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It takes Hinata reminding him that they’re supposed to be studying for the third time in ten minutes before Kageyama realizes that noncommittal grunts aren’t doing the trick and he asks if he wants to.
It’s a rhetorical question, but Hinata says, “No, I’m just saying,” and Kageyama takes that as enough indication to continue what he’s doing.
After a moment, he slides the scratch paper he’d been using to solve math problems across the coffee table to Hinata. The paper is now covered in volleyball diagrams. Hinata peers at it for a moment before holding his hand out without even looking. Kageyama places a pencil in his open palm and Hinata starts scribbling away.
When Hinata concentrates, his brows furrow, and the tip of his tongue peeks out from between his lips. He looks as intense poring over strategies as he does in an actual game. Kageyama kind of loves watching him when he gets like this.
It’s not unusual that their study night has derailed into discussing volleyball strategy. Ever since they became third years and Kageyama became captain, it’s happened more often than not. Hinata is an invaluable vice captain, having learned to use his head both on the court and off. More than that, he’s Kageyama’s best friend. There’s no one else he’d rather spend late nights talking volleyball with.
Eventually, though, Hinata lets out a big yawn, and Kageyama elbows him gently. “Bed time.”
“We didn’t study,” Hinata says even as he stands up and stretches.
“Yes, we did.”
“We studied, like, half of it.”
Kageyama shrugs. “So, we’ll cram the rest tomorrow morning.”
“You’re a bad influence,” Hinata says as they start for the bathroom. “Bad captain.”
“Don’t talk to your captain like that,” Kageyama says, reaching out to grab Hinata’s head, a familiar gesture that’s lost its bite over the years. Hinata laughs and, a little more awake, dodges Kageyama and jogs the rest of the way to the bathroom.
Kageyama rolls his eyes, though he’s smiling, and follows Hinata to brush their teeth.
By this point, they could be moving on muscle memory. Hinata wanders around the bathroom while he brushes his teeth, and Kageyama leans closer to the sink to give him room whenever he passes. They rinse in unison, and Hinata beats him to the hand towel, pulling it from its holder and haphazardly wiping his hands with it before tossing it over his shoulder. Kageyama catches it before it hits his face and returns it to its place after he dries his hands.
He goes to Hinata’s bedroom, where Hinata is already changing his clothes. Hinata has pajamas with little birds printed on them because he couldn’t find any with crows. Kageyama keeps a soft old t-shirt and a pair of shorts in the bottom drawer because if you sleep over so often, why not keep a set handy.
Hinata jumps onto the bed and wriggles under the covers. On the other side of the bed, Kageyama lifts the blanket up before sliding under.
Kageyama can’t remember if they were ever embarrassed to share a bed. He doesn’t think so. Nothing really stopped them from doing it before; they just hadn’t considered it. But then they’d realized that it was only logical: the futon’s not as comfortable, there’s enough room on the bed for both of them, and they’re best friends. There’s no problem.
Hinata is already curled up comfortably into a loose ball, his back to Kageyama. “G’night, Kageyama,” he mumbles, sounding half-asleep already.
“Good night,” Kageyama says. He likes to sleep on his back, and when he’s in Hinata’s house, that means he gets to look up at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck in various places on the ceiling. He wonders if Hinata’s parents put them there when he was a baby, or if he wanted them himself when he was a little older. It’s never occurred to him to ask before, and he turns his head to Hinata, about to ask now, but Hinata emits a soft snore and Kageyama shakes his head a little, amazed at his ability to fall asleep so quickly.
He turns onto his side and watches the even rise and fall of Hinata’s body. It’s calming to watch, and it’s only another few minutes until Kageyama, too, finds sleep.
It’s still pretty dark outside when Kageyama wakes up, but they have to get up earlier because Hinata lives further from school and he doesn’t bike when Kageyama is with him. Kageyama’s not used to getting up so early, so it’s usually Hinata who wakes him, which is why it’s confusing when he glances over and sees that the other half of the bed is empty. The covers are still messed up on Hinata’s side, and Kageyama reaches over and pats the vacant space. It’s cold. Probably not just gone to the toilet, then.
Kageyama slides out of bed, not bothering to fix up his side, either, and pads out of the bedroom. He pokes his head into the bathroom to confirm that it’s empty before he continues to make his way through the rest of the house. The kitchen light is on, and he heads over.
Hinata is standing at the stove, still in his pajamas, singing some song under his breath and holding a spatula in one hand. By the smell of it, he’s making pancakes. Kageyama’s stomach rumbles.
For a moment he just stands there, watching. He’s not sure why he doesn’t open his mouth to greet Hinata, but it’s something like four or five in the morning on an insignificant Thursday and as he stands there it hits him. It’s something to do with Hinata in his pajamas with the little birds. His hair is still sticking out randomly, his bedhead somehow distinguishable to Kageyama from its usual mess. It’s something to do with the utter domesticity of the moment, the cool kitchen tile under his bare feet, the scent of pancake filling his nose, the sound of Hinata’s soft singing just barely reaching his ears, all conglomerating into something so simple. It’s something like four or five in the morning on an insignificant Thursday and Kageyama is in love with Hinata.
He’s been in love with him for a long time, probably, if he thinks about it, since their first year of high school. The realization should leave him reeling, but he’s strangely calm. Loving Hinata just feels right.
He walks up to Hinata on autopilot and wraps his arms around him from behind. It’s not a singular moment, existing only now. It feels like it could be any moment, any one of many moments, in all their time together.
“Oh,” Hinata says. Then, “Good morning, Kageyama!”
Kageyama leans a little closer so he can kiss Hinata on the cheek. Hinata drops the spatula, and the illusion breaks. Kageyama’s domestic fantasy is not his reality. It’s jarring, and panic blooms in his chest when he realizes the weight of what he’s just done.
“Um,” he says, dropping his arms and taking a step back.
Hinata whirls around. Kageyama can’t read his expression, which is not exactly rare, but is also no longer common. Then Hinata grabs Kageyama’s shoulders, pulls him down, and kisses him on the lips.
After a startled second, Kageyama kisses back, and the universe slides back into place.
“I want this forever,” Kageyama says when they part.
“Kissing?” Hinata asks with a crooked smile.
“No,” Kageyama says with a brief flash of annoyance. “Well, that, too. But I mean—” He gestures helplessly. “—this. Going to bed with you every night. Making breakfast. Just. Being with you.”
Hinata’s smile softens. “I love you, too, Kageyama.”
“I’m really, seriously in love with you.”
“Me, too,” Hinata says, and kisses him again, stretching up on his tiptoes so he can cup Kageyama’s face in his hands, and as Kageyama settles his hands on Hinata’s waist, he thinks that this moment is perfect.
“Oh,” Hinata says, pulling away.
“What is it?”
Hinata turns to the stove. “The pancakes burned.” He turns the stove off and prods the ruined pancakes with his spatula. Now that he’s mentioned it, Kageyama can smell it, and he wrinkles his nose. Despite this, he finds he doesn’t mind that much.
“That’s okay,” Kageyama says. “We can always make more.” Today, tomorrow, and hopefully forever.
“We’ll make lots of pancakes,” Hinata promises, and Kageyama knows he feels it, too.