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Futakuchi knew Aone had never really had friends before. Loneliness was ingrained into his every action, so unused to each simple act of friendship, a shared snack, a smile on the corridor, a high five after a good block in volleyball- they all seemed like unfamiliarities to Aone.
Sometimes it made Futakuchi angry, so frustrated at the world, at the people in it, who couldn't see past his height or his glare or his awkward phrasing. More often it would make him sad. Futakuchi was not a pitying man, he had never had much room in his head to feel sorry for anyone other than himself, but Aone, with his fumbling hands and earnest eyes, was more than worthy of whatever scraps of compassion Futakuchi could muster up.
They sat next to each other on the train, ate lunch together, shared things they had never shared with anyone else with each other. So when Aone confessed with an even softer voice than normal, almost silent, that he was gay, Futakuchi had not been suprised, they were best friends after all.
Best friends. The phrase didn’t quite fit the feelings in Futakuchi’s stomach when Aone flashed a rare smile, dimples showing and cheeks coloured pink, when in the summer freckles grew along his nose and when his hand, large and calloused, brushed against Futakuchi’s.
Aone did not deserve to worry about those feelings though; he struggled to sort through his own emotions, he did not need to try to unravel the knot of Futakuchi’s as well. Aone’s hands were clumsy ones, fingers that tried to untangle knots but only tightening them had no place in Futakuchi’s heart. Futakuchi would confide much but the warmth growing in his chest was an entirely private matter.
The practice match against Karasuno was a turning point. Futakuchi knew as soon as he saw Aone watch the small number 10, that he was smitten. His face was dusted with red, his words even more clunky. The warmth grew and grew until it burnt in his chest, melting his ribs and scorching his heart.
“Someone caught your eye, big guy?” Futakuchi found himself asking, the words were acid on his tongue. He nudged Aone in the ribs with his elbow, prompting an answer that only damned Futakuchi further.
“...He’s really pretty.” Aone was near breathless.
They had never talked much about crushes before. Futakuchi imagined Aone had even less experience with them than friendship, maybe that was why the feeling was so awful, it was foreign and new- Futakuchi was just not accustomed to it yet.
He could breathe around the psychosomatic pain, cold air flooding his lungs to dampen the flames but it seemed only to feed them. Futakuchi smiled despite it, Aone was not looking at him to detect its falseness anyway.
He was transfixed.
Futakuchi turned his attention away from Aone to the object of his attention. He was a small thing, impish in looks and mannerism. His hair was a shot of ginger and his eyes were the warmest brown Futakuchi had ever seen, like coffee and chocolate and-
He was cute, was the short of it. It was as undeniable as Aone’s infatuation. Maybe it should have been a comfort that the first person Aone had a crush on was worthy of that affection, but to Futakuchi it only felt like further punishment.
He didn’t even like Aone like that.
He was just selfish, wanted all the attention to himself even when Aone so clearly deserved more than just him. He sucked in another breath, it felt like the end of an era.
“Let’s focus on the match, yeah?”
Aone nodded silently but it was a few moments before he tore his gaze away.
They played the match. They lost. Seeing number 10 smile made the loss a particularly bitter one.
Futakuchi whipped the sweat from his forehead. He never usually sweat that much during a match, he had a tendency to not quite subscribe to the ‘give it your all everyday’ attitude but this match had evoked some passion. Not that it mattered, they still lost.
He didn’t realise Aone wasn’t with him until he was sat on the coach.
He arrived a moment later, a piece of paper clutched against his chest and remnants of a smile on his lips. The coach scolded him for being tardy but even that didn’t seem to dampen Aone’s mood, he merely nodded and made his way to the seat next to Futakuchi.
He sat, knee grazing Futakuchi’s, and turned. He was smiling, a small private thing that made Futakuchi feel like he was privy to some intimate confession.
“He gave me his number.” Aone whispered like a prayer. “He told me to text him.”
He looked up from the scrap of paper to meet Futakuchi’s eyes. The corners of his lips were turned up but Futakuchi refused to recognise it as a smile. The burn was back, bile churning in his stomach and heart pulsating.
So that was it.
Bitter thoughts creeped into Futakuchi’s mind, festering like mold. ‘I was his first friend and now he’s leaving me, I can see why no one else bothered’ spat the hateful, blackened part of his brain. The thought was David and Futakuchi was Goliath, by all accounts he should win, crush the threat under foot, but he couldn’t, it lingered and slunk and creeped and survived.
