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It had been a quiet morning, Kageyama’s favorite kind. Light filtered in through the blinds of the living room, warming the cold wooden floors. Soon enough, he’d have to get up from the couch, find something for breakfast, and start his day. It was Sunday and one of his few days free of real responsibilities. Instead of resting like he wanted to, he had other, normal obligations.
It was odd to have these kinds of moments in his life now. Training, games, interviews, photoshoots, consuming his life and taking a toll on him. Volleyball was his passion; the rest of it just came with the territory. Peace and quiet, sadly, did not.
Sipping his way through a glass of milk — chocolate, specifically — he scrolled through an online volleyball news site he liked, waiting. Patience was something he needed to have, that, in his earlier years, was hard to find with him.
It would be funny, he thought, to go back in time and tell his middle school self to commit that match to memory. Tell him to commit that messy head of orange hair to memory. Middle school Kageyama would be so angry when he’d be told that a walking tangerine was going to be the most important person in his life, forever.
On cue, as though summoned telepathically by the thought of him, a set of gentle padding feet made their way into the living room. No one could ever hope to look as beautiful as he did. Engulfed by Kageyama’s hoodie, which fit him just fine, Hinata rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he stood next to the couch.
Without a word, Hinata crawled into his lap, burrowing his head into Kageyama’s chest. That gave him the chance to dip his head into the orange curls and inhale the citrusy scent of Hinata’s shampoo. Dropping his phone next to him, Kageyama occupied his hands by pushing up and under the hoodie. Perfectly manicured nails ran up and down Hinata’s sides, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He would be asleep again soon.
Kageyama wrapped an arm around his waist, twisting and dropping his back onto the couch. This was why he sat in the middle. It made it easier to pull Hinata down with him when he moved to lay down. No awkward scooting needed.
With Kageyama on his back, Hinata lay halfway on his chest, halfway squished into the couch. This was where he fit best. Right against Kageyama, where he belonged.
They clashed so heavily, but clicked together like two puzzle pieces. Hinata was his sun. Sometimes too bright, too hot, but Kageyama would gladly burn to be under his light. He supposed that made him Hinata’s moon. He’d said that before, Kageyama was sure. That he was beautiful, like the moon. If that endless ball of energy wanted to run around till the wee hours of the night, he’d be there gently lighting the way.
Hinata never asked that much, though. They never needed to speak to know what the other was thinking. It was like a link, a bond unbreakable that kept their minds as one.
It wasn’t like Kageyama to wax poetic like that. It was disgustingly sappy. The runt laying on top of him just made him that way. Every time he saw that stupid, sleepy smile he couldn’t tell if he wanted to smack it off or kiss it.
Running his hands through Hinata’s hair, he flexed his fingers, curling them back inwards and gripping loosely. Somehow it provided a relief for his aching hands after a rough practice.
Hinata stretched in response, short limbs sticking out and quivering before withdrawing back into Kageyama’s form. Like a little cat, he stretched and yawned before tucking his body tight and slowly shut his eyes. Kageyama was just going to shut his eyes for a moment. Just to rest them. That was all.