, Oikawa and Iwaizumi were deep in debate over some equipment issue, while Kuroo and Kenma sat nearby, quietly observing—long since used to the team’s daily chaos.

“Still as restless as ever, huh, Shoyo?” Oikawa chuckled, tossing him a water bottle.

“How can I sit still when there’s fire out there to put out?” Shoyo replied, eyes sparkling with energy.

“That’s the spirit!” Iwaizumi said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Just make sure you don’t get us all chewed out by the brass.” Kuroo added, nodding toward the faint bruises still visible on Shoyo’s arms and legs.

“How’s Mochi doing?” Kenma asked, glancing up from his coffee and phone.

“She’s great. Best home security I could ask for. I can’t imagine a night without her anymore.”

“Since you were out of commission,” Suna chimed in with a crooked smile, “the captain gave us a little bonus warning for today: if he sees you anywhere without full gear, he will hunt you down and drag you back personally.”

“Oh, perfect!” Shoyo laughed. “I think I’ve had enough scolding for one lifetime.”

At that moment, Daichi entered, his presence solid as ever and gaze sharp.

“Hinata, welcome back. Take it easy the first few days. I don’t want to be carrying you back to the ER after another ‘little stunt.’”
His tone was stern, but there was care underneath it.

Shoyo nodded.

“I’ll be careful, Captain.”

“Good. Now everyone—gather up. We’ve got a planning meeting for the week.”

The team gathered around the long table, conversation already shifting toward new alerts, equipment upgrades, and upcoming training schedules.

*

As the meeting progressed, Daichi stood at the front, tapping on a digital board, projecting upcoming drills and recent incident stats.

“We’ve got three controlled burn exercises this week,” he began. “Two joint-response simulations with Station 43, and one live-fire drill in the canyon. I want full attendance and no shortcuts.”

Groans came from a few corners of the room. Oikawa dramatically slumped over the table.

“You’ll survive,” muttered Iwaizumi, elbowing him.

“Barely,” Oikawa pouted.

Tsukishima raised a hand lazily.
“What’s the heat threshold for us not being required to bake alive?”

“It’s called summer,” Daichi replied flatly. “Deal with it.”

The laughter that followed was warm—familiar. Even Kenma chuckled quietly behind his coffee.

Shoyo watched them all as he sipped from his water bottle. The movement, the jokes, the strange way each member of the team balanced out the others—it felt like slipping back into a perfectly worn-in pair of boots.

Except for one thing.

Something in him felt… different.

It wasn’t the pain. He could handle that. It wasn’t even the lingering exhaustion.

It was the image of a certain surgeon’s face—calm, controlled, intense.

Tobio Kageyama.

It had been a short conversation. Barely a minute. But that look—the way those blue eyes had narrowed, the stillness he carried, the way he said his name—it had lodged itself somewhere in Shoyo’s mind like a spark refusing to die out.

He didn’t even know why it stuck.

But it did.

“Hinata,” Daichi’s voice cut through his thoughts, “you’re cleared for active duty, but we’re easing you in. For the first week, you’re on support rotation only. No front-line entries. Understood?”

Shoyo blinked, snapped back into the room.

“Got it. Support only.”

“And you’re partnered with Kuroo for the next few shifts. He’s keeping an eye on you.”

“Lucky me,” Kuroo grinned.

“Very lucky,” Kenma added flatly. “At least Kuroo knows how to drag you out of trouble.”

Shoyo smirked.
“You all act like I’m a magnet for disasters.”

Oikawa raised a finger.
“That’s because you are.”

Iwaizumi nodded.
“A magnet that jumps into burning buildings before backup arrives.”

“Hey, someone has to be fast.”

“Fast doesn’t mean stupid, Shoyo,” Daichi reminded him.

And just like that, the moment passed—easy, normal. Back to banter and teasing and protocols.

But later, when they were checking equipment in the garage, Shoyo found himself alone for a minute—just him and the quiet hum of the engine bay.

His phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number.

/This is Dr. Kageyama. The boy has been cleared for discharge. His family is picking him up today. He asked if you’d be told. I thought you should know.

Shoyo stared at the message.

No emojis. No greeting.

And yet, somehow, it made his chest feel warmer than any morning sun.

He stared at the text for a moment longer… then smiled.

/Thanks. Really. I owe you one.

He hesitated… then added:

/Wanna grab coffee sometime?

He hit send before he could overthink it.

Somewhere in the distance, a siren began to wail.

Duty called.

But this time, something else was rising in the background too—something just as powerful as the fire.

Possibility.

*

Later that evening, the firehouse was quiet.

Dinner had been loud and chaotic—Oikawa had burned the rice, Iwaizumi had taken over, and Tsukishima had spent the whole meal making passive-aggressive comments about nutritional balance until Kenma threatened to swap his protein bars with tofu.
Now, the team had dispersed—some to bunks, others to late-night equipment checks.

Shoyo was alone again, seated on a bench outside the station garage, hoodie back over his head, bandaged hands resting in his lap. The air smelled faintly of fuel, lavender soap, and summer heat.

His phone buzzed.

/Dr. Kageyama:

/Coffee is fine.
/But I don’t talk much. Just so you know.

Shoyo grinned to himself, typing quickly with his thumbs.

/That’s okay. I talk enough for both of us.

A pause.

Then another buzz.

/Tomorrow. 5:30 p.m. There’s a place across from the hospital. Small. Quiet.

Shoyo’s fingers hovered over the screen.

Was it a date?

…No. Probably not.

Was it something?

Yeah.

He typed:

/I’ll be there.

No reply came immediately, but Shoyo didn’t mind.

The air was cooling down, and inside the station, someone had put on music low in the background—jazz, maybe, or some lo-fi mix Kuroo swore helped with stress relief.

Shoyo leaned back, letting his head rest against the cool metal of the wall. His body still ached, but something inside had shifted. A balance, long skewed, beginning to realign.

For the first time since the fire—and maybe longer—he didn’t feel like he was sprinting on fumes.

He felt… still.

And tomorrow, he’d see Tobio again.

That alone was enough to light a spark.

*

FLASHBACK – Two Years Earlier

The sound of the alarms was muffled, like it came from another world.

Hospital lights pulsed overhead. Metal. Blood. Burned flesh.

“Is this him? Patient 1172?”

“Yes. Firefighter. Impalement through the abdomen. Left side—fully compromised. Second and third-degree burns.”

“God…”

The beam was still lodged in him—a piece of collapsed ceiling that had pierced through tissue like a knife through paper. The blood wasn’t just spilling—it pulsed into the air in waves, with every beat of a heart that was somehow still alive.

“BP’s crashing—he’s dying. We need an emergency laparotomy. Now.”

“Who’s leading?”

“Dr. Kageyama.”

A young voice. Clear. Unshaken.

“We lose him if we don’t start now. Scalpel. Nurse—track his sats. Don’t lose his rhythm.”

No one questioned him.

*

Later, in the quiet shadow of post-op silence, Tobio sat alone in the on-call room. His hands still trembled. Dried blood stained his fingers in dark patches.

He didn’t know the patient’s name. Only the case. Only the numbers.

Impalement. Burns. Massive trauma.

And yet, in that moment—when he’d pressed his hands into bleeding flesh, when he’d stitched torn tissue with near-mechanical precision—something in him had refused to give up on that life.

“This one… this one doesn’t get to die,” he’d told himself. He hadn’t known why.

And when the monitor screamed and the pulse returned—slow, erratic—Tobio had simply closed his eyes and whispered:

“Not yet. Not this one.”

*

And after that—darkness. A coma. Months.
Shoyo remembered none of it.

But Tobio did.

Chapter 2

Los Angeles – 5:27 PM

The café across from the hospital was tucked between a bookstore and a florist, shaded by overgrown vines and the glow of tired fairy lights that hadn’t been replaced in years. Inside, it smelled like strong espresso and almond syrup, the hum of quiet conversation mixing with the hiss of the espresso machine.

Shoyo arrived first.

He wore jeans, clean sneakers, and a navy hoodie. The burns on his arms didn’t show as much anymore, but the skin still felt tight, unfamiliar. He looked around, pacing once between two empty tables before choosing a small one by the window.

He checked his phone.

Nothing new.

He glanced up—and there he was.

Tobio Kageyama stepped in like he didn’t quite belong in civilian space. His white shirt was neatly pressed, tucked into dark slacks, and his hospital badge was still clipped to his belt. His posture was perfect, his eyes sharp, scanning the room for exactly one thing.

They landed on Shoyo.

And softened. Just barely.

Shoyo stood to greet him. “Hey.”

Tobio gave a slight nod. “Hi."

Tobio sat down across from him, setting his phone and a slim notebook on the table. No order yet. No coffee. Just stillness between them, like an old echo resurfacing from somewhere neither had quite expected.

“So…” Shoyo started, unsure why he suddenly felt seventeen again. “You really came.”

“You asked.”

Shoyo tilted his head. “And you usually do what people ask?”

“No.” Tobio’s tone was dry. “I don’t.”

Shoyo blinked, then smiled. “Guess I’m special.”

Silence.

And then, to Shoyo’s shock—

A twitch. At the corner of Tobio’s mouth. A hint of a smirk.

They sat for a few more moments before a barista wandered over. Shoyo ordered an caramel frappuchino, Tobio simply said, “Black.”

The barista left with their order, and Shoyo leaned back in his seat, eyeing Tobio’s drink choice with mild amusement.

“Black coffee, huh? No sugar, no milk?” he asked, lips twitching into a grin. “You really are a doctor. Is that part of the job requirement?”

Tobio didn’t even flinch. “Caffeine. No distractions.”

Shoyo snorted. “God. You even sound like one.”

“And you,” Tobio said flatly, “are about one frappuccino away from a sugar-induced coma.”

Shoyo looked genuinely offended. “This is caramel and espresso. It’s practically balanced.”

“It’s a dessert in a cup.”

“It’s happiness in a cup.”

The barista returned with their drinks, sliding them onto the table with a polite nod. Shoyo immediately took a sip through the straw and hummed in contentment. Tobio watched him with the expression of someone who’s just witnessed someone willingly eat glue.

“I’m guessing you eat kale and boiled chicken on your birthday,” Shoyo muttered, narrowing his eyes over the straw.

“I’m guessing you get cavities for fun.”

Shoyo laughed—sudden, bright. He hadn’t expected the doctor to actually banter back, but here they were, two extremes orbiting the same small café table, barely scratching the surface of something stranger than friendship but not quite anything else yet.

“Seriously though,” Shoyo added after a pause, “thanks for meeting up. I kind of figured you’d ignore the message.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Shoyo shrugged. “You just have that ‘I don’t talk to people unless it’s in the ER’ vibe.”

Tobio didn’t argue.

Instead, he stirred his coffee slowly, eyes fixed on the swirling dark liquid like it might answer for him. The silence between them shifted—less playful now, more… careful.

“I don’t usually meet up,” he admitted. “Especially not with patients.”

Shoyo blinked. “Oh. So I was a patient?”

“You were injured.” Tobio’s tone was neutral, as if correcting something slightly technical.

Shoyo accepted that answer, though his brow furrowed slightly—like he sensed something unsaid lingering just behind it. But he didn’t press.

Shoyo stirred the last of the whipped cream into his drink, then looked up.

“You ever get used to it?” he asked.

Tobio glanced at him, brow slightly raised.

“The hospital. The… chaos. The mess. Knowing you’re going in and probably won’t be able to fix everything.”

A pause.

“No,” Tobio said simply. “You don’t get used to it. You just… get better at functioning inside it.”

Shoyo nodded slowly, absorbing that.

“I guess it’s the same with fires,” he murmured. “People think you get numb to the heat. But you don’t. You just stop flinching.”

Their eyes met for a moment. Quiet recognition passed between them—unspoken but understood. Different battlegrounds. Same weight.

Shoyo leaned back again, his chair creaking.

“I used to think if I just moved fast enough, I could outrun the fear. Get in, get someone out, and the panic wouldn’t have time to catch me.”

“Did it work?”

“Sometimes.” He gave a small grin. “But the aftermath always catches up.”

Tobio sipped his coffee. “And now?”

Shoyo hesitated. “Now… I think I try not to run from it. Just run with it.”

Tobio gave a small, almost imperceptible nod—approval, or maybe understanding.
*
They sat like that for a while, the rhythm between them easy now, almost natural. Topics floated in and out—quirky patient stories (Shoyo was weirdly invested in a woman who tried to smuggle her chihuahua into a CT scan), favorite takeout spots, how Kuroo always somehow just barely passed his fire safety re-certification.

Tobio even allowed himself a faint smile when Shoyo did an impression of Tsukishima’s unimpressed deadpan voice (“‘Shoyo, you can’t climb the ladder without gear.’ Yeah, thanks, Mom.”).

Time passed.

An hour, almost.

The golden light outside had deepened into amber, casting soft shadows across the table. The café had grown quieter. Only two other patrons remained in the corner, talking in hushed tones.

Tobio checked his watch, the movement precise. He sighed softly and reached for his badge and notebook.

“I have to head back. Night shift starts in twenty.”

Shoyo nodded, a little too quickly.

“Right, yeah. Totally. I don’t want to make you late.”

He stood as Tobio did, awkwardly pushing in his chair with a foot.

At the door, Tobio paused.

“This was…” He searched for a word, and somehow seemed mildly annoyed by the effort of needing one. “…unexpected.”

Shoyo tilted his head. “Good unexpected?”

Tobio didn’t answer right away.

But then—

“Yes.”

A quiet beat.

“Can I… text you again sometime?” Shoyo asked, trying to make it sound casual, like his heart wasn’t thudding like a drumline in his chest.

“If you want to.”

“And if I show up in the ER again?” Shoyo smirked.

Tobio narrowed his eyes. “Don’t.”

Shoyo chuckled. “Got it. No heroic injuries. I’ll just fall down the stairs or something boring.”

“You’d still probably make it dramatic.”

“Rude.”

Tobio’s lips twitched again—something halfway to a smile—and then he turned.

Shoyo stood there for a moment longer, watching the doctor stride across the street toward the hospital. Tall. Unshakable. Controlled.

But now, Shoyo had seen the cracks. The edges. The version of Kageyama that didn’t only exist behind a surgical mask and sterile gloves.

He slipped his hands into his pockets, the slight tug of healing skin a gentle reminder that he was still here.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he was burning to stay alive.

He was just… alive.

And something new was finally beginning to smolder.

*

Hospital – 7:08 PM

The hallway lights buzzed overhead—too bright, too white. The emergency department was alive with movement, but Tobio walked through it like a ghost passing through noise. Focused. Measured. Present only where necessary.

His shoes echoed softly on the polished floors as he passed triage, gave a nod to the night nurse, and slipped through the door into the staff-only wing.

“Evening, Dr. Kageyama,” murmured Nurse Arai as he passed. “Patient 22 is back—same chest pains. Room 4C.”

“I’ll see him after I review labs,” Tobio replied evenly, already halfway down the hall.

He entered the staff room and closed the door behind him. The sudden quiet was jarring. The clock on the wall ticked in slow, deliberate beats.

He sat down at the desk, loosened his collar, and opened his laptop.

He didn’t type anything.

Instead, his fingers hovered over the keyboard, unmoving. His gaze wasn’t on the screen. Not really.

It was still on the boy with caramel on his lip and a thousand-watt smile, sipping frappuccino like it was sacred fuel.

Shoyo Hinata.

Tobio leaned back in the chair, resting one hand on his lap and pressing his thumb lightly against his temple, as if trying to compress the thoughts into something orderly.

He looked good.

The thought came before he could stop it. Healthy. Bandaged, yes, but upright. Laughing. Moving like someone who still believed the world could be saved with enough speed and stubbornness.

Two years ago, he’d been half-dead on an operating table.

And Tobio had never forgotten him.

He hadn’t told him. He could’ve. It would’ve been easy—clinical.
“You were my patient. I operated on you. I remember.”
But the words never left his mouth.

Maybe because it felt… too personal.
Too intimate.
Too close to the place in him that he kept locked and silent.

He wasn’t supposed to blur the line between care and connection.

And yet—he’d crossed the street. He’d sat at a café.
He’d said yes.

