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PART ONE: THE RAIN
The autumn rain is cold in Miyagi. Winter’s just a short month away and already the temperature’s falling.
It all starts because Kageyama fails to pack his umbrella. Whose fault that is is open to debate: should his mother have reminded him more strictly that the weather forecast predicted rain? Should his father not have distracted him with a new volleyball magazine while he was packing his bag? Should he have looked out the window and noticed the dark clouds rolling in over the mountains?
In the end, it’s a moot point. The fact is, Kageyama doesn’t pack the umbrella. And, by noon, rain is hammering down from the sky. It’s not the white-out cording of summer rain but the blustery near-sleet of autumn typhoons. The kind of rain that makes you glad you’re in class, even if that class is Modern Japanese.
By the time practice starts that afternoon, the rain is still sluicing down. The walkway to the gym is covered, though, and Kageyama stays dry in the brief trip from the school building to the court. The downpour makes a steady background whisper on the gym’s roof while they practice, the sound seeming to absorb the impact of serves and receives on bare skin. It dampens some of the energy in the room, the team for once focusing hard without victory laps or excessive cheering.
Practice stretches out from one hour to two, then three. They’re sweating profusely, the chill wind blowing in through the open doors failing to cut down on the perspiration. Kageyama, like the rest of the team, always puts his all into the game, never holds back an ounce of reserve. If he doesn’t go all-out in practice, he won’t be able to go all-out in a real match, won’t build his stamina.
By the time Ukai calls an end to the session the team’s all drenched with sweat, their fall sweaters lying discarded by the gym wall, their gym strip damp and stinking. Kageyama’s muscles are burning, his bones tired from some hard dives and tough receives. He helps the rest of the guys put away the equipment, then heads to the club room to change.
It’s only now, with the rain pounding down on the tin roof of the club room, that he realises he didn’t pack his umbrella. That he’ll have to make the twenty minute walk home in the pouring rain. It could be worse, he rationalizes. He could be Hinata and have a 30 minute bike ride home. But Hinata’s brought a clear hooded rain slick to wear; he looks like an umbrella melted over him. He smiles at Kageyama as he heads out into the rain, gleefully kicking at puddles.
Kageyama sighs, grabs his bag, and heads out into the deluge.
***
He’s late to get home which means he doesn’t have time to change before dinner. The house is cold, his father holding out on turning on the heat until next month. Kageyama’s cold and wet and miserable, his clothes and hair drying out slowly while he eats his curry and rice.
His parents are going down to Gunma to visit his grandparents for a couple of days, leaving early the next morning. They discuss the trip, their schedule, the gifts they’re bringing. Kageyama nods along while spooning food into his mouth, eager only to get out of these wet clothes. Finally he finishes and it’s time to go upstairs to get changed and do some studying.
For some reason he can’t seem to get warm. He towels his hair dry and puts on a fleece sweater, but his fingers are frigid as he tries to write out math equations, his body shivering every few minutes. He makes himself a cup of tea but that doesn’t seem to help. Finally, frustrated, he takes a bath. It drains the aches and pains from practice from him and warms him up. He closes his eyes and lies, soaking, in the tub…
***
Kageyama’s woken by his mother knocking on the door. The water’s lukewarm around him, his skin pale and wrinkly. He sighs tiredly and pulls himself out of the water, towelling himself off and draining the tub. He doesn’t bother to get changed back into his clothes – he’s too tired. He changes into his pyjamas instead and crawls into bed, turning out the light.
Sleep comes quickly, pulling him under like a rip tide and holding him deep in its dark waters.
***
Light. Noise.
Kageyama wakes slowly. His eyes are full of sleep, his throat sore. His head feels like someone’s been beating it with a mallet. His entire body is aching, a kind of dull pain that seems to be pouring out of his bones thick as tree sap.
The light, he realises as he slowly blinks his eyes open, is the sun shining through his blinds. The noise is his alarm, which is still beeping insistently. He reaches out to turn it off and knocks it off the bedside table instead; it clatters to the floor and lies there, still beeping.
Cursing, Kageyama sits up. The world tilts sickeningly, the walls seeming to expand and contract like an accordion. He sways and, somehow, ends up lying on his back staring at the ceiling. The ceiling which is swirling like stirred matcha. He watches it, perplexed. Surely it shouldn’t be doing that.
On the floor, his alarm is growing more insistent. He sits up again, this time slower, and reaches down to snag the clock and turn it off. Then, groaning, he pulls his feet over the edge of the bed and stands.
