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After much inner conflict and deep deliberation, Hinata has decided that Kageyama must be his best friend. Or the closest thing he has to a best friend. See, they spend every lunchtime together and have for what felt like years. They walk home after practice. They spend almost every day interacting with the other somehow, whether through volleyball, school or phone calls. They understand each other to an almost inhumane point; their teammates like to joke that they seem to be telepathic. And recently, they have started inviting the other round to their houses, telling their respective parents that it’s under the very ostensible excuse of homework. It’s a somewhat new installment on their ever growing friendship but the thought of it makes Hinata's spine shiver oddly out of excitement.
Hinata still hates him, of course. Every fibre in his being pulses in desires to beat him one day, a fact Hinata reminds Kageyama of often. They still argue frequently, such petty repeated little interactions that happen almost absently. Kageyama may be his best friend -or the closest thing- but that doesn’t stop Hinata reminding him of how scary his face is or how much he sucks or how grumpy and uncommunicative he can be. In return, Kageyama has no issue in giving a response just as unmitigatingly harsh, accompanied by a sharp kick or a scowl dripping in apparent annoyance.
He may hate him but Hinata is proud to say that he is the sole human (besides Kageyama’s family) that knows the setter the best. He knows how his shoulders rise slightly when he’s uncomfortable, he knows how he clenches his fists when he ponders for too long and too hard, he knows how deep and complex his face looks when he’s thinking of something as mundane as food, he knows how neat and tidy his room is until you open the wardrobe and he knows how soundlessly he sleeps, with his hand tucked in under his cheek and his mouth slightly open. Most importantly, he knows how his face relaxes slightly, the corner of his mouth turning upwards faintly, when he is happy.
He believes he knows everything possible about Kageyama. Hinata reckons that, like himself, Kageyama only cares about volleyball and food. That is until he’s proven completely and utterly wrong.
It’s a Saturday afternoon. A regular Saturday afternoon after morning practice and Hinata is at Kageyama’s empty house for a sleepover. He had pestered him about wanting to come over almost as soon as Kageyama had accidently let slip that his parents were out of town. Although Kageyama had scowled and frowned and thrown a fit like some little girl at the suggestion, he had eventually given in, telling Hinata that he’ll invite him over as long as he promises to shut up and never speak to him ever again. Hinata had just laughed. The small twitch in Kageyama’s mouth had told him that the setter was, despite his morose fasiade, a little excited at the prospect. And that made him feel giddy.
Currently, Hinata is stretched across Kageyama’s floor, re-reading his attempted maths homework. The numbers cause a confused mass in his brain, however, so he gives up and turns on to his stomach. He watches Kageyama chew on the end of his pen for a few moments before, in his impatience and boredom, starting a conversation.
"Hey, Kageyama?"
Kageyama doesn’t answer but, by the way he stops chewing his pen, Hinata can tell he is listening.
"Did you see that magazine some of the boys had today?"
Kageyama scoffs this time and turns his body slightly to look at Hinata.
"You mean the porn one?" he asks bluntly.
Hinata blushes at the word "porn". If Kageyama notices his flush, he doesn’t comment. He just raises his eyebrows in the classic skeptical Kageyama way.
"Y-yeah. Did you see it?"
Kageyama scoffs again. "No. I don’t care about that stuff." He sits back and Hinata watches as the clear signs of thought flicker across his forehead. Something tells him Kageyama is lying so he presses further.
"Really? You’ve never thought about girls and stuff before?" Hinata asks. He sits up and pulls his knees into his chest and attempts to give Kageyama his most scrutinising stare.
"No, dumbass," Kageyama looks angry, and his frown deepens that little bit more. That’s normally a sign for Hinata to back off but he chooses to carry on with the seemingly unsuccessful interrogation out of bursting curiosity.
"You’re lying. I bet you have a whole stash somewhere." He starts shuffling around the room, reaching out to open the drawers of Kageyama’s desk.
"What are you doing, idiot?" Kageyama says gruffly.