Tobio opened Shoyo’s file—not for the first time. He wasn’t violating any rules. Not technically. Shoyo had been his patient once. Records were accessible. Justifiable.

But he wasn’t looking for vitals.

He scrolled to the old trauma report.
The scans. The damage. The repairs.
Everything he’d done to pull Shoyo back from the edge.

He remembered how hot the operating room had been that night.
How the blood had refused to clot.
How the heart had stuttered once—twice—
and how he had refused to stop.

“I don’t know why I care,” he whispered under his breath, staring at the monitor.

But he knew. Of course he did.

Because Shoyo had survived.
Because he hadn’t just lived—he’d returned. With fire in his eyes and laughter in his chest, like the pain never touched him.

Because no matter how reckless or infuriating or completely ridiculous he was—

He mattered.

A knock at the door pulled him out of the moment.

“Dr. Kageyama?” A nurse peeked in. “Labs from 5B just came in.”

Tobio shut the laptop gently. “Thank you. I’ll take a look.”

As the door closed, he stood and straightened his coat.

Duty first. Always.

But his steps felt different now—still sharp, still sure—but with something new beneath them. A current he couldn’t quite name.

Not yet.

*

Tobio unlocked the door to his apartment with the same practiced exhaustion he brought home most days — a sluggish twist of the key, a push with the shoulder, and then silence. Not the kind of silence that soothed. The kind that echoed.

The lights stayed off as he stepped inside, dropped his bag by the door, and toed off his shoes. The overhead city glow filtered in through the blinds, bathing the place in bluish-gray shadows.

Long shift. Too many patients. Too little sleep.

He walked straight to the couch and collapsed with a muted grunt, arm flung over his eyes.

Tobio sighed, shifted, and reached blindly for his phone.

Habit.

A few notifications. A message from Suga. An unread article his algorithm thought he’d care about. A missed call from his mother.

He ignored all of them.

Opened Instagram instead.

Not to post. He barely posted. Just to scroll. Look at something that wasn’t medical charts or patient vitals or—

Notification: People you might know.

His thumb paused mid-scroll.

A small round icon.

Bright orange hair. A blurry photo. Half a firefighter’s helmet in the frame.

@fire.sho_yo

The username almost made him snort.

He clicked on the profile.

Public.

Of course it was.

There were a handful of posts — all chaotic, full of motion. Group selfies in the station, blurry photos from behind a firetruck wheel, a close-up of a dog nose with the caption “Mochi is judging you.”

One video clip was a backflip in full gear.

Tobio raised an eyebrow.

Another post — a shot of someone’s burnt lasagna on the station kitchen counter with the caption: “Not naming names (it was Oikawa).”

He scrolled further.

Stopped.

A photo: taken from the floor, Shoyo lying flat on his back, flushed from effort, with sweat sticking his curls to his forehead. Behind him, gym mats and a shadow of Tsukishima laughing in the corner.

The caption: “Recovery days are boring. Let me lift things.”

Tobio stared for longer than he meant to.

Then he tapped follow.

A pause.

Tobio wasn’t trying to stalk.

He really wasn’t.

But after that his thumb hovered over the grid for a second too long. And then it moved — of its own free will, obviously — and tapped one of the thumbnails.

Just one.

A gym mirror selfie.

At first glance, it wasn’t even that different from the others. Shoyo in sweats, towel slung around his shoulders, hair damp, looking proud and a little cocky. Caption:
“Light day. Still beat Tsukki’s PR 💪🔥”

Tobio almost backed out.

Almost.

But the next photo caught his eye.

Shoyo again. No shirt this time. Lower lighting. Defined abs. Oblique lines that disappeared into a waistband slung dangerously low. But what drew Tobio’s eyes — what stopped his breath for half a second — were the tattoos.

The entire left side of Shoyo’s torso — arm, ribs, chest, down his side — was covered in intricate black ink. Dragons, flames, clouds that curled like smoke across his skin. Japanese-style waves along his ribs. The lines were sharp and fluid, dangerous and beautiful all at once.

Tobio sat up straighter.

What the hell?

He scrolled again. Found another one — a video this time, someone recording him mid-deadlift, shirtless, back flexing with movement.

More tattoos. Across his shoulder blades. Down his spine.

One of the comments said:
🔥🔥🔥 damn, Sho. Didn’t know u were hiding half a yakuza sleeve.

Shoyo had replied:
Just enough to scare Tsukki and impress Mochi.

Tobio stared at the screen.

Something about the contrast — the brightness of his personality, the chaos he brought everywhere — and this? This dark, stormy art painted across his skin?

It shouldn’t have worked.

But it did.

A little too well.

Tobio cleared his throat, abruptly locked his phone, and stood up as if the room had gotten hotter.

It was just ink.

Just ink.

And maybe some muscle.

And a smirk in that mirror pic that made his pulse trip for a half-second.

He ran a hand through his hair, muttering:

– “You’re a doctor. You’ve seen a hundred bare backs. Get over it.”

But none of them had dragons curling along their ribs like they were born from fire.

None of them were Shoyo Hinata.

*

Tobio headed to the bathroom, still half-tense, like the thoughts he was trying to escape had followed him through every doorway.

He peeled off his clothes without thinking — shirt, socks, pants, all dropped in the hamper — and turned on the shower. The water hissed through the pipes before hitting his skin in a hot, steady stream. He let his head fall forward, forehead pressing against the cool tile.

Just water. Just steam. Just another night.

And then—
It came back.

Shoyo’s body.

Not just the muscles. Not just the tattoos.

His brow furrowed, and suddenly he was no longer seeing the Instagram post. His mind had dragged him back—two years ago, to that night.

To that fire.

It had been one of the worst he’d seen in his entire career.

And Shoyo had been barely breathing when they brought him in.

The burns on his left side were deep, angry red-black at the time. Skin charred in places. He remembered pressing gauze to muscle, adrenaline pumping, the overhead lights in the OR far too bright, the scent of smoke still clinging to Shoyo’s hair.

That side of his body had been… destroyed. Enough that the surgeons debated grafts. Enough that Tobio wasn’t sure if he’d ever regain full function in his arm again, let alone return to the field.

But Shoyo had.

With that same impossible stubbornness.

Tobio stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist.

He unlocked his phone again, his eyes drifting back to the image.

The flames etched along Shoyo’s ribs. The twisting dragons, like they were guarding the parts of him that had once been torn open. Every line of ink dancing over the places where skin had once blistered and cracked. The artwork was deliberate. Purposeful. A reclamation.

Had he done it to hide the scars?

No. Not hide.

Transform.

That was the word.

He’d taken trauma and branded it into something else. Something beautiful. Powerful.

Tobio swallowed.

It made his chest ache, and he couldn’t explain why.

He was a doctor. He’d seen burn victims before. Seen people break down in recovery. Some never fully came back. But Shoyo had. And not by erasing the damage — but by owning it.

That entire left side… now wore a story. In ink and memory.

Tobio leaned forward on the sink, staring down at the image like it held secrets he hadn’t earned yet.

And suddenly, that unreadable smirk in the mirror selfie felt like a challenge. Or maybe an invitation.

Or maybe it was just a thirst trap and Tobio was losing his mind.

He sighed, rubbed a hand over his face, and didn’t open Instagram again for the rest of the night.

But he didn’t stop thinking about dragons.

Or scars.

Or Shoyo Hinata.

*

Shoyo woke before the sun.

Not from an alarm. Not from Mochi’s usual breakfast nudge.

Just… that weight again. The kind that sat in his chest like a coiled spring. Like something waiting.

The air outside was still. The room dim and blue, shadows stretching across the walls. He lay on his side, facing the open window, listening to the quiet hum of the streetlights and the faint creak of the old ceiling fan above him.

Mochi let out a sleepy huff from the end of the bed, then rolled over and resumed snoring.

Shoyo sat up slowly. His T-shirt was twisted, clinging damp with sweat across his ribs. He tossed it into the laundry basket, and walked into the bathroom, not bothering to turn on the light.

In the mirror, faint streaks of moonlight traced across his torso. He ran a hand along his ribs.

Dragons.

Waves.

Scars.

The ink covered them now, but he still knew where each one was. Felt them like ghosts under the art. Some mornings, like this one, he could still smell the smoke. Still hear the cracking wood, the scream that had clawed out of him when the beam slammed down. And the silence that followed.

That had been the worst part.

Not the pain. The stillness after.

And the fear.

Not of dying — but of being done. Of being told: you can’t go back.

But he had.

He always did.

Shoyo brushed his teeth slowly, rinsed his face, and headed to the kitchen in his boxers. He poured kibble for Mochi, poured coffee for himself, and stood barefoot in the middle of the kitchen while the sunrise bled through the windows.

He picked up his phone from the counter.

A notification.

@tobio.kageyama has followed you.

He blinked.

Then smirked.

That was fast.

He thought about it for a second — about how stoic and closed-off Tobio seemed, especially in the hospital. All sharp focus and no social grace. But underneath, there was something… honest in the way he looked at you. Like he couldn’t lie, even if he wanted to.

Shoyo opened Instagram. Tapped on the notification. Looked at Tobio’s profile: zero posts. One story highlight titled “Medicinal Rants.” Mostly photos of diagrams. One blurry video of Suga laughing in the ER.

Shoyo chuckled under his breath.

Then clicked “Follow Back.”

He didn’t send a message.

Didn’t have to.

Because he knew — without a doubt — that Tobio Kageyama was thinking about him. And maybe not just because of the fire.

And that, for the first time in a long time, made Shoyo’s chest feel something other than heavy.

*

ONE WEEK LATER

Los Angeles – 11:42 PM

The screech of tires.
A thunderous crunch.
Glass exploded into the night like ice shattering across pavement.

The call came in three minutes later.

“Major vehicle collision. Two vehicles. Possible entrapment. Unknown number of injured. Proceed with caution.”

Shoyo was already sliding into his gear before the dispatcher finished.
Helmet. Gloves. Boots.
The faint itch of healing skin beneath his uniform went ignored.

“Let’s move!” Daichi barked, leading the crew toward the truck.

They tore through the streets of downtown, sirens wailing, cutting through the fog of smog and late-night silence. The firetruck’s red lights cast flickering ghosts along the walls of shuttered shops and darkened apartment buildings.

When they arrived, the scene was chaos.

A silver SUV had plowed into the side of a smaller sedan. The sedan was unrecognizable—its entire driver’s side crushed inward like a tin can. One tire spun uselessly in the air. A fire hydrant had been sheared off at the base, flooding the intersection in a glittering arc.

Someone was screaming.

“Engine 12, get the tools!” Daichi ordered. “We’ve got one trapped. Possibly unconscious. Hinata, Kuroo—you’re on extrication. Carefully!”

Shoyo ran toward the smaller car, heart already pounding.

Inside the twisted frame, a woman in her mid-thirties was crumpled against the airbag, blood trickling from her scalp. Her hand twitched weakly against the steering wheel.

“Ma’am? Can you hear me?” Shoyo called, crouching near the broken window. “We’re getting you out. Just hang on, okay?”

She didn’t answer.

Kuroo arrived with the jaws of life, handing them off without a word. Shoyo didn’t hesitate—he braced the tool, teeth gritted, and began tearing into the frame.

Metal groaned. Glass popped. Sparks flew.

The woman moaned weakly, and Shoyo felt something seize in his chest. A memory—his own ribs splitting open under weight and pressure—flashed behind his eyes. But he didn’t falter.

“Almost there,” he whispered. “Stay with me. Just a little more—”

The frame gave with a shriek. The door peeled open like rotten fruit.

“I’ve got her!” Kuroo said, sliding in from the other side. “Head’s bleeding but pupils responsive. Pulse weak, but holding.”

“Let’s move her carefully—on my count.”

Shoyo supported the woman’s shoulders as Kuroo braced her legs. Together, they lifted her from the wreck and laid her gently onto a stretcher. Paramedics swarmed in, already working with practiced hands.

“Where’s the hospital intake?” one EMT called.

“St. Joseph’s,” another replied. “Closest with trauma access.”

St. Joseph’s.

Shoyo’s head turned instinctively, and for a moment, he knew.

He’d be there.

*

HOSPITAL – ST. JOSEPH’S EMERGENCY DEPARTMENT
12:14 AM

The trauma bay was already prepped.

Tobio stood beside the gurney as the EMTs rushed in. He’d barely glanced at the incoming report when his name had been called. Still, his coat was on, gloves snapped tight, mind already running a full diagnostic before the woman even crossed the threshold.

“Severe impact trauma. Suspected pelvic fracture. Lacerations to the head. Vitals unstable,” the EMT rattled off.

“Get her into Room Two. Let’s prep for scans and stabilize BP. IV push, O2 mask, and I want neuro on standby in case she starts to crash.”

He worked fast. Focused.

But something tugged at the edge of his awareness.

A presence.

He turned—and there, through the outer glass, drenched in sweat and soot, stood Shoyo.

Still in gear. Still breathing heavy from the call. Watching.

Their eyes met through the glass.

Tobio on the inside, steady hands saving a life.

Shoyo on the outside, having just pulled someone out of wreckage again.

Like gravity. Like fate looping in on itself.

Tobio’s gaze held for just a moment longer, then turned.

He had a patient to save.

But something had changed.

Something real.

And this time—when the work was done—he wouldn’t walk away without speaking.

*

ST. JOSEPH’S HOSPITAL – 1:32 AM
Main Corridor Outside Trauma Unit

The adrenaline had worn off.

The lights in the corridor buzzed faintly, half the bulbs flickering with that soft hum Shoyo had always hated—too clinical, too sharp. He sat on a bench near the vending machine, helmet resting at his feet, gloves still clutched loosely in one hand.

His body ached.
Not from the call, not from the fire.

From watching him.

Shoyo hadn’t moved since the paramedics wheeled the patient inside over an hour ago. Something about seeing Tobio on the other side of the glass—focused, deliberate, utterly calm—had hooked him in place.

It wasn’t just admiration.
It was recognition.

Footsteps approached.

Shoyo looked up.

Tobio was walking toward him, his scrub top wrinkled, his sleeves rolled to the elbows. His jaw was tight, his expression unreadable—until he got close enough for the shadows to fall away.

“She’s stable,” Tobio said.

Shoyo exhaled. “Good.”

They stood there for a second, the hum of fluorescent lights pressing into the silence.

“You saved her.” Shoyo added, voice low.

“You pulled her out of a car crushed on one side. She wouldn’t have made it without that.”

Shoyo gave a soft snort. “Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Redirect it. Like… you won’t take the win unless someone’s bleeding out on your hands.”

Tobio didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted past Shoyo, to the long corridor behind, where nurses moved quietly and monitors beeped out the rhythms of life and near-death.

Finally, he said, “Because sometimes they do die. Even when you do everything right.”

Shoyo’s throat tightened at the edges. He understood. More than Tobio knew.

But then Tobio looked back at him.

And this time, he wasn’t looking at a firefighter, or a patient, or a case file from two years ago.

He was looking at Shoyo.

“You stayed,” Tobio said.

“I wasn’t sure if I should,” Shoyo admitted. “Didn’t want to… interrupt.”

“You weren’t interrupting.”

Silence.

Then—

“I remember the first time I saw you.”
Tobio’s voice was lower now. Not detached. Personal.

Shoyo’s eyebrows lifted. “You mean at the pediatric floor?”

Tobio shook his head once.

“No. Before that.”

He didn’t elaborate.

Shoyo opened his mouth to ask—but didn’t. Somehow, the way Tobio said it… the weight in those four words… it settled deep in his chest like a secret he almost remembered.

But not quite.

Tobio took a step closer. Just one. Enough for their shadows to merge under the humming lights.

“You’re always running into fire,” he said, not as an accusation—but as an observation. As something known. Etched.

Shoyo nodded, a quiet smile ghosting across his lips.

“And you’re always stitching people back together.”

Tobio’s lips curved. Barely.

“Maybe we’re both terrible at leaving things broken.”

That made Shoyo laugh—soft and hoarse.

“I should get back,” he said after a pause, reaching down for his helmet. “Truck’s still on scene. Suna’s probably halfway through my snacks by now.”

Tobio nodded.