Kageyama never realised how difficult standing is. How even the tiniest movement in the air can slam into him like a bulldozer. How hard and unforgiving the floor is beneath is feet. How balance is frighteningly precarious. He struggles over to the closet, feeling as lanky and uncoordinated as a new-born foal. His legs feel terribly, terribly long. His head is aching. His throat hurts.
Hell, everything hurts. Kageyama opens the closet and stares at the clothes inside for a while, trying to make sense of them. There are many different ones, and only some are appropriate for school. It feels like a cruel puzzle. Eventually he manages to struggle into his uniform with a white shirt beneath. Then he heads downstairs, following the safety and security of routine.
There’s a note on the table saying his breakfast and lunch are in the fridge. He slumps down and stares at the piece of paper. Kageyama’s not hungry. Not even a smidgeon. He goes to the fridge and gets out the miso soup, warming it in the microwave and carrying it over to the table. He can feel the steam rising off the food impacting his face; it feels like a gale pounding against his skin. He leans back. Eventually, out of some lonely sense of duty, he picks up the bowl and takes a few swallows of broth. It seems to burn on the way down, his throat raw. He doesn’t need breakfast.
Kageyama dumps the miso soup down the drain, shoves the plastic bento box into his bag, puts on his shoes, and eases his way out the door into the bright morning sun.
And gods, it is bright. His eyes are watering against it; he lurches and catches his balance on a telephone pole. The world is all sparkly around him, yesterday’s rain catching the sun like diamonds and reflecting it back straight into his eyes. Kageyama groans and forces his way forward, eyes narrowed against the glare. He shuffles slowly down the sidewalk, fighting to retain his balance, his coordination, and his concentration.
He takes so long walking in that he misses morning practice. He arrives just as the bell is sounding and heads straight into class, slumping gratefully onto his chair and resting his head on his hands. Now he can relax for a bit…
***
Kageyama can’t stop falling asleep. He dozes most of the way through English, Geography and Modern Japanese. The lunch bell wakes him up, his fellow classmates chatting and laughing and fooling around. Students from other classrooms come in to gossip; boys run out to buy bread and girls compare new pictures on their phones.
Kageyama doesn’t have the energy to stand. He feels glued into his seat, his feet bolted to the floor. He can barely sit up far enough to look down into his bag at his bento box.
He has never been less hungry.
Exhausted, he sinks back to rest his head in his hands on top of his desk. The rest of the world slowly fades away.
***
He doesn’t know how he makes it through the rest of the day. By amazing luck none of his teachers call on him and he’s able to keep a low profile until the bell rings at the end of the final lesson. Which means now it’s time for practice.
PART TWO: THE CONSEQUENCES
Hinata rushes through afterschool cleaning, intent on only one thing: afternoon practice. Morning practice had fizzled when Kageyama had failed to show. It’s not that Kageyama’s the only reason he plays volleyball, it’s just that the motivation Hinata draws from their rivalry has come to overpower so many of his other thoughts. And, since the spring, it’s grown. Everything they do feels like a competition, becomes a competition: who can eat lunch the fastest; who can finish in the bathroom first; who can drink the most energy drink in one sitting. It makes Hinata’s days so much more interesting than they ever were in middle school.
Except, he realised this morning, that when Kageyama isn’t there, his world feels even more empty than it ever has.
Which is why he’s vibrating with excitement as he changes in the club room, intent on challenging Kageyama to the first competition that arises, intent on making up for this morning’s dullness. He’s already finished putting on his practice clothes when Kageyama pushes open the door and steps in.
“Hey, Kageyama,” he starts, intending to chide the setter for his absence this morning and for his late entry just now.
Kageyama’s eyes track to his, and Hinata stops. Kageyama’s eyes are glassy and unfocused. His face is flushed, his skin damp with sweat as though he’d already been practicing. His breathing is wheezy, and when he steps into the club room his movements are clumsy.
“What’s wrong with you?” asks Hinata. The other boys pick up on his tone and turn to watch as Kageyama bumps up against Hinata like a wayward balloon being pushed by the wind. “Kageyama? Kageyama-kuuuun?” he waves his hand in front of Kageyama’s face.
“Stop that,” mutters Kageyama, trying to bat his hand away. Although Hinata’s arm isn’t moving fast, the setter misses badly.
Hinata looks behind him, eyes wide. The rest of the team – currently consisting of Sugawara, Azumane, Ennoshita and Yamaguchi – stare back. Sugawara takes the lead, coming over and catching Kageyama’s still-reeling arm.
