Chapter Text
The tiny plane, buffeted by the winds and turbulence, lurched and rolled almost like the movement of a ship. One moment it would rise, and the next, fall, a victim to the air pockets. It had started to make its final descent back to the ground, through the dark of early morning. The sun was just due, over the horizon.
Hinata Shouyou could not appreciate the view, nor the proximity to the plane's final destination. He sat hunched in his seat, all his focus turned toward making sure his lunch stayed in his stomach, instead of ending up on the plane floor. He had a suspicion that he was fighting a losing battle.
A hand clapped down on his shoulder, and he squeaked, immediately regretting it. He put a hand to his mouth, and reached for the air sick bag with the other.
"Alright, Hinata?" asked a jovial voice. It belonged to Sawamura Daichi, the expedition leader. Hinata nodded vaguely, his stomach roiling.
"The flight seems—pretty bumpy," he said, voice high and strangled.
"Normal turbulence!" Daichi said, unconcerned.
"W-wasn't there a plane that crashed, once?" Hinata asked. "Making this same trip… no survivors…"
Daichi waved a hand. "That was twenty years ago. Technology was different, and it was the first expedition. We're fine!" Before Hinata could ask how he could be sure of that, Daichi pointed out the window next to him. "You don't want to miss the view as we're coming in!"
Hinata groaned in a mix of agreement and despair, opening the sick bag, just to be on the safe side. The other man laughed as he sat back in his seat.
Then he forced himself to lean over, to look out the window at the land that would be his home for the next year. At that moment, the sun was just starting to rise into view, casting both light and shadow across the ground. When Hinata finally caught his first real glimpse of it, he gasped.
Outside and below, the world was green. Like jade or emerald, and shining just as bright in the new dawn, stretching out to the farthest reaches he could see.
Hinata crumpled the paper bag in his fist without realizing it, staring out through the window, excitement trickling through his veins.
"You're not sick anymore?" Daichi questioned him.
Hinata shook his head. "No," he said. "Not anymore." He couldn't be nervous, now.
The jungle was waiting.
*
Base camp was everything Hinata had dreamed it would be (and anything would have been a welcome change from the plane). It had been set up by the sandy banks of a rushing river, and though the area where the tents and research spaces had been set up was clear, the boundaries were met by towering trees on all sides, the canopy of the jungle rising tall above them, like a living wall. The calls of birds echoed through the early morning mist.
Breakfast was an excitable affair, as the team of researchers and scientists began to acclimate to their surroundings. Several were already discussing venturing out once the sun came out a little further.
Hinata couldn't wait that long.
As the sole anthropologist on the team, he decided against waiting for a group to form in favor of heading off on his own. They had all been provided with comprehensive maps of the area and thorough briefings of the local flora and fauna. During the day, the jungle was not only beautiful, it was quite safe—as long as he was careful.
He informed Daichi, who warned him to be back before dark, and then set off, with just his backpack and canteen, and a sketchbook readily in hand.
The jungle was quiet in the morning, lightened by the bird calls and the sounds of other diurnal animals. Hinata kept a close ear out for the chittering of the different types of primate species, the ones he had made the journey to study. The sketchbook he'd brought along just in case, but he wasn't expecting to catch many glimpses on his first day. Just a sense of where they had made their homes would be helpful, and for now, he was content to take in his surroundings—their environment, to study that before looking to the creatures that lived there.
The sun climbed higher into the sky, and the humidity in the air rose steadily. The jungle was hot, and though he'd known how the temperatures would get, experiencing it first hand was breathtaking. When the sun had moved directly overhead, he stopped to have his lunch, seated on a large rock near a stream he recognized from the map. He had traveled some miles from the camp by now, and was starting to think about heading back, when he saw it.
In the trees overhead, a tiny black shape stared out at him with large, shiny dark eyes. It was a baby howler monkey, seemingly off on its own. Hinata broke into a smile.
"Hey," he said softly, wanting to put it at ease. Very slowly, he reached for his sketchpad. "Hi, there. Wow, you're cute."