But before Shoyo turned, Tobio added:

“Come by again. When you’re not covered in engine grease and someone else’s blood.”

Shoyo blinked.

Then grinned. “You asking me out, doc?”

Tobio met his gaze, calm and deliberate.

“I’m saying next time, the coffee’s on me.”

"Okay."

Chapter 3

Notes:

Phantom Pain

The scar — long since dull and pale,
it doesn’t bleed, it doesn’t burn, doesn’t call.
But at night, in the deepest veil,
a silent memory begins to sprawl.

Not skin that aches — but heart instead.
Not wound — but silent hollow space.
The mind is mute, but in the darkness spread,
the eyes still ask: “Are you still in place?”

It still hurts, though flesh is gone,
though all is “past and done.”
Phantom pain — not flesh, but soul withdrawn,
returns like breath, forgotten, spun.

Remember me, it softly pleads.
Don’t forget.
For if it hurts, then you still bleed—
each scar a verse where silence met.

LOS ANGELES — WEDNESDAY, 6:19 PM
Hollow Elm Café, Venice Blvd

The place wasn’t as cozy as the one by the hospital. More modern — slate-gray walls, minimalist decor, steel chairs that squeaked on concrete floors. But it had excellent cold brew and terrible indie music, and Shoyo had picked it for one reason:

It wasn’t crowded.

Tobio was already there when Shoyo arrived, sitting by the window, flipping through something on his phone. No lab coat, no badge — just a dark sweater with sleeves pushed to the elbows and a simple watch on his wrist.

Shoyo slid into the chair across from him. “You beat me this time.”

“I live closer, and you were at work right?” Tobio said without looking up.

“You memorized my shifts?”

“I looked it up. You posted a picture with your station schedule in the background.”

Shoyo blinked. “You stalked me?”

Tobio finally looked at him. “No. I noticed.”

Shoyo stared for a second, then smiled, biting back something between amusement and… flustered.

They ordered drinks. Shoyo went for his usual sugary chaos in a cup. Tobio stuck with black coffee, as always. The conversation flowed easier this time — less guarded, more space to breathe.

They talked about a recent training drill where Tsukishima got his boot stuck in a storm grate. About Kenma installing a silent alarm system that Oikawa kept triggering by accident. About Shoyo’s childhood in Miyagi and Tobio’s long shifts in med school that blurred into one endless memory of fluorescent lights and burnt vending machine coffee.

Tobio still hadn’t mentioned the past.
And Shoyo… still didn’t know there was a past to mention.

Until the bell over the café door rang.

And someone stepped in.

Dark hair.
Black hoodie.
A surgical mask pulled down around his chin, though he didn’t look like he’d just left a hospital.

Sakusa Kiyoomi.

Shoyo felt it like a pressure drop. A storm entering the room.

Tobio noticed the tension before he even turned.

Sakusa looked around, eyes scanning lazily until they locked onto him.
Or rather—onto them.

His gaze narrowed.

He crossed the café in long, calm steps. Purposeful.

“Hinata,” he said coolly, stopping at the edge of their table. “Didn’t expect to see you. You’re… still alive.”

Shoyo blinked. “Sakusa—”

“I assumed you’d finally jumped into something you couldn’t walk away from.”

The words weren’t loud, but they cut. A scalpel slipped under skin.

Shoyo’s smile faded. He sat straighter. “Don’t start.”

Tobio looked between them, slow and observant.

“Oh, I won’t start,” Sakusa said, dark eyes flicking toward Tobio briefly. “But I won’t pretend you don’t owe the rest of us something.”

“Sakusa—”

“How come you are still a firefighter?” Sakusa said, lower now. “Shouldn't people who abandon others be fired."

Silence.

The weight of it settled over the table like ash.

Tobio’s voice, when it came, was calm. “You should go.”

Sakusa turned to him, assessing.

“And you are?”

“Dr. Kageyama.”

Something flickered behind Sakusa’s eyes. Recognition. The name meant something.

But he didn’t address it. Just looked back at Shoyo.

“You shouldn’t come to cafés and smile like nothing happened,” Sakusa said. “Some of us still remember."

Then he turned, quietly, and walked out.

The bell rang again as the door closed behind him.

Shoyo’s hands were still. Too still.

And he didn’t speak.

For a long time.

He just stared down at his drink, the straw turning slowly in melted ice.

The silence that followed was unnatural. Like the kind that falls in the moment before a storm tears through.
Tobio didn’t speak. Not at first. He didn’t ask, didn’t press, didn’t fill the quiet with questions.

He just waited.

Let Shoyo breathe.

Let him decide.

Finally, after a long minute, Shoyo exhaled through his nose. His voice was quiet, dry.

“Sorry you had to see that.”

“You don’t have to explain,” Tobio said gently.

"I...I need to go."

Shoyo stepped out into the evening air like he was surfacing from deep water. The heat of the day had finally broken, leaving the sidewalks warm and the sky tinged orange at the edges. The world outside felt too big all of a sudden — too open, too real.

His breath came shallow.

'Some of us still remember.'

Sakusa’s words clung to him like smoke. Heavy. Accusing.

He walked without a direction, just movement, cutting down the block with fast, clipped steps. He wasn’t running. Not exactly. But he didn’t want to stand still. Didn’t want to feel the shape of that memory pressing in.

Not now.

Not with Tobio watching.

And yet—

“Shoyo.”

The voice came from behind. Calm. Low. Measured.

Shoyo stopped.

Didn’t turn right away.

Just closed his eyes for a second, then glanced over his shoulder.

Tobio had followed him out. No jacket, no coffee in hand, just quiet eyes and a posture that said he wasn’t here to force anything.

“I’m fine,” Shoyo said. Too fast. Too rehearsed.

“I didn’t ask.”

A beat.

That stopped him.

"Why’d you come after me?”

Tobio shrugged once. “Because you ran.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Tobio studied him, and then—

Quietly: “Because when you left, it felt wrong.”

Shoyo blinked and let out a shaky breath, then rubbed a hand over his face. “Look, you didn’t sign up for whatever the hell that was. I should’ve warned you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“But he’s not wrong.”

Tobio’s eyes narrowed, barely. “You don’t owe him anything either.”

Shoyo let the silence stretch between them. His shoulders slumped. The tension didn’t leave—it just settled deeper.

“I left someone behind,” he said, voice raw. “In a fire. Two years ago.”

Tobio didn’t speak. Not yet.

“He died.”

The words came out in pieces. Shattered glass.

"It wasn't your fault."

Shoyo looked up at him, heart hammering behind his ribs.

“You don’t even know what happened.”

“I do.”

Another silence.

"What?"

"I was the one who operated you. Two years ago. And i know what happened. And if you call that abandoning then you're crazy."

Shoyo just stared.

The noise of the street dulled behind him — the passing cars, the muted footsteps, the soft clang of someone locking up a bike. It all faded beneath the weight of what Tobio had just said.

“You…” Shoyo’s voice cracked slightly. “You what?”

Tobio didn’t look away.

“I was the trauma surgeon on call the night they brought you in,” he said evenly. “I led the team. You came in with a beam through your abdomen, half your side burned, and your heart stopping mid-transport.”

Shoyo’s mouth opened. Closed. Nothing came out.

“I didn’t know your name then,” Tobio continued. “Just the case number. Just the wounds. I didn’t even think you’d make it through the first hour.”

Shoyo staggered back a half step like something had punched the wind out of him.

“But you did,” Tobio said, quiet now. “You held on.”

Shoyo shook his head, slowly, as if trying to dislodge the words from his ears. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“At first, I didn’t recognize you. You were in a coma. Your face was—” he stopped, jaw flexing. "I didn’t think it mattered.”

Shoyo’s hands were trembling.

“I remembered everything,” Tobio said softly. “I remembered how hard your body fought to stay alive. How badly you were hurt. And I remembered what the paramedics said.”

“What?” Shoyo rasped.

Tobio held his gaze.

“They said you carried another firefighter out of the blaze before you collapsed.”

Shoyo froze.

“You didn’t leave anyone behind,” Tobio said. “You carried him through a half-collapsed stairwell with a shattered rib and blood in your lungs.”

Shoyo’s throat worked silently. His shoulders rose, tense, and for a second — just a second — it looked like he might break apart completely.

“He was already dead—” he started.

Tobio didn’t flinch.

Didn’t back away.

Didn’t even blink.

He stood there, still as stone, his jaw set but his eyes soft — not pitying. Not judgmental. Just steady. Unmoving.

Shoyo’s words lingered in the air like smoke.

“I carried a corpse. So doc...please mind your own business and leave me alone.”

Shoyo didn’t wait for a response.
He turned.

Quick. Sharp.

Like the conversation had drawn blood.

His footsteps hit the pavement hard, deliberate, as he strode down the street, past the café’s windows, past the lamplight. He didn’t look back. Didn’t slow.

Tobio didn’t follow.

He stood there, alone on the sidewalk, hands at his sides, watching the space where Shoyo had just been.

The city moved around him. A car honked down the block. Someone laughed across the street. Life continued — unaware that something had just splintered in the quiet between them.

Shoyo didn’t stop walking.

And this time, Tobio let him go.

*

FLASHBACK — TWO YEARS EARLIER

The fire raged like a living thing.

Flames licked the walls, curled across the ceiling, and crawled hungrily over the beams as if the building itself were being devoured from the inside out. The thick, black smoke coiled through the air, turning every breath into a battle. Visibility was nearly zero—just shifting shadows and the hellish orange glow of fire dancing off soot-covered walls.

Shoyo and Atsumu were deep inside the structure, fully geared, masks tight, radios crackling in their ears. They moved with urgency—checking rooms, calling out, leading panicked civilians down collapsing hallways. Time was shrinking, walls groaning, the floor beneath them trembling with heat and strain.

The air was stifling. Sweat soaked Shoyo’s body beneath his uniform, stinging his eyes even behind the mask. Every breath burned like sandpaper dragged down his throat. Still, he pressed on, heart thudding in rhythm with the distant roar of the fire.

“Clear on the left!” Atsumu shouted.

“Room’s empty—let’s go!” Shoyo responded.

They turned toward the exit when it happened.

A sickening crack above.
A groan from the ceiling, long and low, like a warning from the bones of the building.

Then—

Impact.

A beam, thick and splintered with flame, sheared loose from the ceiling and came crashing down like a guillotine. There was no time to scream. No time to think. Just white-hot pain as the wood and steel tore through Shoyo’s abdomen, driving him to the ground.

The world shattered.

His breath hitched. His limbs froze. Every nerve lit up with agony.

“SHOYO!” Atsumu’s voice cracked, panicked and raw through the comm. “Shoyo! Open you eyes! Shoyo, talk to me, fucker!"

Shoyo couldn’t speak at first. The pain was too much. He blinked hard, disoriented, everything around him melting into fire and smoke.

“I’m… I’m here,” he gasped at last. “I’m alive.”

But then — a groaning noise, deeper, worse than before.

The ceiling above gave way entirely.

A cascade of debris — scorched wood, molten metal, sparks and flame — collapsed over them. The floor buckled. The weight drove Shoyo flat again, and this time he felt the air leave his lungs completely.

It was chaos. Roaring. Screaming metal. Splinters cutting through gear and flesh.

Then — stillness.

He couldn’t hear Atsumu anymore.

Shoyo’s ears rang, his vision dimmed, but somewhere beneath the wreckage, he felt movement. A shifting. A breath. A presence.

“Atsumu…” he whispered.

He turned his head. Time slowed.

Atsumu lay beside him, face mask half-shattered, eyes closed. His chest… barely rising. Barely moving at all.

“No, no, no—come on, dammit—” Shoyo tried to move, to crawl, to lift the weight off them. Every motion sent pain lancing through his side, but he didn’t stop.

He dug. Pulled. Fought through the debris, teeth gritted, breath ragged.

He found Atsumu’s hand. Gripped it. Cold.

“Don’t do this,” he whispered, shaking. “You don’t get to leave me. Not like this.”

Using every ounce of strength left in him, Shoyo dragged Atsumu free from the burning wreckage, inch by inch, one broken breath at a time.

His own blood left a trail behind him. His lungs screamed. But he didn’t stop.

Then — voices.

Shouts through the smoke. Flashlights cutting through the haze.

Rough hands pulled them both free, just as the flames behind them surged and collapsed the rest of the floor in a final roar of fury.

Outside, the cool air felt unreal. Sharp. Too bright.

Medics swarmed them. Hands pressing, voices yelling. Oxygen masks. Bandages.

But all Shoyo could do was hold onto Atsumu’s limp hand, eyes wide, heart pounding, unsure if he was holding a living person or a memory slipping through his fingers.

That night — the fire, the smell of burning skin and melting gear, the weight of Atsumu’s body in his arms — it branded itself into Shoyo’s mind.

A scar that no time or therapy would ever erase.

*

PRESENT DAY

The door creaked softly as Shoyo stepped inside his house.

It was dark, quiet — the kind of quiet that didn’t soothe, but pressed in. He didn’t bother turning on the lights right away. Just leaned back against the closed door, eyes shut, trying to will away the echo of flames and Sakusa’s voice.

His side still ached — phantom pain, not from the beam, not anymore. This was deeper. A memory buried in skin.

Then came the soft, familiar sound of nails on hardwood.

A quiet whine.

Mochi padded into the hallway, ears low, tail wagging gently. Her eyes caught the light from the street outside — wide, alert, worried.

Shoyo knelt.

“Hey,” he whispered.

Mochi reached him in seconds, burying her nose against his chest, pushing into him like she knew. Like she always knew.

She had been Atsumu’s — a hyper little bundle of loyalty and noise. Shoyo had taken her in after the funeral. At first, it was just to make sure she wasn’t alone. Then one week became one month. Then… she was just his.

“Rough night.” he muttered into her fur, one hand buried behind her ear.

Mochi huffed softly and leaned her weight against his chest.

Shoyo stayed like that for a long time. Grounded by her warmth, her heartbeat, the way she didn’t ask for anything but to stay close. She didn’t care about what Sakusa said. Didn’t ask questions about who had died or why.

Eventually, he stood, flipping on the kitchen light. Mochi followed at his heels, nails clicking softly.

He poured her a bowl of kibble, then stood in front of the fridge and stared blankly, unsure what he even felt like eating. His stomach twisted.

He shut the door without taking anything.

A photo was magneted to the fridge — the three of them from some beach trip two summers back: Atsumu holding a dripping Mochi in one arm, Shoyo doubled over laughing.

Atsumu’s grin had been crooked. Unapologetic. Bright.

Shoyo touched the edge of the photo with his fingers.

“I didn’t leave you,” he said quietly. “I swear to god, ‘Tsumu. I didn’t.”

Mochi nosed at his ankle.

He looked down. Gave her a half-smile.

“C’mon,” he murmured. “Let’s crash before I spiral.”

They moved together to the couch. Mochi curled beside him, warm and breathing. Shoyo didn’t bother with a blanket. He just lay there in the dim light, the photo still etched into his mind, the weight of truth still sitting behind his ribs.

His eyes open, staring at the ceiling, though he hadn’t actually seen it in a long time. Mochi had already dozed off next to him, her belly rising and falling steadily, and the dark room was filled only with the sound of her breathing and the faint ticking of the wall clock.

But sleep wouldn’t come.

Ever since Atsumu had died, Shoyo had been living as if behind thick glass — everything seemed real, but the sound was muffled, the colors faded, and contact with reality… painful.

The diagnosis had been clear within the first year: severe post-traumatic stress.

He went through therapy. Regularly. At first, he stayed silent through the whole sessions, then he began to speak. About the fire. About the guilt. About how he couldn’t remember the last minutes — and then how he could remember everything.

He took antidepressants. Anti-anxiety meds. Tried to be “functional.”

But over time, he stopped therapy. Let go of the medications, one by one.

Only one thing remained: the small, white pills that helped him sleep.

Not for rest. But for silence.

He got up slowly, careful not to wake Mochi, and headed to the kitchen cabinet. He opened the drawer with routine mechanical precision. The plastic bottle was already half empty. Without thinking, he took out a pill, tossed it into his mouth, and drank from a glass of water that had been sitting there since morning.

He returned to the couch and lay back down. Mochi stirred and nestled into his ribs.

