Chapter Text
Give you the silence that only comes
when two people understand each other
It’s silence that permeates the hall this time. The kind of silence that’s full. The satisfying emptiness of an afternoon of a collection of brief touches on the ball, of eyes following every move of his teammates, of his opponents. Kageyama takes deep breaths as he finishes his round of stretches, the inside of his thighs groaning slightly as he arches to his left, fingertips gripping the toe of his shoe. Through the gaps in his sweaty fringe, he sees Hinata similarly cooling down, legs silhouetted in a diamond as he holds his feet together, elbows carefully pushing his knees down and face leaning forward until the musty scent of the floor floods his nose.
The rest of the team had already left for the change rooms half an hour ago; Hinata begged Kageyama to do a “few” more tosses in their absence. Even in their third year, Hinata’s thirst for playing, for staying on the court as long as he could, could never quite be quenched. It was only when Hinata overshoots one of his jumps and nearly crashes face-first into the net that Kageyama calls it quits for one day. Definitely not because his own knees were trembling and sweat was dripping so heavily into his eyes that his vision was continuously blurred.
The exhaustion that comes from playing is one Kageyama thinks could never be emulated. And the quiet that comes after is something he’s come to cherish. In their first year, Hinata and Kageyama wouldn’t even be able to go one conversation before bursting into raucous argument. Many chairs and countless bruises are the testimony to their banter. Kageyama likes to think that they’ve grown up a bit. At least now they have the decency to fight on the grass where the worst thing that could happen was a scraped knee and muddy streaks on their faces. The responsibility that weighs on their shoulders is a constant reminder that there’s no one else for him to look up to anymore, to look towards when he needs a guiding compass or comforting reassurance. Co-captaincy wears itself in the way Kageyama double-thinks every reprimandation, the way he presses rewind again and again late at night when he reviews games. He knows Hinata feels the same by the way he stills for a moment, momentarily contemplating whether he should shout the first thought that comes into his mind when they make announcements to their team but doesn’t. He’s grateful for the courteousness. But hesitation has never sat well on Hinata.
“Are you nervous about Nationals?” he asks, breaking their silence.
Kageyama takes a moment, looking inwardly and letting the question sit within him before he answers.
“No,” he replies. “We’ve trained and practiced as much as we could. There’s nothing else to do but go on the court and play.”
Hinata laughs at his straightforwardness.
“Of course,” he smiles, “even for Nationals, the King of the Court isn’t nervous.”
It’s only because no one else is here, Kageyama tells himself, that he leaps forward and tackles Hinata to the ground, hand on the crown of his head and ruffling the already messy curls. Somehow, he doesn’t find it disgusting- running his hand through sweaty, sticky hair. Somehow, he does find that his belly warms at the ensuing laughter from under him, Hinata’s eyes squeezed in mirth and arms flailing desperately to cease Kageyama’s tickling. He saves both pieces of information to analyse later like one of their plays and only stops when Hinata’s begs for mercy are mixed with tears forming at the corners of his eyes. His gaze was nowhere near threatening. But when his threatening gaze turns into a stare that doesn’t break, Kageyama has to still, hands remaining curled around Hinata’s waist and legs pinning his knees. Hinata’s head turns at an angle, curiosity evident in his eyes but not asking why Kageyama freezes. It takes five blinks and an arbitrary amount of breaths shared before Kageyama dismounts, careful to not put any excessive pressure on their sore limbs. He extends his hand, the action natural enough that he doesn’t question it anymore, but still a little strange by the way it stiffly lifts.
“Are you nervous?” he asks back, ignoring the shift in atmosphere.
A flicker of confusion dashes across Hinata’s face, coming and going too quick for Kageyama to be sure whether it actually happens. His concern fades at the bubbly reply Hinata gives.
“Yes!” he answers with a bounce of his feet. “But I think that makes everything even better.”
These are the words that Kageyama can't seem to stop thinking about when they go back to the changeroom.
Nervous? Is that what I felt?
When they’re on the bus to Tokyo.
Can I be nervous around Hinata ?
When Tsukishima’s watch beeps midnight the night before their game.
What am I nervous about ?
His mind spews countless of answers, theorises a thousand possibilities, but his mouth remains closed.
It’s the silent grin Hinata gives him, though, on their way to line up before the game, not a single tooth hidden and cheeks almost touching his eyes that quells Kageyama’s questioning. Who needs words when your silence answers everything.