"Looking for your dirty magazines," Hinata beams. The drawers prove useless, just full of discarded homework and pencils. He pouts a little, rocking back on his feet. His back bumps against Kageyama’s bed. Wait. The bed. Of course. Under the mattress is the number one best spot for secret magazines. With a yelp of joy, Hinata flings himself by the bed and starts lifting up the mattress. He slides his hand under and his fingers brush against something hard. Something with pages. He’s about to pull it out triumphantly, his mind bubbling with excitement at the prospect of being able to horrendously tease Kageyama, when suddenly he feels a hand on the back of his shirt and he’s pulled violently back.
"Quit it." Kageyama almost shouts. He tugs him away from the bed and flings him across the otherside of the room. His face has turned beetroot red and his eyes seem wide with alarm. They blink at each other for a few moments until Hinata breaks the heavy silence with a loud laugh.
"Kageyama’s got a dirty magazine!" he screams in hysterics, his whole body shaking as more and more giggles rise to the surface.
"Shut up. I don’t!" Kageyama growls. He looks beside himself with fury, the urge to shout at Hinata bitterly is clear on his face, with his eyebrows drawn and his teeth gritted.
"I felt it!" Hinata sings, completely ignoring Kageyama’s wrath.
"I-it was a book I’m reading," Kageyama utters.
"Liar."
"It was!"
"It was a dirty magazine! You’re a dirty teenage boy." Hinata dances around Kageyama’s room.
"It wasn’t. Stop, Hinata or I’ll kick you out of my house!" Kageyama yells, his words thick with vituperation. He’s on his feet now and towers over the ecstatic Hinata. The smaller boy stops laughing and his eyes meet Kageyama’s. He gulps a little at how dark and morose they look; they are filled to the brim with murderous thoughts. Therefore, to save his own life, Hinata decides to leave the conversation there, resolving to check as soon as Kageyama leaves for the bathroom.
Neither mentions the magazine again. Not when they have dinner or when they watch a movie or when they play video games or when they argue over who was better at said video games. The magazine never once crops up in conversation. And Hinata is losing patience. His fingers itch to check under the mattress again; he desperately wants to know what type of dirty magazine a guy like Kageyama would own. But, as if he knows Hinata’s true intentions, Kageyama never leaves his side.
It isn’t until well late in the evening that Kageyama finally goes to the bathroom. He had let Hinata take a bath first, so now Shouyou lies against the futon set out for him, feeling clean and relaxed. He watches Kageyama rifle through his wardrobe and tries to act casual when the taller boy walks out.
As soon as he’s gone Hinata dives for the mattress, his greedy hands reaching out underneath. They grope around for a bit until he feels the contact of something hard and he pulls back. He grins, ready to see naughty pictures of petite girls at the beach. But instead, what comes away in his hand is a small, black book. There’s nothing on the front cover except a name, written in the top corner in white pen: "Kageyama".
Disappointment hits him like a ton of bricks. So it wasn’t a magazine after all. He dolefully regards the black book, as if blaming it for purposefully ruining his chances to berate Kageyama. An image of Kageyama’s mortified face from early resurfaces in his mind. Curiosity floods back into him once more as he wonders what had made Kageyama so reluctant to show him this seemingly regular object.
He opens the book at a random page.
Hinata truly believed that he knew everything about Kageyama. He thought his only interest was volleyball; it seemed his only talent (because he certainly wasn’t talented at schoolwork). Yet displayed before him is a new fact about Kageyama that Hinata would never have imagined in his wildest dreams.
Kageyama could draw.
Spread across the double page is a fully coloured drawing of Hinata. He sits in the middle of an empty court, hugging a volleyball. Sunlight filters down from a window and it colours the small boy and the ball in a hazy orange glow. In the picture, he is laughing; there’s a faint pink splashed across his cheeks and his eyes are big and creasing at the corner. Hinata can barely breathe. His finger reaches out and touches his features in the drawing. He traces the dotted freckles, the orange curls, the big grin. It’s beautiful, masterful, precise and detailed.