“Oh.” Futakuchi choked. “That’s nice.”
It was forced, the words like broken glass on his tongue.
He didn’t even like Aone like that.
He didn’t even like Aone like that.
He didn’t even like Aone like that.
The mantra repeated, even as Aone’s face fell into a frown, eyebrows furrowed, and tone soft as he asked if Futakuchi was alright, if he had pushed himself too far in the match. He muttered apologies that Futakuchi didn’t deserve.
“I’m sorry for not noticing you were unwell. You can lean on my shoulder if you want to nap?” Aone offered, eyes painfully earnest.
He placed a large hand on Futakuchi’s shoulder, eyes boring into his soul. Futakuchi’s fire dimmed into a spark. Aone’s attention was on him, only him.
He didn’t even like Aone like that. Did he?
Maybe he did. He could imagine their fingers fitting together, their hangouts labelled as ‘dates’, Aone’s lips on his, soft and warm and right.
“No. It’s alright. You should probably start crafting a message to your little love, Romeo.” Futakuchi tried to keep his voice level. It failed, pitchy and hoarse.
Aone seemed too pressed about the prospect of having to text Hinata Shouyou to worry about that though, attention refocused on the slip of paper. The number was written in pink ink, handwriting sloppy, near illegible with a little heart at the end.
Futakuchi turned to the window, the reflection of Aone was blurred, he looked like a ghost in the glass. Futakuchi pressed his eyes shut but sleep didn’t come until he got home and into bed. Exhaustion, both physical and mental, dragged him into the deepest sleep he had ever had.
Things did not improve. Aone messaged Hinata nearly every day, giddy and blushing from ear to ear. He still made time for Futakuchi, he was too kind not too even if, as Futakuchi had convinced himself, he was just waiting for an opportune time to end the friendship.
It almost hurt more having Aone remain so firmly as his best friend. It might have been easier if he faded into an acquaintance, a team mate and old friend. But he didn’t. He remained persistently the most important person in Futakuchi’s life.
Things changed undeniably, however. Futakuchi wasn't sure what he had expected, Aone was always going to grow out of this friendship like a toddler grows out of training wheels- now he was ready for fully formed relationships with actual good people.
Futakuchi still felt betrayed.
Until he met Hinata Shouyou and then everything made sense.
Aone had been trying to introduce them for a while but Futakuchi had avoided the idea until it became impossible to dodge any longer. They were to play video games at Aone’s house, something Futakuchi had spent most of weekends doing since he met Aone but now it felt like a new mountain to climb, an impossible summit.
He turned up 10 minutes late and in a foul mood. He let himself in, Aone’s mums were cooking in the kitchen together, humming and singing along to the radio.
“Takanobu and Hinata are upstairs.” Aone’s mother smiled, there was flour on her cheek and hands. She was the spitting image of Aone, if slightly less threatening. Her hair was white and cropped short, her eyebrows so pale they were invisible and she towered over her wife.
“Thanks.” Futakuchi muttered. Happiness seemed to seep out of every pore of that house, all warm lights and soft music and nice smells.
They turned back to their cooking and Futakuchi began to climb the stairs. He could hear them from halfway up the stairs, laughing and chatting. Futakuchi steeled himself and pushed the door open.
They sat so close they were touching, both pink in the face. The video game was on pause and Futakuchi had never felt more like an intruder. It had taken him months to feel comfortable in this house and now he felt like he was back to square one.
“Futakuchi, right?” Hinata asked, laughter dying on his lips. “Aone’s told me so much about you. It’s really nice to meet you.”
It sounded so rehearsed and Futakuchi considered for the first time that perhaps he was not the only one nervous about this meeting. Aone definitely was if his hunched shoulders and flickering eyes were anything to go by.
“That’s me.” Futakuchi’s smile was not as disingenuous as he had expected it to be. “Hinata Shouyou?”
Hinata nodded, smiling so hard Futakuchi worried his cheeks might split. They were a mismatched trio. Three jigsaw pieces from separate puzzles that just happened to slot together. Hinata’s laugh was music, the smile he brought to Aone’s face was art and Futakuchi quickly found himself relaxing into the heat.
The warmth in his chest was a campfire at that moment, manageable but susceptible to flaring up, to catching on a nearby dry and leaf and spreading. Futakuchi took the third controller and watched for the most part.
What he bore witness to was enough to dispel any doubts.
