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Kageyama Tobio is many things: he is viciously determined, and fiercely competitive; he is calculating and careful every time he steps onto the court.
He is also a snuggler.
The problem with this, of course, is that Kageyama is paradoxically quite averse to physical contact. When an enthusiastic relative captures him in their tender clutches, his face contorts like he’s got a bad case of motion sickness: eyebrows knitted tight, cheeks puffed out. He tries to smile over the discomfort, but that just ends up making him look even queasier.
It’s not that he doesn’t like it, because obviously, he does. It’s that he has to know a person really well—really, really well—before he’s okay with showing affection.
Kageyama has never been quick to make friends, but it wasn’t always the resting scowl and intensity with which he played volleyball that prevented his social calendar from filling up.
When he was younger, Kageyama had been quite shy: soft-spoken, gentle, and naïve in a way that’s endearing when you’re still young. He’s a people pleaser at heart, but his timidity and lack of other social graces makes him rather withdrawn.
He’d rather be alone than be teased and made fun of.
It was in middle school that the scowl started.
After Oikawa-san graduated, Kageyama became the starting setter. He worked hard, and thought that maybe others would appreciate his dedication to the sport (and by extension, the team). He thought his teammates would respect him, maybe even be friends with him.
Maybe he could have a real birthday party, for once.
But as his dedication grew, so did his ambition. He pushed harder, trained longer, yelled louder. He demanded more from his teammates. He was putting in so much effort so that they could win: why wouldn’t they do the same thing? Kunimi was probably the worst; all his talent and brains wasted in that laziness. Kageyama couldn’t stand it.
So he pushed them even further away, his face no longer open and hopeful but dark and broody, a scowl so deeply etched in his brow that he was beginning to wonder if it was permanent. He blamed them for the team’s failures, held them responsible for their losses and he alone for their victories.
Though his chest ached with loneliness, and he craved the intimacy of a friend to spend time with—to high five, to rough house, maybe even to hug—he simply didn’t understand his teammates’ lack of willpower.
Clearly, they aren’t friendship material, if they couldn’t even support him on the team.
When he thinks about it, late at night, staring at his ceiling, he bites his lip, knits his eyebrows together in concentration and maybe a little guilt settles there, too. He knows that he’s not exactly innocent throughout this. He knows that friendship is supposed to go both ways. But he truly thought that what his teammates needed was a source of motivation. He thought that’s what he was giving them, and they had turned up their noses at him and abandoned him.
Literally.
He felt ostracized, and he couldn’t find it in himself to shoulder any of the blame.
That is, not until high school.
Kageyama’s first day at Karasuno reminds him strongly of his first day of middle school: he sits alone, drinks a milk box, and tries not to draw attention to himself. The only difference he senses is that, unlike the carefully crafted and pleasantly open smile he wore in middle school, this time his features are set in a dark scowl.
He goes to the gym after class to practice his serves with a neutral but determined face. He doesn’t need to learn about any other club or sport offered at this school: volleyball is the only one that matters to Kageyama.
When a short, orange-haired firecracker of a student bursts through the gym doors, Kageyama feels shock register on his features, raised eyebrows and mouth in a little “o” for a split second. Then he’s furious.
How dare this kid, this useless idiot from that one match in junior high follow him here? How dare this kid create some sort of awful link to his past? He doesn’t want the title of “King” to follow him here: he’s back to being the lowest guy on the rung and he wants a fresh start.
He doesn’t want this.
They bicker and they fight and Kageyama insults Hinata—the orange haired moron—with every ounce of vitriol he’s got.
A voice in the back of his head says this isn’t the way to make friends and first impressions, but he squashes it down just as he does to the tight pains in his chest and the sting at the corner of his eyes.
He doesn’t want this.
*
After the first few weeks, after he and Hinata have been forced to work out (most of) their differences, they’re discovering new and exciting ways to execute their freak-quick combo. Kageyama starts to feel the tightness in his chest loosen.
He notices it after a particularly good set to Tanaka at morning practice. It makes him feel vulnerable, like the tightly-wound defenses that he clutches so desperately to his chest are being pried from his hands and he’s left exposed and alone.
Tanaka whoops at his own spike, and then turns to offer Kageyama a high five.
“Nice toss, Kageyama!” he cheers, palm still waiting.
Kageyama is incredulous. He can feel his frown of concentration drop into a sort of slack-jawed gape. He snaps his mouth shut as soon as he realizes how much of an idiot he must look like.
