theism

// who you know from out here? your name aint ringing no bells, boy// 

___

It’s proverbial.  Cars with busted windows and no tires sit on the edge of the street corner like a warning sign - a clear indication that he doesn’t belong here. The night is cold, nipping at his fingertips as he clutches the bag over his shoulder. He takes a deep breath, shaking. It’s only a night, too dangerous to be traveling. He’ll be gone in the morning, he swears. 

His feet betray him. The only thing Hinata knows is caution, the hairs that stand on the back of his head represent the fear that’s protected him this long. Distrust is the heaviest burden on the backs of everyone who lives on the street, there's no such thing as connections when you belong to nowhere and no place. Hinata is a stranger in every place he ends up, but some places are safe. He can feel the ache in the soles of his shoes, the way his calf muscles tense in preparation to run - run until your chest aches from breathing and go somewhere far away from here. That is instinct so animal it burns him. Run from danger, there are predators nearby. 

But his mind knows reality, the grip of it as tight as the knuckles circled around his backpack strap with all of his belongings. He walks through the streets with his hoodie tucked over his eyes, looking through the corners of blurry vision for a place to sleep that’s protected from the rain. An empty alleyway, a place next to the streetlights where cars can’t park, a bench of some-kind - shit he would take anything. He hasn’t slept properly in 2 days. Exhaustion makes everything inside of feel like a gust of air. Instinctively, he thinks about going “home,” but that place doesn’t even exist. He laughs light-heartedly, remembering the absurdity of his circumstances as he pulls around to the corner of the  next street. 

Fear runs up his spine as he hears the familiar sound of a gunshot, the sound of an empty magazine is a bird-call - an alarm for everyone on the block to run 10 feet in every direction they can. It’s a learned behavior, but you learn fast that they don’t light fireworks in this part of the city. Hinata remembers what his homeless friends down east told him. 

“Nobody makes an easier target than a flightless bird like you, Shoyo. When you hear a gunshot, you run - no questions,” a pause of silence at his distress, followed by a hand on his shoulder. He recalls the callous feeling of the older woman's hand, her breath reeks of cigarettes and cheap beer - it’s a tale as old as time. She looked into his eyes, searching the hazel for recognition - and when she finds none, she grips him tighter. Her nails, long and red, dig into his shoulder blades as she breathes a deep breath 

“You’re a street kid, Sho-chan. Your life is the only life you’ll ever have to worry about, especially if you intend on dying somewhere that isn’t these streets. So, promise me - when you hear a gunshot - you won’t ask any questions. Promise me you’ll run,” 

Hinata recalls those words with a pit in the bottom of his stomach. He wants to go to tell the old lady sorry - apologize for not being able to keep his curiosity at bay, nor his humanity as the scene in front of him unfolds like it was nothing. A lanky blonde with scuffed air-forces with a gun aimed at a car of people. Hinata sees it, and he knows better than anyone he should run - run as far as he fucking can because this is true danger. Unexplored territory that could risk his life - but he can’t. His feet are glued to the concrete, stuck in time as his mind calculates the almost inevitable violence. Suddenly, in flashes of imagery he can see cop cars, and bodies, and the blood dried on the concrete when the sun rises. 

Violence is always heavier in the summer. Kids in this part of town try to make it home before the sun goes down - a necessary tactic of survival. Hinata is longing for that, for the feeling of being able to take shelter but alas he’s here. Somehow, the one time he takes a risk into what he can only assume is gang territory, he gets caught in a shootout. He hasn’t spoken to any form of god or higher power in years, but he picks up the necklace around his neck and kisses the cross looking to seek reparation before he gets shot. He wonders if there’s an average life expectancy for street kids. He wonders if he’s too old to call himself that - but his shut eyes and heavy breaths are interrupted by the sound of an unfamiliar voice. 