The monkey stared at him with its sad, downturned mouth, before scampering back along the tree limb. Hinata hopped to his feet, trying to keep it in view as he crammed everything hurriedly back into his backpack before following its retreating tail into the underbrush.
Howler monkeys were a somewhat elusive breed—non-aggressive toward each other and other animals, like humans, and a bit shy. They always looked, Hinata thought, rather unhappy, unless they were making their haunting, namesake screech, their mouths stretched wide in an almost ghostly visage.
He chased after it, careful to keep his footsteps light, climbing over fallen logs and under low hanging branches, slipping on mosses here and there. The monkey stayed always just ahead, occasionally stopping to stare back at him, like it had found a new friend it wanted to play with. This was fine with Hinata. He always liked it best when his work included play.
But he was so focused on keeping his eyes turned upward, into the trees, that he soon forgot to look down. And suddenly, just as he found himself right below the baby monkey, its black tail swishing above him, he lost his footing—and then, more than just slipping, he found himself tumbling, down, down, down a steep, mossy ravine, sliding on his rear until he landed, with a thump, at its base. He groaned. He looked about himself.
"Uh oh…" he said.
He had no idea where he was.
The ravine had fractured the tree growth above, creating a break in the canopy for light to filter through. Here, the forest became jungle, dark and dense. Hinata reached inside his backpack, searched around for the map, and came up empty. Frowning, he turned it upside down, dumping out the contents. The map was nowhere to be found. He thought back to the first moment he had seen the baby monkey, how rushed he'd been trying to get everything in his backpack to make sure he didn't lose its trail. He'd forgotten the map.
He groaned again. This was very not good.
Gingerly, he stood, wincing as he felt the aches from the fall. He looked down the path at the bottom of the ravine. There was no going up, so he'd just have to try and make it back the way he'd come. He hefted his pack onto his shoulder, and started marching forward.
Surprisingly, the plan proved to be a poor one. He managed to struggle his way up and out of the ravine after an hour or so of walking, finding a part of the hill that was on a gentler slope. This in itself was an exercise in frustration, as he kept slipping back down thanks to the damp mosses and lack of handholds. By the time he'd reached the top, he was exhausted. But he knew he needed to make it to camp before night fell.
"No big deal!" he said cheerfully, to the trees. "Plenty of time left!"
It turned out there was not, in fact, plenty of time left. Not nearly enough for how lost he'd found himself. The sky above him began to gradually darken, and as he crept along in the trees, he began to see the eyes of animals, shining out at him. Watching him.
He had to be close to camp, now, didn't he? He'd walked about the right distance. The moon was beginning to come out, the faint silvery light visible through the treetops.
But soon, even that began to dim. And then he heard, far away, but still low and full enough to feel in his bones, the purring of thunder, the warning of rain.
"Crap," Hinata whispered.
It started slowly at first, a gentle rainfall that slowly, but surely, turned into a deluge. Soon, he could barely see the ground in front of him, hands outstretched to keep from walking head on into a tree trunk. The evening had grown black, which only served to make the sudden flashes of lightning that raked across the sky that much more startling.
Now thoroughly frightened, desperate, fatigued, Hinata made his way blindly forward. It was so hard to see that he might have met his end without ever knowing it was upon him, save for the lightning that tore across the sky.
It revealed the attack seconds before it happened.
A dark, hulking creature sprang toward him and he saw it illuminated in the split second the world was lit up: black with yellow eyes, long fangs bared in a snarling mouth, claws discolored by the blood of past victims.
Too startled even to scream, he flung himself out of its path, just in time. The beast missed him, barely, landing to wheel about in a murky mud puddle some ways away from him. Its gleaming eyes tracked him, intelligent in their glare. One of its eyes had an old, large scar cutting vertically across it, making it appear even more ferocious.
Terrified, Hinata stared at it, his feet unwilling to budge. He knew he was dead, knew he couldn't fight this thing—but suddenly, someone appeared who could.