Somewhere between the pulsing light through the blinds and the warmth of her body, sleep finally found him. Fragmented. Broken. But enough.

At least for this night.

*

THURSDAY — 7:12 AM

The sun was already creeping through the blinds, casting golden stripes across the floor of the living room. Mochi was awake — standing by the couch, wagging her tail and giving Shoyo that all-too-familiar look: time for a walk, lazybones.

Shoyo woke up slowly, his eyes clouded by the lingering weight of the sleeping pill. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. Then he saw Mochi, the floor, the dappled shadows — and everything clicked back into place.

He sighed softly, ran a hand through his messy hair, and stood up with effort.

“Alright, alright… give me five minutes, boss.” he mumbled.

He slipped on his sneakers, grabbed the leash, and opened the door. The street was still quiet — just a few passersby, the neighbors’ kid on a skateboard, and a light breeze rustling the palm leaves.

Shoyo walked with his hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the pavement, his thoughts drifting far away again.

Yesterday’s conversation with Tobio…
Sakusa…

“Some of us still remember.”

Yeah. They remembered.
And they had the right to.
But Sakusa wasn’t the only one who had lost someone.

Sakusa and Atsumu had been dating.
They’d been together for years — ever since Atsumu’s first year of high school, when Sakusa was a year above.
But Shoyo had known Atsumu long before that. Much, much longer.

They lived in neighboring houses. They’d been together since kindergarten. Then elementary school. Then high school. Same class.
A full set.

Always goofing off. Always getting in trouble together. Always side by side. They even went through Fire Academy together.
Atsumu had wanted to be a firefighter since he was a kid.
And Shoyo? Shoyo was just there because Atsumu had told him:

“You won’t survive there, Shorty. You are too much of a coward to be a firefighter.”

So he went.

And somehow… he liked it.

Atsumu had been the light. The laughter. The reckless certainty that everything would be okay.
And Sakusa…
Sakusa had never liked Shoyo. Not out of jealousy. He just couldn’t stand him.

Thought he was impulsive. Too emotional. Too loud. Too always there.

And Mochi had never liked Sakusa either.

The ball of fur would hiss and growl every time Sakusa came near. And he… never liked animals. Never wanted them. Never once looked at her with affection.

After Atsumu died, no one asked what would happen to Mochi.
Shoyo just took her.

And she stayed.
With him.
Every day.
Every sleepless night.
When he couldn’t breathe. When he dreamed about the fire again. When he woke up with fists clenched and clothes soaked in sweat.

That’s when Mochi would climb onto his chest and just stay there. Just… stay.

Now she had sniffed something in the grass near a palm tree and whimpered softly.
Shoyo knelt beside her, petted her between the ears, and whispered:

“Sometimes I think that if you hadn’t been here… I wouldn’t have woken up even once after that.”

Mochi licked his hand.

He closed his eyes.

The silence of the morning was more bearable than the silence in his head.
But neither one was peace.

Atsumu was dead.
And Shoyo… was still here.

Sometimes, he didn’t know why.

*

9:00 AM — Firehouse Station

The back door creaked softly as it opened, and Shoyo stepped inside just seconds before the shift officially started. The air smelled of coffee, lingering grill smoke (someone had clearly eaten lunch for breakfast again), and cheap cleaning solution.

“Oh, look who’s still alive,” Tsukishima’s voice drifted from the kitchen — dry, unbothered, and thoroughly unimpressed.

Shoyo raised a hand without turning around. “And good morning to you too, Sunshine.”

Kurama, the new cadet, gave him an awkward little wave, while Kenma was half-dozing by the radio console, a coffee lid balanced on one knee and his headphones still firmly in place — he hadn’t even taken them off during the morning briefing.

And here, despite the noise and the clutter, Shoyo could breathe a little easier.
Not because things were okay.
But because… at least he knew what came next.

Work.
Fires.
Risk.
Survival.

And everything else —
— just floated quietly in the background, like an old, unspoken memory.

Notes:

Phantom Flame
(for Atsumu)

The fire’s out — or so they say,
no smoke, no sirens in the air.
But I still wake the same old way:
with burning lungs and skin laid bare.

Not heat that sears, but something worse —
the silence where your voice once lived.
Each breath a question, raw and terse,
each step a weight I never give.

They pulled us both from hell that night,
but only one of us came through.
Your hand grew cold inside that light,
and mine still reaches out for you.

The scars they stitched, the ribs that healed,
mean nothing now when sleep arrives.
A phantom blaze — unseen, unsealed —
rekindles where the past survives.

The beam that fell, the scream, the smoke,
the way I bled and would not die —
all play again when night has broke,
and memory sets the sky on fire.

You haunt not as a ghost in shade,
but as the warmth I cannot touch.
A life we built, then watched cascade —
too fierce, too fast, too much.

I feel you in the ash I breathe,
in sirens winding through my veins.
No grave. No end. Just flame beneath —
a phantom heart that still remains.

Chapter 4

LOS ANGELES — FRIDAY

The day started like so many others.
No storm warnings. The sun was already high, the air dry and scorching. A typical Los Angeles summer. The concrete outside the station parking lot was already cracking from the heat, and the distant hum of freeway traffic never stopped.

Shoyo arrived for shift at exactly 08:57.
He carried his black sports backpack, headphones loosely around his neck, and his eyes — slightly puffy, after yet another night on sleeping pills.

He greeted the team with a slight nod and a half-smile. Not that he was in a bad mood — he just wasn’t entirely present. Not all the way.

*

10:21 AM
First call: fire alarm triggered in an office building on Wilshire Boulevard.

False alarm. An overheated toaster in the break room.
The smell of burnt plastic lid.
Shoyo and Kuroo checked the floor, silenced the system, and fifteen minutes later they were walking back to the truck.

“I like fires like this,” Kuroo said. “No actual fire.”

Shoyo laughed. Automatically. He didn’t join the joke, but nodded like he agreed.

Still, his eyes drifted upward — toward the sky.

Blue. Cloudless. Dangerously calm.

—

12:08 PM
Second call: stuck elevator in a residential building.

A woman in her seventies, stuck between floors with a shopping bag. Her fear was worse than the threat. Her hands were trembling, her voice almost childlike.

Shoyo reached out first when they pried the doors open. Smiled gently at her.

“It’s okay. Let’s count it as an adventure.”

She chuckled.
But when she let go of his hand, her eyes lingered on his face — like she saw something there that hurt her. Or saddened her.

Shoyo didn’t ask what.
He didn’t want to know.

*

2:32 PM
Third call: chemical spill in a small warehouse in Inglewood.

The smell of acetone and paint. One mildly disoriented worker.
No explosion. Just poor storage and a bit of panic.
Quick containment. Easy job.

Shoyo moved through the warehouse, inspecting the barrels, giving quick signals to the others to keep their distance. His voice was clear, his actions precise.
No one would’ve guessed something was wrong.

But he felt the weight in his chest.
Not from the heat or the walk.
From thoughts.

He shook his head once, like trying to shake the voice loose.

*

3:17 PM
Returning to the station, the truck moved slowly down the boulevard. Through the open window came the smells of gasoline, grilled meat, and August dust.

Shoyo had taken off his helmet, resting it in his lap. Leaned back, watching the streets go by without really seeing them.

The crew was chatting. Laughing.
Oikawa was telling a story about his first kiss in fifth grade — and how the girl slapped him afterward for having gum stuck in his teeth.

Shoyo smiled. But didn’t hear the words.

His eyes were outside.
His thoughts were not.

*

3:36 PM
Fire station, kitchen area

The ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, not doing much.
The air smelled of metal, cleaning product, and leftover lunch — though Shoyo hadn’t eaten anything but an energy bar an hour ago.

His helmet lay on the table, the cover still slightly stained yellow from the warehouse. His suit unzipped to the waist, the sleeves tied loosely at his hips. The t-shirt underneath damp from sweat and heat.

He was leaning against the sink, pouring cold water into a plastic cup, when his phone pinged — a single, quiet chime that sliced through the air.

He didn’t react right away.

Set the cup on the counter.

Looked at the phone — face-up beside a stack of helmets, one side still smudged with soot.

The screen lit up. A message.

⸻

Tobio K.
3:38 PM

Didn’t mean to say it like that. Not because I don’t want you to remember — I just know you never forgot.
I’m sorry.
If you ever want to talk, I'm here.

Shoyo read it twice.
Then again.

His finger hovered above the screen, like maybe if he pressed hard enough, the words would vanish.
Then slowly, he locked the phone.
Set it gently back down.

He picked up the cup of water and leaned again against the counter. The cold glass felt good in his hand. Solid. Real.

But his mind was nowhere near solid.
Only one sentence kept playing:

“Not because I don’t want you to remember — I just know you never forgot.”

Not dramatic. Just… honest.

Shoyo tilted his head back, eyes on the ceiling — and then nowhere in particular.

A year ago, maybe he would’ve responded. Or screamed. Or thrown the cup against the wall, like he did once when his therapist told him guilt didn’t make him guilty.

But not now.

Now, he just stood there.

Said nothing.
Wrote nothing.

Swallowed.

And again.

Outside, through the open window, children’s voices echoed from a nearby schoolyard.
The world outside was stupidly alive. Constant.
Breathing without pause.

Shoyo walked back to the table, grabbed his helmet, and without saying a word to anyone, made his way to the locker room.

Sometimes people fall apart quietly.
Sometimes — they just don’t reply.

*

The truck roared down the boulevard, sirens wailing, pulsing lights reflecting in windows, in car doors, in people’s eyes.
Hinata sat up front, strapped into his gear, clutching the radio in his hand like it was the only tether to reality.

“Fire?” he asked, his voice nearly drowned out by the engine.

“Maybe. Call says smoke from the hood. Confirmed collision. At least two inside.” Daichi replied.

“Sounds like a party,” Kuroo added dryly. “I’ll bring popcorn.”

“One day I’m making him eat a hydrant,” Yachi muttered.

Seconds later, they turned onto Sunset. The scene unfolded ahead — two cars, one on its side, the other crumpled in front. Smoke rose from the hood. The smell of oil, metal, and… not quite fire, but potential.

“Watch the glass!” Shoyo called, already outside, mask down, hand on the hose, while Tsukishima connected the water line.

Daichi gave orders:
“Hinata, Suna — back door of the red SUV. Check for consciousness. Don’t go in until you’ve got stable footing.”

“Principle noted,” Shoyo muttered, already edging along the side.

His heart pounded. Every time — like the first time.
But not from fear. From focus. From the electric, alive need to get it right. No mistakes. No falling beams. No one pulling him out in an ambulance.

A faint knocking came from inside.

“Got a live one!” he shouted.

He carefully pried the door open. Inside — a woman, around thirty, glassy-eyed, a cut on her temple, but conscious.

“Hey. Can you see me? My name’s Hinata, fire department. We’re getting you out, okay? Don’t move.”

She nodded, tears already welling up.

Hinata pressed the radio:
“We’ve got contact. Mild head wound, conscious. Neck’s stable but requesting collar and stretcher. Evac slow and steady.”

Yachi was already beside him with the medical kit.

Everything moved.
Steady. No panic. No unstoppable bleeding. No cries of “doctor, now!”

Just the job. Just smoke that was already clearing.

Thirty minutes later, the truck rolled back toward the station.
Exhausted. Sweaty. Quiet.

Hinata sat in front, helmet in his lap, breathing deep.

He looked at his hands — steady. His shoulders weren’t trembling. Breathing normal.

No one got hurt.

*

The station smelled of soap, steam, and dinner. Someone had reheated pizza. Someone else — probably Kuroo — had left a shirt draped over the toaster. Still, there was comfort in it. Worn-out comfort, like an old blanket with coffee and smoke stains.

Hinata sat in the kitchen area, hair wet, t-shirt wetter, not bothering to change.
Beside him — Yachi, barefoot, a bowl of pasta in her lap, tapping the fork rhythmically against the rim.

“You did good today,” she said between bites, not looking at him.

“No one got hurt. That’s a win,” Hinata answered, quieter than he meant to.

“And you didn’t get hurt. That’s basically a miracle.” Yachi smiled then, finally looking at him with a warm, almost sleepy gaze.

Hinata shrugged, then nodded.

“I need to stop waiting for the worst to happen.”

Silence.

Yachi watched him for a moment, then sighed, pushed the bowl aside, and stretched out on the bench.

“Maybe because you’ve already lived through the worst. And you’re still here.”

The words caught in his throat, something he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

Hinata didn’t answer right away. He just sat there, hands on the table, heart steady. Quiet.

“Do you think… a person can be alive, but not really back yet?”

“Yes,” Yachi said immediately. “I think that’s how most of us live. In several worlds at once.”

He smiled.

“I want to come back. Really.”

“Then tomorrow we’ll make pancakes. That always helps.”

Hinata laughed, the real, wide kind of laugh that made the lights seem warmer.

*

Morning

The kitchen smelled like butter and sugar. A frying pan hissed, and Hinata flipped a pancake a little too high — it hit the edge of the spatula and nearly landed on the floor. Yachi laughed, catching it with a plate just in time.

“That was murder by pancake.”

“I had it under control!” Hinata insisted, grinning, a faint trace of flour dusting his shirt.

For the first time in a long while, the air didn’t feel heavy. They ate at the worn wooden table, sunlight streaming through the blinds. Hinata drizzled too much syrup on his stack, and Yachi wrinkled her nose, but the sweetness in the room wasn’t just from the food.

For a brief moment, he felt almost normal. Almost.

*

Later that day

The alarm came around noon.

Possible jumper. Female. Teenager. Roof access. Requesting immediate assistance.

The truck tore through the streets, sirens splitting the midday heat. Hinata sat forward, helmet strapped, fingers twitching against his knees. Different from fire. Different from wrecks. This wasn’t smoke or broken glass. This was a heartbeat teetering on the edge.

They arrived to find police already holding a perimeter. A girl, no older than sixteen, stood on the lip of the building’s rooftop. Her hair blew wildly in the wind, arms rigid at her sides.

Hinata’s gut twisted.

Daichi spoke quick:
“Yachi, stay ground for medical. Tsukishima, Kuroo — inflate the airbag. I want it up and locked in two minutes. Hinata—” He hesitated only a second. “Go.”

Hinata didn’t wait. He was already moving.

The stairs felt endless, his breath loud inside his helmet, though it wasn’t fear. Not exactly. More urgency. Every step was a drumbeat: Not today. Not this one.

When he pushed the roof door open, the air hit him hard — warm and sharp. The girl’s sneakers were half-hanging over the edge. She turned her head slightly at the noise.

“Don’t come closer.”

Hinata raised both hands slowly, palms open. His mask was pulled back, his face uncovered, sweat on his forehead but his voice steady.

“Okay. I won’t. My name’s Hinata. Fire department. I just… wanted to sit up here with you. Can I?”

She didn’t answer, but she didn’t scream either.

He took a careful step sideways, lowering himself onto the gravel rooftop a few feet away, not approaching the ledge.

“You know, I had pancakes this morning,” he said suddenly, tone light, as though the sirens below didn’t exist. “I almost burned one. Nearly set off the station alarm. Can you imagine that? Whole fire crew called in for a pancake.”

The girl blinked. Just a flicker of confusion, but she stayed still.

Hinata smiled gently. Keep her here. Keep her listening.

“Do you like pancakes?” he asked.

A long silence. Then, barely audible:
“…Waffles.”

Hinata’s grin widened. “Good choice. Waffles are tougher. Pancakes… kind of fall apart easy. But waffles? They’ve got structure.”

Below, he could hear the faint hiss and thump as his team spread and inflated the rescue cushion. He didn’t look down — didn’t want her to see his eyes dart. His whole focus stayed on her.

“What’s your name?” he asked softly.

Her lips trembled. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” Hinata said. “Because if I’m going to sit here talking about breakfast foods with someone on a rooftop, I’d at least like to know who I’m with.”

Another pause. Her shoulders shook. Tears spilled, though she tried to turn her face away.

Hinata shifted slightly closer — not too close, not threatening, just… present. His voice was quieter now.

