Chapter Text
Some people thrive in social situations. Crowds, loud chattering, booming music, all of it excites them. The bustle of people, sweaty, drunk, loquacious people, only mean new friends, new conversations, new stories. Extroverts flood to those raucous parties, with dazzlingly bright lights and thundering beats that reverberate right into your bones, like moths to a flame. Some people just thrive in social situations.
Kageyama is not one of those people.
He is already habitually uncommunicative in regular, day-to-day scenarios. Mindless chatter bores him to no end, loud laughter gives him a headache and he believes that every annoying, head-splitting, tiresome little extrovert deserves the electric chair.
Therefore, heading out to a bar on a Saturday night and having to endure hours and hours of tipsy, rowdy strangers and abysmally poor live music on some pathetic stage sounds like Kageyama’s worst nightmare.
Yet somehow, by the power rested in Oikawa Tooru and his vicious ways of blackmail, this is the exact situation he finds himself in presently.
So here he is, plastered so tightly between the two solid figures of Oikawa and Iwaizumi, unable to escape as they stand at the entrance of some dumb bar. He grimaces in disgust as the horrendous notes of the bar’s live band pierces his ears.
He can’t think of a more pitiful, torturous way to spend his birthday.
Oikawa glares at him, a sickly fake beaming smile smeared on his face. “Stop frowning. We’re celebrating our darling little Tobio-chan becoming even more of a big boy!”
Kageyama says nothing, but fixes him the most loathing look of abhor he could muster.
He curses the day he decided to take up their offer of rooming with them when he moved to the city, after accepting a sports scholarship from the nearby college. Although the apartment is quite big and relatively cheap, and they each get their own room (although the walls are a little too thin for Kageyama’s liking; he has to endure all the noises coming from Oikawa’s bedroom when a new guest comes to visit) and he does actually, deep inside, quite enjoy living with the pair, he still regrets the decision with every inch of his heart for leading him to this exact moment.
But, before he even has time to register anything, he is forcefully pushed inside.
The first thing he notices, as his eyes adjust to the bright lights of the blaring indoors, is the sheer size of the crowd. There are people everywhere. Milling around every table, clamouring about after every bartender, filling up nearly every square foot of floor space. The whole room seems alive; it’s a mutiny of too many conversations and too many clinking of glasses and too many missed notes of the next tedious song the band has decided to play. It’s overwhelmingly busy; there barely seems enough space to even breathe.
He blinks.
He feels himself being pulled through the tight stitching of the crowd by Oikawa’s firm grasp on his wrist as the older man audaciously barges past whoever necessary, ignoring the uproar he creates to get to the bar. Iwaizumi presses up close behind them, murmuring sharp apologies to all those Oikawa must have knocked.
Oikawa, with his unnervingly good luck and the grace of god, manages to locate 3 bar stools next to each other amid the heaving uproar. He sits triumphantly down in the middle one.
“A success,” he grins, leaning into Iwaizumi as he too takes a seat. Iwaizumi just tuts at him, before gesturing for a bartender and gruffly ordering 3 drinks.
“Bring shots too,” Oikawa begs, winking at the bartender who only blushes and scurries away.
Kageyama sinks into his seat. He takes a minute to process everything.
Firstly. He is incredibly uncomfortable. There is too much overwhelming chatter and loud laughter and tiresome extroverts for his brain to handle. This, simply put, is hell.
Secondly, the seats Oikawa found are unfortunately situated a little too close to the small stage the bar has to offer. Kageyama can hear every squeak of the out of tune guitars and every missed beat of the drums.
Thirdly. He needs some alcohol. Kageyama isn’t much of a drinker, but dire conditions such as these call for dire coping mechanisms.
When the bartender arrives with their drinks and a line of shots, Kageyama is nearly unable to restrain himself from downing the whole lot. However, he waits politely.
“I propose a toast.” Oikawa hands each of them a shot glass. He raises his in the air, and waits for the others to follow suit. “To Tobio-chan. We hope you have a wonderful birthday, no matter how much we despise you.”
And with that, they drink.
The bitter liquid burns down Kageyama, sending his senses into overdrive. A warm, fuzzy feeling sets in the pit of his stomach, and he smiles in satisfaction as the noise of the bar muffles a little.
It doesn’t take long for another shot to follow. Then another. And another.