The jaguar, for Hinata could now see that was what it was, pounced again. But before it struck him, its massive paws stretching forward to take him down, something blocked its path, intercepted it. And then Hinata realized it was a man, who avoided its claws to grapple with it, until he had actually pushed it off, flung it back into the mud.
Hinata gaped, mind racing. Had someone from the camp found him? But that was a ridiculous thought. The expedition team were scientists, hardy enough to live in the jungle, but not to war with it.
This man, whoever he was, was a warrior.
The jaguar shook itself to its feet, black coat splattered with mud. Furious at being deprived of a meal, it roared its disapproval, an angry coughing scream.
But the man drew himself up to his full height, tall and unafraid. He pounded his chest open-handed, and roared back at it. Then he dropped to a crouch, ready for its next attack.
The jaguar sprang at him, and he met it, dodging its gnashing fangs and swiping claws. When it rose on its hind legs to batter him, it was nearly as tall as he was. He fought it back, again and again, but in another lightning flash he lost his footing in the mud and it slashed him across the chest. Hinata's heart lodged in his throat at the man's bellow of pain, loud enough to be heard over the thunder.
But for all of the jaguar's ferocity, it was amazingly no match for the man, even after wounding him. It came at him again and again, and each time he fended it off, all the while landing more blows upon its head and sides, weakening the massive beast. A vicious strike on its ear seemed to rattle it for good and it shook its head, dazed. Its next lunge was sloppy, and the man caught it around the middle and threw it heavily to the ground where it stayed, sprawled on its side.
The man staggered to his feet, clearly fatigued as well. He clasped his hands together over his head, raising them into the air, poised to bring them smashing down upon the jaguar—perhaps on its ribs or its head, to finish it, once and for all. It looked up at him helplessly, ears back, wide yellow eyes gleaming in the dark out of its scarred black face.
Hinata threw himself forward, in between man and beast. "Don't!" he shouted.
The man froze, and Hinata, with his back to the jaguar, felt his heart thumping in his chest. He couldn't allow the man to kill the cat, not for acting as a predator would, when prey stumbled into its territory. It was Hinata's fault, not the wild animal's.
A low growl sounded from behind him, and he sucked in a breath, turning to see the jaguar rising slowly to its feet. The man took a threatening step forward.
But the cat, realizing defeat, turned and slunk off into the underbrush, blending into the shadows. Soon there was nothing left in its wake but the rain.
A hand landed heavily on Hinata's shoulder, and he spun, remembering too late the other potential danger he was faced with. He lost his footing in the slippery mud, falling heavily into a slimy puddle. Quick as the jaguar, the man went to all fours to press forward into Hinata's space, crouched over him, trapping him between his arms. Hinata shook, in something that was not quite fear, but close to it.
"I'm sorry," he blurted out. He didn't know what he was sorry for, except this man had fought off an enormous threat to save him, and been injured, and then deprived of a kill at Hinata's insistence—something he suddenly felt was quite against the laws of the wild jungle, to which this man obviously belonged.
Hinata could barely make anything of his form out in the dark—but he was tall and broad, powerfully built, and naked aside from a tiny loincloth tied around his waist. His hair was long, past his shoulders, bedraggled with the rain and fight he'd just endured.
Another streak of lightning lit the sky, and for just a second, Hinata caught a glimpse of deep, intense, angry blue eyes, glaring out at him from beneath the inky black hair that had fallen over his face. Rainwater beaded and coursed down over a strong, sculpted chest that had been scored across with four bleeding, dripping red claw marks.
The man reached for him, and Hinata held his breath, motionless—
The sudden sound of shouting reached them, and then long sweeping beams of light crossed the ground near their feet. In an instant, the man had pulled back, recoiling from the light and noise before Hinata could say another word.
"Wait—" he started to say, putting out his hand, though he had no idea why. No reason to call out to the man, aside from the first stirrings of curiosity. This was something—someone—he'd never expected to find out here.
But the unfamiliar lights of civilization had scared the man away, and he disappeared back into the jungle like the jaguar.