“I know it feels like you’re completely alone up here. Like no one could ever understand what’s in your head. But I’m telling you… sometimes, when you’ve already seen the worst, there’s still something left. Something stupid, like waffles. Or the way the air smells right after it rains. Or… the sound of someone laughing when you didn’t expect it.”

Her knees buckled just slightly.

Hinata’s hand lifted — not to grab, just open, waiting.

“You don’t have to do this. Not today. Not while I’m here with you. Let’s climb down together, yeah? We’ll leave the rooftop for the pigeons.”

For one heartbeat, the silence was unbearable.
Then, slowly, she turned. One foot back onto the roof. Her hand reached toward his.

Hinata exhaled, steady, relief flooding him as he closed his fingers gently around hers.

Behind them, the airbag finished inflating with a loud rush.
He didn’t look at it. He didn’t need to.

She was safe.

*

Hospital, early afternoon

The girl had been brought in under light sedation, checked for injuries, blood work, vitals. Physically, she was fine. Emotionally—she was in pieces.

By the time Hinata arrived at the hospital, the team had already signed the incident over. He didn’t have to come. But he did.

The corridor smelled of antiseptic and coffee that had been sitting too long on a burner. He was about to push open the door to her room when he froze.

Tobio was there. Standing just outside, arms folded, a familiar frown cut into his features.

For a moment neither spoke. Then Tobio muttered:
“They said she’s stable. Just shock. You… you stopped her from jumping.”

Hinata shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“She’s just a kid. I couldn’t let it happen.”

Tobio’s eyes flicked up, meeting his for a heartbeat too long. Something unreadable in them — admiration? Resentment? A complicated knot Hinata didn’t want to tug on.

Finally, Tobio said quietly:
“Good work, Shoyo.”

Hinata swallowed. Nodded once. Then slipped past him into the room.

*

Inside, the girl lay propped against crisp white pillows. An older woman — her grandmother, frail but resolute — sat at her bedside, holding her hand.

When Hinata entered, the grandmother’s eyes filled immediately. She rose, voice trembling.
“You’re the one who—? Oh… thank you. Thank you for bringing her back to me.”

Hinata bowed his head slightly, embarrassed, unsure what to do with such raw gratitude.
“She saved herself. I just… stayed long enough for her to change her mind.”

The old woman pressed his hand anyway, squeezing it tight. Then she turned back to the girl, murmured something soft, and after a moment, quietly excused herself to get water from the cafeteria.

Now it was just Hinata and the girl.

She avoided his gaze at first, staring at the sheets bunched in her fists. Then, in a thin voice, she spoke:
“They died. My parents. A car crash… three weeks ago.”

Hinata sat down in the chair beside her bed, his chest heavy.
“…I’m sorry.”

Her chin wobbled.
“I thought—if they’re gone, what’s the point?”

He hesitated, the room pressing in on him. For a moment, he saw fire again, beams falling, Atsumu’s hand limp in his. He saw his mother’s face, framed by memory instead of flames.

Hinata’s voice was soft when it came.
“I lost someone too. My mom. When i found out, I thought I wouldn’t make it either. That maybe it would be easier to stop trying.”

Her eyes flicked toward him, wet and uncertain.
“And?”

He exhaled slowly.
“And I didn’t. I kept waking up. One day at a time. Some days I hated it. Some days I still do. But… there are people who’ll stand by you. People you haven’t even met yet. And if you leave now… you’ll never know who they are.”

The silence was thick, but not hopeless. She was listening.

Hinata leaned forward just a little, not too close, voice steady:
“You don’t have to be okay today. Or tomorrow. But promise me you’ll give yourself more time. Just… more time than this.”

The girl wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, a shaky nod barely forming.

Hinata stayed with her until her grandmother returned.

*

The hospital doors slid open with a hiss, spilling warm light onto the pavement. Hinata stepped out, rubbing his palms against his pants as if he could scrub off the weight of the room he’d just left.

The afternoon air was thick, hotter than it should have been for the hour. He tilted his head back, closed his eyes for a second, then exhaled.

A voice broke the quiet.
“Hey.”

Tobio was leaning against a black sedan in the shade of the ambulance bay, hands shoved in his pockets. No folded arms this time, no walls as high. Just… standing. Waiting.

Hinata blinked at him.
“You’re still here?”

Tobio shrugged.
“Figured you’d come out eventually.”

Neither spoke for a while. The muffled rhythm of traffic, the distant blare of a horn, the hospital doors opening and closing — all of it filled the silence between them.

Finally, Tobio shifted, almost awkward.
“Need a ride back to the station?”

Hinata hesitated. His first instinct was to say no — to walk it off, to carry his ghosts on foot. But something in Tobio’s voice wasn’t sharp, wasn’t defensive. It was… offering. Just that.

He nodded once.
“Yeah. Thanks.”

Inside the car, the air smelled faintly of leather and the faint citrus of an air freshener clipped to the vent. They drove in silence at first, the city sliding past in streaks of sun and shadow.

Hinata rested his forehead lightly against the window. His reflection looked tired, but steadier than he’d felt an hour ago.

Then, from the driver’s side, Tobio’s voice — low, rough:
“You okay?”

Hinata turned, surprised at the softness in his tone. For a heartbeat, he wanted to deflect, make it a joke. But the weight of the day pressed him still.

“Yeah.” he said quietly.

Tobio’s knuckles flexed on the wheel. His eyes stayed on the road.
"You sure?"

Hinata swallowed. Didn't answer. There was something in those words that wasn’t about the girl. Something that pressed against both of them.

The car rolled on, the city alive around them, but inside it felt strangely still.

Not healed. Not whole. But less sharp.

Shared weight.

*

The ride didn’t take long, but the quiet stretched like a thread between them, taut yet unbroken. By the time Tobio pulled into the fire station’s lot, the sun was already sinking lower, gilding the red doors in molten light.

Hinata unbuckled, hand on the door handle.
“Uh… thanks for the ride.”

Tobio gave the smallest nod, eyes forward.
“Anytime.”

That anytime sat heavier than it should have, but Hinata didn’t know how to respond. He slipped out quickly, shutting the door with more care than he meant to.

He hadn’t even made it up the steps before the station doors swung open. Kuroo leaned against the frame with his arms crossed, grin sharp as ever.
“Well, well. Look who’s getting chauffeured in style.”

Behind him, Yachi popped her head out, eyes widening before she smirked.
“Was that the doc’s car? No way.”

And then Suna, already sprawled on the couch just inside, called out without looking up from his phone:
“Hinata, blink twice if he kidnapped you. We’ll call the cops.”

Heat rushed to Hinata’s face.
— “It’s not— he just— it was a ride!”

Kuroo clapped him on the back as he tried to brush past.
“Sure, sure. We’ll just add ‘chauffeur service’ to your list of perks. Hero of the day and a personal driver. Impressive.”

Yachi giggled, covering her mouth, while Tsukishima muttered from the kitchen:
“Pathetic. You’d think you’d at least pick someone who can actually hold a conversation.”

Hinata groaned, dragging a hand over his face. But underneath the embarrassment, something eased in his chest. The noise, the teasing, the warmth — it felt like air returning after holding his breath too long.

He glanced once, just once, back through the open doors. Tobio’s car was already gone.

But the echo of that ride lingered.

*

Tobio’s apartment was still. The only sound was the hum of the refrigerator and the low crackle of a basketball game he’d left on mute. He sat on the couch in a t-shirt and sweatpants, one hand absently turning a glass of water, eyes fixed but unfocused on the TV.

His phone buzzed against the coffee table.

He didn’t reach for it right away. He never did. But the second buzz made him glance down.

Shoyo.

For a moment, Tobio just stared at the name. He almost didn’t open it. Then his thumb moved before his mind caught up.

“Hey. Sorry about the other day at the café. I left like an idiot. I shouldn’t have acted so… rude. You didn’t deserve that.”

The words sat in the blue bubble, blunt but soft in the way Shoyo always was. No overthinking. Just raw honesty.

Tobio leaned back against the couch cushions, phone still in hand. His jaw tightened, then eased.

He typed. Stopped. Deleted. Tried again.

Finally, he sent:

“I was harsh too. Don’t worry about it.”

He hovered, then added another line before he could talk himself out of it:

“…Good work today. At the call.”

The read receipt popped up almost instantly, like Shoyo had been waiting. Three dots blinked, vanished, then blinked again.

At last, the reply came:

“Thanks.”

Tobio stared at it for a long time, the faintest curve pulling at his mouth.

He set the phone down, game still muted, room still quiet.

But somehow, it didn’t feel so empty anymore.

*

The day at the station was quiet. The sun hung lazily over Los Angeles, and the clock on the wall ticked too loudly in the silence. Kuroo was dozing on the couch with a newspaper over his face, Yachi was reading, and Tsukishima was scrolling on his phone.

Hinata sat at the table, twirling a water bottle between his hands, feeling boredom gnaw at him from the inside. But this wasn’t just boredom. It was restlessness. A thought that had been circling in his mind for two hours already.

He pulled out his phone. Bit his lip. Scrolled through his contacts—Tobio.

His finger trembled slightly as he pressed “Call.”

Ring. Two. Three.

“Hello?”—Kageyama’s voice came out a little hoarse, as if he had been woken from a nap.

“Uh… hey. It’s me.”—Hinata cleared his throat. —“I was… I was wondering if you wanted to go out again.”

A pause followed. Hinata’s heart seemed to drop into his shoes.

But then, from the other side:
“…Yes.”

Warm, short, decisive.

Hinata blinked.
“Yes?”

“Tonight?”

A smile spread across his face, unstoppable.
“Yeah. My shift ends at five. So like...seven?”

“At seven.”—Kageyama confirmed, this time with something oddly soft in his voice.

When the call ended, Hinata placed his phone on the table and leaned back. His stomach was full of nerves and fireflies at the same time.

*

5:30 PM
Shoyo’s apartment looked like a small hurricane had passed through. Jeans and jackets on the chairs, shirts on the bed, socks on the floor—some even in pairs.

Shoyo stood in the middle of the room in just his boxers, holding a shirt with both hands as if the answer to life depended on it.

“Is blue too formal? Or is white too… boring?” he muttered to himself.

Behind him, Mochi had already decided how to entertain herself—every piece of clothing that hit the floor, she would grab with her teeth and proudly carry it to the living room, where she would add it to her little “collection” on the couch.

“Mochi! Seriously?! Where are my socks?” Hinata groaned, digging through the closet.

At that moment, his phone rang. He nearly jumped at it and quickly pressed “speaker.”

“Yachi, help me! I have a date in a few hours and I have no idea what to wear!”

A muffled laugh came from the other side.
“Shoyo, you’re a firefighter. You’ve been in burning buildings, but clothes scare you?”

“They don’t scare me! It’s just… it’s a date. With Tobio!”

A short silence followed, then Yachi sighed.
“Okay. What do you have on the table?”

Hinata looked.
“Uh… a bowl of oatmeal.”

“Not the table in the kitchen! Clothes, Shoyo.”

“Ah! I have a white shirt, a blue shirt, some black jeans… and… Mochi took the rest.”

At that moment, a joyful “Ugh!” came from the living room along with the sound of a fallen T-shirt.

Yachi began laughing openly.
“Okay, black jeans and a white shirt. Clean, simple. If you stop spinning like a top, you’ll look great.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. And now—go get your socks from the dog, because I doubt Tobio will be impressed by a firefighter without socks.”

“Mochi! Give them to me right now!”—Shoyo shouted, running to chase the dog around the room.

The phone remained on the table, and Yachi on the other side just laughed.

*

7:03 PM

Shoyo’s apartment was finally relatively tidy—or at least tidy enough that you wouldn’t trip over socks and T-shirts. Shoyo stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket, giving his hair a quick blow with his hands, and trying to steady his racing thoughts. Don’t mess this up. Don’t mess this up. Don’t mess this up… his mind repeated like a stubborn drumbeat.

A soft chime at the doorbell jolted him out of his spiral. He inhaled deeply, squared his shoulders, and opened the door.

There stood Tobio, his usual quiet elegance perfectly intact: a black shirt tucked neatly into dark jeans, expression almost unreadable but eyes sharp and attentive. The kind of gaze that always made Shoyo feel both tense and oddly at ease.

“Hey,” Shoyo said, forcing a casual tone that immediately felt too high-pitched in his own ears.

“Hey,” Tobio replied, his voice soft yet clear, sending an unexpected flutter through Shoyo’s chest.

Shoyo took a step forward, but something soft and warm brushed against his legs. Mochi had silently slipped out from behind the couch and now sat there, looking up with those big, dark, impossible eyes.

“Oh, this is Mochi,” Shoyo said, kneeling slightly to scratch behind her ears. “Don’t be scared.”

“Can I pet her?” Tobio asked, extending his hand carefully, almost reverently.

Mochi perked up immediately, circling once before nudging her head into Tobio’s palm. She rested her muzzle lightly in his hand as Shoyo laughed, heart swelling:
“See? She always knows who deserves attention. You can pet her as much as you want now.”

Tobio leaned down slightly, the corner of his lips twitching into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. He ran a hand over Mochi’s back, and the dog let out a contented, low growl. Shoyo watched, the sight filling him with a mixture of nervousness and warmth he didn’t quite know how to contain.

After a few moments, Mochi stepped back with a soft “uff,” as if signaling it was time to let her humans take over. She trotted back into the apartment, tail high, leaving Shoyo smiling fondly.

“Bye, Mochi. Guard the fort,” Shoyo murmured, glancing after her.

Tobio nodded quietly, taking a small step back to give Shoyo space to move ahead.

“Ready?” Tobio asked, his calm voice steady, but there was something underneath it—something like curiosity, like he was measuring Shoyo’s readiness for more than just a walk outside.

“Ready… I think,” Shoyo admitted, forcing a smile he hoped looked natural. His stomach churned with nervous excitement, and he found himself double-checking his jacket with shaky fingers.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was heavy in a way that felt deliberate, like the unspoken understanding between two people who were used to carrying their own worlds alone but now were walking side by side.

7:45 PM — The Restaurant

The restaurant table was set near the window, where the city lights painted soft reflections across the ceramic plates. Shoyo couldn’t stop fidgeting in his chair, feeling the weight of the silence before any words could begin to bridge it.

“Why did you choose this place?” he finally asked, spilling a little water as he adjusted his glass.

Tobio replied calmly. “I thought you’d like it. Quiet, without too many people.”

Shoyo nodded, then gave a small smile:
“I like it. It’s calm… almost like home.”

“That’s important, isn’t it?” Tobio glanced out the window for a moment, then back at Shoyo. “A place where you can just be yourself.”

Shoyo felt his heart skip a beat.
“Yeah… yeah, exactly like that.”

When the waiter brought their meals, Shoyo finally felt a little ready to relax. The food became a natural bridge to conversation.

“How was your day at the firehouse?” Tobio asked, lifting his fork with a bite of pasta.

“No calls… boring,” Shoyo admitted with a nervous laugh. “Maybe too boring. There’s no way to train your adrenaline on an empty day.”

“Sometimes boredom is good,” Tobio said softly, his tone one that made Shoyo lean in, eager to hear more. “It lets you organize your thoughts.”

“Organize… ha!” Shoyo laughed, shaking his head. “If you told Mochi to organize my wardrobe, it’d be organized… ha-ha… for at least five minutes.”

Tobio gave the faintest smile.
“She’s smart.”

“Smart and stubborn. And she knows exactly when to bother me.”

Shoyo took a sip of water, then turned to Tobio with a more serious expression.
“And you… how was your day?”

Tobio picked up his fork again but didn’t eat immediately.
“Quiet. I thought… about you.”

Shoyo froze for a moment, feeling something unexpected—slight nervousness, but warmth at the same time.
“About me?”

“Yes,” Tobio said, his eyes calm but fixed on Shoyo.

Shoyo tilted his head, smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Something dirty?” he said lightly, leaning forward.

Tobio choked on his bite, coughing abruptly, while Shoyo broke into a full laugh, leaning back in his chair.

“Chill out, doc. I’m fucking with you,” Shoyo said through his laughter, still watching Tobio’s cheeks flush a faint shade of red.

Tobio waved a hand dismissively, clearing his throat, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes now, the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips.
“You’re impossible,” he muttered, though it lacked the bite it might have had another day.