The bar becomes a little fuzzier as he gets a little drunker. Oikawa and Iwaizumi exchange petty little comments with each other for a while, and Kageyama makes no effort to listen. He can barely hear the band anymore, so he doesn’t even notice when they stop playing and leave the stage.
After what feels like a good couple of hours of steadily getting more intoxicated, Kageyama somehow notices a sudden shift in the atmosphere. Where there was once roaring laughter and boisterous conversations, there is now a quiet feeling of anticipation. The room seems to be holding its breath.
Kageyama looks around him, and notices everyone’s attention seems to be turned to the stage. He shifts in his chair and wonders what on earth has had such a profound effect on the once untamed, rowdy room.
His gaze falls on a small figure.
Any effect the alcohol had on him falls away at an instant and sobriety hits him in the face.
He lets out an audible gasp.
For there, standing alone on the dirty stage, adjusting the mic slowly, stands the most captivating person Kageyama has ever seen.
The stranger’s hair is wild and undomesticated. Like a bonfire against a sunset, there are hundreds of shades of orange in each curl; they erupt around his head in a clashing but mesmerising riot of vivid colours. There’s makeup on his face, a smudge of sparkling colour around his big hazel eyes and across his round cheeks. His eyelashes are long, irresistibly long and dark; they seem to brush against his cheeks every time he blinks into the crowd. His lips are painted with a light red tint, and Kageyama feels his chest twist whenever the stranger’s face breaks out into a beaming smile.
He must only stand at 5’7’’ (if Kageyama is being generous) but never before has there been more life, more joy, more energy in one tiny person.
The figure stretches out his hand and waves for silence. Soft music begins to filter through the room, although Kageyama can’t bring himself to even begin to work out from where this gentle sound originates from. Instead he watches as the orange-haired person takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and starts to sing.
The voice that greets Kageyama’s ears is unwaveringly clear. There’s a strength behind every note; an emotion behind every tone. The singing darts, dives and soars with the music; they merge together to create an enchanting sound, blessing all those that sway under the song’s bewitching presence.
Kageyama’s gaze never once leaves the small man on the stage. His voice is achingly beautiful, it’s layered with unfiltered joy but also a numbing loneliness; the stark juxtaposition has Kageyama enraptured. It brings out an indescribable feeling within him, a bubbling, gleaming feeling far more superior to the buzz of alcohol.
He watches the singer’s face, studying the way his smile widens at the sight of a truly charmed audience. His body sways in time with the music and his feet tap with the beat. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes light up.
Suddenly. Those eyes, those bright gleaming eyes, are locked with Kageyama’s.
They stare at each other, and the man’s gaze is just as unwavering as the sound of his voice. Time distorts, people disappear, the lights dim. Everything falls away. All Kageyama can see are those deep, welcoming, brown eyes, those sparkling lids, and those black lashes. The man’s eyes seem to study his face for a little while and Kageyama swears he sees a flash of some unrecognisable emotion surge through them. His heart bursts.
Then it’s over. The stranger turns his head away, breaking eye contact. Time begins again, and Kageyama is suddenly aware of a hand on his shoulder.
He looks up to see Iwaizumi standing above him, with a very un-sober looking Oikawa hanging off his arm.
“Oikawa has drunk himself into a stupor, the selfish bastard,” he growls.
Oikawa just hiccups and giggles into his shoulder.
“I’m sorry Tobio, I think we better head back,” Iwaizumi continues, scowling at Oikawa. “We can order some food or something once we sort this stupid fucker out.”
Kageyama, still in a state of daze, just nods. He rises, and his knees seem to shake a little, but he grabs Oikawa’s arm and helps Iwaizumi support him. Together, they hobble him towards the exit.
The singer’s voice still surges through the room, as alluring and appealing as ever. It whispers in his ear, begging Kageyama to come back, to stay and listen to it for some time longer. And he wants to stay. He wants to give in to its gentle lullaby so desperately.
But, with a heavy heart, he throws one last glance at the hypnotic figure on the stage, before turning around and staggering out into the cold, dark air of reality.
||
He returns exactly a week later.