"Hinata!" a voice yelled, and he turned to see Daichi, and several of the others. He shielded his eyes from the bright beams of their flashlights. They had come looking for him.
Many apologies and reassurances later that he was in one piece, they had made it back to camp. It was already quite late at night and after dinner, and washing up, everyone retired early. Hinata was no exception, feeling dead on his feet after the day's events. He expected to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but he didn't. Instead, he lay awake, exhausted but restless, unable to get the image of blue eyes and bloody claw marks out of his head.
When he finally fell asleep in the wee hours of the morning, it was with a half-formed, ill-advised, and dangerous plan in his head.
But it was a plan, nonetheless.
The next morning, Hinata woke early, early enough that no one else in the camp had yet stirred. It would be at least an hour before the sun began to rise, and he did not want anyone to see him leaving, or to follow him.
He packed heavier than he had the previous day, brought some carefully selected supplies along with extra food, water, even a change of clothes, and a new map that he vowed not to lose. Then he left a note, an apology and a plea not to come after him. It might seem like he didn't know what he was doing, and, truth be told, that was correct. But he rarely did, anyway, and this was something he had to do.
For all that he was one of the most promising young anthropologists in the country, Hinata was under no illusions that he was smart in other areas. His love of human nature and culture, past and present, had cultivated his skill in the subject, but in most other regards he was, he knew, rather stupid. What had never failed him, however, were his instincts—and though they were very good at getting him into trouble, they were just as capable of leading him right to where he needed to go. And so he trusted them.
Right now, they were practically shouting in his ear, urging him to go back, into the jungle, to seek out those things that most intrigued him. Something far more interesting than just the apes that swung from trees, though closely related, all the same.
His fellow man.
*
In the sun, below clear skies, the rainforest had reverted back to the peaceful, almost friendly state he'd found it in the morning before. After the night of rainfall, it appeared somehow even more lush and green than ever. It was hard to believe that hours before it had seemed so terrifying and hostile, so much so that he wondered if he had just imagined the whole thing, jaguar, wild man, and all.
But then, near the spot where he'd been discovered by the expedition team, he spied a red messy splatter on some palm fronds—blood, still not completely dried thanks to all the condensation in the air.
He wasn't an expert tracker by any means, but the broken branches and trail of blood were clear enough signs that something large and injured had been this way. He lost the trail several times, doubling back to pick it up once more, making sure to check his map at every turn. But then, he reached a spot where there could be no more trail to be found. It just ended, right smack at the base of a tree. Hinata stood under the branches, scratching his head.
"Weird," he said, softly.
A movement from above him got his attention, a rustling that made him look up. His eyes widened.
He was unable to move in time to get away, could only give a short, startled yell, as arms reached down, snatched him up into the air, and hauled him into the tree above.
He had found the wild man, or perhaps, more accurately, the wild man had found him.
The man swung easily from his upside down position, legs hooked over the tree, and Hinata yelped in sincere terror as the ground receded and he found himself being shifted into a one-armed hold, gripped tight around the waist. Somehow, the man didn't drop him. Even more incredibly, he managed to scale the tree while still keeping his grip on an entire other person, leaping higher into the branches with an effortless strength.
When they had reached one of the highest points of the tree branches, a dizzying distance from the ground, the man hoisted Hinata up again, this time against his back. Still frightened of being dropped, absolutely bewildered by what was happening, Hinata clung to him wordlessly, wrapping his legs around the man's waist, arms around his neck.
His silence was revoked when, without warning, the man took a running leap, and flung them both off the branch, out into nothing.
Hinata shut his eyes as he screeched, horrified, wondering why—but after several long seconds, when they hadn't hit the ground, he opened them again.
The ground was falling away beneath them, rushing by at a dizzying pace. He looked up, and saw the cause. The man had grabbed hold of one of the many vines that hung from the tree canopy, using them to swing through the air at high speeds. Hinata couldn't help it—he let out a shout, of laughter, of amazement.