Cautiously, Kageyama reaches out his hand and slapped it against his teammate’s. Tanaka doesn’t pull it back at the last second, doesn’t take back his compliment. It’s normal. It’s fine.
Kageyama isn’t sure that they’re all friends, not yet at least, but he feels like the team is getting used to each other—getting used to him.
He bites the inside of his cheek to keep his smile from getting too wide.
Despite their constant bickering, he and Hinata are working together quite nicely. Kageyama almost hates it, how this ridiculous and tiny child could possibly have the same level of passion as him. But he can’t hate it, not really. He actually respects it. (He would never admit that to Hinata, though.)
He’s far more skilled than Hinata, knows more about the game, knows more about how to make his body do what it needed to for them to win, but Hinata refuses to back down.
He isn’t like Kunimi, who refused to exert the energy. He isn’t like Kindaichi, who scoffed and refused to practice with him when Kageyama overpowered him with a set. He certainly isn’t like Oikawa, whom Kageyama had idolized despite the harsh treatment.
Hinata is like a weed, Kageyama thinks: you could rip him up, stomp on him, mow him down, but his roots run deep and he simply sprouts back up stronger than before.
Kageyama tells him it’s infuriating, but he agrees to the extra tossing practice anyway.
(If he has to play on the same team as this idiot, he better make sure Hinata’s not totally useless on the court.)
*
Hinata Shouyou is many things: he is obnoxiously loud, and endlessly energetic; he is impulsive and curious about everyone and everything.
He is also a snuggler.
The problem with this, of course, is that now that he spends what feels like eighty percent of his time with Kageyama, this makes Kageyama the subject of his affections.
Kageyama has spent the better part of the past three years actively rejecting social advances of any nature and from any gender, so to be subjected now to the constant contact of Hinata is overwhelming.
Hinata is touchy with everyone. He gets hair pats and high fives from the team, latches himself onto people’s arms when they’re walking, and he even hugs Yamaguchi, since the poor kid doesn’t seem to mind Hinata’s clingyness.
It sets Kageyama on edge every time Hinata tries to hold his hand, pokes his sides, bumps his hip into Kageyama’s leg, or grabs the hand holding his chopsticks to redirect Kageyama’s lunch into his own mouth. Kageyama is conflicted. On one hand, he craves it. He wants those casual touches, the human contact that he’s denied himself for so long. But at the same time, his mind screams at him that this is weird, that he needs to stop letting him get away with it, so he smacks Hinata away, shoves at him in a way he thinks—he hopes—is playful, calls him names like “dumbass” to keep the distance he thinks he needs to protect himself.
But then the tightness in his chest loosens a little bit more, leaving him with a sort of tumbling, airy feeling in his stomach, and he tells himself it might be alright. Maybe he and Hinata are friends now, or close to it.
And Hinata is snuggly with everyone.
So Kageyama starts to let him get away with it.
His slaps are weaker, his insults are softer, and his frowns fade into tiny almost-smiles. After a few more weeks he finds that he’s not really resisting.
*
“We’re friends, right, Kageyama?” Hinata asks one evening while they’re eating meat buns after practice.
“Mpff?” Kageyama replies, mouth full of curry pork. He bites his lower lip so he doesn’t gape, or worse, spit food everywhere.
“I asked if we’re friends,” he repeats. “I mean, I know we’re rivals, but we’re also teammates, and I think we’re probably friends now, too.”
Kageyama chews his food thoroughly and swallows it, trying to buy himself more time to respond. He feels stupid and childish for getting so excited about Hinata of all people calling him a friend, but he can’t help it.
Are he and Hinata friends? They sure hang out a lot, and Hinata for one is very open and trusting of Kageyama: he’s always babbling about his feelings and gossip and wacky “news” stories he finds online.
Kageyama, for his part, has actually found himself engaged in conversation with Hinata several times. It’s usually about volleyball, but that’s okay because it’s all the both of them really care about, anyway. He likes spending time with Hinata, despite their constant bickering and pointless competitions.
Kageyama swallows once more to settle the nerves that have climbed up his throat and makes a face with raised eyebrows and a slightly downturned mouth. “I guess,” he says with a shrug, hoping to seem more casual than he feels.
“Cool,” Hinata says with a proud grin. “Just making sure.”
For all that Kageyama teases Hinata for being stupid, he really is pretty smart in some ways. He’s good at reading people, and though he might be overbearing and too enthusiastic, he’s one of the most socially adept people Kageyama’s ever met.
Kageyama tells himself he isn’t jealous, but a quiet, sinking feeling in his gut tells him he is.