He returns to that bustling, overrated bar he had regarded with such abhorrence only 7 days prior. His feet just seem to direct him towards the place, as if they have minds of their own. He can’t say he’s thrilled to be back but the aching feeling of discontent that has plonked itself in his stomach the minute he left last week needs to be satisfied. So he supposes he might as well try and see if the singer is performing again.
He’s alone this time. He lied to Iwaizumi and Oikawa, claiming he had been invited to some late dinner with a friend. The lie was blatant and obvious; they knew Kageyama, being new to the city and an unsociable little shit, had no friends other than them. But they hadn’t pressed much, and he was able to leave with nothing but a sceptical raised eyebrow from Oikawa. Kageyama suspected they were just glad for the free apartment.
He’s a little later this time but the bar is still at a pinnacle of customers. With difficulty, he finds a seat somewhat close to the stage. The platform is empty at the moment apart from an incongruous placed mic stand and a long twisting cable that snakes its way around the edges of the stage. Kageyama tunes out the annoying conversations happening around him and orders a drink, much weaker to whatever he was drinking last time.
He sits, and he waits.
The stage remains empty.
Time ticks by and still there’s no sign of the small singer. Kageyama feels oddly betrayed. He’s not sure what he expected. Fuck, he doesn’t even know why he was so affected by the performance. It’s all he was able to think about in the past week, the way the boy looked on stage, so profoundly confident and lively. Kageyama doesn’t really get emotional over such farcical things like singing, but god, that voice made him feel things on such a deep level. It was like an outer body experience.
A sudden cacophonous giggle breaks up his thoughts. It’s as if it is right in his ear, loud and obnoxious, ringing out frustratingly. The owner of such an irritating sounding laugh seems to be sitting behind Kageyama, a good few feet away. He doesn’t look up at whoever they are but stares down at his drink, trying to focus his mind back on track.
There it is again. God what an maddening sound. The giggler now breaks out into a nosy conversation with whoever they are sitting with, just behind Kageyama. It’s a tumultuous tumble of words; none of them seem to make sense, just a jumble of infuriatingly loud sounds, and it’s giving Kageyama a headache.
They squawk louder and louder and Kageyama’s patience gets smaller and smaller
“Will you just keep it down?” he finally exclaims furiously. He spins around and glares down at the bothersome offender.
His mouth hangs open.
For the 2nd time in his life, Kageyama’s eyes meet those bright hazel ones. Except this time, instead of glittering with excitement, they are darkened with anger.
“Excuse me?” The small singer, the very same man that has been on Kageyama’s mind since the moment he lay eyes on him last week, jumps up from his chair. “No need to be so rude.” Those bright, vividly orange curls bounce around his head as he moves.
Kageyama’s feet seem to act of their own accord, for even when his brain screams at them to stay put, they too force him out from his seat.
“Well, stop being so obnoxious and I won’t have to be rude,” he hears himself say forcefully, towering over the orange haired man.
“I may be obnoxious but at least I’m not cruel.” The smaller man grits his teeth and balls his hands up into fists.
Kageyama takes a step back. Realisation hits him. That incredible singer he saw that night, with that spellbinding presence and dazzling voice is nothing but a loud-mouthed, overzealous extrovert.
He sinks back into his chair.
“How disappointing,” he murmurs.
“Disappointing?” the man challenges. “What do you mean?”
“Shou. I’m leaving.” A tired voice interrupts the disagreement. For the first time, Kageyama becomes aware of the man behind the singer. He regards Kageyama coldly, before turning to the orange haired man.
“Are you coming or staying?” he mumbles quietly.
“I’ll hang around here for a bit. See you Kenma.” the redhead answers softly.
Huh. Kageyama’s heart skips a little at the way the singer’s voice sounded just there. So soft, so gentle and so affectionate. His softer tones, it seems, holds the same steady comfort as his beautiful singing.
However, the gentleness is short-lived, for as soon as that Kenma person leaves, the short man rounds on Kageyama again.
“Well. What did you mean by “disappointing?” he squeaks, the volume raised once again.
Kageyama scowls at him. “It means nothing.”
“Gwaaa, you look scary when you scowl.” The man resumes sitting, and glares at Kageyama, with his arms folded. “I want to know what you meant.”
Kageyama feels an annoyance flooding into him. Of course the little brat, the very beautiful, adorable, bright little brat is persistent. He really doesn’t like him. Although looking at him makes his heart leap and his brain explode with euphoria and his eyes flash with desire, he really doesn’t like him.