They weren't falling. They were flying.
Like this, they were traversing the jungle so fast that Hinata realized they must be quickly leaving the designated expedition zone, rendering his map useless for the second time in as many days. He cringed, inwardly. There was nothing he could do about it now. Currently, he wasn't sure he cared. Not when what was happening was so much more exciting, and unknown.
Deeper and deeper into the jungle they ventured, the trees growing thicker around them, sunlight dappling through the branches. Here, it was darker even during the day, hushed and solemn. Hinata looked around in wonder at the richness of the place.
Suddenly, he spied something that did not appear to belong. Though it was made of wood and high up in a tree, it seemed constructed instead of naturally forming, and as they got closer, Hinata realized what it was.
It was crude, small, and a bit lopsided. But it was unmistakably a treehouse, lost among the highest reaches of the canopy.
Their journey ended here, in the lower branches that the man then ascended easily, scaling the trunk of the tree, into which hand and footholds seemed to have been hewn roughly out of the bark of an ancient, thick branch that wound its way below the little house like a base. They slipped in through a wide window—there was no door.
Once inside, Hinata unhooked his arms and fell with a soft thump to the floor of the treehouse. It was surprisingly sturdy, rough wooden planks with gaps here and there. If he squinted hard enough, there were places he could see through, to the forest floor below. He looked up, wondering what he could say, or should say, and so saw the exact moment when the man stumbled, and fell to the floor of the treehouse.
Hinata rushed forward, concerned, but as soon as he got near, the man flung out an arm, warding him off.
"Hey," Hinata said loudly, though the man didn't look at him. "Hey, don't just ignore me, you're—" He put his hand on the man's shoulder.
The reaction was violent and explosive. Before Hinata knew what was happening, the man had grabbed him by the wrist, yanking him around to toss him onto the floor. In a flash, Hinata was on his back, staring up into those hypnotizing blue eyes. His heart pounded in his chest as he stared up into the man's face, watching it contort in a snarl.
But as he stared, he realized that the man's eyes, though they were sharp and bright, were not wild.
Hinata raised his hands slowly, placatingly. The man loomed over him, breathing hard, chest heaving, and Hinata noticed something else. The wounds on his chest, the long scratch marks, were red around the edges of the torn skin, where the blood had congealed, but not entirely dried. He looked back into the man's eyes—the brightness there was too bright, glassy, the look in them pained, and his forehead was beaded with sweat. Hinata swore, and unthinkingly reached out, gently touching the tender skin on his chest.
The man was off him in seconds, scrambling backwards out of reach, looking at him with hurt, confused eyes. Hinata stood, hands outstretched.
"Sorry. You have an infection," he said. "The cuts. They're infected. Do you understand?"
The man didn't respond in any way except to shrink back further. He must have been extremely weakened by the journey through the jungle—of course he must, after the energy it took to travel the way he did, from the vines.
Hinata got to his knees and opened his backpack, laying some of the supplies he'd brought out on the floor. Among them were bandages, and antiseptic, which he was relieved he'd thought to pack. Very slowly, he approached the man, who didn't shy away from him again, though he continued to stare warily.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Hinata said, "but I need to clean your wounds, or this will just get worse. Okay?" The man didn't respond. There was probably no point in speaking to him, but it felt reassuring to Hinata to do so. He hoped it would have the same effect on the man. Carefully, he touched his hand to the man's forehead.
The man's eyes widened, as he went very, very still. His skin was hot to the touch with fever, and Hinata pressed more firmly against it, stroking his forehead, before carding gentle fingers into his hair. He smiled as blue eyes blinked closed, and the man's breathing began to calm.
"There you go," he said quietly. "You're okay. You'll be okay."
The closest approximation the man had to a bed was a large gathered pile of palm fronds, atop which what looked like animal furs had been thrown. Hinata thought he spied a jaguar pelt and wondered if the fight from the previous night was an ongoing one. When he took his hand from the man's face, the man opened his eyes, watching him. He looked, Hinata thought, a little reproachful.