Shoyo grinned, leaning closer across the table.
“Yeah, but you love it.”

Tobio’s eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a second the world narrowed to just the two of them, the buzz of the restaurant fading into background static. Then Tobio shook his head lightly, breaking the moment.
“Maybe. But focus on your food, or you’ll get it everywhere.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shoyo said, grabbing his fork again, though his eyes kept sneaking glances at Tobio. “But seriously… thanks for tonight. It’s… nice. Just… nice.”

Tobio’s expression softened slightly, and he nodded.
“I thought it would be. You needed a break. I wanted… to give you one.”

Shoyo swallowed, words caught somewhere between gratitude and embarrassment. Instead of responding, he lifted his fork and made a dramatic show of taking another bite, pretending to be absorbed in his food.

But the warmth between them, subtle and steady, didn’t go unnoticed. Each laugh, each teasing glance, seemed to stretch the distance between them smaller, until it almost felt like the world outside the restaurant didn’t exist.

Shoyo realized, mid-bite, that he didn’t want the night to end. Not yet.

“So… after this, maybe a walk?” he asked, trying to sound casual, though his voice had that unmistakable edge of hope.

Tobio looked at him, calm, measuring, then allowed a small nod.
“A walk,” he agreed. “But only if you promise to behave.”

“Oh, I promise,” Shoyo said with mock seriousness, though his grin betrayed him.

They left the table, the city lights stretching before them, both silently aware that tonight wasn’t just a walk. It was the start of something neither of them wanted to rush, but both knew was inevitable.

*

The night air hit them as soon as they stepped outside, crisp and slightly fragrant with the scent of rain on asphalt. Shoyo tugged his jacket tighter, and Tobio fell into step beside him, quiet but steady. The city hummed around them—distant traffic, the soft echo of footsteps, neon reflections bouncing off wet streets.

“So… Mochi,” Tobio began, tilting his head slightly, “does she always… supervise your apartment like this?”

Shoyo chuckled, almost snorting. “Yeah. Kind of. She has this… weird sense of who’s allowed in and who’s not. You passed the test.”

Tobio’s lips twitched—the faintest hint of a smile playing across them. “And what does that mean for me exactly?”

“It means she likes you. I trust her judgment. She doesn’t give that to everyone.”

Tobio raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“What about you?” Shoyo asked, letting curiosity take over. “Ever had a dog?”

Tobio’s expression softened, almost wistful. “When I was younger… but not anymore. My schedule… it wouldn’t be fair to one.”

Shoyo nodded, understanding more than Tobio realized.

“Yeah… Mochi hates it when I’m not at home. It’s rough sometimes, but when I’m on a long shift, my neighbor comes by to feed her.''

Tobio listened, his hands sliding into his jacket pockets as they passed beneath a streetlamp.

The glow caught the sharp line of his jaw, softened by the way his brows furrowed in thought.

“She must mean a lot to you,” he said finally.

Shoyo glanced at him, then down at the damp pavement, watching the light scatter in the puddles. His voice dropped a little.

“She does. After… When I didn’t want to get out of bed, Mochi didn’t care. She needed to eat, needed to walk, needed me. It kept me moving. She saved me. If it weren’t for her…”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—just charged.

Tobio’s stride slowed half a step, like he was giving the words space to exist.

“You saved yourself, Shoyo,” Tobio said quietly, his tone carrying more weight than he probably intended.

Shoyo blinked, startled by the firmness in his voice. His chest tightened, caught between protest and the strange warmth of being seen.

“Maybe… but sometimes it doesn’t feel like that.”

For a few blocks they walked without speaking, the sounds of the city wrapping around them like a blanket too big for two but still shared. Then, Shoyo nudged his elbow lightly against Tobio’s.

“You know, you’re not that bad at this.”

Tobio tilted his head, confused. “At what?”

Shoyo grinned, his teeth flashing in the neon light.

“At… walking. At… talking. At being a date.”

That made Tobio stop in his tracks, eyes snapping toward him, almost offended.

“I am good at being a date.”

Shoyo burst into laughter, his voice echoing down the quiet street.

“Oh my god, you’re so serious! I was joking, Tobio!”

Tobio muttered something under his breath, clearly embarrassed, but Shoyo noticed the faint red creeping up his ears.

After his laughter died down, Shoyo softened, gaze still on him.

“But, for real… I’m glad I called you. This—” he gestured between them, then at the city. “feels… good.”

Tobio’s frown eased into something gentler, something that almost looked like relief.

“Yeah. It does.”

They started walking again, but closer this time, their shoulders brushing now and then without either of them pulling away.

 

By the time they reached Shoyo’s building, the night had settled into that hushed, in–between stillness—streets quieter, windows glowing with warm lives inside.

Their footsteps echoed in the narrow stairwell as they climbed, each step a little too loud against the silence between them.

At his door, Shoyo fumbled briefly with his keys, heart drumming hard against his ribs.

He could feel Tobio’s presence just a breath away—solid, steady, the weight of his gaze lingering even if he wasn’t looking directly at him.

The lock clicked open. Shoyo turned the knob, hesitated, then glanced back over his shoulder. His voice came out softer than he expected, almost uncertain:

“Um… do you wanna come in? Just… for a little bit?”

Tobio’s eyes met his, unreadable at first. For a beat too long, Shoyo thought he’d say no, that he’d make up some excuse and leave.

But instead, Tobio gave a single, slow nod.

“Yeah. For a little bit.”

Relief and nerves tangled tight in Shoyo’s chest as he pushed the door open. Mochi padded into view from the hallway, tail wagging lazily as if she’d been waiting.

She barked once—quiet, almost approving—and trotted back toward the living room, leaving the door wide open behind her.

Shoyo smiled nervously, stepping aside to let Tobio enter.

“Well… welcome to the chaos,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to laugh off the mess he hadn’t managed to hide.

Tobio stepped past him, scanning the apartment with his usual sharp gaze.

But there was no judgment in it—just quiet observation, a steadiness that made Shoyo’s nervous energy spark even hotter.

The door clicked shut behind them. For the first time all evening, the city noise was gone, leaving only the closeness of four walls, Mochi’s soft nails against the floor, and the sound of their breaths overlapping in the same space.

Shoyo kicked his shoes off by the door and toed them into a crooked line, suddenly hyper–aware of every messy detail in the apartment.

A hoodie draped over the back of the couch, a stack of dishes he swore he’d washed but hadn’t, Mochi’s toys scattered like breadcrumbs across the rug.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but Tobio beat him to it.

“It feels lived in,” he said quietly, stepping further inside. “It’s… nice.”

The words disarmed Shoyo more than any criticism could have. He blinked, then gave a small, crooked smile.

“Yeah? You don’t think it’s, you know, a disaster zone?”

Tobio shook his head once.

“No. It feels like you.”

Heat rushed to Shoyo’s face, and he busied himself with Mochi, who had flopped on the couch with a dramatic sigh.

“Traitor,” Shoyo muttered, scratching her belly, but his eyes flicked toward Tobio—who was still standing there, hands in his pockets, gaze steady and unreadable.

“Uh… want something to drink? Tea, water… I might have soda?”

“Tea’s fine,” Tobio said, his voice low, almost careful.

In the kitchen, Shoyo’s hands fumbled with the mugs more than once, but soon enough the two of them were settled on the couch.

Mochi wedged herself neatly between them at first—then, sensing something unspoken, hopped down and disappeared into the bedroom, leaving the space between them open.

The quiet stretched, but it wasn’t awkward. It was thick, like the kind of silence where you could hear your own heartbeat too loudly.

Shoyo toyed with the rim of his mug, sneaking a glance at Tobio. His profile was sharp in the soft lamplight, eyes darker than usual, fixed somewhere on the floor.

Finally, Shoyo leaned back, breaking the tension with a lopsided grin.

“So… you survived dinner with me. That’s a good sign, right?”

Tobio turned his head, meeting his gaze fully this time. Something flickered there—something rawer, quieter than the sharp edge Shoyo was used to.

“It was better than I expected.”

Shoyo snorted, nearly choking on his tea. “Better than you expected? Wow, thanks for the glowing review.”

Tobio’s lips twitched, not quite a smile, but close. He set his mug down on the table and leaned forward just slightly, elbows on his knees.

“I meant… it felt easy. With you. Easier than I thought it would.”

Shoyo’s grin faltered, his chest tightening at the honesty in Tobio’s tone. He set his own mug down, suddenly restless, fingers tugging at the edge of a pillow.

“Yeah… I felt that too.”

The air shifted—closer, heavier. The space between them felt like it had shrunk to nothing, even though neither had moved.

Shoyo’s voice was quieter when he spoke again, almost tentative:

“Tobio… can I ask you something?”

Tobio nodded, eyes steady on his.

Shoyo swallowed. “What are we doing? I mean… is this just hanging out? Or is it… something else?”

For a long moment Tobio didn’t answer. His gaze lingered, unwavering, and Shoyo felt like his whole chest was about to cave in from the weight of it. Finally, Tobio exhaled, voice low and deliberate.

“I think it’s something else.”

The words hung there, fragile and undeniable.

Shoyo blinked at him, heart thundering so hard he swore Tobio could hear it.

“Something else,” he echoed, his voice cracking at the edges.

Tobio didn’t flinch. He just held Shoyo’s gaze, steady and unyielding, like nothing in the world could break his focus.

The silence stretched, humming with something electric.

Shoyo licked his lips, nerves tangling with the urge that had been building since Tobio first showed up at his door tonight. He leaned forward just slightly, testing, giving Tobio every chance to pull away.

Tobio didn’t.

Their knees brushed, a small spark, and then Tobio shifted closer—slow, deliberate.

Shoyo’s breath caught. The world outside, the rain-slicked city, Mochi shifting in the other room—it all disappeared.

There was only the heat between them, the tiny space left that begged to be closed.

And then it was.

Tobio kissed him, soft but firm, a press of lips that was equal parts hesitant and certain.

Shoyo froze for a heartbeat, overwhelmed by the sheer realness of it—the warmth, the way Tobio’s hand hovered just shy of touching his jaw, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed.

Then Shoyo leaned in harder, closing that last sliver of space, his hand finding Tobio’s sleeve, clutching it like an anchor.

A small sound escaped him, half sigh, half laugh, and Tobio deepened the kiss by a fraction—steady, grounding, Tobio.

When they finally broke apart, Shoyo’s cheeks were burning, his chest rising and falling too quickly. He stared at Tobio, wide-eyed, lips tingling.

“Wow,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Okay. Definitely something else.”

For the first time all evening, Tobio smiled—small, almost shy, but real.

“Yeah. Definitely.”

*

At first, it was just lips—gentle, almost uncertain. But then Shoyo tugged harder at Tobio’s sleeve, pulling him closer, needing him closer.

Tobio’s hesitation broke like glass, his hand finally cupping Shoyo’s jaw, thumb brushing over warm skin.

The kiss deepened, no longer careful—more urgent, searching.

Shoyo gasped softly against him, and Tobio used the opening, tasting him, pressing forward until Shoyo was half-sinking back against the couch.

Shoyo’s fingers clenched in the fabric of Tobio’s shirt, then slid up, curling into his hair. That broke something loose in Tobio, he groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating straight through Shoyo’s chest.

The world narrowed to touch and breath and heat—Tobio’s hand at his waist, the other tilting his chin, the way Shoyo’s body arched instinctively into the contact.

The kiss turned messy, teeth grazing lips, laughter breaking between hungry pulls that only pulled them closer.

Shoyo barely realized he was moving until his back hit the wall beside the couch, Tobio pressing into him, their mouths still fused. His pulse was a wildfire, nerves sparking under every place Tobio’s hands claimed—hip, ribs, back.

“Shoyo,” Tobio muttered against his mouth, voice wrecked, like saying his name cost him control.

Shoyo laughed breathlessly, tugging at him, dizzy from it all.

“Bedroom,” he managed, between kisses, the word tumbling out raw and unplanned.

Tobio froze for a second—eyes dark, chest heaving.

Then he nodded once, silent, decisive, before Shoyo grabbed his hand and half-dragged, half-stumbled toward the hallway. They bumped into the wall, both laughing, both burning, but neither letting go.

Shoyo’s back hit the bedroom door as it swung open, Tobio’s weight pressing into him before they even crossed the threshold.

The kiss was fierce now, lips swollen, breaths sharp.

Shoyo’s fingers slipped beneath the hem of Tobio’s shirt, feeling the heat of his skin, the way muscles tensed under his touch.

Tobio broke the kiss for half a second, foreheads pressed together, both of them panting.

“You’re sure?” he asked, voice low, almost ragged.

Shoyo met his eyes, the answer already alive in the urgency of his touch. “Yes.” No hesitation. Just need.

That was all Tobio needed. He kissed him again—harder, deeper—hands sliding down to Shoyo’s thighs, lifting just enough to stumble them both onto the edge of the bed. They fell in a tangle, laughing breathlessly, lips never straying far.

Shoyo’s jacket was the first to go, pulled off clumsily, tossed aside. Fingers explored in half-desperate patterns, learning each other’s edges, the ridges of bone, the soft places no one else had ever been allowed.

Each touch was a confession: I want this. I want you.

The laughter faded into soft groans, the kisses slower now, deeper, their bodies molding together in the dim glow of the bedside lamp.

Shoyo curled into Tobio’s warmth, his hands never still—brushing over ribs, clutching fabric, sliding lower, tugging him closer still.

The world outside fell away. There was only this, heat, breath, the shiver of skin on skin, the gravity pulling them toward something inevitable.

Shoyo’s voice was barely a whisper against Tobio’s mouth.

“Stay.”

And Tobio did.

The rest unfolded in the dark, in tangled sheets and quiet, unguarded sounds—intense, clumsy, overwhelming, and more honest than either of them had expected.

*

The apartment was silent. Only the street lamps outside cast pale shadows through the curtains, outlining the soft lines of the room.

Tobio slept lightly, as always, never fully relaxed, always alert, as if even sleep couldn’t erase the habit of listening. That’s why he noticed the change first—a sudden movement beside him, the rustle of the sheets.

He opened his eyes.

Shoyo was tossing restlessly, wrapped up to his chin, his face tense. His lips pressed into silent words, a mix of pleading and pain. His fingers gripped the pillow as if it were the only thing that could hold him steady.

Tobio propped himself up on his elbow, his heart beating—not from fear, but from the helplessness of seeing him like this.

Tears ran slowly down Shoyo’s cheeks, silent, wordless, a quiet, desperate stream that tore more than any shout ever could.

He reached out a hand—hesitant, his fingers almost brushing Shoyo’s shoulder. He was just about to wake him when something soft interrupted the thought.

Thump. Thump.

Mochi appeared, quiet as a shadow. She leapt onto the bed without a sound and crept straight to her owner. Her tiny paws left warm prints on the covers as she curled up next to Shoyo.

First, she nudged her muzzle against his cheek, wiping away the tears almost intentionally. Then, after a brief pause, she lay across his chest, pressing down like a weight that both protected and grounded him.

Shoyo exhaled. First sharply, then softer. His body, tensed from strain, began to slowly relax. His fingers loosened their grip on the pillow and sank into Mochi’s fur, as if instinctively clinging to her.

The tears were still there, but the trembling had stopped. His breathing settled, heavy and steady, like the sea finding the shore again after a storm.

Tobio stayed frozen, watching in half-shadow. His chest tightened, and his thoughts went back to Shoyo’s earlier words: “She saved me. If it weren’t for her…”

Now he understood. He saw how this small, stubborn soul brought him back from places he never could have reached on his own.

Tobio gently tugged the blanket up, covering all three of them—himself, Shoyo, and the dog that seemed to stand guard even in its sleep.

He didn’t wake him. He just stayed awake for a long while, his eyes drifting between Shoyo’s relaxed face and Mochi’s chest rising and falling rhythmically.

And when he finally fell asleep again, it was with the knowledge that no one in this room was truly alone.

*

 

The sun slipped through the blinds, painting golden lines across the sheets.

Shoyo stirred, slowly opening his eyes, and for a moment it took him a while to orient himself.

His body felt heavy, like after a deep sleep… but he immediately noticed the emptiness.