“Tell me what you meant now!” the orange brat cries.
“Fine.” Kageyama snaps. Patience was never his virtue.
“I just thought you would be someone amazing after I heard you sing. I’ve never witnessed something so captivating in my life, so I really thought you would be special. But it turns out you are nothing more than a frustrating little brat with a loud mouth and too much to say. Disappointing.”
He grimaces at the end of this little declaration; he hates speaking for long. He stares down at the man in front of him and he’s surprised to see shining eyes gazing at him.
“You think I’m captiating.”
Kageyama frowns. “I think you’re annoying.”
“Annoyingly captivating,” the man returns, winking. All traces of anger seem to have disappeared from the ginger boy.
“I called you a brat?” Kageyama can’t wrap his head around why this little angry fireball isn’t biting his head off right now, especially after such a vehement display of anger earlier.
“You don’t really mean it though. I can tell. You think I’m captivating.”
Kageyama’s heart beats a little faster, and he curses himself for it. It’s true that this stranger is overly noisy and does have an annoyingly squeaky voice when he talks, but his mesmerising presence is still very much present. Kageyama can’t take his eyes off him.
“I’m Hinata Shouyou,” the man beams, shuffling his chair forward.
“Kageyama Tobio,” he retorts back shortly.
“Gwaa, you’re so grumpy Kageyama”.
He feels himself jolt at hearing his name coming from a foreign mouth. It sounds, dare he say, almost cute.
“So you’ve watched me sing before huh?” Hinata grins, nudging him playfully in the side. Kageyama flinches at the contact, but feels oddly doleful when Hinata pulls away.
“Last week,” he answers.
Recognition flashes across Hinata’s face. His eyes wander past Kageyama’s dark fringe and down to his shoulders; Kageyama feels himself heat up at being observed with such scrutiny.
“I remember you,” Hinata finally breathes.
Kageyama splutters incredulously. Their eyes had met for only a couple of seconds. Surely Hinata was mistaken.
Hinata, taking in his look of disbelief, shuffles forward even closer.
“No, I do. You were the one sitting over there.” He gestures off to his right, his small hand pointing at the exact seat Kageyama had indeed dwelled in last week.
“I remember your really broad shoulders.” Hinata’s cheeks flame up when he says this, although despite this embarrassment, he presses on all the same, apparently unable to put on a filter. “You had this really intense stare, but you looked happy, I guess. Nice.”
A heavy pause falls between them. Hinata’s eyes bore into him, as if waiting for a snarky comment or an insult. But Kageyama can’t bring himself to say anything, vitriol or not.
“But who knew you would end up being such a grump,” Hinata finally beams, breaking the intense silence.
This dig snaps Kageyama out of his state of speechlessness and, upon an instinct he didn’t know he had, his hand reaches out and violently grabs Hinata’s bright orange curls, holding them tight between his long fingers.
Hinata sputters under Kageyama’s grasp, and tries to escape.
“Ow, that hurts Kageyama. Let go,” he screeches, squirming around in his seat.
The volume of Hinata’s cries attracts the attention of the crowd around them, and they all turn and stare at the little scene with great disgust.
Kageyama becomes aware of the spectators and slowly releases Hinata from his grasp, his hand shaking slightly. Hinata rubs at his head, staring angrily up at Kageyama. He seems unaware of the attention they are receiving, for he forcefully says- loudly and clearly so that the whole bar could hear him- “Kageyama, you are such a meanie.”
“Shut up, dumbass,” Kageyama whispers at him, inclining his head towards all the pointed stares. He rolls his eyes as realisation hits Hinata in the face.
There’s a bartender in front of them now, and he clears his throat. Both men jump a little, before bashfully looking up at him. The bartender scowls at Kageyama but his features soften as he regards Hinata, apparently with familiarity.
“Ah, Hinata-kun. Can you keep it down,” the bartender says.
“Sorry man. I sometimes forget how to use my indoor voice’” Hinata grins innocently.
The bartender returns his smile, then leans down closer towards Hinata. His voice drops to a whisper. “Is that man bothering you,” he asks, nodding subtly at Kageyama.
Hinata’s grin widdens. “No, no, not at all,” he reassures. “He’s just got a strange sense of humour.”