"Don't give me that look," Hinata told him. "Come on." He held out his hand, and the man stared at it, cluelessly. Hinata sighed, and reached for one of his, pulling him up from the floor and over to the furs, directing him to lie down. He went to turn back to the supplies and found his hand still being held onto. "You've got to let go so I can do this," he said, tugging away until the man finally released him.
Gingerly, he set about cleaning the wounds with the water and antiseptic he'd brought. He knew little about any medical practices, but they'd all learned first aid in advance of the expedition. When he was satisfied with his work, he covered the clean skin in gauze, smiling at the man, who hadn't taken his eyes off Hinata once during the entire process.
"All done!" Hinata said. "You should rest now." He looked around the tiny treehouse contemplatively. He was definitely stuck here, for the time being.
Something brushed against his hand, and he looked down, to see fingers trailing over his palm, as the man reached tentatively for him again. Fascinated, Hinata let the man take his hand, watching as he intertwined their fingers together.
How did he know to do that, Hinata wondered. He couldn't speak, so who knew how long he'd been alone in this jungle. Yet something as complex as holding hands came naturally to him. Or maybe it was just the need for comfort, when he was hurt.
Hinata squeezed his hand and smiled at him again. The man didn't smile back, but his eyes remained fixed on Hinata's, hazier now, falling into sleep. Hinata put his free hand back on the man's forehead, brushing his fingers there from side to side.
"I'm Hinata," he said, pointlessly. "My name is Hinata."
The man's eyes slipped closed, and Hinata sighed, feeling a bit relieved—that the man would be okay, that Hinata had found him in time to help, that he seemed relatively harmless.
"…To…bio…"
Hinata's head snapped over to look at the man. But his eyes were still closed, and his breathing had evened out. He had already fallen asleep.
*
When Hinata woke in the evening, it was to the sun setting, the sounds of the jungle winding down for the night, and the unfortunate reality that came with sleeping upon a bed of roughly hewn tree branches.
He hadn't meant to fall asleep and had no recollection of ever setting his head down. Now he winced at the twinge in his back and sat up, glancing over toward the furs, half expecting to see the wild man already awake, perhaps already mysteriously gone, as though he'd never been there in the first place.
But instead, there he lay, fast asleep. Hinata scooted closer to the side of the bed, quiet so as not to wake him. The jungle sun, orangey-gold and vibrant, had just started to filter through the window-like openings that had been cut into the sides of the treehouse, and sneak in through the many tiny slats between the wooden branches that had been inexpertly trussed together with vines and palm branches. The effect made the entire treehouse seem to glow, sun motes dancing through the cracks in the floor and walls and ceiling.
Shafts of deep golden light fell across the man's sleeping form, and Hinata stared at him, transfixed. There was one beam illuminating his face, which was peaceful in slumber, somewhat obscured by his long hair falling over it. Hinata reached out and, after a hesitant second, brushed it off of the man's forehead with his fingers. He halted, a moment, hand outstretched. Staring. Then, almost like he were being compelled to do it, he quickly and quietly pulled his sketchbook from his backpack, opening to the first blank page.
At first, he worried the skritch-skritch-skritch of his pencil on the paper would wake the man. He drew lightly, lines soft and thin on the page, glancing up often, to make sure he was getting the details correct.
With his features relaxed, finally, the man looked to be about the same age as him. This coincidence was surprising, but what was perhaps more so was… how strangely strong and beautiful he looked, lying there asleep and unaware. His face looked less serious, in sleep, and more serene. He had long, dark lashes and a finely shaped, straight nose, and low cheekbones with a proud jawline, all of which started to fill out some sort of stereotypical profile for a rugged jungle king.
Hinata almost considered adding a small crown to the drawing, atop his head, but just as quickly dismissed the idea. It seemed too silly, when the rest of the image was so honestly lovely. Hinata leaned forward over his sketchpad, drawing forgotten for the moment as he rested his chin in his hands, surveying the man.