Hinata Shouyou was kind and sweet and excitable and better than anything Futakuchi could hope to ever become even if he lived to a hundred. His doubts were dispelled like a mist, slinking away to make everything clear again.
“Are you two going out?” Futakuchi found himself asking, even though he did not want to know the answer. If he was honest with himself, he already knew.
Hinata’s eyes flickered nervously to Aone, who gulped nervously and steadied himself.
“Yes.” He uttered.
Futakuchi expected it to burn. He expected the inevitable pain of a fire inside him but instead it was like a bucket was thrown over it and all that was left was ash, choking him and filling his organs and coating his tongue.
His insides were flooded and Futakuchi smiled.
“I’m happy for you.”
And he meant it. He meant it with every fibre of his being. They worked together so perfectly that Futakuchi would have to be a madman to not see it and despite it all, Futakuchi had clung on to his sanity. It would be the last scrap of himself that he lost, like a stray dog with a bone.
If he kept his mind clear then at least he might be able to watch the relationship grow and know that even if he could never be a part of it he had helped this great romance along. They deserved each other and as much as it pained him to confess, he didn’t.
If Hinata Shouyou was not the word of God, then God never spoke. Unfailingly kind, so quick to smile and comfort, endearing in a way Futakuchi had only ever seen in Aone before. If there was someone in this world perfectly crafted in your world, then that is what Hinata and Aone were for each other.
It grew less painful with time. Futakuchi had been right in the end, the more he felt it the more he grew accustomed to it. He would not name ‘it’. If left unnamed ‘it’ felt less real. Futakuchi had always rolled his eyes at his grandmother’s ‘names have power’ lecture but now he understood.
To give the flare a title, ‘jealousy’, ‘envy’, ‘love’, was an endeavour Futakuchi did not have the temperament for. Aone had grown more emotionally aware than Futakuchi. Though, maybe that isn’t the right term. Futakuchi was aware of his emotions, agonisingly so, he just elected to ignore them.
He had spent a lot of time with Aone and Hinata. He had unwillingly become a third wheel. They invited him on outings that looked an awful lot like dates. Sometimes he was tempted to refuse, to say he didn’t wish to intrude when really that’s all he wanted to do, but every time he even considered it the pain grew.
They were the ones inviting him. They wanted him there. That meant something. Right?
It came to a head on an afternoon similar to the one when he met Hinata. It was raining instead of sunny and they huddled in Aone’s room. Futakuchi’s hand was too close to Hinata’s, sometimes brushing together, so soft that it made Futakuchi hold his breath.
Something had been shifting in Futakuchi for a while now, like Pangea splitting into the continents; it was so great and so slow that despite it being momentous, it went unnoticed. In fact, Futakuchi didn’t even realise it himself for months ,Hinata turned to him, laughter lines deep around his eyes and hair tucked behind his ear. His wanting had spread like a virus.
He didn’t just want Aone, he wanted Hinata as well. Like a child, incapable of compromise, his greedy heart had settled on both, so definitely that at times it choked him.
“Are you alright, Futakuchi?” Hinata whispered, breath hot against Futakuchi’s cheek.
Futakuchi flinched away from the intimacy. “Yeah. Don’t worry.”
Hinata did not listen, he rarely did. His face contorted into a frown. Hinata did not suit such gloom but of course Futakuchi found a way to force it there. Aone paused the game and looked across at them both. He looked so much larger when compared to Hinata, all broad shoulders next to narrow, large hands atop nimble ones, but where they matched was the eyes.
Concerned and welcoming. Always welcoming.
“I’m fine, big guy.” Futakuchi said and it was slightly more genuine.
Aone pressed his lips together, eyes scanning for something he would never find, before nodding and resuming the game. It was after that point that things began to collapse, as inevitable as Pompei, slowly pursued by the lava of Versuivius, things grew worse.
Aone pressed a gentle kiss to Hinata’s cheek and Hinata ran his hand through Aone’s hair and Aone looked at him so softy and-
Futakuchi felt tears building. He would not humiliate himself, that was sure of. So he stood.
“I’ve got to go. I have a commitment I forgot about. Sorry.” It was stiff but the tears were building and Futakuchi needed to get out now before they were released.
“Futa-” Aone began but Futakuchi was already leaving, door pushed open and halfway down the stairs. Aone and Hinata followed, calling after him so worried.
He made it to the front door when the first tear escaped, soon joined by more. He fumbled with the door handle when he was finally caught up with. Aone’s hand on his shoulder.