The bartender glares at Kageyama coldy, obviously not convinced, but still retreats back into the shadows of the bar.
Once he’s gone, Kageyama averts his eyes from Hinata’s gaze. “Um, s-sorry,” he says stiffly.
Hinata only laughs. It’s a soft laugh this time; it sounds like the gentle ringing of bells. A warm feeling, not all too different to the one Kageyama experienced when hearing him sing, floods into his body.
“You sound pained when you apologise,” Hinata laughs.
“Dumbass,” is all Kageyama reports with.
He doesn’t know how, when or why it happens, but after that, they seem to fall into quite an easy conversation, albeit strange and unfamiliar. It involves mostly teasing and insults and the occasional yelp of pain when Kageyama kicks Hinata when he gets a bit carried away with the mocking. But, for the first time in his pitiful, unsociable life, Kageyama seems to be enjoying what can only be categorised as mindless chatter. Although the conversation sometimes steers towards reflecting the sort of petty arguments Iwaizumi and Oikawa often have, Kageyama can’t bring himself to end it and walk away. Maybe, by some miracle, Kageyama has finally found an extrovert, although still a dumb and annoying extrovert, that doesn’t deserve the electric chair.
“Hey. How come you came here alone,” Hinata finally asks. “Were you meant to meet someone?”
Kageyama doesn’t answer. He knows exactly why he came but he detests the idea of telling Hinata, who will surely use it as an excuse to reel off into a fit of giggles.
When he doesn’t answer, Hinata looks a little startled. He peers at Kageyama, and Tobio knows he must have noticed the faint blush that has settled on his cheeks.
“Has the great, mysterious, handsome Kageyama Tobio been stood up?” he cries joyfully, his laughter ringing loud.
This proves too much for Kageyama, who’s entire face floods with a startling red colour, a mix of fury, embarrassment and bashfulness.
“H-handsome?” he only manages to utter.
Hinata’s face seems to mirror his own, his features are pulled into an expression of shock like he can’t quite believe those words left his mouth.
“Y-yeah. Handsome.” Hinata stares down into his lap.
“You think I’m handsome?” Kageyama says softly, surprised at his own gentle tone.
“Well, you think I’m captivating.” Hinata rears his head quickly, a look of determination on his face.
Kageyama just stares at him. Hinata stares back.
A beat.
“I came here to see you, dumbass. I wanted to see you perform.” Kageyama answers Hinata’s previous question quietly. He figures there was no point in lying, and besides, Hinata thinking he got stood up makes him feel more infuriated than if he knew the real reason.
He bears himself for relentless teasing.
It never comes.
Instead, he feels a tight grasp on his wrist. Hinata pulls him up from his chair and drags him towards the exit of the bar, never once letting go of his wrist. His small fingers dig painfully in, deep enough to bruise. Kageyama is momentarily taken aback by the overwhelming strength that hides in the deceitful small figure.
He allows himself to be pulled into the crisp, night air.
Hinata walks down the street with incredible purpose. He never once speaks, and the determined silence startles Kageyama.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asks angrily.
“No,” Hinata returns, pulling him round a corner and down a street Kageyama doesn’t recognise.
“Then where are we going?” Kageyama feels utterly bewildered and he dislikes being confused. It hurts his head.
“I’m bored of the bar,” is all Hinata offers.
“Hey, look.” Kageyama stops walking. “You can’t just kidnap me like that. You’re just some random stranger I saw at a bar - for all I know, you are leading me to my death.”
Hinata takes a step back, dropping (Kageyama registered with a regretful pang) his tight grip on his wrist.
“Don’t you trust me?” he says with a grin.
Kageyama realises the answer is, in fact, yes. For some bizarre reason, Kageyama can’t help but blindly trust this small man. He’s only been speaking to him for a matter of hours, but a blanket of familiarity has settled over the pair, like they have known each other their whole lives. The conversation he’d been having with Hinata felt easy, each word leaving a strange sense of closeness. The chatter had lacked the normal viscosity that haunted Kageyama whenever he interacted socially.
“I do,” he answers.
An unreadable expression flashes across Hinata’s face, resting across his features momentarily. Kageyama blinks and it’s gone, instead replaced by that familiar grin.
Hinata resumes his grip on Kageyama’s wrist (he’s definitely going to leave a bruise) and continues his journey.