He gently turns the pages. There’s a few watercolours of random people he doesn’t know, a couple of landscapes, one gorgeous, meticulous acrylic of a bunch of flowers. However, most of the drawings feature Hinata in some way or another. As he slowly turns the pages, he sees rough sketches of him simply standing or sitting or jumping. There’s some cartoon ones, where his eyes seem to take up half his face. Sometimes he’s a figure standing against a stunning background, a shock of orange hair against a mountain scape or a deep starry sky. Other times he’s at an arcade, with bright neon lights splashing against his face. There’s a multitude of methods and materials, yet each drawing comes out looking just as breathtaking.
Hinata can’t believe it. Kageyama drew him? Kageyama knowingly drew him? Kageyama knowingly drew him in beautiful styles, with painfully accurate pencil strokes and mesmerizing details? Hinata’s brain is full of emotions. He’s overjoyed, he’s honoured, he’s embarrassed… but mostly he’s confused. Why him? Kageyama himself seems like a far better subject to draw, his features aren’t all wonky and messy like Hinata’s, and his straight, contained hair would be far easier to sketch than uncomfortably bright orange curls...
"Oh god." A voice jolts Hinata out of his reverie.
He turns to see an absolutely horrified Kageyama. His hair is wet from his bath and there’s a towel scrunched up in his shaking grip. His big grey t-shirt sticks to his chest and his bare feet seem to be barely able to keep him upright as he sways dangerously.
Hinata jumps violently and drops the book, which falls to the floor and flitters open to a watercolour of Hinata with flowers in his curls. Kageyama’s gaze falls to the book then slowly back up to Hinata’s face. His eyes are wide, mortified and his cheeks are red, redder than Hinata has ever seen them before. His lips quiver as he takes a few shaky steps back.
"Kageyama.." Hinata starts. "Don’t be embarr-"
But before he can finish, Kageyama turns around and flies out of his room. Hinata jumps up after him but Kageyama reaches the bathroom before he can catch him. Hinata groans when he hears the door slam, followed by the grating sound of it being locked.
He approaches the bathroom door slowly. He knocks on it gently and calls Kageyama’s name. There’s no reply. He sinks to the floor and presses his back against the hard of the door.
"Kageyama." he says again.
"Go away." comes a short, heavy reply. Kageyama seems to be speaking into his knees as his response is very muffled. Hinata can feel movement against the door and he realises that Kageyama, too, is sitting with his back pressed up against the frame. Hinata doesn’t listen to the taller boy’s demand that he leaves; rather he sits quietly for a few seconds, ceasing all movements.
"I love them," Hinata finally says. He knows that’s all Kageyama will need, a simple gesture of quiet reassurance. A long, poetic response would make him either angry or more humiliated or a mixture of both. Probably both.
He hears Kageyama’s breathing and he guesses he’s removed his head from his knees. There’s quiet for a few seconds, before Kageyama breaks it.
"You don’t think I’m weird?"
"I already think you’re weird."
Kageyama seems to mull this over for a moment.
"It’s just because you’re easy to draw. No other reason," he finally states. His voice is clearer now, less heavy.
"Ok." Hinata says, although personally he reckons there’s probably easier people to draw.
"You better not be mad," Kageyama says. The familiar harshness has returned to his voice, and Hinata can picture the exact scowl that’s on his face at this precise moment. He smiles at the thought.
"Gwahhh, you are so dramatic, Bakageyama," he says as he knocks his fist against the door lightly. He smiles more when he feels Kageyama also hit the door with his hand in return.
"I’m not dramatic."
"You are!" Hinata giggles. "You locked yourself in the bathroom, crying like a little girl because I found your secret talent."
Just as he expected, he feels Kageyama stand up abruptly on the other side of the door, the bruising to his pride causing him to quickly unlock the bolt. The door swings back to reveal a very dishevelled looking Kageyama, his hair still wet and his face now angry.
"I was not crying," he frowns. Despite the signature grimace, Hinata can see how bashful he looks, still blushing and sputtering out of humiliation. So he reaches out and pats Kageyama’s warm cheek in an attempt to be encouraging. It doesn’t really help though, because now both of them are embarrassed and they race back to Kageyama’s room in a stiff silence.
It isn’t until much later that Hinata brings up the drawings again. It’s night, very late judging from how dark the room is, and Hinata has an urge. So he whispers Kageyama’s name into the silent room.
From the bed above him, he feels someone move onto their side.