“Futakuchi, what’s going on?” His voice was gentle and it was scorching.
Sobs shook him, so deep in his core he felt he might break with the force of them. He just wanted, so desperately, to be loved and to love in return. He wanted someone to take him and he take them in return, hand in hand in hand.
He snapped.
“I like you!”
It spilled from his lips like the acid from his stomach, bubbling and corrosive and cruel. So undeniably cruel, to even try to ruin what they already have by being selfish. He bit his lip as if it would force the words back in, bring back the way things had been, him miserable but Aone and Hinata content at least.
The need to explain, to reassure was strong but Futakuchi was not foolish enough to think that words would be enough to heal over whatever wound he just made. He had taken his feelings and sharpened them into a blade, even love was an emotion Futakuchi had turned into a weapon and now he was alone, blood dripping from his homemade knife.
Aone’s eyes were wide and he remained silent for a stretch of time. Hinata had halted on his position at the last step. His hand was hovering over the bannister, his face set forward as if he were frozen in time.
“You like me?” Aone asked, cautious and hesitant like he was prodding a bear.
Shame built but Futakuchi could not hide away from the truth, not now that he had yelled it for the whole world to hear. He had sowed the seeds and now he would have to reap them.
“Both of you.” He confessed, voice low and head angled downwards. “I’m sorry.”
Laughter. It wasn’t cruel or mocking, it sounded like relief. Futakuchi carefully looked up, Hinata had drawn closer, smiling just behind Aone, and Aone was laughing. Futakuchi shuffled from foot to foot, hands trembling as they balled into fists. Though the laughter did not sound cruel it was unexpected enough to put him even more on edge.
Aone took a breath, his cheeks were pink and the remnants of a smile remained in his eyes. His hands grabbed onto Futakuchi’s, holding them so entirely it made Futakuchi feel like a child again. His eyes stared into Futakuchi’s soul.
“You have no idea how much I wanted to hear you say that.” He said it like a prayer, a whisper that barely left his tongue but held such importance that it was louder than any shout.
He looked back at Hinata, whose hand was now on Aone’s shoulder- smiling the same half relieved, half overjoyed smile. Futakuchi hated feeling stupid, hated feeling like he didn’t understand, and at that moment he was drowning in smiles he couldn’t rationalise, kind eyes that didn’t belong.
He yanked his hands from Aone’s hold, the loss panged in his chest.
“Can one of you please explain what’s going on?” He hissed, eyebrows furrowing and shoulders coming up like a cat arching its back.
“We like you.” Aone said so simply, smile never faltering. “Me and Hinata, we both like you.”
Futakuchi’s head was reeling, a jumbled mess of ‘impossibles’ and ‘maybes’ that it was difficult to even grasp a single coherent thought.
“Why?” His voice was wrecked, hoarse and rough and so indescribably confused. “I just- I don’t get it.”
His face was warm, hsi eyes wet and burning. Everything was overwhelming. He just wanted to cry.
“Why?” Aone repeated softly “Because you’re amazing and funny and kind.”
Futakuchi scoffed. He was not someone willing to believe lies dressed up as complements.
“Seriously.” HInata joined in “You’re sweet and you listen and you give amazing advice and you’re just fun to be around. You’re a better person than you think.”
The tears were threateningly close to spilling out. They felt boiling as he tried to contain them. When the first one fell it felt like a defeat but when Aone leaned in, placed his hand on his cheek and held him so tenderly, it stopped feeling so enormously shameful.
The tears didn’t stop, only growing in number. Aone’s hand on his cheek was calloused and rough but it fit perfectly; Hinata’s voice didn’t falter, reassuring and patient as it listed reasons why Futakuchi was worthy of such love.
Maybe he couldn’t believe them, couldn’t believe that someone would find him endearing, find him beautiful, find him worthy of time, but they did not sound like lies.
“We like you, Futakuchi.” Hinata said at last, slipping his hand into Aone’s free one.
He went onto his tiptoes, still towered by Aone, but tall enough to look Futakuchi in the eyes.
“We like you.”
Futakuchi’s face curled, nose scrunched and lip trembling.
“I like you both too.” He gasped out, choked by emotion. “I like you so much.”
He felt like a deflated balloon, all energy had been sapped from him. He had spent so long worrying, so long protecting himself and his secret and it hadn’t even mattered. He should feel annoyed but he didn’t.
He smiled, knocking his forehead against Aone’s lightly and slipping his hand into Hinata’s free one.