“Kageyama, you’re not well,” he says, and reaches up to feel the setter’s forehead. His eyes widen. “What are you doing here – you’re burning up.”
Kageyama tilts his head quizzically. And then, like a tree falling, starts slowly tipping sideways. Hinata and Azumane lunge out, catching him and lowering him to the floor. They end up in an awkward pile, Kageyama bottom-most. Azumane pulls himself out and backs up; Hinata just sits there, shocked.
“Geez Kageyama, you’re really sick.” Somehow, Kageyama seems too dense to catch a cold. “I guess they say only idiots catch summer colds,” he adds doubtfully.
“It’s October,” points out Yamaguchi, from somewhere behind. “And that doesn’t look like a simple cold.”
Sugawara nods. “He’s right. Kageyama, you need bed rest. Can you call your mother to pick you up?”
Kageyama appears to consider this. He’s sitting up beside Hinata now; he tilts his head once more and again tips, this time ending up leaning against Hinata. “No,” he concludes, after nearly a minute. “She’s in Gunma.”
“This is a problem,” says Azumane. The door opens and Sawamura comes in, already changed and face dark.
“Where is everyone? Coach’s waiting to start practice.”
“Daichi – Kageyama needs to go home. He’s got a fever. And frankly, I’m not sure he’s up to walking to his house.” Sugawara points at Kageyama, currently slumping with his eyes closed onto Hinata’s shoulder. Hinata pokes his cheek; he doesn’t react. His body is radiating heat even through his thick uniform, and his ragged breathing is heavy, intense.
“Kageyama?” says Hinata, quietly, as the captain and vice-captain begin a conversation above his head. Kageyama doesn’t answer. Hinata leans down and, as his mother always did when he was sick, presses his forehead against Kageyama’s.
Sugawara was right: he is burning up. Hinata wants to ask him why he came in, but he doesn’t have to. Hinata would have done the same rather than skipping practice. He’d come in even with a twisted ankle or a broken arm. He’d come in on his death bed.
Forehead still pressed against Kageyama’s, he closes his eyes. “Guess we’re a pair of idiots, huh?” he says, under his breath.
“Who knows where Kageyama lives?” Sawamura’s voice breaks into Hinata’s thoughts and he looks up, raising his hand as if answering a teacher’s question.
“I do. Why?”
“We’ll ask Takeda-sensei to drive him home. You can go with him. Make sure he gets to bed. You’re excused from practice – get changed.”
“Oh. Right.” On the one hand, he’s frustrated with being so casually excluded from practice. On the other hand, Kageyama’s in bad shape. He leans the setter up against the metal shelf beside the wall, Kageyama’s eyes still closed, and hurriedly strips out of his gym wear and changes back into his uniform.
The other boys finish changing and leave, Sugawara lingering to make sure Hinata’s okay to take care of Kageyama.
“I’ll be fine. I look after my little sister all the time when she’s sick.” Hinata smiles and Sugawara leaves with one last worried look.
Then it’s time to get Kageyama out of the club room. Hinata stands over him, hands on his hips. “Oi. Kageyama. Wake up. Time to go home.”
Kageyama’s eye cracks open. “Practice,” he says, hoarsely.
“Uh uh. You’ll just spread your germs everywhere and then fall down ‘n die. You’re going home.”
“Too tired.”
“Yeah, I know. Take-chan’s going to drive us. So c’mon, we just have to make it to the staff parking lot.” He bends down and hauls Kageyama’s arm over his shoulder, digging his knee into the setter’s side to motivate him. Kageyama groans and slowly pulls himself to his feet using Hinata like an anchor. Once on his feet he’s unsteady, swerving from side-to-side like a drunk salaryman. Hinata props him up, keeping him steady as they navigate their way down the walkway and the stairs and out into the parking lot in front of the school.
Takeda-sensei is already waiting beside a blue Mazda 2, a little car perfect for the short teacher and Hinata, less ideal for Kageyama’s stature.
“Kageyama-kun!” the teacher hurries over to help Hinata, propping up Kageyama’s other side and leading him to the car. They fold him into the back seat where he promptly droops sideways, eyes heavy-looking. Hinata skirts the back of the car and gets in the front seat. Takeda takes his place behind the wheel and starts the car.
It’s not a long drive to Kageyama’s. Hinata gives directions as best he can from memory of the two times he’s been over to the setter’s house. They had gotten together to watch some of Kageyama’s videos, burned by the club at Kitagawa First. Hinata, with no real middle school club, never had access to videos other than youtube and televised events.
