the librarian ❆ kagehina

things not seen are still there, waiting.

christmas passed almost as fast as the snow fell, with haste and purpose; shōyō found himself stuck between being grateful he was home and dreading the return to campus. he's ignored every single one of tobio's texts. he knows he shouldn't have, because he must be making his friend worry, but once he began, the ball kept rolling- it got easier and easier to just put his phone down when a message from the boy lit up the screen, especially since he has a home full of books and a five-minute drive to his best friend's house at his fingertips.

the student sat curled into the corner of the couch with pillows shoved under his arms and a blanket half-draped across his torso, an old book worn at the edges laying across his chest as it rose and fell with a lulled cadence. the cover had lost its once new shine, but was still endearing nonetheless; the white side profile and blaring blue night sky were a comforting familiarity to shōyō as he laid lost in his worries. with things not seen by andrew clements splayed on the paper-thin fabric of his sleep shirt, the boy sat in thought- thoughts about how he misses tobio, how he is angry with tobio, wishes that he could think about some other goddamned thing that isn't tobio- and watched the rainbow lights illuminate the antique artificial christmas tree to the left of his favorite bay window. time had helped him blow through half of his favorite story's pages and given him a headache, so now he stared at the lights and tried to ease the drumming, but his failure to clear his mind was doing him no justice.
just for once, he wishes, he wants to stop thinking.

his moment of exasperation skidded to a halt when his phone buzzed beneath his thigh, sending him jolting upwards in shock. chuckling at his gullibility, he grabbed the phone and was met with a 'merry christmas' message from kenma, and felt his chest warm up just a tad. returning the gesture and placing the phone on the arm of the couch, shōyō stood up and headed to the kitchen.
his feet clad in brand new fuzzy socks padded light as a kitten's paws against the aged cream tile floor, and he stopped in front of the fridge with a specific snack in mind; he pulled a pan of pumpkin pie out, giggling at the small sections where his and natsu's forks ruined the pristine slices his mother had so thoughtfully cut. he found a clean fork in the silverware drawer and leaned over the counter, taking small bites, feeling the heat of the tile deep through the soles of his feet begin to spread to the tips of his ears.

shōyō knows he only has a few more days of home life before he's thrust back into the real world, where a very angry tobio kageyama will be waiting outside the library doors- at least, that's what he expects. he knows it's coming, but for some reason, he can't help but wish he could pause the passage of time and stay with his mother and his sister, where there will always be enough pie for dessert and where there will always be a new book to read and where there will be no fear or heartbreak or pain. it's silly to wish for such preposterous things, he knows, but he still wishes, because without that childlike ache for a happy little shangri-la, he'd never survive. he only hopes that when he faces the music, it won't leave him deaf.