The bed was cold on one side. There was no Tobio, no Mochi.

His heart skipped a beat—for a fraction of a second he felt abandoned. Then he shook his head, exhaling sharply as if chasing away the silly thought.

He slipped out from under the covers, quickly threw on his boxers and a stretched-out hoodie he found tossed on the chair, and went barefoot into the hallway.

The smell hit him before he even reached the kitchen—light butter, the warmth of eggs, that homey scent that always carries the comfort of morning.

And then he saw him.

Tobio stood at the stove, the sleeves of his dark t-shirt slightly rolled up.

He moved carefully, methodically, as if every step in cooking were an operation that could admit no mistake.

Beside him, sitting like the world’s best assistant, was Mochi. Her big eyes followed every movement of the spatula, as if expecting a miracle to fall from the pan right into her bowl.

Shoyo paused at the doorway, leaning lightly against the frame, saying nothing.

He just watched.

The warm kitchen light fell over Tobio’s silhouette, and the sound of gentle sizzling in the pan and Mochi’s impatient murmurs felt almost… domestic.

“Good morning,” Tobio said at last, without turning, as if he had known Shoyo was standing there all along.

Shoyo let out a quiet, nervous laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“Morning…”

Mochi, naturally, immediately stood up and trotted to him, pressing her paws to his legs and letting out a satisfied squeak, as if reporting: “He’s making breakfast, and I’m checking to see if it’s tasty enough!”

Shoyo petted her head and looked up at Tobio, who had now turned slightly to face him. There was no tension in his gaze—only calmness, even softness.

“Hungry?” Tobio asked quietly.

Shoyo nodded, but inwardly he felt his chest tighten. This… was new. To find someone in his kitchen. To feel that his morning didn’t start alone.

Shoyo stepped over the threshold, moving closer, and without a word leaned on the counter—his hands resting on the cool surface, fingers spreading as if to give him support.

Tobio stirred slowly with the spatula, but the feeling of being watched became too strong. He stopped. Then he turned to face him.

Their eyes met—no words, no smiles. Just silence, in which uncertainty, the calm of the night, and that strange sense of everything being oddly right gathered together.

Shoyo felt his breath catch in his chest. Tobio stepped lightly forward, leaned in, and very calmly, without any unnecessary hurry, touched his lips. A short, warm, quiet kiss.

Shoyo blinked several times, as if unsure whether it had really happened.

“You okay?” Tobio asked softly. There was no hint of what had happened the night before. No pressure, no probing. Just the simple, pure question.

Shoyo laughed quietly, nervously, bit his lip, and looked away for a moment before returning his gaze to Tobio.
“Yeah… why wouldn’t I be?”

There was confusion in his voice, but no fear. And a strange relief—as if someone had finally allowed him simply to be.

Mochi, who had been sitting on the floor until now, watching like the most loyal judge, suddenly squeaked and jumped with her paws onto Shoyo’s thigh, as if to say: “Alright, enough drama—where’s the breakfast?”

Shoyo laughed more genuinely this time and bent down to pet her head.

“Seems like someone here is hungrier than me.”

Tobio just shrugged lightly and turned back to the stove, as if the kiss had been the most natural thing in the world.

Chapter 5

After breakfast, Tobio cast a quick glance at the wall clock. His face remained calm, but in a way that suggested he had slipped back into doctor mode.

“I have to go,” he said quietly, leaving the plate in the sink.

Shoyo stood up and walked him to the door, his hands still lightly resting on Tobio’s shoulders, as if he didn’t want to let him go.

“We’ll see each other soon?” he asked, with a slightly embarrassed smile.

Tobio just nodded and, before leaving, leaned in to give him a quick, warm kiss. Then he was gone, leaving the apartment filled with a sense of calm—and yet emptiness.

Shoyo sighed, ruffled his hair with his hand, and looked at Mochi, who was lying near the door.

“Yeah, I know… do I look like I’ve lost my mind?” he muttered, and the dog replied with a soft woof that sounded like agreement.

A little later, Shoyo began getting ready for work. He looked around the apartment for his uniform while Mochi dragged one of his socks into the living room.

“Eh, again, you little thief…” he muttered, smiling as he took it back from her.

*

At the Fire Station

The afternoon sun streamed through the windows when Shoyo entered the break room. He took off his jacket and walked toward his locker.

Yachi looked up from her documents, and her eyes immediately caught on his neck. Her smile widened like a predator who had scented its prey.

“Hey, Shoyo…” she cooed playfully. “Did someone leave… a little autograph?”

Shoyo froze in place, subconsciously touching his neck and feeling the faint sting of the hickey.

“Th-This is… it’s not… I mean…” he started stumbling over his words.

“Ohhh, my goodness!” Yachi burst into laughter and nudged Oikawa next to her to show him. “Look at him! Not a lonely firefighter anymore.”

His coworkers started throwing playful remarks and jokes, and Shoyo felt like his face was about to ignite hotter than any fire.

“Stop it!” he shouted, laughing, but unable to hide how red his ears were.

The laughter hadn’t even fully died down when Shoyo’s phone buzzed quietly in his pocket. He quickly pulled it out—almost reflexively. The screen lit up with a short, dry message:

Tobio: “Don’t forget to eat.”

Shoyo immediately softened, a smile blooming so genuinely and foolishly that everyone around him paused for a second.

“Ooooh, who’s that?” Yachi immediately leaned over his shoulder, but Shoyo instinctively shielded the phone against his chest.

Kuroo and Oikawa in unison:
“The doctor!”

“It’s… none of your business!” Shoyo squeaked, but it was already too late.

Yachi smirked, not missing the moment:
“Reminding you to eat, huh? How sweet. So he feeds you even from afar.”

Kuroo almost doubled over laughing. “Well, if he’s keeping an eye on you even during shifts, it must be serious.”

Oikawa added with mock concern:
“Just be careful, Hina-chan. People like that are dangerous. Today they make you eat… tomorrow you’re already moving in with them!”

Shoyo covered his face with his hands, trying to hide his burning cheeks. But even through his fingers, his smile was visible—so foolish and happy that the whole team burst into laughter again.

*

The afternoon stretched on lazily when the radio chirped.
“Fire alarm at Sunrise Mall. All units respond.”

“Oh, finally, some action!” Kuroo sighed.

But when they arrived on site, it turned out to be a false alarm. The smoke was coming from forgotten popcorn in a microwave. The on-duty security guard apologized frantically, and Shoyo couldn’t stop chuckling.

“Big fire, big deal,” he said, extinguishing the blackened, charred box with the powder extinguisher.

“At least it smells like a movie theater,” Yachi added, and everyone laughed.

After a brief inspection and report, they returned to the fire station, and the day continued quietly.

*

At the same time, at the hospital, Tobio sat in the doctor’s room, filling out paperwork. His phone vibrated on the desk. Suga, who had just set some medical charts on the shelf, glanced over. The screen lit up:

Shoyo: “Alive and in one piece! Guess what, almost burned popcorn today. My heroic deed of the week 🔥🍿”

Suga smiled.
“Shoyo?”

Tobio lifted his head, slightly tense.

Suga watched him carefully, gently, but with that inherent seriousness.

“Is there something going on between you two?” he asked directly, without beating around the bush.

Tobio gripped the pen lightly in his hand, his gaze dropping to the phone where the emojis still glowed on the screen.
“…I don’t know.”

Suga exhaled softly but smiled warmly.
“If there is… be good to him. He’s been through a lot. More than he shows.”

Tobio looked up, serious but thoughtful.
“I know.”

Suga nodded slightly, as if that was enough.
“All right then. Just be careful. If anyone can smile and bleed at the same time—that’s Shoyo. And that’s exactly why he needs people who won’t hurt him further.”

Silence filled the room, broken only by Tobio’s phone vibrating again—a new message from Shoyo:

Shoyo: “Don’t roll your eyes, doc. I know you did just now. 😤”

*

At the end of his shift at the fire station, just before midnight, Shoyo sat down in the locker room and pulled out his phone. His fingers trembled slightly as he typed:

Shoyo: “Almost done. Then just a shower and bed. How are you?”

No reply came.

Shoyo waited. Fifteen minutes. Half an hour. An hour. Still nothing. He tried to convince himself that Tobio was probably busy, that it was normal, but a faint worry had nested deep in his stomach.

*

At the same time, Tobio was bathed in the harsh light of the operating room. His hands moved mechanically and precisely, his heart beating heavy but steady. The girl on the table — shot in the abdomen — was in critical condition. For hours, he and his team fought to stabilize her, and finally, her vital signs began to steady.

When it was over, it was three in the morning. The hallway smelled of disinfectant and exhaustion. Tobio sat on a bench, pulled out his phone, and saw the unread message from Shoyo.

A sigh escaped his chest. His fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before he typed:

Tobio (03:04 AM): “Sorry for not writing. I had a tough case. A girl, shot. We operated for hours.”

He didn’t expect a reply. By now, he was sure Shoyo was fast asleep. But soon the screen lit up.

Shoyo (03:06 AM): “…Is she okay?”

Tobio froze for a moment, then typed:

Tobio: “She’s stable now. She will live.”

A few seconds of silence. Then:

Shoyo: “Good… I’m glad…”

Tobio smiled faintly, almost tiredly.

Tobio: “Why aren’t you asleep?”

The reply came almost immediately.

Shoyo: “I can’t. Tossing and turning… I don’t know. Tomorrow I’ll look like a zombie at work.”

Tobio leaned his head back against the wall and stared at the screen. Somehow, a strange warmth spread through him at the thought that, at this exact moment, neither of them was sleeping, each in their own world, yet still together.

Tobio: “Then two zombies. I’m at the edge too.”
Shoyo: “Well, at least we’d be a scary couple. 🧟🧟”

*

Two weeks had passed, filled with long days and restless nights, and the familiar weight of routine had started to wear on Shoyo.

The evening air was humid and heavy, and Shoyo barely dragged his feet as he left the fire station. But when his eyes met Tobio leaning casually against the car, holding a bag, something lit up inside him.

“Why are you here?” he asked, his voice hoarse, exhaustion showing in his smile.

“I came to see you,” Tobio replied simply, raising the bag slightly. “And I picked up some burgers on the way.”

Shoyo laughed quietly, almost incredulously, shaking his head.

“If I weren’t this tired, I’d probably jump from joy.”

“Good thing you’re tired then,” Tobio quipped, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.
*

In Shoyo’s apartment, after a quick shower and changing into comfortable clothes, they settled on the couch. Mochi immediately nestled between them, resting her head on Shoyo’s lap as if guarding them both.

A TV show played — light, harmless, with laughter in the background. They barely followed it.

The burgers disappeared quickly, accompanied by silent smiles and brief comments. At one point, Shoyo leaned back, holding an empty wrapper.

“Honestly, I thought I’d fall asleep before finishing the second one,” he admitted, his voice drawn out from exhaustion.

“Good thing you didn’t,” Tobio said, taking the wrapper from him and placing it on the table.

He looked at Shoyo, who had curled into the corner of the couch, hood half pulled over his eyes.

The silence was cozy. Only the TV filled the room with sound.

Shoyo slowly turned his head toward him. His eyes, tired and heavy, met Tobio’s. For a moment, it seemed like he was about to say something, but he just sighed and gave a faint smile.

*

The show played on, but Shoyo had already slipped into sleep on the couch, leaning against Tobio’s shoulder. His breathing was calm at first, but soon became uneven and rapid. His forehead dampened with sweat, brows furrowed, fingers clutching the hoodie.

Mochi raised her head, ears pricked.

Shoyo twitched suddenly, body twisting as if trying to escape something unseen.

Sweat gleamed on his temples, chest heaving as if he had just run. Suddenly, he sat up sharply, gasping.

“Shoyo?” Tobio’s voice was quiet but tense. He leaned forward, eyes fixed on him. “Are you okay?”

Shoyo gasped, hands trembling. He looked at Tobio for a moment, not fully awake, swallowing hard.

“I’m fine,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Just… just a bad dream.”

He rubbed his face with his palm, trying to hide the tears still glistening in his eyes. Mochi had jumped onto the couch, nudging him with her warm muzzle.

Tobio reached out, gently placing his hand on Shoyo’s shoulder.

“You’re trembling,” he said softly. “Do you want some water?”

Shoyo shook his head, as if refusing to admit how shaken he was.

Yet his eyes met Tobio’s — and even though he insisted he was “fine,” his whole body betrayed him.

Shoyo exhaled heavily and slumped back on the couch, still slightly trembling. His body rolled slightly, as if shaking off the remnants of the nightmare from his muscles.

He ran his hands through his hair, trying to push away the shadows from the dream, to erase them, to forget.

Mochi lay down beside him, resting her head gently on his lap, nose brushing his body, her presence calming his heart.

Tobio moved closer, their knees touching.

He watched him carefully, eyes never leaving Shoyo’s face, noting how fragile and uncertain each movement was.

“Does it… happen often?” he asked quietly, almost in a whisper, careful not to disturb the delicate moment.

Shoyo blinked slowly, lips pressing together as if unsure whether to open the door to what lay inside. Then he exhaled heavily, a kind of confession, and nodded.

“Yes… sometimes.”

Tobio didn’t look away. There was no judgment in his eyes, only attentive concern.

“When you say ‘sometimes’…?” Tobio continued, voice soft, wrapping around him like a blanket.

Shoyo gave a crooked, faint smile, almost imperceptible, without joy. His eyes drifted to Mochi for a moment, then back to Tobio.

“When I don’t take my meds.”

A heavy silence followed, filled only by the quiet hum of the TV in the background.

The two of them sat close, yet inside them swirled a storm of unspoken words and feelings.

“They help me sleep, but I ran out yesterday and I didn’t have time to get more,” Shoyo continued, voice slightly hoarse from the lingering nightmare.

Tobio was silent for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly, not in judgment but in concern.

He raised his hand, gently touching Shoyo’s wrist. His fingers almost shyly wrapped around his, feeling how cold and tense his skin was.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he said softly, voice slightly trembling, each word chosen carefully to not hurt him further. “I could have got them for you.”

Shoyo felt the warmth of his hand, a strangely comforting sensation.

For a moment, the weight of the nightmare seemed to ease. He turned to Tobio, eyes glimmering with a mix of guilt and trust.

“I… I didn’t want to bother you,” he whispered. “I didn’t want to… you know, make it your problem.”

Tobio squeezed his wrist gently, holding on without letting go.

“Shoyo… you’re not a problem.”

Tobio leaned slightly toward him, their faces only a few centimeters apart. His breathing mingled with Shoyo’s—soft, rhythmic—and each exhale seemed to carry a sense of calm.

“You’re safe now,” Tobio whispered, his lips brushing Shoyo’s hair before slowly moving to rest on his forehead. “Nothing can hurt you here.”

Shoyo relaxed even more, almost pressing against him, Mochi nuzzling gently against him with her head. Tobio’s arms wrapped lightly around Shoyo, enclosing him in warmth. He could feel his trembling fade, his heartbeat slowing.

“I… I feel better,” Shoyo murmured, still with a trace of fear lingering in his eyes.

“Good,” Tobio replied, his voice soft but steady. “I’ll stay here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He traced his fingers along Shoyo’s arms, then gently down his back, every touch careful, almost protective.

Shoyo closed his eyes, breathing slowly. The air was filled with a sense of safety and closeness, and Mochi’s quiet presence beside them added another layer of comfort.

Tobio continued holding him, rocking him lightly, whispering words of calm and tenderness. Shoyo felt the nightmare dissolve, leaving only security, warmth, and trust - a feeling that rarely came to him, but now felt entirely natural, almost like being home.

*

Sunlight filtered through the slightly open blinds, casting soft golden stripes across the floor. Shoyo stretched slowly on the couch, still a little sleepy, his hair tousled from the night. His breathing was slow, his hands moving gently over his body as if trying to shake off the remnants of a nightmare. Mochi lay beside him, her head resting comfortably on his thigh, eyes carefully watching his every movement.

Tobio moved quietly around the kitchen, preparing breakfast. His hands worked precisely, though slowly, every motion observed by Mochi with curiosity and the occasional flick of her tail. He sliced bread, placed butter and cheese on it, and made coffee, unhurried, fully aware of Shoyo’s presence behind him.