Spending time with Kageyama off the court has been weird. When they first met, of course, it had been forced and frustrating. Back in the summer when it felt like everything was going wrong between them, things had been tense. But since they’ve found their rhythm and have accepted that they both have a part to play in making their teamwork successful, they’ve been actually… friendly? Hinata glances over his shoulder at Kageyama, currently sitting with his head back against the headrest, glazed eyes staring at the ceiling.
At the start of the school year, he would never have believed he could be friends with Kageyama. But these days they spend all their free time together, share their one hobby – their one passion – in a way so few others do. Hinata likes plenty of the guys in his class but they don’t understand him. Not the way Kageyama does. The setter can read his thoughts with one look. Just like Hinata can with him. Even the other guys on the team can’t do that.
Right now when Hinata looks at Kageyama, all he can see is how awful he’s obviously feeling.
“Is this it?” asks Takeda-sensei; Hinata turns and sees Kageyama’s house in the rapidly-falling twilight.
“Yep! Thanks sensei!” They stop and get out, both helping to ease Kageyama out of the back seat and around to his front door. They wait patiently while he fishes out his house key and opens the lock. “I can look after him from here, sensei,” says Hinata, pushing Kageyama in over the threshold.
“Are you sure?”
“No problem! I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Hinata-kun.” Takeda-sensei closes the door behind them, leaving the two of them alone in the entryway. Kageyama’s fighting to get his shoes off; Hinata toes his own off and then ducks down and pulls off the setter’s runners, lining them up against the raised floor.
“You should go to bed, Kageyama. I’ll make you something to eat.”
Kageyama’s leaning his back against the wall, his dull eyes watching Hinata. “Not hungry,” he says.
“What’ve you eaten today?”
He drops his eyes shiftily and doesn’t answer. Hinata digs into his bag and finds a still-full bento box. “Uh uh. You can’t go all day without eating anything. I’ll make you some rice gruel. Great for sick people!” He grins and grabs Kageyama, hauling him through the house and up the stairs. Kageyama trails silently after him, bumping into walls and railings like a dazed bumblebee.
The house is cold, even the upstairs bedrooms. In Kageyama’s room Hinata closes the door and turns on the heat while Kageyama sinks onto his unmade bed. Feeling very much like a big brother, Hinata undoes the buttons on Kageyama’s school jacket and takes it off him, chivvying him along cheerfully as he does so.
“…Why’re you here?” asks Kageyama, when Hinata turns to hang his jacket up in the closet.
Hinata turns, smiling. “Because you need looking after, Kageyama-kun! You’ve gone and caught a cold like an idiot, and now you’re nothing but a big helpless lump. Aren’t you glad I’m here to take care of you? You should be thanking me! Just call me Hinata-sama,” he adds, smile widening.
“Dumbass,” growls Kageyama. It would have been more threatening if he hadn’t tipped over into his bed the moment after.
Hinata comes over and pulls the blanket out from under him and tucks it over him. “You need to keep warm. I’ll go make some gruel.”
Kageyama closes his eyes. “Un.”
***
Hinata is a pretty good cook. Since Natsu came along Mom’s had a hard time keeping up with two high-energy kids. She started leaning on him to help out when he was in middle school, and that meant learning to cook and clean and take care of a baby. He can make simple dishes – the kind a little sister would like – and he can change a diaper like a pro.
Gruel is easy. Just watery rice, really. He shuffles around in Kageyama’s kitchen assembling the ingredients, then turns on the stove and starts cooking. The house is silent around him; it feels kind of weird to be using someone else’s kitchen when they’re not there. But Hinata’s never been easily intimidated, and he goes on making gruel and humming to himself while it bubbles away on the stove. When it’s done he spoons it into a bowl and lets it cool for a few minutes while he looks for a spoon and something for Kageyama to drink. There’s orange juice in the fridge and he pours some of that into a cup.
When he returns upstairs with the tray of food Kageyama’s huddled under the blankets like a dog, shivering. Hinata pushes aside the clock on the bedside table and puts down his tray. He reaches out and feels Kageyama’s forehead; still way too hot.
“Hinata?” Kageyama’s eyes slide blearily open. “’S happening?”
“You’re sick. The fever’s giving you chills.”
He makes a distressed face. “Can’t get warm.”