A grunt of exasperation and a sigh - his eyes travel to the blonde carrying the all black pistol, who groans. He didn’t need any witnesses. Every time he’s told to do distribution this shit happens - he swears he’s not letting Daichi do this to him any more. His voice almost sounds nasally, little to no emotion as he calls out the scared looking red-head with chagrin. "Hey - snot-nosed brat,” he calls. Hinata makes a yelp of surprise, assuming he’s talking to him since no one else is around. The blonde takes a deep breath, cocking the pistol in his hand with a level of irritation “Better hide behind me if you value your life, at all,”

Hinata darts at lightning speed behind him, shivering in fear but he can see the other side of the scene through the window of the car. There’s a black-haired man in the front seat, who is  giving Hinata a cat-like grin. He waves nonchalantly. It didn’t seem like he didn’t understand the severity of the situation - it more seemed like he didn’t care very much. Hinata is unsure if this information is supposed to comfort him but he ultimately decides not to dwell on it. 

He can’t see much from where he’s stood, but he watches through the dark glass of what’s on the other side. The blonde pulls the trigger, from what he can tell - 4 times. Each bullet is followed by a cry and Hinata is flushed, shaking from the inside in fear. Glass is shattered. He can hear shots from the other side, but the bullets don’t reach. The ricochet off the metal and the casings fall to the floor like sakura petals in the spring. He’s shivering, anxiety eating him from the inside. Not from the violence itself, but from the implications of what follows. 

His eyes look up, he’s staring at the back of the blondes head. He watches him stretch, putting the gun back into safety as he hears tires scratch the concrete, the sound in itself is panicked. He can almost feel how the street reverberates in its wake. His fingers gingerly run against it, the feeling pressed against the callous pads of his fingers. It’s familiar, a comforting thing that soothes his erratic breaths. The blonde suddenly stops and sighs again - a deep breath comes before pulling the gun back. He knows he’s not gonna shoot the redhead, but he can’t risk him running either. 

The clip is empty, magazine full of blanks, but it’s not like Hinata knows that. Suddenly, he turns to the crouching boy and points the metal between his eyes. It’s hot, having been shot 4 times in a row, it almost burns as he presses it against his head. He doesn’t seem to flinch at the idea of threatening the boy's life (unbeknownst to Hinata, because he isn’t threatening him) as he stares him down. He collects as much malice in his tone as he can before staring him down. 

“Don’t move brat,” is all he says. He knocks on the window, and Hinata watches fearfully as it rolls down. 

“Kuroo,” the blond says to the man in the car. 

“What’s up, Tsuki ? ~,” the man in the car hums. “Tsuki,” looks at him exasperated, before reaching around in the window. 

“Can you open my phone and give Boss a call?,” 

Hinata watches as Kuroo does just that - scrolling through seemingly hundreds of contacts before landing on one and handing the phone to Tsuki. What a strange name, surely it was a nickname of some kind Hinata thinks. He hears the ring of the phone as Tsuki stares him down, curiously. He tucks his phone under his chin, using his now free hand to cup his jaw. If Hinata wasn’t mildly seething over being called a snot-nosed brat, he might’ve blushed. He looks at him curiously, speaking before the phone gets picked up. 

“How old are you, kid?,” Tsuki asks with a sneer. 

“I’m not a kid,” he repeats, spitting the words out quickly “I’m 21. Hinata Shoyo,” 

Tsuki now looks at him in surprise. 

“We’re the same age, huh?,” it feels like he’s speaking mostly to himself. Hinata just stares at him, throat thick with fear. The gun cools down slowly against his skin, but he doesn’t get a chance to say anything more as the phone gets picked up. He can’t make out what the voice says on the other side - but it’s deep and raspy. 

“Yeah - sorry about calling you this late. Some…,” He looks at Hinata, unsure what to call him. He decides on something it seems, shrugging as he continues “Some dumbass saw me and Kuroo. Stood and watched like some kind of masochist,” He sneers, seemingly enjoying talking about Hinata even though he is literally right in front of him. HInata scoffs. 

There's a pause of silence as he listens to what he can only assume is his boss's instruction. He nods his head in understanding, tucking the phone in his chin before looking at Hinata. 

“Who do you know from around here, huh?,” the blonde male asks, towering over him. Hinata looks at him confused and Tsuki mirrors it

“Most people don’t stumble across this part of town unless they’ve got something important here. Friends, family, a little thing to come home too - whatever really,”  Kuroo says suddenly, leaning over the window to look at Hinata. He grins at his confusion. 