If ever there had been someone created to survive the unforgiving landscape of the jungle, it was him. Or, Hinata wondered idly, maybe it was the jungle itself that had made him this way, caused him to adapt to it in some sort of pseudo-evolutionary jump, unlocking humanity's primal nature buried within him. He wished he had more knowledge of where the man came from, and how he'd ended up here.
Without thinking, Hinata touched his fingers to the man's broad shoulders, brushing them over his long arms. His biceps were firm to the touch, forearms sturdy, hands large. His palms and fingers were calloused—most likely from the vine swinging, but there had to be many other reasons Hinata as yet didn't even know about.
He traced the man's collarbone with his thumb, before trailing his fingers over his… stunning pectorals, lightly sweeping his hand over what wasn't covered by the bandage he'd applied earlier, rock hard abdominal muscles that most film stars couldn't even keep, without copious amounts of fitness training. And yet, here was this man, who quite possibly didn't even know what a pushup was, clearly maintaining them with ease.
He had many faded scars across his body, which told Hinata a long story, one he'd like to study more carefully. But they spoke of many, many years spent among these trees, fighting against the natural dangers that made their homes under the canopy. Hinata lazily traced the old marks to the left of the man's navel, musing over them, at the incredible fact that this man was alive, through whatever he'd faced.
From an anthropological standpoint, he was something of a modern miracle, both in circumstance, and in physical fitness. From a societal standpoint, he was…
"Really hot," Hinata murmured. "Wow, you are gorgeous."
He raised his eyes to look at the man's face again, and found he was being watched.
Hinata sucked in a gasp, scrambling backwards clumsily, cheeks flooding with warmth. "You're awake! I didn't—I was just—I wasn't thinking and I—"
The man watched him blankly, still silent, as he stammered out excuses that he soon realized were not being understood. Feeling like an idiot, he did the only thing he could think of, which was to sink to the floor, forehead touching the ground, more out of embarrassment than anything.
"I'm sorry," he said uselessly. "That was really—"
Something thumped lightly on top of his head, and he stopped speaking immediately. But then he felt fingers, ruffling his hair, and looked up, startled.
The man took his hand away from his hair, but kept it held out, stretching it towards Hinata insistently. After a moment, Hinata put his own hand in the man's much larger one. Very quickly, he found himself being pulled forward, until he was alongside the soft pile of the bed once again.
The man tugged on his hand, and Hinata let himself be positioned, as the man laid his hand back onto his stomach. He looked at Hinata expectantly. Hinata stared back. Slowly, he twitched his fingers, moving them in random patterns over the man's stomach, back over the old scars. When he flipped his hand over, brushing his knuckles lightly over the man's navel, his blue eyes started to drift closed again, sleepily.
"You like it!" Hinata exclaimed, delighted, then covered his mouth when the man's eyes fluttered open again, looking at him. "Sorry," he whispered, voice hushed.
He let the man doze for a little while longer—it was easy enough to stay occupied when Hinata could explore his torso by touch without feeling anxious about it. He wished he'd brought his measuring tape with him, now. It would be fascinating to compare the man's size and muscle density within the averages of the general population, to see if he really was as physically advanced as Hinata suspected.
After awhile, the sky outside started to dim, and Hinata's stomach gave a little gurgle, startling him out of his reverie. He closed his hand over the man's arm, hesitantly, not wanting to startle him. Then he remembered what had happened, right before they'd both ended up falling asleep.
"Tobio…?" he whispered, breath held. The man's eyes opened again, focusing on him in a bit of a daze, and Hinata exhaled with a whoosh. "You do have a name," he said, excited. "That's your name, isn't it?"
The man stared at him for a long time, before his lips parted slowly. Hinata leaned forward, excited, and caught the soft mumble, again: "Tobio."
Hinata nodded at him. "Yes." He pointed at Tobio. "You. Tobio." He pointed at himself. "Me. Hinata." To emphasize, he took the man's hand in his own, seized his pointer finger, and pulled, until he could press it against the center of his chest. "Hinata."