Hinata’s heart constricts at the sight of him looking so pathetic. For some reason it’s hard to see – it makes him want to fix it right now. “Yeah. Here – I’ve got some nice hot rice gruel for you; it’ll warm you up.” He sits down on the bed beside Kageyama and pulls the bowl onto his knee, digging the spoon in. “C’mon, open up.”
Kageyama looks at the spoon suspiciously but opens his mouth and Hinata expertly shovels the spoon in there. Compared to feeding a fussy five year-old it’s a piece of cake. Kageyama chews for a minute, then swallows. “Can’t taste it.”
“It’s rice gruel, idiot, it’s not supposed to have a taste,” replies Hinata. He loads up another spoon and presents that to Kageyama, who eats it.
Spoonful by spoonful he feeds the setter until the bowl’s nearly empty and Kageyama’s turning away rather than accepting any more. He puts the bowl down and picks up the juice. “Want something to drink?”
Kageyama appears to think about it; rather than waiting Hinata leans in and slips a hand behind his head, propping him up and putting the cup to his lips. He tilts it slowly, letting Kageyama drink at his pace.
There’s something strangely satisfying about taking care of Kageyama like this. About the soft feel of the hair at the nape of his neck against Hinata’s hand, about the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, about the warmth of his body beside Hinata’s thigh. He wants to stroke Kageyama’s hair the way Mom always did for him when he was sick, wants to press his cool hand against Kageyama’s feverish skin, wants to drain the sickness out of him.
All he does, though, is lift the glass away when Kageyama’s finished drinking. “You should rest. I’m going to take this stuff downstairs.”
***
He washes up the saucepan and the bowl and cup, then dries them and puts them away where he found them. He’s hungry so he eats Kageyama’s untouched bento, sitting at the kitchen table and wondering if the setter has managed to go to sleep. When he’s done he cleans that, too, and leaves it to dry beside the sink.
Back upstairs Kageyama has tossed off his blankets and shucked off his uniform pants is lying sprawled on the bed in his t-shirt and briefs. His face is shiny with sweat, his hair damp with it. Hinata hurries in and grabs the duvet, pulling it back over him. Kageyama thrashes, making a face. “Too hot.”
Hinata holds the duvet over him as he fights it, as if trying to smother him with it. “That’s just the fever. You need to stay warm.”
“Too hot,” insists Kageyama, struggling. Hinata hops onto the bed, straddling him and pinning the duvet down with his hands and knees.
“Stop fighting, Bakageyama!”
Kageyama keeps thrashing, his face flushed, his breath coming hard. Hinata lowers his body to pin him down with his full weight, his hips straddling Kageyama’s. But as Kageyama bucks and fights, panting and gasping, Hinata realises suddenly that this might have been a bad idea.
He’s getting hard. Is being turned on by Kageyama tossing and turning beneath him, by the heat of his skin beneath Hinata’s hands and the high-pitched sound of his gasps.
Just as he’s about to jump off, embarrassed and confused, Kageyama abruptly runs out of fight and collapses, breathing like a bellows, face turned to the side. His dark hair is damp with sweat, pasted onto his pale skin. He’s practically glowing in the room’s warm lamp-light, looks hot and spent and beautiful.
“Um,” says Hinata, suddenly very lost. Kageyama just lies there, eyes closed, exhausted. “I’m just gonna – um – I’ll be right back.” He high-tails it out of Kageyama’s bedroom and into the bathroom where he closes and locks the door behind him. As if there were any risk of Kageyama following him; he can’t even open his eyes.
Hinata stares at himself in the mirror. His face is flushed, his eyes wide. It’s not like he’s never had weird thoughts before. He’s a teenage boy – it’s normal, right? He spends all his time with other guys, so he doesn’t have a lot to think about when it comes to girls. Shimizu-san’s out of his league, and Yachi is just a fun friend. The idea of imagining himself with them appalls him.
Somehow, though, the idea of imagining himself with Kageyama… those long fingers in his hair, brushing over his face, on his chest, on – oh, yes – on his cock…
He feels warmth twisting in his belly, feels his dick twitch excitedly. Crap. Now is not the time to be having dirty thoughts about anyone, much less Kageyama. He turns on the sink and washes his face with cold water, wills his prick to cool it. Kageyama’s sick and he’s the only one who can take care of him. That’s his only focus right now.
Hinata dries off his face and returns to the bedroom slowly, pausing in the doorway. Kageyama’s sleeping under the duvet, expression soft. Hinata’s heart squeezes in his chest.