Hinata makes friends with everyone—even his rivals and people he says he doesn’t like, like Tsukishima.
Kageyama doesn’t feel quite so special, when he thinks of it that way. He’s just one out of many, to Hinata.
*
In private, Kageyama starts letting himself refer to Hinata as his friend, just to see how it feels. It makes him feel light and pleasant, telling his reflection as he combs his hair in the morning that he has a friend, a real, genuine friend.
Hinata convinces him to start texting, and Kageyama finds it to be simultaneously a relaxing form of communication and a very challenging one.
It’s relaxing because he doesn’t have to worry about what his face is doing when he sends a message, and he can always erase a sentence or word and try again, unlike when he’s speaking face to face, and his mouth runs faster than his brain does.
It’s a constant challenge though, because he’s worried that no matter what he says, Hinata will assume he’s angry and impatient, since he can’t convey tone of voice.
This is why he starts using emojis.
He uses them sparingly at first, only when he’s really nervous about his tone being perceived as too aggressive or insincere. Their stupid faces help temper out his grumpy aura, he reasons, and he can convey the exact expression he wants to.
He sticks with the standard ones at first, just smiles and frowns, but as he gets more invested in it, he starts spending longer and longer looking for the right one. With his tongue sticking out just a little, and his dark blue eyes bright and alert, he scrolls carefully through his phone.
One day, Hinata texts him that he’s passed an English exam. Kageyama is a little surprised, a little jealous (he had failed by two points), and also incredibly proud.
His reply takes him fifteen minutes to type out, aiming for the exact level of casual and interested but not too interested and supportive. A good text is a well-rounded text, Kageyama tells himself.
To: Hinata Shouyou
good job u did it! (•̀
ᴗ
•́)
و
̑̑
I just missed (;
﹏
;)
Satisfied, he hits send.
Hinata replies almost immediately.
To: Me
Awww do you need a hug, Kageyama? (> ^_^ )>
Kageyama blushes into his phone, worrying the right corner of his lower lip. He does want a hug, but he isn’t sure if he wanted one from Hinata yet. Maybe an electronic one was okay.
To: Hinata Shouyou
<( ^_^ <)
Tucking his phone back into his pocket, he begins to gather his things into his bag so he can go get a milk box before practice, but he freezes when two warm arms wrap around his shoulders from behind.
“Where do you keep getting all these emojis from?” Hinata asks, nuzzling his face into Kageyama’s hair. “You never seem to repeat any!”
Kageyama relaxes just slightly. At least he knows who’s hugging him.
“Just the internet,” he replies stiffly.
With a final squeeze, Hinata lets him go and straightens up.
“Wanna go to practice together?” he asks.
Kageyama feels a tiny smile bloom on his lips.
“Yeah, but—“
“Milk boxes first?” Hinata grins.
The smile on Kageyama’s face grows a bit more, and he feels just a bit warmer.
This time, the tightness in his chest isn’t anxiety.
*
After a lot of convincing, Kageyama agrees to a study session with Hinata before his make-up exam in English.
They go to Kageyama’s house, so Natsu doesn’t bother them like she would at Hinata’s, and Kageyama’s mother is more than a little surprised to hear a second voice in the front hall.
“Tobio?” she calls.
“Hi, Mom,” he replies as he slips off his shoes.
“Who’s this?” she asks as politely as she can, but Kageyama can see that the curiosity is burning through her.
Before Kageyama can answer, Hinata’s bubbling and babbling like always. “Hi Mrs Kageyama! I’m Hinata Shouyou! We’re going to study so Kageyama can ace his next English test!”
“Oh, that’s so kind of you, Hinata-kun. Tobio doesn’t care for studying too much, so maybe with a“ – she glances at her son—“classmate it will be more interesting.”
Kageyama almost flinches that even his mom doesn’t think he has friends—he’s sure he’s talked about Hinata before—but Hinata jumps in almost immediately to smoothly correct her.
“That’s what friends are for!” he says slapping an arm around Kageyama’s shoulders, at least as well as he can at his height. The words tumble out of his mouth so easily that Kageyama almost blushes, lips pursed and eyes trained on the floor.
“Are you going to study here or in your room?” she asks.
“My room,” Kageyama mumbles. “My other books are all up there anyways.”
“Alright. Well, Hinata-kun is welcome to stay for dinner, so be a good host, right Tobio?”
“Yeah,” he says, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. If Hinata senses his discomfort, he doesn’t say anything.
Upstairs, they spread out all their books on the floor, organizing things into piles based on when they’re due.