He stayed like that, frozen, until the man—Tobio—said, "Hi—nata."
Hinata clutched at his hand. "Yes! Good!"
Tobio continued to stare at him, and Hinata realized that nothing much else would happen with this sudden revelation—the man wasn't suddenly going to begin speaking fluently. He placed Tobio's hand back at his side, sheepishly, and said, "Well—we should eat!"
He had brought food for a few days' journey along with him, nothing that needed to be cooked or prepared, and he began to pull it out of his pack, now, to inspect what he had. It was growing dimmer by the second, so he also produced a small flashlight, but he'd barely turned it on before he found it being snatched out of his hands.
Tobio frowned heavily at it, turning it over in his hands, grunting when he accidentally shined it into his face. He turned it on Hinata, next, who shielded his eyes, watching in amusement as Tobio inspected the new object.
"Flashlight," Hinata said, and Tobio looked up at him. Hinata pointed at the torch. "That's a flashlight." He reached over, pressing the button at its base to turn it off, and then back on. Tobio's mouth fell open, and Hinata smiled.
While Tobio was occupied with the flashlight, he sorted through the food, squinting in the low lighting. Eventually, he had two even portions of dried fruit and jerky, two packages of nuts, and water for both of them.
"Hey," he said, trying to get Tobio's attention back on him. When he was ignored in favor of the flashlight, which Tobio was now rapidly turning off and back on with no signs of stopping, he said, louder,"Tobio." Instantly, the man's attention snapped back to him. "Here," Hinata said, passing him his share of dinner. Tobio looked down at the items next to him on the bed. "It's food."
"...F…ood?" Tobio asked, as though he were testing the word out on his tongue.
"You eat it," Hinata explained. He popped a piece of fruit in his mouth. "Eat." He received not much in the way of a response, other than an expression that looked vaguely suspicious from the other man. Hinata shook his head and held up another piece of fruit to Tobio's lips, and one to his own. "Tobio. Eat."
He opened his mouth, and Tobio warily copied him, enough for Hinata to put the fruit on his tongue. He chewed, and watched Tobio follow suit. After chewing in silence for a bit, Tobio swallowed. Hinata waited expectantly for a reaction.
"Food," Tobio repeated, and then, louder, and more excited, "FOOD."
Hinata nodded happily. "Good, right?" The food wasn't spectacular, by any means, but it must have been extremely different to Tobio, if nothing else.
"Good?" Tobio asked.
Hinata shoved a handful of fruit in his mouth and gave him two thumbs up. "Good!"
He nearly choked when Tobio imitated him, two thumbs in the air with his same serious expression, unchanging. "Good."
The dark-haired man practically inhaled the rest of the meal, finishing well before Hinata, who wasn't a slow eater by any means. He picked up the flashlight again to fiddle with it some more, until Hinata finally pulled it away from him, worried about the batteries dying. After dinner, Hinata checked his bandages, deeming them good until the morning.
"You should go back to sleep," he told Tobio, pushing on one of the man's solid shoulders to get him to lay down fully. "Rest."
But just like earlier that day, Tobio wouldn't follow instructions until Hinata wound their fingers together at his insistence, once again.
"Hinata," he said abruptly, fingers nudging at Hinata's wrist. "Hinata."
Hinata took his hand, squeezing it a little bit. "How am I supposed to sleep if I've got to hold your hand the whole time?" he asked Tobio, though he could hear the fondness in his own voice. He was absolutely a pushover, he knew. Tobio didn't respond. He had relaxed the instant he felt Hinata's touch, starting to fall back into sleep, dark lashes lowering.
"Good," Tobio said, very quietly.
It was, admittedly, very hard not to be a pushover in the face of that.
Just for tonight, then, Hinata reasoned. There were probably other things he should be telling himself—he needed to see how long his water supplies would last, he needed to figure out a way back to camp, he needed to decide what his plan was in even coming here.
He waved these worries off, laying his head down against the soft bed of palm leaves. Tomorrow. He could figure all that out tomorrow.