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Kageyama hasn’t drawn for as long as he can remember. Ever since volleyball took over his life, everything else had seemed a little less significant. Sometimes, when he’s bored, he might sketch a little, on any surface available. Gray lines of a hand, curves of a volleyball, the droop of the net.
He finds it a good way to express, some days, when nothing is going his way and no one understands what he’s trying to convey (he’s used to it by now, but it still hurts occasionally). Almost loses himself in art on such days, trying to forget everything around him (he’s never been good at that), only to be roused by his mother’s calls for dinner. Kageyama stares at the sheets of graphite-stained paper littered around him, briefly at the abandoned volleyball sitting quietly in a corner, thinks there’s something wrong with me.
He draws less often as he grows older and stronger, when people shrink away from him and him from people, finding it much easier to breathe without interaction.
It isn’t until he gets benched then his fingers itch for paper and a pencil again.
*
Karasuno had been a change, away from the teammates who cost him what he enjoyed. Kageyama hadn’t been expecting Hinata Shouyou, hitting himself in the head with the ball he had just launched in the air when the other boy had flung open the gym doors.
Hinata Shouyou was still as short as ever, annoying as ever, hair as orange as ever.
Kageyama does not dislike Hinata Shouyou. He realizes— had realized on the bench—that he is jealous of Hinata; his stamina and reflexes, the way he draws the eye of everyone with his bright and exuberant nature, the way he can communicate so flawlessly with people. Hinata Shouyou does not need pictures and pencils to communicate, just does so with an infectious smile and his overwhelming personality.
The worst (best) thing, Kageyama thinks, to come out of attending Karasuno is the way Hinata so unabashedly tries to get to know him, undeterred by his aloofness after some advice by Sugawara-san. Karasuno had been a change, away from his teammates, right into a new friend and something that just might be a family.
Kitagawa Daiichi was nothing like this, and neither was his life before. It is extremely unfamiliar, like teetering on the precipice of an abyss. Just when Kageyama thinks the plunge might just be worth it, Hinata comes up from behind and shoves him straight off the edge.
*
One evening, when Hinata is over and the both of them are sprawled on Kageyama’s bedroom floor together with their homework, is when it hits Kageyama, like the volleyball Hinata had served into the back of his head. He wants this, wants him and Hinata half-heartedly squabbling about whose English grade is better, wants to keep playing volleyball together, wants to walk home side-by-side after practice, stuffing their faces with meat buns.
The best thing might just be how Hinata, for lack of a better word, gets him. He knows he’s difficult to talk to, various examples being Kitagawa Daiichi and the numerous times Hinata’s complained about his unclear explanations, but despite his complaining, Hinata seems to click with him. He knows what exactly riles Kageyama up, what can pull him out of his worse moods, and says the right things at the right moments. Everyone who sees the back-and-forth are impressed, Kageyama himself included.
The worst thing is probably how Kageyama might be falling in love.
No matter how dense he may be, or how ignorant of social norms he may come across as, Kageyama knows that this is one relationship he shouldn’t, and isn’t, going to fuck up. So he keeps his mouth shut, goes on with life per normal, and pretends his heart doesn’t wrench when Hinata shows interest in a girl.
Kageyama’s fingers hasn’t itched since that day on the bench, but he wants to capture Hinata, the expressions and movements solely reserved for him, down on paper before he can lose them. He doesn’t because that would be creepy, and Hinata never stays long enough in one spot anyway.
At least, that’s what he tells himself.
*
It comes up, as all things about either of them eventually would. Golden Week training camp might be a hardcore training session, but there are nights for revision, especially for those who did not do well in their exams. Tanaka- and Noya-san are both working hard, scribbling furiously in their books under the watchful eye of Daichi. Kageyama should be, too, but the Math question in front of him has him stuck. How differential calculus would be useful in his future as a professional volleyball player, he would never know.
He’s completely oblivious to the movements of his pen until Hinata leans over his arm and points out the eye inked in blue against the page of his Mathematics textbook. Kageyama flushes and hastily scratches it out, knowing full well whose eye he would have sketched.
“You can draw?” Kageyama bristles at the implications of Hinata’s disbelieving whisper.
“None of your business, dumbass,” he snaps back, despite knowing that it would lose some of its bite when delivered with his face still this red. He turns back to the question and concentrates, almost drilling holes into the book with the intensity of his stare, but it doesn’t work.