Maybe he could just leave now. Maybe Kageyama’ll be okay – he’s a high school student after all, he should be able to take care of himself…
“Hinata…” it’s barely a whisper, just a sigh. Hinata snaps to attention, staring across the room.
Kageyama’s dreaming. About him.
He tiptoes silently across the room and stands beside the bed, looking down.
Kageyama’s not like him. Hinata knows he hasn’t grown into an adult stature, an adult face. He’s still mistaken for a middle school student – sometimes, even for an elementary school student. His fly-away hair and abundance of energy don’t help. But Kageyama’s… concentrated. It’s like all the excess has been boiled off of him, leaving just a lean toned body and a quiet, one-track mind. His face is serious even in sleep, his high cheeks and long thin nose give him a dignified look.
Looks can be deceiving though, because of course in reality Kageyama’s a huge dork, and an idiot to boot. But he can hide it if he keeps his mouth shut, can live up to his reputation as a genius setter. Hinata’s not sure which he likes more – cool, handsome Kageyama or oblivious, moronic Kageyama.
Hinata sits down on the edge of the bed and slowly, carefully reaches out. He feathers his fingers through Kageyama’s hair; it’s soft and silken, fine but not thin. Kageyama shivers, then settles, his face pressed into his pillow. “Mm.”
Hinata’s heart is racing, his hand trembling. He’s never touched anyone like this – not with this hot, searing feeling in his chest.
“Kageyama…I think I like you,” he says quietly.
PART THREE: THE CONFESSION
“Kageyama…I think I like you.”
Kageyama slips out of a dream suffused with a sweet feeling of happiness. He doesn’t remember what he was dreaming about, just remembers softness and warmth and satisfaction.
He opens his eyes to find Hinata sitting beside him, staring down at him looking shocked. He tries to move and finds the duvet is tucked too firmly around him to let him. “Hi…nata?”
“Um. Yeah. Yeah. How’re you feeling?”
Kageyama considers. He’s aching all over and feels cold despite the duvet. He’s also sweaty and uncomfortable, trapped in a damp nest of bedclothes.
“Cold,” he says. “Sweaty.”
“The fever is messing with your thermostat. You were too hot a minute ago.”
He remembers vaguely a sensation of stifling warmth, of steaming heat. Of a heavy body on top of him, weighing him down. “Huh,” he says, unable to think of anything else.
“Wanna have a bath? Maybe it’ll help warm you up.”
The idea of soaking in warm water sounds excellent. He tries to sit up and has to push hard at the duvet to make room.
“Okay, I’ll go run it. Come in when you’re ready.” Hinata jumps off the bed and disappears, leaving Kageyama cold and alone. He gets up slowly, feeling dizzy, his ears plugged up. He slowly strips out of his t-shirt and briefs and makes his way out of his room and into the hall. It’s colder here, the chill raising goosebumps on his skin. He shivers and slips into the bathroom behind Hinata, who’s bending over the tub testing the warmth of the water, weight supported by one hand propped up on the side of the tub. He’s shed his school jacket and sweater, is wearing just a white t and his black uniform pants.
Kageyama pushes the door closed and Hinata turns. His eyes widen and his hand slips. He dumps forward into the water, splashing himself. “W-w-why are you naked?” he demands, turning and pointing, as water drips down his face. His skin is oddly red.
Kageyama looks down at his toned, naked skin. “Taking a bath,” he says.
“Yeah but – but…” Hinata trails off and turns away. “Never mind. Just… wash yourself off. Here.” He scoops the plastic bucket into the water and hands it to Kageyama, who dumps it gratefully over his chilled skin. It sluices down to the floor and gurgles into the drain. Hinata refills it and he does it again, hungry for the water’s warmth. Finally he’s washed and the bath’s ready; Hinata steps away and he gets in, leaning back against the wall.
He looks up and sees Hinata watching him, cheeks pink. “Are you coming in?” he asks. If anything, Hinata’s cheeks get pinker.
“No! I’m the supervising adult here making sure you don’t pass out and drown!”
It’s too many words for Kageyama to compute so he just nods. “Okay.”
“Be grateful, dammit!”
Kageyama closes his eyes and relaxes. “Okay,” he says again.
“That’s not the right answer!”
***
Hinata makes him get out after a while. He brings Kageyama a towel and some pyjamas to wear and then disappears while Kageyama changes.
The pyjamas are soft cotton and feel great against his sensitive skin. Kageyama shuffles out of the bathroom and back to his bedroom. Hinata’s there already, picking up his clothes off the floor and folding them. Kageyama shuffles past him and gets back in bed where he curls up beneath the covers, exhausted.
