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Kagayama has strong arms, which are objectively good for playing volleyball. Being able to strike and block and serve and set the ball with precision and force are all advantages that make him an asset to his fellow players; and as a member of the Karasuno men’s volleyball team, Hinata should be happy that Kageyama has such nice, strong arms.
But he’s not.
Hinata stands on the wooden floor of the gym and squeezes his hands into rigid, compact fists. He lets his fingernails dig deep into the innocent pink flesh of his palms until hostile red crescent moons materialize on the abused skin. Kageyama sets the ball to Tanaka, who spikes it perfectly.
Hinata wants those arms to do something other than set- wants them to do something they’ve never done before. He closes his eyes and he wishes that those arms would wrap around him and hold him with a firmness that is betrayed only by the gentleness that lingers just beneath the surface- surety in intent compounded by unsurety in effect.
He lets himself wish even though he knows he shouldn’t. He told himself he would stop.
When Hinata lets himself wish- lets himself be weak- he becomes angry. He wills the blunt ends of his fingernails even deeper into his palms and he lets his tense muscles shake underneath the weight of a million regrets. He hates himself, hates his reality, hates Kageyama’s stupid fucking arms. He wants to cut them off, wants to scream. Maybe he does- it’s hard to say, but every set of eyes in the repressive Karasuno gymnasium are fixed on him like he’s done something to warrant concern.
The air in here is too thick, and he feels like he’s choking on it.
Sugawara is the first to suggest that he take the rest of the day off and Daichi turns the suggestion into an order soon thereafter. Hinata glues his eyes to the red detailing on his shoes and keeps his head down, leaving the gym without a word or a flash of eye contact with any of his teammates. It is the third time this has happened and he is embarrassed beyond belief.
There are limits to what a boy in emotional distress can handle, and seeing any semblance of worry, confusion, irritation, or all of the above etched onto a face that is turned in his direction is beyond Hinata’s limits. It’s the pity that gets him- something they all feel but no one speaks. He imagines what Kagayama looked like and what he was feeling. He doesn’t want to, but he does.
Kagayama is not an expressive person, but Hinata knows what to look for. He wonders if the setter’s jaw had been set in the way that meant he was angry, or if he had scratched at his ear like he does when he’s confused. He wonders if his bottom lip was jutted out just enough to show that he was dissatisfied or if he held it between his teeth like he always did when he was worried. Was he amused? Had he been disappointed? Every possible reaction conjures a different image of Kageyama’s familiar face in his classmate’s mind.
Hinata lets his back slouch and his feet drag across the cracked pavement as he makes his way home, not quite wanting to get there but not really having anything to do where he is. He neither rushes nor stalls, but is entirely preoccupied as he slinks along the side of the road, bike in tow.
He’s not entirely sure how he got himself into this utter fucking mess, but he knows that he must have done something terribly wrong along the way to end up where he is now. Maybe he killed someone in a past life, or was some sort of terrible thief. All he knows is that he feels disgusting and guilty and he deserves it. He deserves to feel this way and he deserves to be miserable.
Whatever higher power is out there wouldn’t have let him fall head-over-heels for his emotionally constipated, completely unattainable best friend if he didn’t truly deserve it, right?
What could he have done differently? He thinks he should have stopped the second he noticed. The very first time he caught himself staring at Kageyama’s toned calf muscles, or the very first time he caught himself daydreaming about Kageyama’s warm body pressed against his own, he should have packed a bag and left the country immediately. He should have found the first girl he could and married her right off the bat.
Hinata’s keys make a periodic jingle as they crash against one another in his pocket, and he knows that if he were walking home with Kageyama like he usually does, the taller boy would be annoyed. He would say something along the lines of “fix it, dumbass! Wrap them in your sweatshirt and stick it in your bag.” Hinata would laugh at how grouchy Kageyama can be, how he complains about even the smallest of things, but he would do it anyways.
He’d do anything, because he’s in love and it’s fucking ridiculous.
What an awful thing to be in, the redhead thinks to himself, scowl taking over his face. He kicks a stone as hard as he can, sending it flying down the road. He feels like a child.
A small park comes into sight when Hinata passes by a row of trees and, noting its emptiness, he decides to stop for a bit. This way, he doesn’t have to explain to his parents that he had to leave practice early because he was too distracted by his best friend’s arms. He doesn’t have to explain that they’re so distracting because he may or may not want to kiss and hold said best friend, and be kissed and held in return. He won’t have to admit that he may or may not be in love.