“Ahhh,” he says with a smile “Don’t tell me you really did stumble into this part of town, huh?,” Kuroo asks, almost in disbelief. Hinata pouts at that, unsure of how to respond. The gun to his head seems to be forgotten almost, so in an act of authority - he presses it a little further. It hurts enough to make him wince. 

“I’m homeless. I got kicked from my last… borough for stealing and I needed a place to sleep. I wasn’t planning on staying,” Hinata explained awkwardly. Both Tsuki and Kuroo seem surprised  by the news of Hinata being homeless. He figures he doesn’t look at it. He’s not entirely broke, having held down a few odd jobs for neighbors and minor prostituion give him opportunities to make quick cash and get a shower from whatever person took him up on his services. He stole the clothes on his back from a popular store somewhere down the ways, so he knows he looks fine. He understands the confusion at least. 

“I just needed somewhere to sleep until I could make it to neutral territory,” as if on cue, he takes a deep breath and yawns. He knows better than to roam around here but desperate times, man. He looks at them apologetically, and they want desperately to let him go. They can tell he’s not interested in snitching. They look at each other, seeing him up close he’s clearly disheveled. Haircut choppy and in messy curls, bags under his eyes - he looks worn-out and exhausted. Kuroo chuckles at him.

“I’m pretty tired. I’ll be out of your guys' hair as soon as I sleep. But to answer your question - I don’t know anyone from around here,” Hinata is normally an enthusiastic person. More than the average person in his situation should be, but even he can tell how fucked up he is. He keeps having nightmares and hasn’t been able to sleep for two days, travelling mostly on foot and on busses. He just wants to sleep. He doesn’t care about what might happen after. 

“Regular drifter. No, no - he’s an adult. I don’t think he’d snitch,” Tsuki answers deadpan. Hinata wouldn’t snitch, mostly because he couldn’t. He’s a petty criminal, too lazy to cover his tracks They’d arrest him immediately. 

“Names Hinata Shoyo, I think,” he asks, looking at Hinata for approval, and Hinata nods in confirmation. Tsukishima widens his eyes, ever so slightly, before giving Hinata a sly smile. 

“You know him, huh? Interesting. He doesn’t look like much of a hustler,” Tsuki answers “You know his face but he’s never been caught? Wow,” Tsukishima turns to Hinata with a sudden interest “Not very bright, huh?,” he teases. Hinata doesn’t have much room to get angry, everything considered. He hugs. Suddenly another hand, big and strong - pinches Hinata's cheek. He feels like a petulant child, but Kuroo just grins. He takes a liking to Hinata, he thinks Kenma will too. 

“You’re a robinhood type, aren’t you shrimpy?,” Kuroo asks, voice light. Hinata blushes in surprise. He was - but how obvious could it be if two strangers can figure that out. As if Kuroo was reading his thoughts, he shakes his head. 

“Don’t ask. I can see it all over your face.You reek of it, not that it’s a bad thing. Maybe you’ll rub off on the heartless bastard with a gun to your head,” Kuroo says snickering. Hinata sighs a little at that. Kuroo knows Daichi too well - there's no way a kid like this won’t catch his eye. He’d be stupid too, though Kuroo reall can’t tell why. Something about the boy is enigmatic - but it could be the weed talking. He rubs his eyes on instinct. 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Tsukishima curses under his breath, glaring at the red-head with more malice than entirely necessary before sighing. He pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose before putting the safety back on the gun and tucking it in the front of his sweats. Hinata can’t help how his eyes travel, but he shakes his head - stood perfectly still in place still. He shifts to lean more of his weight on one side, hands fist on his knees. He doesn’t know what to do. 

“Fine. I’ll bring him back in one piece but there’s no way I’m doing anything after that. Suga-san is taking care of it. I’m fucking exhausted,” Tsuki groans again. The phone clicks off, and  Tsukishima is burning a (different) hole into Hinata's head. Hinata, in response it seems, reaches a hand to his forehead. There’s a red, circular imprint there that makes him feel stupid. Tsuki was pleased with the handiwork. 