Time passes. Hinata’s reading something; every now and then he hears pages turn. The sound is soothing; Hinata’s presence is soothing. They’ve become such close partners on the court that Kageyama has grown close to being near him, has come to expect the orange-haired boy to be right beside him at all times.
Has come to count on it.
He’s getting cold again, the heat from the bath fading. He burrows down more deeply into the bed, pulling the covers up past his nose.
“Kageyama?”
He shivers. “Cold.”
There’s a quiet step, then Hinata’s bending over him. He presses his hand against Kageyama’s forehead. “You’re still real hot. I’ll go see if you’ve got any medicine.” He disappears, leaving Kageyama cold and alone. He feels abandoned, deserted, left to freeze to death in his own bed. He coughs painfully, his throat sore.
Pathetic.
Hinata reappears eventually. He comes back into the room like the sunshine, Kageyama brightening as he steps over.
“Here; take this.” He leans over and pops a pill into Kageyama’s mouth, then lifts his head and puts a glass of water to his lips. Kageyama drinks, swallowing the pill. It rips against his throat on the way down, burning; he coughs.
“Kageyama?”
“…hurts.”
“Sorry. But you should feel better in a while. Do you want me to get you another blanket?”
His hand snakes out from under the duvet and catches Hinata’s wrist. “Stay.”
“Kageyama?”
“Stay,” he says again, tugging on Hinata’s wrist. The smaller boy tumbles forward, landing awkwardly on the side of the bed. “You’re warm.”
Hinata pauses for a moment. Then, slowly, he lifts the cover and slips in beside Kageyama. He’s delightfully warm, his skin soft over firm muscle. Kageyama pulls him closer, nuzzling his nose in against Hinata’s neck. Hinata takes a sharp breath but says nothing.
“Hinata?”
“Yes?” His voice is high, squeaky.
Kageyama sighs, eyes drifting closed. “You feel nice.”
***
Light. Noise.
Kageyama wakes up with his tongue stuck to the floor of his mouth, dry as paste. Sunlight’s filtering in through the blinds down onto his bed.
Beside him, under the covers, someone’s snoring.
Kageyama looks down and sees Hinata curled up against him, his face peaceful in sleep, his mouth partially open.
Hinata.
With him.
In his bed.
Kageyama recoils, rolling over and thumping into the wall, hard.
“Huh?” Hinata sounds bleary. “Kageyama?”
With two feet of empty bed safely separating them, Kageyama points at the middle blocker. “What are you doing in my bed?”
Hinata’s face scrunches up. “You don’t remember? You pulled me in here last night. Wow, I didn’t mean to sleep here all night…” He sits up and stretches like nothing happened, like he hadn’t been sleeping nestled against Kageyama all night.
“I did what?”
“You were sick – really feverish. I brought you home and looked after you. You don’t remember? Is your fever still here?” Without waiting for permission, without even signaling, Hinata ducks in and presses his forehead up against Kageyama’s.
Kageyama shoves him away, his face flushing. “Dumbass, what the hell’re you doing?”
“Checking for a fever,” says Hinata, matter-of-factly. “You feel okay but I dunno, your face is pretty red.”
“I’m fine!”
“How d’you feel?”
“I feel fine,” repeats Kageyama, pushing him out of the bed. “Get out. Go on.”
“Oh. Okay. I guess I’ll make some breakfast then. Might as well…” he stands; he’s still wearing most of his school uniform, like he didn’t get a chance to change out of it last night.
Kageyama’s memories are sketchy at best. He remembers feeling awful, remembers a pounding head and a sore throat and constant discomfort. Remembers… gruel? A bath? Warmth?
Did Hinata really take care of him? He looks up but the smaller boy is already gone, likely downstairs to prepare breakfast. Kageyama swings his legs over the side of the bed and runs his hands through his hair. He still feels a bit under the weather, but nothing like yesterday’s dull delirium.
He slowly gets up and goes over to his closet. His uniform’s been hung up – only Hinata could have done it. He pulls it off the hanger and changes into it, movements slow and careful. He doesn’t feel dizzy, just a little weak. Hungry.
He can’t remember when the last time he ate was.
Kageyama pulls on his socks and goes downstairs. Hinata’s bustling around the kitchen, making rice and heating miso soup on the stove. He’s wearing an apron, a brown one with Rilakkuma on it that Kageyama had given his mother years ago and which she never wears. “You’re… cooking,” says Kageyama, slowly.
