Chapter Text
Chapter 1: The Bar
Atsumu’s number was one he knew well, but hearing the slurred call of your name through the loud chaos of the bar drew Kita’s attention immediately.
“Kita-san,” Atsumu slurred, far too loud. “Yer friend won’t leave the bar ‘nd they’re drunk outta their mind!”
Despite the exhaustion still clinging to him from a day spent in the fields, Kita didn’t hesitate. He headed straight for the dimly lit bar and found Blaze slumped against the counter, one hand braced flat against the wood like he was holding himself together by force alone.
“How ’bout we get ya home,” Kita said evenly. “Alright?”
An amused huff escaped Blaze as he pushed himself upright, trying—clearly—to regain some semblance of composure. Kita watched him closely, sharp grey eyes taking in the effort, the restraint, the irritation barely held in check.
Blaze caught the shift immediately—the way Kita’s expression settled, the way the air around him seemed to firm. That nod wasn’t casual. It was acknowledgment. Acceptance.
And somehow, that hit harder than any lecture.
He straightened fully this time. Not perfectly steady—but present.
“Yeah,” Blaze said quietly, meeting Kita’s gaze without flinching. “I figured you’d hear the apology better than the excuses.”
Atsumu’s laughter cut through the moment, loud and careless.
Blaze turned slowly.
“Oh, you’re thrilled,” he said flatly. “Fantastic. I’m glad my dignity could be tonight’s entertainment.”
“C’mon,” Atsumu scoffed. “It’s not that deep—”
Blaze lifted a finger. Not at Kita. Never at Kita.
“You called a man who’s been working the fields all day,” Blaze said, voice sharpening, “because you couldn’t convince your drunk friend to stand up. That’s not funny. That’s incompetence.”
The bar quieted—not fully, but enough.
“And don’t roll your eyes at him,” Blaze added coolly. “You don’t get to waste his time and act smug about it.”
Atsumu’s grin faltered.
Kita remained impassive throughout it all, gaze steady, expression unreadable. When Blaze turned back to him, the sharpness drained away immediately.
“I appreciate you coming,” Blaze said, sincere. “I know you didn’t have to.”
He hesitated, just a fraction.
“Let’s go home.”
Kita held his gaze. Then he nodded once.
“Agreed,” he said. “Let’s go.”
The walk out of the bar was quiet.
Not awkward—intentional.
The night air was thick and warm, cicadas screaming loud enough to press against the skin. Gravel crunched beneath their shoes as they moved away from the noise, Atsumu trailing behind them in uncharacteristic silence.
“You’re tired,” Blaze said after a moment, not looking at Kita. “You shouldn’t’ve come.”
“I know,” Kita replied.
“That’s not what I meant.”
Kita glanced at him briefly. “You didn’t embarrass yourself.”
Blaze let out a quiet breath—almost a laugh.
They walked on, side by side, silence settling between them naturally. The road felt familiar underfoot. Steady.
“You still take the north road,” Blaze said.
“It’s efficient.”
Blaze hummed softly. “You always liked it better.”
Kita didn’t answer.
When they reached the narrow path leading toward Blaze’s place, Kita slowed.
“This is yours,” he said quietly.
He didn’t step onto the path. He stayed where the road remained public.
A boundary.
Blaze paused, then nodded.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Good night.”
Kita inclined his head once.
“Good night.”
He turned and walked away without looking back, footsteps steady, unhurried, until the night swallowed the sound of them whole.
Blaze watched him go, the words unsaid lingering in the air long after he was alone.
Later, lying awake in the quiet darkness of his room, Blaze stared at the ceiling, replaying nothing in particular—the walk, the silence, the way it hadn’t pushed him away.
Silence could be a language of its own.
And Blaze was slowly learning to read it.
His last conscious thought drifted through his mind, unbidden and unresolved.
Again.