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A few days into his relationship with Kageyama, Hinata tries something daring: holding Kageyama’s hand on their walk home.
It’s just about winter, cold enough that they’re bundled up in jackets and the wind nips their noses all red, but warm enough that hats and scarves and mittens aren’t necessary yet. Kageyama’s hand is cold in his, and Hinata reconsiders wearing mittens tomorrow, rubbing his thumb over the back of Kageyama’s hand to share some warmth.
Kageyama stops walking. Hinata almost trips with the abruptness of it. “What gives, Bakageyama?” Hinata whines, tugging on Kageyama’s hand. “It’s cold, I wanna get home already—”
“You,” Kageyama flounders, face redder than it should be in the cold. “What are you doing?”
“Holding your hand, duh! What else does it look like?” Hinata teases, swinging their hands gently.
“It’s embarrassing,” Kageyama mumbles, eyes fixated on their hands. They’re all dry and reddened with the wind.
“It’s what people do when they like one another,” Hinata corrects him. “And I like you, so I’m gonna hold your hand all I want.”
Kageyama flusters, blush erupting on his cheeks. “How can you just say that?” he hisses, other hand rubbing at his cheek self-consciously. “That’s so—”
“Well, it’s true, dummy! What’s wrong with expressing how I feel? Most of us are able to say it when we like someone, unlike someone I know.” (Dragging Kageyama’s answer out of him when Hinata confessed was, to say the least, arduous.)
“It’s stupid,” Kageyama mutters, barely audible over the wind.
Hinata stops his teasing, looks at Kageyama a bit closer. His grip on Hinata’s hand is surprisingly tight, ironclad, and his face is more red than anything else at this point. “Kageyama,” he says after a while, and Kageyama startles at his voice. “Are you, perhaps, shy?”
“No, idiot, dumbass, of course not—” Kageyama blusters, grip growing somehow tighter. “How could I be nervous around someone as stupid as you?”
“Kageyama, I could mistake your face for a tomato.”
Kageyama scowls, opening and closing his mouth, struggling for words. “Fine,” he relents, slowly. “Maybe a little. But that's only because it’s you and you’re so—so—”
“So…?”
“Ugh,” Kageyama finishes. “Like this,” he says, raising their joint hands. “All—affectionate and stuff. I’m not used to it, and it makes me feel all—weird.”
“That's nothing to be embarrassed about, dummy. That’s natural! I get embarrassed, too, y’know? Like when I catch you staring at me during class or when you send me a really good toss. It makes me feel all fluttery, like it’s Christmas day or something. You don’t need to feel weird about that—I’m the same way.”
“It makes me want to kiss you,” Kageyama blurts, face paling to a dangerous shade as he processes what he’s said. “I—”
“Ah, um,” Hinata mumbles, chewing on his lip, watching Kageyama’s expressions change faster than he can take note of them. “Me—me too, actually. It makes me all—gwah inside, y’know, like I just wanna—be as close to you as possible.”
“Maybe I do know,” Kageyama smiles a bit, as though in relief. “Then—”
“Yeah,” Hinata says hurriedly.
They both try to lean in at the same time, Hinata on his tiptoes, and their foreheads (more the bridge of Hinata's nose, to be fair) bang against each other's painfully. Hinata laughs a bit at the clumsiness of it, Kageyama cursing. “Okay, okay, let me start this,” Hinata says.
The wind picks up as Hinata puts his hands on Kageyama's shoulders, swirling around them as though in encouragement. Hinata leans in. A gust of wind blows through the space between them, highlighting it. A mix of nervousness and want seizes Hinata’s heart.
He presses a soft kiss to the edge of Kageyama’s lips, just barely missing in his hurry to actually do it. Maybe he did it wrong, but this is just as nice; there’s a fullness, a sense of completion that comes with being so close, so connected. His toes ache a little with the continued pressure of standing on them, but he doesn’t want to end this.
Kageyama hums in satisfaction against his lips. Hinata shivers, not from the cold, feeling the tingle against his lips spread to his thrumming heart.
Kageyama’s cold hands on his waist feel like a part of Hinata himself. His touch seeps through Hinata’s clothing, but it doesn’t chill Hinata to the bone, like it should.
They part all too soon. Kageyama looks at him with such gentleness that Hinata is taken aback. “It’s still embarrassing, dumbass,” he tells Hinata, voice cutting through the silence of the wind. “But—maybe it’s worth it.”
Hinata has to agree.