They walk in silence, Kageyama is too occupied with the sheer speed of this quick jaunt through some random side streets to make conversation. Hinata is unbelievably fast and his speedy pace never once wavers. Everything about this boy seems to have inhumane levels of stamina.
Finally he comes to a halt.
They stand facing a shop front, cozied in the middle of a long row of stores. The shutters are tightly pulled close, and the small sign that hangs over the door, in big block capitals, reads “CLOSED”.
Of course. Hinata, the dumbass, must have forgotten the very late hour. Like some random store would be open at this time of night. Kageyama is about to open his mouth and retort on this, ready to vociferate about wasting his time and not thinking ahead, when he’s stopped by the jangle of keys.
Hinata fiddles with the lock of the door before triumphantly tugging it open and turning on the lights of the shop. He beckons Kageyama in with a very proud grin, and Kageyama briefly wonders why he looks so smug.
He steps into the interior of the shop. Hinata’s look of self-satisfaction is instantly explained. The place is wonderful.
It’s a coffee shop. But also a record shop. Simultaneously.
Across the brick walls are shelves and shelves of vinyls. Some appear second-hand, with covers so faded it looks as if they’ve been around for hundreds of years. However, there’s some new records too, like the bright, heavily-photoshopped, vaporwave albums of the modern day. Every vinyl ever created seems to be displayed on those walls; there’s a multitude of languages and styles and popularity. Each record has been categorised neatly into rustic wooden crates, labelled with handwritten notes describing the genre or the time period.
Wooden tables, carrying the same rustic vibe as the crates, have been scattered across the laminated flooring of the store. Behind the large coffee counter, a black board displays the menu, written up in the same neat, printed handwriting as the labels. There’s low hanging lights that cast a warm glow around the store and bright fairy lights wind their way up and across the walls, snaking in between the shelves. Plants are placed everywhere too: long ivy vines, giant swiss cheese plants, potted aloe vera, tiny earth stars. Each plant sits grandly in its own hand painted pot. The healthy shades of green work wonderfully with the warmer tones of the brick walls and wooden tables.
This place looks loved. The hours and hours of work that must have gone into making the shop into the warm, pleasing sight that greets Kageyama’s eyes now is so painfully apparent.
He looks at Hinata. The boy is radiating. He looks truly at home.
“N-nice,” Kageyama begins, his voice cracking a little.
Hinata bounds over to him. “Do you like it? Do you like it?”
Kageyama looks around, a little lost for words. “Hinata, this place is-“
But he can’t finish. He doesn’t have the words to even begin. Hinata looks at him, delight brimming in his eyes and Kageyama realises he doesn’t need to voice his praise at all. Hinata can read the awe he is feeling.
“This place is my child. I own it. Well, co-own it,” Hinata beams. He wanders over to one wall and fondly begins flicking through the vinyls in the nearest crate.
“Music is my everything,” he continues. “So it’s been my dream to open a record shop for soooooo long. I wanted to create a place where music lovers can come and drink some coffee and listen to some tunes. I just want to show more people how beautiful and meaningful music can be!’
He finishes his little tangent with a dramatic hand over his heart. He looks so sincere, so innocently unabashedly proud that Kageyama can’t quite help himself.
He snorts loudly.
“You are such a dumbass,” he chortles.
“Meanie,” Hinata cries loudly. Before Kageyama can register what’s happening, a shock of orange hair darts his way. He feels arms wrapping around his torso, pushing him back so hard he loses his balance. He lands on the floor with a loud gruff, and a smaller figure dives on top of him only seconds later.
“Get off me, you brat,” he yells as he tries to claw Hinata out the way. But Hinata clings tight to his torso, keeping both of them rendered immobile on the ground.
“This is what you get for being so mean, Bakageyama,” Hinata giggles.
“Bakageyama?” Kageyama growls. That’s the final straw. He uses every being of strength he has to try and pull himself off the floor and send Hinata flying in the opposite direction. He succeeds in both.
Now he stands towering over Hinata, who still remains on the floor. They stare at each other, Hinata wearing a massive grin. Kageyama feels heat rising up his body, flushing his cheeks. He clears his throat, his gaze never leaving Hinata’s sparkling eyes.
“Show me how beautiful and meaningful music is then,” he demands.