Work Text:
Hinata teems with energy, with cheerfulness, with positivity, and so many other things Kageyama can’t even name. It’s all enchanting. Kageyama’s heart squeezes to think that they’re really together, that Hinata likes him back.
There’s a sheen of sleepiness clouding his vision as he looks at Hinata sleeping beside him, snoring softly, though Hinata denies adamantly that he snores at all. His breaths are all light and even and quiet, and it’s so strange to see Hinata so at peace when he can never stay still otherwise.
Hinata’s eyes flutter, fingers twitching. Kageyama wonders what he’s dreaming about. Probably volleyball, honestly. The thought makes Kageyama snort. It’s so Hinata.
Hinata talks in his sleep sometimes, and he’s muttering something right now that Kageyama can’t make out. Kageyama wonders if he talks, and what he would talk about—probably volleyball, too. Hinata murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like Kageyama, and Kageyama’s heart flickers.
He would probably sleeptalk pretty often about Hinata, as well. Hinata’s had such an impact on him that it’s impossible that he wouldn’t dream about Hinata occasionally. In fact, when Kageyama has that one nightmare, of his middle school team turning his back on him, the fracture between them expanding and expanding until it’s unbearable, and suddenly—suddenly, Hinata’s voice chimes through the stadium. A clear, bell-like Kageyama, I’m here.
Kageyama wonders what he would say in his sleep when that happens.
Whatever it is, it’d be stupidly gross and mushy, something he’d never really say aloud when awake. It’s no wonder Kageyama fell for Hinata like this, but sometimes he wonders just what made Hinata like him back. Hinata, who helped drag him out of that chasm of loneliness and tyranny; Hinata, who stayed by his side through loss after loss, fracture after fracture.
Hinata reaches his hand out, abruptly and urgently, searching for something. He’s still asleep. Kageyama is used to Hinata kicking and turning beside him, kind of like this. He gives Hinata his hand, all he has to offer. Hinata places his hand in it and snuggles down into his pillow.
Cute, Kageyama can’t help but think. Hinata’s hand is heavy and lethargic in his, no strength to his grasp, all warm and sweet. A quiet and gentle Hinata is nice, sometimes. But his energy and stupid, constant cheerfulness is what pushes Kageyama to be better, to keep going, and he wouldn’t be Hinata—Kageyama wouldn’t be Kageyama—without it.
Kageyama wouldn’t change it for the world. His chest tingles as though in agreement as he looks down at their hands, Hinata’s still lying in his.
It’s early spring, and the smell of rain and flowers and rebirth drifts through the open window. The curtains and tree leaves flutter silently. It’s a safe, familiar scent, like home, and it almost lulls Kageyama back to sleep.
Then the sun shifts, just enough for the dawn light to spill over Hinata’s face through the window. It encapsulates Hinata like it’s claiming him as part of it. Hinata blinks, slowly, barely opening his eyes, but they still shine in the light.
He shifts his gaze over to meet Kageyama’s. “Stupid,” he murmurs through the haze of tiredness. “Go back to sleep. Don’t wanna get up yet.”
“I love you,” Kageyama whispers without thinking.
“Love you, too,” Hinata responds immediately. “Shouldn’t have to—” he yawns, mouth opening wide, and speaks through it, “—watch me sleep to figure that one out, though.”
Hinata closes his eyes again, breath evening out. Kageyama smiles to himself, soft and secret, and closes his eyes, too.