They take turns quizzing each other, reading aloud, writing answers and then swapping papers to check the other’s work, until Kageyama feels like his brain is about to melt.
“I need a break,” he whines, laying down on his back and spreading his arms out to either side.
“Finally,” Hinata breathes. “I didn’t want to interrupt you if you were like… on a roll or something but my attention span runs out pretty fast on these things.”
“I know, dumbass.”
Hinata shoves at his leg.
Kageyama lets his eyes slip closed only for them to spring back open almost immediately as Hinata crawls next to Kageyama and drapes an arm across his torso.
His body goes rigid, but he doesn’t know what to say.
He wants this to be okay, but he’s terrified that it’s not, that it’s some sort of joke or scheme that Kageyama mustn’t trust.
Hinata notices, of course he does, but all he does is wriggle closer, nuzzle his face into Kageyama’s t-shirt. “This okay?” he asks quietly.
“Uh…” Kageyama says stupidly.
Hinata lets go.
“Sorry,” he says, sitting up. “I’m just… well, sorry.”
Kageyama feels cold, the warmth of his friend having already been burned into his skin.
“It was okay,” he whispers. “I just… wasn’t expecting it.”
“Eh?” Hinata asks, leaning forward.
“You… you can come back. I-if you want.”
“Oh, alright,” he says, but he goes to Kageyama’s bed first. Grabbing the pillow, he returns to Kageyama on the floor, lifting his head up and sliding the pillow beneath him.
“Now you have a cushion, too,” Hinata says with a smirk.
“Thanks,” Kageyama says, and feels his face slide into a lazy sort of smile.
He tells himself they’ll just take a short break before they get back to their studying.
When Kageyama’s mother comes to get them for dinner half an hour later, they’re both fast asleep.
*
After that, cuddling becomes a lot more common for them.
They study together after school, strategically situating themselves so they’re always touching in some way: legs pressed against each other, shoulders brushing, a foot thrown over the other’s leg. Sometimes, Kageyama lays on his stomach, and Hinata rests his head on Kageyama’s lower back. Once, Hinata sits cross-legged and directs Kageyama to rest his head in Hinata’s lap. He fidgets too much, but maybe it’s a good thing that Kageyama doesn’t fall asleep.
It’s a Wednesday evening when they’re doing their English homework again, and Kageyama has grown so comfortable with these study sessions that he actually has a very pleasant expression on his face.
He pulls out the book he’s supposed to read for tomorrow with a sigh.
“You’re reading that, too?” Hinata asks excitedly. “We should read it out loud!”
Kageyama shrugs. Extra practice can’t hurt, he supposes, even if neither of them have very good accents and they can’t offer much correction or assistance to each other.
He leans against the wall, a pillow propped behind his back to make the spot more comfortable for his back.
And then Hinata wriggles his way between Kageyama’s legs, his back to Kageyama’s chest.
Several red flags go off in quick succession.
The first is that they’ve never sat like this before, and Kageyama can feel his eyes widening in confusion. He desperately wants to see Hinata’s face because he doesn’t know how to read the situation otherwise. Hinata’s expressions are always written all over him, wide eyes and that ridiculous mouth that never seems to stop moving.
Then, Kageyama realizes Hinata is … quiet. Too quiet.
Maybe he’s not sure if it’s okay, either.
He bites his lip in apprehension. Why would Hinata do this? Why is he sitting between Kageyama’s legs?
He realizes he should probably say something, if he’s this uncomfortable. Hinata will understand.
But he doesn’t really want Hinata to move.
Kageyama decides that he likes Hinata sitting here, pressed up against his body. He blames the nerves on the newness of the situation, and Hinata’s quietness.
For once, it’s Kageyama who breaks the silence.
“What page are you on?” he asks. “This isn’t going to work if we’re in totally different places.”
“Oh! Uh, right,” Hinata blurts, and Kageyama rolls his eyes, feeling himself relax already.
He just needed a reminder that Hinata is a dumbass, he supposes. Luckily, those are never in short supply.
They’re only a few pages off, so they start back where Hinata’s class is at (Kageyama doesn’t mind re-reading some of it anyway, since he’s hopelessly lost), and they make it through a couple of pages, taking turns reading each paragraph out loud.
They squabble over the best way to pronounce a “th” sound, smacking each other and jostling the book in Hinata’s lap.
Kageyama’s mother comes upstairs to see if they’re actually studying, since they’re making so much noise. When she peeks through the door, the boys are wrestling and blowing spitty raspberries in each others’ faces.
She’s never seen her son happier.