Now that’s a conversation he hopes he never has to have. It would be ugly, he knows.
Kageyama is kind of like a rose, Hinata thinks as he toes open the kickstand on his bike and lays down on a grassy slope near the swings. He’s like a rose, but not because he’s delicate and beautiful. Kageyama is beautiful, and he is definitely nice to look like, but he is anything but delicate. He’s like a rose, but not because he smells good. Kageyama rarely ever does.
Roses are wonderful and beautiful and can brighten up a garden, but if you get too close, you’ll get caught on a thorn. Kageyama brightened up Hinata’s life, he thinks. They had become partners and friends, and Hinata felt happy and full. But then he got too close and now he’s hurting. He’s hurting so, so bad.
Hinata’s head hangs between his knees and he takes a deep breath in, letting the warm arm flood his body- numbing him, if only for a second.
He’s scared.
He’s scared because this is his life now- empty metaphors and empty wishes, unfulfilled and impossible to satiate. The emotions that Hinata feels for his friend are beyond anything he has ever felt before, and the raw intensity and immense desire aimed at the setter are more than he knows how to handle, more than he had ever been prepared for. He’s afraid because this is his life now, and he thinks it always will be.
Kageyama is impossible to get over. Move on, Hinata tells himself day after day after day like a prayer. If only it were that simple. Even if he doesn’t see Kageyama for ten or even twenty years, will he still long for those strong arms to hold him? Will he still dream about straight black hair and big shoulders and bodies dancing together under the covers? These things have become such a big part of him, such a presence in his sad life, that he can’t even imagine himself without them- can’t imagine what it’s like to live without those piercing blue eyes haunting him.
Kageyama rarely ever texts- rarely ever uses his phone at all. He’s a dunce and it’s annoying. He makes an exception every once in a while, though, but only if he has a question that he really wants answered.
Ding.
Hinata flinches in surprise at the sudden, high pitched noise emanating from his phone. Reaching into his pocket, he holds his breath and scrambles to peek at the glowing screen. It’s Kageyama. Of course it’s Kageyama. It’s always Kageyama when Hinata doesn’t need it to be.
“whats wrong”
Hinata barks a staccato laugh. It’s ironic. He wants to forget about Kageyama. He wants to forget about him forever and throw his phone into a lake, but instead he feels the corners of his mouth lift into a sad, amused smile. The lack of punctuation is almost endearing and it's just so Kageyama it makes him want to throw himself off a bridge.
He could ignore the text. He could stick his phone right back in his pocket and pretend that he went straight home after leaving practice, fell asleep, and never saw it.
He could also tell him the truth right now. He could write back and say “everything’s wrong because you’re all I want and I can never have you, at least not in the way that I want.” He could say “I love you more than I should. More than I have any right to. All I need is for you to give me a chance.” He could, but he won’t. He never will.
For the past few months that Hinata has been enduring this horrible misery, he has become hyper aware of the glaring fact that he has nothing to offer. There is nothing that he has that Kageyama could ever possibly want. What do normal, not-Hinata people look for in a relationship? Happiness? Compatibility? Hinata drives Kageyama crazy, and they both know it. Attraction? Hinata’s scrawny, short build, his mess of unruly orange hair, and the messy smattering of freckles across his face, shoulders, and spine pale in comparison to Kageyama’s flawless complexion and his body of a Greek god. A family? Hinata can never give him that, no matter how badly he wanted to. If nothing else for personal pleasure, at least someone to bring home to the parents and make them proud? Hinata definitely can’t do that.
There are no promises he can make, either. Hinata is too energetic and extremely emotional. He thinks with his heart and acts with passion and recklessness in everything he does. He can’t promise to be strong or level-headed or really any of the qualities that he admires in Kageyama. He can’t match him in any way, shape, or form- not even on the court that brings them together every day after school.
He can’t possibly tell the truth. What good would it do? What could either of them possibly gain? So, instead, he condemns himself to a life of dreams unfulfilled, a life of hands bleeding after reaching out, grasping the rose, and clutching it to his aching heart. He condemns himself to a life of lies.
“Nothing’s wrong, Bakageyama! I’m fine.”