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Five weeks ago, Tobio admitted something to himself that the constant pestering and knowing glances from his team members finally got him to accept: the fact that he, Kageyama Tobio, former “King of the Court”, volleyball extraodinaire, and half of the freakishly-talented duo of the Karasuno Boy’s Volleyball team, had a big, fat crush on none other than the high-jumping, half-spider middle blocker that was Hinata Shouyou.
And, five weeks later, he managed to fuck it all up.
So they had a fight. A huge fight. A fight of such epic proportions that Tobio can’t even remember what it was even about in the first place. A fight so gargantuan and earth-shattering that it lead to both of them pointedly ignoring the other as soon as practice began earlier that day.
Sure, couples had fights. Couples got over fights too, but they - having been together for a whopping thirty-five days, two hours, and twenty-seven minutes (not like he kept track or anything) - haven’t gotten to the last part yet. They’ve had spats before oh sure, but the bitter feelings left behind from those small arguments were often left to simmer and fade until it was all normal.
But this fabled fight, this little spat that turned into a goddamn mess because apparently it was too big to let go, had left Tobio broiling mad since the second Shouyou’s front door was slammed loudly in his face. So, as retribution, he may have served the ball into Shouyou’s head once.
Twice.
A dozen times.
“Shit,” Tobio hisses to himself, stalking the halls of the now empty school building. He needs to find him, and quick. Finding someone with an injured face isn’t easy, especially if the person who you’re trying to find is the person who punched you in the first place.
The hit had been delivered promptly three seconds after his last ball hit Shouyou in the head for the twelfth time that hour, Tobio having been so angry that he never saw it coming. What’s more, Shouyou had jumped before landing the blow, hitting him upside the head with the same force he’d normally use to deliver one of his signature “Quick”s.
And fuck did it hurt.
It hurt so badly that, for the first time in days, Tobio was able to see clearly. He was able to look past the stupid rage that’d lead him to hitting volleyballs into Shouyou of all people, his boyfriend, the same boy he’s been crushing on like a little kid for the past two months.
He was able to see the fifteen-year-old boy with his head hung down below him, clutching the rim of his training bib tightly as tears fell down to the ground below him before he sprinted out of the court.
Concerned faces swarmed around him after that, hell, even Kei looked like he felt sorry for the kid who ran out after being smacked in the head from twelve different angles (a feat of precise calculation that Tobio isn’t very proud of). It’s then that Tobio began to explain the situation to all the member that seemed torn between chasing after the poor boy and wanting hit the setter himself with a dozen volleyballs, and it’s in the middle of his explanation that it dawned on him:
He’s a fucking asshole.
Which explains why he immediately sprinted out of the gym not a second later in search of the other. And, following the faint sniffling he’s heard a couple of times in the past few seconds, he’s pretty sure he’s found him.
When Tobio opens the door to the near-empty locker room, Shouyou visibly flinches, scooting himself out of the plane of light made by the doorway.
“Go away,” he croaks, voice hoarse and riddled with hiccups.
For a second, when the door shuts and he’s back to complete darkness, it seems to work, and he doesn’t know whether of feel relieved or worse than before - but then the overhead light sputters to life, and he feels a tall shadow cast over him.
“Hinata.” The name is soft, careful, spoken from anxious lips.
“I said go away.” He intends for the words to sound strong, but fails as his voice almost cracks mid-sentence, and he curling further into himself. “I don’t want to see you.”
For a moment, Tobio actually considers the possibility of letting Shouyou handle this by himself, but immediately shoots it down. How could he do that? Especially after what he’s already done? “Hinata,” he begins, crouching down to the other’s level, “Hinata, look at me.” He places a hand on the other’s shoulder.
The redhead jolts at the touch, nudging away from it - only to feel it come back even with an even firmer grip. “No.”
“Hinata,” he sounds tired, desperate, “please.”
“I said no, go awa—“
He doesn’t get to finish as Tobio whips him around in careful concentration - to not hurt the boy more than he already has. And for the first time in days, he finally gets a good look at Shouyou.
He’s hurt, eyes wide, red - bloodshot, even - trembling with rivulets of tears still curving down the skin of his cheeks and dripping down his chin, bordering his twitching lips as they force themselves shut, trying to ensure that the next sound that escapes him isn’t a muffled sob, holding it all in and he just looks so hurt and broken and betrayed that, that—
That it kills him inside.
Shouyou whips himself out of Tobio’s withering grip (a bit easier than he thought it’d be), and he’s about to choke out another demand for the other to leave when a sob interrupts him.
“Wh—“ Shouyou begins, a hundred-and-ten-percent sure that the sound wasn’t from him. “K-Kageyama?”
Slowly, he turns around, only to be enveloped into a bone-crushing hug.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
He can feel Tobio shuddering cries into his training bib, head slung over his shoulder and arms around his back, gripping so tightly it hurt but Shouyou just didn’t have it in him to pull them away. Unsure of what to do, he wraps his arms around the other’s back, rubbing it in soft, soothing circles as Tobio cries into him, a boneless mixture of gasps and shudders and “I’m sorry”’s that Shouyou almost forgets who the victim is in this situation.
“ . . . Stupid,” he speaks after a moment, “with an expression like that it makes it hard not to forgive you, you know.”
Tobio stills for a moment, sniffing all the while. “I know.”
At that, Shouyou sighs, patting the other’s back once again.
“Those really friggin’ hurt, you know.”
He holds him closer. “I know.”
It’s silent for a while, save for the occasional sniffle from Tobio. After a minute or two, the setter pulls back, a hair’s length away from the other. He must look horrible right now, eyes fresh and red from crying and snot dripping down his nose, face stinging from what happened on the court earlier.
But Shouyou still looked at him in awe, he looked at him in a way that made him wonder why he would ever be angry in the first place.
“. . . You’re an idiot, you know.”
Tobio laughs, breathless and happy.
“Yeah, I know.”
And they kiss, because that just seems like the thing to do.