“Sure. I do it all the time.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’ve been doing it since Natsu was little. Why, can’t you cook, Kageyama?” He looks over, grinning as he stirs the soup. Something about seeing Hinata in the kitchen looking like he belongs there, more competent than he is at anything other than sports, makes Kageyama’s chest ache. It’s weirdly domestic, but also weirdly appealing. Hinata looks good in the apron.
He wonders how, exactly, Hinata took care of him yesterday.
“Nope,” he says, sitting down at the table. “Mom does all that.”
“You should learn to help your mother out, Kageyama-kun! True sons don’t leave their mothers to do all the housework,” he says, sententiously. The rice cooker beeps and he turns, hurrying over to scoop out the rice into two bowls. He grabs chopsticks out of the drawer and brings them and the rice over to the table. Then he goes back and pours out the soup and brings that over too.
Kageyama tries some. “It’s good.”
Hinata blushes. “I-I-It’s just warmed-up left-overs. I didn’t make it. And I’m not making you lunch, you’ll have to buy bread!”
“Dumbass, what’re you getting so worked up about?”
“Nothing.” Hinata shakes his head forcefully then starts cramming rice into his face.
They finish breakfast in silence. When they’re done Hinata rises and takes away the bowls. “I’ll have you know usually I’d make you wash up. But since you’re probably still sick, I’ll do it. You need to save your energy.”
“Hn. Thanks.” He watches Hinata from behind as he bends over the sink and starts washing out the bowls. He looks good from behind – lithe but not skinny, and with a firm ass.
The same ass that was in bed with him last night. Kageyama coughs and Hinata looks over. “You okay?”
“Fine. You said… you were here taking care of me. How?”
“How?” Hinata tilts his head to the side, considering. “I made you rice gruel, and picked up your stuff, and got you bathed, and kept you warm.”
“Is that why you were in bed with me?”
“I told you – you pulled me in and wouldn’t let go. So I just… stayed.” He looks away. The back of his neck is turning red.
“Most people wouldn’t have,” says Kageyama, pressing.
“I guess I’m just a real fantastic friend, then!”
“Is that all?”
Hinata reaches out and turns off the sink, dumping the water out of the bowls and putting them upside down to dry. “What do you mean?” he asks, without turning around. His shoulders are high and stiff, his spine straight. His neck is, if anything, redder.
“I mean, was there any other reason you stayed?”
Hinata looks over slowly, head tilted low, his eyes watchful. “Like…?”
“Let’s review the facts. Unasked, you took me home, made me dinner, washed me, tucked me in bed, and then crawled in after me. That doesn’t sound like a friend.”
“Like a really good friend?” suggests Hinata.
“Like a boyfriend,” says Kageyama, calmly. He doesn’t know why he’s so calm. But… this almost seems like a logical evolution. He and Hinata have gone from enemies to rivals to friends to partners. Have grown closer than anyone else. Close enough that they always have each other’s backs, on or off the court.
And… he wants that closeness. Wants more of it. He wants Hinata in his arms, in his bed, in his life.
Hinata swallows.
Kageyama raises his eyebrows. “Well? Am I wrong?”
“…What if you’re not?”
“Then I want you to come over here and tell me you like me.”
Hinata turns fully around, reaches out and dries his hands on the front of the apron. He walks over stiffly, moving like a toy soldier, until he’s standing near attention in front of Kageyama. “I think… I like you,” he says, declaring it awkwardly as if he were speaking lines in a play and was stricken by stage fright.
Kageyama… I think I like you. He remembers his dream, suddenly. Remembers warmth and happiness and satisfaction.
Kageyama reaches up and catches hold of Hinata’s wrists and pulls him down to sit in his lap. “Me too,” he says in Hinata’s ear. The smaller boy shivers and looks up, amber eyes wide.
“Really?”
“Really.” He reaches up and runs his hands through Hinata’s bright hair; Hinata’s smile is like the sun. He leans in close, pressing his forehead up against Hinata’s. “I really want to kiss you. But better wait ‘til I’ve kicked this cold.”
Hinata snorts and, before Kageyama can do anything about it, tilts his head up to press their mouths together. His lips are soft and warm; they spread a fire through Kageyama and set his heart hammering.
“Dumbass, that –” he begins when they break away. But Hinata just smiles.
“I already spent last night in your bed, Kageyama. One kiss isn’t the end of the world.”
Kageyama sighs, and smiles. And then, hopefully: “What about two?”
END