Tsuki takes a deep breath, ignoring his burning frustration before looking at Hinata. 

“Fuck. Okay - I’m Tsukishima Kei, the asshole in my company is Kuroo Tetsuro,” He sighs, pulling his glasses up over his head to rub his eyes. He looks exhausted. Kuroo, noticing his friend's irritation, takes on the role of educator. He steps out of the car, and walks over to the other side. Much more personable, but scary all the same - he helps Hinata up off his knees. 

“That’d be me. We deal drugs on the east side of town,” Kuroo answers curtly. Hinata doesn’t seem phased, confused more than anything. As if he was in danger moments ago, he bounces on the heels of his feet, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets. 

“So.. you guys are like… in a gang then?,” He asks, unsure of what exactly the question was. Kuroo shakes his head, watching as Tsukishima walks around to the other side of the car with a joint hanging curtly from his lips. Hinata watches as he lights up, the smell familiar and welcome. He relaxes at the smoke blowing his way as Kuroo scratches the back of his neck. 

“No, no. It’s different, we’re…” Kuroo trails off, and Tsukishima picks up. The high calms him down enough to do even this shitty ass introduction. He takes a huge inhale, blowing it out before looking at Hinata. 

“We’re part of the mafia, a syndicate. We’re not gang members - we’re known as high-rank criminals. White collar crimes, dealing with drugs and weapons, money laundering, information broking etc. Not gang members,” 

“Oh fuck,” Hinata says under his breath. Kuroo takes his forefinger underneath the redhead's chin, with a small smile. Hinata stares at him with dark eyes, and dark hair - he doesn’t seem very dangerous. Caution and fear - things that are idiosyncratic to who he is. The ideology has been beaten into him one-hundred times over. But for once, he has no instinct. No beating heart. No fear. He looks deeply into the eyes of the man who holds his face, and feels still. It’s all so strange, so he takes a sharp breath. 

“Don’t worry. Me and Kei aren’t violent types. Tsukishima is a pothead and I deal with harder shit - we provide the best stuff in the city. We were sent off for distribution but we kinda figured it was a set-up. So, Kei being the excellent shot he is - sent some bullets blazing and called it a day,” Kuroo explains. He drops HInata's face from his hold before leaning back on the car, reaching  a hand back to Tsukishima who hands him the joint. He takes another inhale, blowing it into the air before coughing. Hinata watches the ash fall to the floor. 

“Our boss knows you, so you’re being brought into headquarters in Miyagi. Long drive from the city, but according to the texts he just sent me - we’re supposed to take care of you. So, we’ll stop by a hotel and some other places. Get you some clothes to your taste on his credit card, and then you’re supposed to meet with him,” Kuroo says, eyes dragging lazily over his phone.

Truthfully, HInata knows this is a terrible fucking idea. He was an idiot, sure - but not this much. He knows this could very easily be a set up and he could end up with something dark  - but there are no signals telling him to stray. He has questions, hundreds of them flood his brain.  Most of all, who could their boss ever possibly be to know who he is? He can’t recall a single one of his former cronies being intelligent enough to run a fucking crime syndicate. 

Aside from that, he’s left questioning what this meeting is about to begin with. He’s grown up as a floater along different parts of the city, bad habits following him recklessly. He isn’t sure what qualities he would have that could make him useful to some big mafia boss. He has stature, physical stature at least - but nothing more.

What it all means - that’s the biggest question for him. He can’t process it - but right now, right now he’s just tired. He hasn’t slept in days and the constant rushes of adrenaline have worn him out to the point he feels like he’s one second away from falling to the floor. 

Hinata takes a deep sigh, eyes so heavy from sleep. He feels inebriated as he rubs his eyes. He looks between them, and… just shrugs, really. He shrugs his shoulders, placing a hand on the car door. 

“I don’t care where we go,” Hinata comments, adjusting his bag before flipping his hat around with a yawn. Kuroo grins. “As long as I sleep on the way there, I don’t care,”