He doesn’t have high hopes about Hinata just dropping it, but when Hinata whispers “you draw well” after a brief moment Kageyama jerks his head up to see Hinata red to the roots of his flaming hair. Kageyama sinks his fingers into Hinata’s hair and pulls, because it’s the expected response of him, but he lets go more quickly than usual.
The best (worst) thing is, he doesn’t have to explain why. Hinata knows, understands, and smirks at him.
*
During a period of rest, when the nationals, friendlies, and exams are all over, Hinata broaches the topic again. They’re in Hinata’s room this time, Kageyama beside Hinata on the floor, backs resting against the bed. Rain hammers against the windows; volleyball is definitely out of the question. Kageyama is wracking his brain for something interesting to do and he’s pretty sure Hinata is too, until Hinata asks “Why don’t you draw anymore?”
Kageyama feels his throat dry up when he finds he doesn’t really have an answer to the question. “Don’t know,” he manages as casually as he can, “volleyball happened.” He knows it’s not completely true, but what else can he say?
Hinata looks like he’s bursting with questions, but he won’t ask most of them, because he doesn’t question Kageyama’s past, is determined to make him forget about people who didn’t give a shit about knowing him. But what he does say, after swallowing down the rising questions, takes Kageyama utterly by surprise.
“Can you draw me?”
In the dim room, Hinata’s face is half-hidden but he is definitely red. Kageyama can feel blood rushing to his face as well, heating up his cheeks. Draw Hinata? “It’s not like we have anything else to do!” Hinata splutters, arms flailing. No, he can’t do that.
“No,” Kageyama says, turning away. He doesn’t want to see the disappointment in Hinata’s face (since when had he cared so much for another person?), doesn’t want Hinata to see even a sliver of conflict that might show on his face (he really wants to, fingers already curled around his pen). “You fidget too much, dumbass.” He adds, in response to the unasked question of why.
Hinata falls silent. The afternoon is passed sitting in darkness, listening to the drumming of rain outside. Kageyama thinks Hinata has fallen asleep, the rhythmic rise and fall of his soft breathing soothing his frayed nerves from the innocuously-enough question, when he gets up to retrieve paper and a pencil.
Before he realizes what he’s doing, a network of lines and curves has already spiraled out from under his pencil, forming the beginning strands of wayward hair.
*
Kageyama forgets all about the drawing, or tries the best he can (he’s not very good at the forgetting business if Hinata has to refrain from asking about Kageyama’s past) until the day he walks to the nurse’s office with Hinata and a broken nose because the latter had tried to jump up and kiss him with zero warning, which only resulted in Kageyama being headbutted in the face. It’s an effort, regardless, but Hinata looks so guilty that Kageyama stops to buy meat buns when they walk home together and shoves the warm paper bag into Hinata’s hands outside the store.
“If you wanted to you could have just told me,” Kageyama mutters. Dammit, why does he blush so easily? Hinata looks up from where he’s stuffing his cheeks. “I-I was trying to be cool!” Hinata defends, a little indignantly. “You know, all gwaah and paaah like those in the movies!”
“You’re already cool” slips out of Kageyama’s mouth, and he leans down to kiss Hinata before he can say something even more embarrassing.
Hinata tastes like meat buns, which should be disgusting, but it's Hinata.
*
Sunlight filters through the white curtains; coyly peek in through the gap in between. It lights upon orange hair, igniting a crown of flames. Kageyama sits at the foot of the bed, pencil darting back and forth on the paper. There are many other recreations like this, on previous pages, of different angles and expressions, drawn at different points of the day. Kageyama thinks he likes these best, blossoming in the silence of dawn, only broken by the whisper of graphite over paper.
Also, it gives him an excuse to observe Hinata, sprawled out on the rumpled sheets the same way he did on Kageyama’s bedroom floor years ago, drooling copiously. Hinata, who understands him despite complaints of confusion, who spikes his tosses like they’re the best thing in the world, who unabashedly knows, and wants to know him.
He drew to express, hasn’t needed to ever since Hinata Shouyou barged into his life and understood him perfectly, taught him how to open up to others as well. Combining the two things which gave him voice only seems appropriate.
Kageyama completes the shading of the folds and flips through the sketchbook for any half-completed sketches when something flutters out between two pages somewhere in the middle. I found this when we were unpacking, the scrawl across the back reads, I think I know when you drew this because I wasn’t asleep, I was thinking what else we could do!
Kageyama knows what he’s holding before even turning it over. He’s never been that good at forgetting, anyway.