the librarian ❆ kagehina

mama's big boy.

the sky had fallen tired of spewing snow, and on the morning of christmas eve, a sheet of blinding white covered the world outside the hinata household. little sprigs of color poked out of the white tarps atop the evergreen trees, and the streets were plowed and salted in the early hours of the morning, leaving the world to look like the snow was dropped artificially, only for the purpose of looking like it was christmas.
shōyō loves when it snows at home. the small suburb and the road through the countryside was classic like that of an old photo, smooth and unbothered; he sat in the bay window across the living room, curled up behind the big blue-tinted window with a steaming cup of coffee. it was hot, but not too hot- this time around, he had no one to distract him from drinking it. in a way it made him sad, to be sitting alone in the sleepy morning hours with a cup of coffee he hasn't forgotten. it reminds him of what he left behind at school.

he doesn't want to regret his decisions. he wants to be happy, and he knows he only tried to get closer to that dream by pushing tobio away. but for him, tobio is what makes happiness possible in the first place. he had been fueling himself on this short-lived, sugar rush type of happiness for so long; reading novels of romance and thrilling mystery, drinking coffee that burned the tip of his tongue, watching a movie or staying up late or rushing hurriedly to his library shift after sleeping in. it was all a quick moment, a jolt of electricity to shock his body into moving, and he would smile and say that those things were moments of happiness. but not until he befriended that black-haired library mouse did he really, truly feel happy.
happiness feels like laying on a beach, shōyō's decided. the towel under your searing skin is just a little wet from when you last used it to wipe the sea water from your body, but it's warm and fluffy on the sand, and you cozy into it as you lay flat on your back. you allow yourself to be vulnerable beneath the sun, knowing full well you can burn or you can get stepped on or have sand kicked in your face. the ocean can come and swallow you up any second, but still you lay there, basking under the yellow gleam, just soaking up the warmth and breathing slow. you steep in the heat, and you keep your eyes closed, letting yourself slip away into the sturdy hold of the sand.
now that he thinks of it, love also feels like the beach, too. happiness and love, he thinks, go hand in hand- for him, at least. both demand a certain amount of risk, and both come with a head of dark hair and an abnormal collection of sweatshirts.
he continued to stare out at the blank page behind the window, wishing tobio was sitting across the way, talking his ear off about some book he read overnight. the coffee in his cup was too hot for his liking, he's decided. he likes his coffee cold.

     "good morning, baby," a voice coddled, and shōyō tore his gaze away from the window to see his half-asleep mother settling onto the couch, tugging her pink bathrobe tighter around her pudgy waist. "you're up early."

     "couldn't sleep." shōyō smiled weakly, hoping she hadn't already noticed the darkened skin below his droopy eyes.

     "looks like it. bad dream?"

     "no, just restless. thinking too much, i guess."

     "is there something on your mind in particular?"

     shōyō doesn't want to talk about it. he knows his mother has been in love, and he knows she can help, but the thought of telling her that he's head over heels for someone who's taken the enjoyment out of something so trivial as hot coffee made him more than sick to his stomach.

     "mm-mm." he shook his head, choosing to keep it to himself.

     she looked at him with a tinge of pity in her eyes, but with love nonetheless, and patted the couch beside her. "alright, then. why don't you come watch sunday morning with me, and we don't have to talk about anything?"

     he didn't notice how badly his head pounded or how close he was to snapping until he sat beside her on the couch, setting the coffee on the table. she wrapped her arm around him and hugged him close after turning on the television, and she said nothing as he silently succumbed to the tears that streamed down his face in hot waterfalls, soaking her robe as he cried into her shoulder. she just rubbed the soft skin on his arm in calming little circles as he clung to her desperately, letting out strangled, choking sobs. she knew there was nothing worth saying, so she sat and just let herself be there for him to cry on. words wouldn't help, she knows- he needs something to hold on to, something that won't leave. he's just a boy, after all, and he needs his mama.

the coffee sat on the table, abandoned and cold, but shōyō doesn't want it anymore. his taste has changed, and now he thinks he doesn't even like coffee anymore. it's too bittersweet for his liking.