Work Text:
Hinata’s lungs burned. His legs ached, his breath hitched, his brain was going a million miles a minute. And all it circled back to was Kageyama, Kageyama, Kageyama.
His name was like a plant rooted firmly in his brain. Like the sand that stayed on the shore as the waves washed everything else away.
Kageyama, Kageyama, Kageyama.
Four syllables that he had always loved to yell, whether he was angry or sad or happier than ever.
Four syllables that felt like honey, like harmony, like home in his mouth.
Four syllables that gave him a sense of comfort, all because of the response that always followed.
Four syllables he had screamed for what felt like forever.
Four syllables that now felt like doom, like discord, like death in his mouth.
Four syllables that formed the name of the person he wanted, no, needed most.
Four syllables he no longer loved to yell.
He couldn’t remember how long he’d been running, how long he’d been screaming and crying and kicking. He must’ve been a long way from the hospital right now.
He felt guilty, he really did, but he couldn’t .
Couldn’t keep himself from crying while Kageyama just laid there.
Couldn’t hold the need to walk up to him, touch him, to remind himself that this was real.
Couldn’t shake the urge to shatter the hospital’s bathroom mirror into a thousand little pieces, enough to match his heart.
Couldn’t stop his mind from wandering back to that morning, back to the sound of bones and metal meeting, crashing, breaking.
He couldn’t, he couldn’t, he couldn’t .
He didn’t want to relive it, he’d break, his flesh would tear and his blood vessels would burst. He couldn’t.
He did.
He saw himself and Kageyama walking hand in hand, fingers brushing over each other ever so slightly, ever so shyly.
They had done it. They had finally done it. After years of pining and wanting and “will we or won’t we” they’d finally manned up and confessed.
They’d laughed and bickered and turned it into a competition, of course they had.
“I told you first,” Kageyama had argued.
“But I liked you first,” Hinata countered.
"Yeah?” Kageyama had smirked.
“Yeah.” Hinata had said.
“Well, I kissed you first.”
Before Hinata had been able to protest, been able to tell him that no, he had not kissed him first, in fact he hadn’t kissed him at all, Kageyama leaned in to lock their lips, velvety smooth.
The kiss was soft, a little uncertain at first, years of feelings and doubt and waiting wrapped into one. Kageyam had gotten more confident fast, the passion and tension and relief of those same years seeping through.
Hinata had giggled softly when he pulled away, he hadn’t been able to stop the spread of a wide grin on his face.
“You win,” he’d said.
And then he’d lost.
His vision, his hearing, his footing
He’d fallen, he hadn’t known how long he fell. He had known when he landed. He’d known the sting of the asphalt and the smack it made against his skin. He’d known the slight tangy taste of iron in his mouth, the stars dancing before his eyes. He’d known the booming in his ears, the confusion he felt. He‘d known that he missed something. He hadn’t known what.
And then he had.
Kageyama
Four syllables that formed a beautiful, beautiful boy
Four syllables that he wanted to visualize.
Four syllables that he couldn’t.
He’d screamed. He hadn’t heard it, but the rawness of his throat had told him he did.
And then he’d seen.
Kageyama
A broken, broken boy. Lying on the side of the road, thick, red liquid leaving him like the sun at night. Slowly at first, then all at once.
Hinata had screamed and screamed and screamed some more. He’d clawed his way over, held him in his arms, he’d cried for help, he’d slapped a strong hand away before it had come again, firmer this time.
“Son, I have to take him. Let me help you.”
He’d given up.
He didn’t remember the ride to the hospital. He didn’t remember the questions he’d answered or the profanities he’d yelled. He remembered the tubes and the machines and the stale smell in the air. He remembered the hand from before guiding him again, he remembered the harsh lights pricking his eyes, the boom of action around him, the yelling, the movement, the blood.
But most of all, he remembered the paleness of Kageyama's face, the thick, red liquid sticking to his hair, the way his leg laid in an angle it shouldn’t.
He wanted to throw up. He did.
And now here he was, heart aching more than the traitorous legs that carried him back to the place he didn’t want to be. The place he had to be, the place he needed to be.
Kageyama’s hospital room.
There he was. A broken boy, still beautiful as ever. Harsh hospital lights painting an eerie picture on a canvas more stunning than any before.
His eyes were closed. Hinata hoped, no, needed them to open soon.
He had to see the royal blue, deep and vast as the ocean. A perfect picture of change and endurance and a sense of stability. A reminder that it’d be okay, that kageyama could get through this, like that ocean during a storm.
Hinata didn’t realize he started crying again, a soft stream streaking even softer skin. He didn’t realize his vision blurred and his breath quickened and his knees buckled. He didn’t realize he was now kneeling next to the bed, his hand desperately clasping at Kageyama's for warmth, comfort, anything . He didn’t realize the fingers lacing his slowly started tapping his tear-stained skin. He didn’t realize, he didn’t realize, he didn’t realize–
“Hinata.”
It slammed into him like a tsunami. His voice was nothing but a whisper.
"Kageyama,”
Four syllables.
Four syllables that were hopeful and hungry and hearty.
Four syllables he never wanted to stop saying.
Four syllables he wasn’t going to lose.
“Kageyama, Kageyama, Kageyama,” he said again and again and again.
“Hey dumbass,” he replied, a little weaker than usual. Hinata didn’t care. He had never been happier to hear the insult, the nickname like music to his ears.
He cried. He didn’t hear it, but the rawness of his throat told him he did.
“Hey, Hinata. It’s okay, we’re okay, you’re okay, I’m okay.” Kageyama said, nimble fingers brushing tears from wet cheeks.
“I thought I lost you,” Hinata hiccuped, “I almost lost you.” Kageyama smiled, soft and silly and almost painful. It probably was.
“You will never lose me, dumbass,” he said.
And Hinata cried some more. But they weren’t sad tears. They were happy, relieved, loving tears. Because god, he loved this boy.
He couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward, as quiet and still as he could, careful not to put too much pressure on Kageyama's sensitive frame. He leaned and leaned and leaned until his lips found home in his.
The kiss wasn’t like before. It wasn’t uncertain or rushed or giddy. It was soft and slow and sweet, like they would break if they pushed harder. It was urgent in a way it wasn’t before, like the world would end if their lips lost contact. It was so full of love Hinata thought he’d burst from it, a steady flood rising, his riverbanks overflowing until everything washed away except for what he felt, truly, felt for this beautiful, broken boy. It was followed by soft hands caressing softer skin, sweet touches and sweeter whispers.
It was everything they needed.
Hinata found his fingers trailing Kageyama’s ribs, bruised and broken, as if somehow his touch would heal him. Maybe it did.
“Does it hurt?” He asked.
“Not as much when you’re here,” Kageyama hummed. Hinata wanted to say something sappy, something sweet. He couldn’t.
“Now get off me before the doctors think you’re strangling me.” Kageyama huffed. Hinata laughed, “air is overrated,” he said.
Kageyama’s eyes fluttered shut, “yeah?”
Hinata’s body pressed closer, “yeah.”
They kissed and kissed and kissed until Hinata’s lungs burned, his legs ached, his breath hitched, his brain went a million miles a minute. And it all circled back to one thing;
Kageyama, Kageyama, Kageyama.