"What," Kageyama hisses in a haste reply. Hinata takes that as an opportunity to jump up onto Kageyama’s bed. Ignoring Kageyama’s vitriol, he settles himself beside him, letting their knees touch only a little.
"I really meant it," he says as he gropes about in the darkness for Kageyama’s hand. When he finds it, he nudges it slightly. He doesn’t know why he wants it. He just has an urge for some sort of touch.
"Meant what?" Kageyama mumbles, a little distracted with what Hinata is doing with his hand. He stiffens up as soon as Hinata touches him lightly, but relaxes a little as Hinata firmly threads their fingers together.
"Your drawings. I love them," Hinata shuffles around in the bed and Kageyama follows his movements until they can tell they are facing each other, their hands intertwined in front of them.
"Shut up. I don’t want to talk about them," Kageyama says sharply into the darkness.
"You drew me so beautifully," Hinata sighs happily, nudging his foot against Kageyama’s. He still doesn’t know why he feels the need to reach out and touch the taller boy but it feels important right now so he lets his body do what it so desires.
Kageyama doesn’t respond, but Hinata feels him tightening his grip around his fingers so he figures he’s grateful.
"Draw me again."
Kageyama seems taken aback if his sudden jolt is anything to go by. "What do you mean?" he whispers.
"I want you to draw me again and again and again and never stop." Hinata doesn’t really know where all this is coming from, maybe his mouth is working faster than his brain because he realises he wholeheartedly means every word.
"You can’t make me." Kageyama kicks at Hinata’s foot and even in the pitch black Hinata swears he can see a frown and he both curses and laughs at Kageyama’s argumentative personality.
"What if I give you something? Then will you draw me again?"
"Like what?" Kageyama replies skeptically, if not a little wary.
"Like this." And out of nowhere, Hinata finds himself leaning in and knocking his mouth against Kageyama’s. It’s sort of uncomfortable, and he thinks he only kissed half of his lips but he doesn’t care. Because at that moment his chest bursts and his heart throbs, as if relieved he did something he didn’t even know he was waiting and wanting to do.
He’s so caught up in the fast beating of his heart and his irregular breathing that he almost forgets about Kageyama. Almost. The taller boy hasn’t said a word yet, he’s so still that Hinata almost wonders if he’s dead. He can’t see his face for the darkness so he squeezes his hand to check if he’s still responsive. He grins when he gets a squeeze back.
"What did you do that for?" Kageyama’s voice sounds hoarse but bereft of the usual scorn that laces his tone. There’s no anger or bitterness behind his words, Hinata realises with a jolt. Instead, he just sounds curious. Hopeful maybe, if Hinata was feeling big-headed.
"Had an urge," the redhead says with a nonchalant shrug.
"You sucked." Kageyama says, trying to sound flippant.
"No I didn’t suck. You suck."
Kageyama breathes out a long deep sigh. "You suck the most."
Hinata doesn’t reply. He just shuffles onto Kageyama’s lap, tutting when the setter stiffens up. He burrows his head into Kageyama’s neck and wraps his arms around his back, leaning against him in a way that forces him to relax his body. He grins when he feels Kageyama hesitantly returning the embrace, his face in his curls.
"Hinata," Kageyama mumbles after what feels like a good couple of minutes of comfortable, quiet hugging.
"Yeah," Hinata replies lazily into Kageyama’s neck.
"I lied before. You are actually really hard to draw." Kageyama whispers, his fingers nervously winding an orange curl around themselves.
"Why’d you do it then?," Hinata asks.
"Because my drawings look dull without you in them," Kageyama mumbles.
After much inner conflict and deep deliberation, Hinata has decided that maybe he doesn’t actually know everything possible about Kageyama. Yes, he still remains a simple-minded idiot and yes, he’s grumpy and yes he scowls too much and yes, he’s freakishly good at volleyball and yes, Hinata hates him for it. But now he knows a different side to Kageyama. Big, scary Kageyama likes to draw. What’s more, he likes to draw Hinata.
Hinata has also learned something new about himself. He likes that Kageyama draws him. In fact, he likes it so much, he’ll be willing to kiss him again and again to make sure he never stops.