“Good morning,” Shoyo said in a soft, sleepy voice, stretching as he got up. His eyes sparkled faintly, and a small smile graced his lips.

Tobio turned to him, his smile calm and nearly imperceptible, giving a small nod:

“Good morning.”

They sat down at the table, and the quiet kitchen filled with the rhythm of small movements: utensils, a cup of coffee, Mochi’s soft steps around their feet. The mix of silence and light laughter from little jokes that always connected them created a cozy atmosphere.

As Shoyo reached for a slice of bread, they heard a light but insistent knock at the door, followed by a loud voice:

“SHOYOO? ARE YOU AWAKE?”

Mochi sprang up immediately, bouncing toward the door like a spring, her head swiveling in all directions, trying to identify the “person on the other side.”

Shoyo took a deep breath and approached the door, his hand trembling slightly as he grabbed the handle.

On the doorstep stood Natsu, his little sister, with a wide grin, as if the world belonged to her.

“Natsu?! What… what are you doing here?” Shoyo exclaimed, eyes widening, his voice trembling slightly in surprise.

“I thought I’d surprise you!” she said, her tone bubbling with excitement and anticipation. Her eyes sparkled, and her steps were quick and light as she entered the apartment.

Shoyo tried to catch his breath, feeling Mochi circling around his legs with eager energy.

“What? Aren’t you happy to see me?” Natsu asked, entering with a black bag slung over her shoulder.

“I… of course I’m happy you’re here,” Shoyo whispered, still stunned by her sudden appearance.

Natsu didn’t give him much time to react and immediately turned to Mochi, hugging her with energetic bounces. She set her bag down on the floor and headed toward the kitchen, where she noticed a new face.

“Shoyo, do you have a guest? Sorry if I’m interrupting.”

She approached Tobio and gently extended her hand:

“I’m Natsu Hinata. Shoyo’s little sister, nice to meet you.”

“Tobio Kageyama,” he replied, slightly surprised but welcoming.

*

While Natsu rummaged through the fridge looking for breakfast, Shoyo appeared behind her, a little worried.

“Seriously, what are you doing here? Don’t you have school?” he asked, slightly irritated, though concern lingered in his voice.

“We’re on vacation,” Natsu replied, smiling as she pulled out some sweets. “Besides… I was bored… had a fight with Dad, so I came here.” With her mouth full, she added, “The usual.”

Shoyo sighed heavily and leaned lightly on the kitchen counter.

“Natsu, you can’t just run away every time you and dad have a fight.”

Natsu grabbed an energy drink from the fridge anyway and closed it. “Why not? You did it.” She plopped down at the table across from Tobio. “I’m just following your example, big brother.”

“Well, don’t,” Shoyo said firmly, as if trying to break her habit. He then sat on the chair next to her, took the can from her hand, and sipped carefully.

“C’mon now, don’t be like that. Dad drives me crazy. Seriously, I can’t even go to the store without him calling me every five minutes.”

“He’s just worried.”

“Well he can worry about other stuff, not this. Oh! Me and a friend thought about making him a Tinder profile!”

“Natsu...If you make him a Tinder, people will think he’s a creep. Don’t do that.”

She just rolled her eyes at him.

“No! I’ll put in his bio - ‘Looking for women in their 40s’ or something.” Natsu laughed and started helping herself to the breakfast on the table.

For a little while, there was peace—just a little.

Natsu got up and headed back to the fridge.

Shoyo glanced at Tobio, who was standing by the table smiling, with that look that seemed to say: “You two look alike.”

Shoyo rubbed his temples, exhaling through his nose, then turned to his sister.

“Natsu, why don’t you go unpack your bag? Use the guest room - it’s yours while you’re here.”

“Finally,” she huffed dramatically, dragging her bag down the hall like it weighed a ton. Mochi followed after her, curious as always.

The moment she disappeared around the corner, Shoyo let out a heavier sigh. He turned toward Tobio, eyes carrying that familiar mix of apology and exhaustion.

“You should probably head home. I… I’ve got a hurricane to deal with.”

Tobio tilted his head, watching him. His lips twitched, like he wanted to say I can stay, but instead he nodded.
“Alright. Call me if you need anything.”

Shoyo stepped closer, his hand brushing Tobio’s wrist.
“Thanks… really.”

A quick kiss — light, hurried, almost stolen — and Tobio pulled back, catching the faintest smile on Shoyo’s lips before he turned toward the hallway.

“See you later,” Tobio murmured.

“See you,” Shoyo echoed, softer, before the sound of Natsu’s voice from the guest room reminded him what awaited.

Tobio slipped out, closing the door quietly behind him.

*

The stairwell was cool and quiet, a stark contrast to the whirlwind he’d just left behind. As he walked, Tobio’s mind was restless.

That sister… she’s… a lot. Like Shoyo, but louder. More chaotic. Still… they’re the same. The same spark, the same eyes.

His steps echoed against the concrete, steady, measured, but his chest felt oddly tight.

'I didn’t want to leave. Not like that. He looked… tired. Not just from her. He hasn’t slept well. And those nightmares…'

He shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, jaw tightening.

'I should’ve stayed. Helped. At least… kept him company. But… he’ll probably need time with her. Family. I get that. I shouldn’t get in the way.'

The streets opened up before him, the city humming quietly in the late morning air. Cars, people, distant chatter — it all felt far away. His thoughts kept circling back to the image of Shoyo sitting at the kitchen table, messy hair, soft smile, eyes still shadowed by last night.

'I want to be there. Not just when it’s easy. Especially when it’s not. But how do I…?'

He exhaled slowly, lifting his gaze toward the pale blue sky.
'I’ll figure it out. Whatever it takes… I’m not letting him carry this alone.'

With that quiet promise anchoring his thoughts, Tobio finally turned toward his own apartment, already planning what he’d say — and do — the next time they saw each other.

*

Shoyo leaned against the kitchen counter, listening to the muffled sounds of Natsu rustling around the guest room. He pinched the bridge of his nose, bracing himself. Seconds later, she reappeared, flopping dramatically into a chair at the table.

“Okay, unpacked. Guest room officially conquered. Now—” she leaned forward, eyes sharp and mischievous. “—spill. Who’s he?”

Shoyo froze halfway through reaching for his glass of water.
“What are you talking about?”

Natsu grinned, tilting her head.
“Don’t play dumb with me. Tall guy, dark hair, awkward but kind of handsome. You called him Tobio, right? He’s not just a friend.”

Shoyo’s cheeks warmed. He dropped his gaze into his glass, rolling it between his palms.
“He’s… we’re… it’s complicated.”

“Complicated,” she repeated, raising a brow. “That’s code for you like him but don’t know how to admit it out loud.”

Shoyo shot her a glare, but she only smirked wider.
“You’re insufferable.”

“I’m right, though.”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair.

*

Meanwhile, Tobio sat on the edge of his own bed, still in his jacket, phone resting in his hand. He hadn’t put it down since he got home.

'What if she asks him about me? His sister. She seemed… sharp. The kind who notices everything. She’ll get it out of him in seconds.'

He ran a hand over his face, groaning quietly.
'Not that it matters if she knows. But… what if she doesn’t like me there? What if she thinks I’m… not good enough for him?'

His thumb brushed the side of his phone, tempted to text Shoyo, to check if he was okay after she barged in. But he didn’t. Instead, he lay back against the bed, staring at the ceiling.

'I just… want him to be okay. Even if I can’t be the one sitting at his table right now.'

The thought was both grounding and heavy. He turned his head toward the phone, his chest tightening slightly.

'I’ll wait. For as long as it takes. But… I hope he tells me. I want him to trust me with everything. Nightmares, fears… family. All of it.'

*

A few hours later, after Natsu had scattered half her luggage across Shoyo’s room and Mochi was now following her like a shadow, she suddenly appeared beside him while he was trying to clear the breakfast dishes.

“Big brother, I’m hungry. Let’s go out.”

“You were hungry an hour ago,” Shoyo sighed, knowing any argument was pointless.

“So what? Pizza! You’re buying it.” She said it with that tone that brooked no objection.

Shoyo shook his head, but he was already smiling.
“Fine, but only if you don’t eat half of it yourself. And Mochi’s coming too.”

“Obviously!” she shouted, grabbed her jacket, and was already at the door.

*

The pizzeria was a small neighborhood spot, smelling of fresh dough and tomatoes. Natsu practically glued herself to the display case with the different types of pizza, her eyes sparkling.

“Big brother, two large ones, okay?” she asked, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“One is plenty.”

“Two. I’m still growing.”

“Natsu…”

“Cmon. Pretty pleasee."

Shoyo sighed heavily and surrendered.
“Fine. Two.”

While waiting for their order, they sat at a table by the window. Mochi lay under Shoyo’s feet, and Natsu bounced her legs energetically, spinning in every direction.

“Sho… are you happy?”

Shoyo blinked.
“Huh?”

“With him. With Kageyama.” She said it quietly, as if not wanting Mochi under the table to hear.

Shoyo went silent. He lifted his gaze to the window - people outside passed by as if in a different rhythm, in another world. His fingers tightened around the glass of soda.

“…yes” he whispered almost unconsciously.

Natsu looked at him, but this time she didn’t say anything. She just grinned and leaned forward.

The pizza slices arrived at the table, hot and smelling of melted cheese. Natsu immediately grabbed one, burned the tips of her fingers, but didn’t give up. She took a bite and sighed happily.

“Oh my God, this is love.”

Shoyo smiled lightly, not as loudly as his sister. He leaned over and took a careful bite of his own slice, watching her as if she were a little storm in a small body.

*

After lunch ended and they returned home, Shoyo spent the afternoon with Natsu - they watched TV, she teased him for being “old” and not keeping up with her pace, and Mochi squeezed between them on the couch.

When evening fell and Natsu fell asleep in the guest room, Shoyo was left alone in the living room.

Outside, the city lights twinkled, and the apartment was quiet, almost too quiet. He sat on the couch with his phone in hand, hesitating over whether to send a message. His fingers hovered indecisively over the keyboard, typing, deleting, and starting over.

Finally, he sent a short message:

Shoyo: “Hey… thanks for yesterday. And for today. I know I don’t say it much but… I’m really glad it’s you.”

He read it three times before hitting “send.” His heart pounded like a drum.

The reply came faster than he expected:

Tobio: “…You don’t have to thank me. I’m glad too.”

Shoyo felt the tension in his chest release. He smiled softly, pressed the phone to his chest, and leaned back on the couch. Mochi lifted her head from her bed and moved closer to him, as if sensing the night would be lighter.

*

Tobio sat on his balcony, leaning slightly against the railing, phone in hand. His smile was rare, almost embarrassing for him, as he read Shoyo’s message.

“…I’m really glad it’s you.”

Tobio put his phone away, straightened, and headed toward the hospital—his night shift was about to begin. His thoughts kept drifting back to Shoyo and that message as he walked through the streets, quietly smiling at the memory of their brief but warm moment.

*

The hospital lights were bright but sterile, almost pulsing in rhythm with the patients’ heartbeats. Tobio moved quickly through the corridors, checking monitors, leaning on the medical cart, and recording everything carefully.

“Is the patient in room 4 stable?” he asked softly as he made his rounds.

“He’s stable for now, but we need to keep monitoring,” Suga replied, approaching with a folder in hand. His eyes were tired but calm, and his tone quiet yet confident.

“Agreed,” Tobio nodded, glancing at the monitor’s graph. “I’ll keep a close watch.”

A little later, Kiyoko appeared in the corridor with a thermos of coffee and a smile that almost always eased the tension of the night.

“Tobio, want a short break?” she asked, handing him the cup.

“Maybe five minutes,” he said with a small smile, accepting the coffee. “The night’s already starting heavy.”

Tobio inhaled the aroma of the hot coffee and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to relax. The sounds of machines, soft footsteps in the corridor, and the occasional alarm from monitors created a rhythm, almost hypnotic.

He took a sip, set the cup slowly on the cart beside him, and returned to patient monitoring. In room 7, the situation was a bit more tense—the patient was restless, and the monitor showed a slight rise in pulse.

“Suga and I will adjust the IV line a little higher,” Tobio said quietly as he approached the patient. His movements were precise and swift; each hand knew exactly where to place the instruments.

After a few minutes of maneuvering, the line was stable, and the patient appeared calmer. Tobio stepped back, quickly sanitized his hands, and glanced at the clock - still early in the shift, but already feeling the pressure that would accompany him through the night.

An alarm sounded again in the corridor. Tobio dashed, guided by instinct, along with the other staff. His movements were coordinated, without losing focus. Every gesture was patient-focused, every command clear and concise.

A few minutes later, everything calmed down. Tobio leaned briefly against the wall, wiped his face, feeling fatigue but also satisfaction knowing he had done everything right.

“All right, time to check room 2,” he murmured to himself, lifting his head and walking down the corridor with quick, confident steps.

The hospital lights continued to pulse, almost like the heartbeat of the entire building, and Tobio knew that every minute here mattered.

*

The morning sunlight crept slowly through the tall hospital windows, casting elongated shadows across the spotless floor. Shoyo appeared on the parking lot, a cup of black coffee in hand.

His hair was still slightly tousled from the early wake-up, and his casual clothes did little to hide the relaxed ease in his posture.

When Tobio spotted him, a small, unexpected smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Good morning,” Shoyo said softly, offering him the coffee. “Thought you might need this.”

Tobio took a careful step forward, studying the cup for a moment before letting a faint, tired but genuine smile soften his face.

“Perfect timing,” he replied, taking the cup. “I wasn’t expecting company so early.”

Shoyo leaned against the wall by the door, observing him with that calm, knowing expression that somehow always put Tobio at ease.

Tobio caught himself thinking about how Shoyo’s presence seemed to slow down the chaos of the hospital corridors, if only for a moment.

“How was the night?” Shoyo asked quietly, concern lacing his tone.

“Long, but relatively calm toward the end. There’s always work, but nothing we couldn’t handle,” Tobio said, taking a measured sip.

Shoyo nodded, eyes following the quiet corridor.

Tobio watched him, noticing the subtle lines of fatigue and the gentle way he carried himself.

“I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to check in… see how you’re doing,” Shoyo said quietly, “And bring you some coffee.”

“Thanks, it really means a lot,” Tobio said, placing the cup carefully on the small table beside him. “I appreciate that you think of things like this, even in the morning.”

A soft silence fell over them, neither feeling the need to fill it with words.

“You should get going, Shoyo. Work’s waiting for you,” Tobio finally said, his voice returning to the professional calm he usually maintained.

“Of course. Good luck today,” Shoyo said with a gentle smile, turning toward the exit.

Tobio watched him leave, the warmth from the coffee and the quiet reassurance of their brief encounter lingering longer than the steam rising from the cup.

*

After leaving the hospital, Shoyo walked briskly toward the nearby pharmacy, the morning air still cool against his face.

His mind was partly on Tobio, the brief encounter lingering like a warm ember in his chest, but there were practical matters to attend to. He had to pick up his insomnia medication.

The pharmacy smelled faintly of antiseptic and dried herbs. Shoyo moved along the aisles with practiced ease, selecting his package and paying at the counter. 'It’s silly,' he thought, watching the pharmacist hand him the small bottle. 'A little pill to help me sleep…'

With the small package tucked safely in his bag, Shoyo stepped back into the sunlight, drawing in a deep breath.

The streets were quieter now, the early morning rush having not yet fully begun. He smiled faintly, thinking of the soft calm in Tobio’s presence—a rare feeling he clung to even for a few minutes.

By mid-morning, Shoyo arrived at the fire station. The familiar scent of smoke and metal greeted him as he stepped inside, and the sounds of the day’s early preparations buzzed around him. He hung up his jacket, letting the moment of normalcy anchor him after the morning’s emotional tide.

As he moved through the station, Shoyo couldn’t help but let his thoughts drift briefly to Tobio again, a small, private smile tugging at his lips.

He shook his head slightly, forcing himself to return to the present. The fire station demanded attention, and Shoyo dove into the rhythm of routines and tasks, though a small part of him stayed tethered to the quiet warmth of that morning encounter.