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The first ‘I hate you’ isn’t even spoken out loud. Kageyama can see it there, though, clear as day in the other’s eyes, a dark hazel brown and filled to the brim with tears, overflowing, but proud and defiant as they stare him down nonetheless. It’s written right there, in large obliterating letters for the whole world to see (as if the preceding war declaration of “I will overthrow you” wasn’t enough to begin with):
“I hate you,” those eyes tell him, silently yell at him, and somehow they manage to be louder than any mouth uttering those same words could ever be. “I hate you with all my heart.”
And Kageyama looks back and huffs in irritation (frustration). He opens his mouth a gap, thinks for a short moment, closes it again, turns around.
Leaves.
(It’s not like he’s ever going to see that guy again anyway, he thinks.)
-
By the start of high school, Kageyama’s been showered in enough ‘I hate you’s—ranging from rejected tosses to many turned backs to the actual phrase being ground out between gritted teeth (or sometimes outright shouted at his retreating figure)—to last him a lifetime, or maybe twenty.
Not that Hinata cares, it seems (not that he knows—but that’s beside the point).
Not that Hinata’s subtle or anything about his hostility, from the very moment they meet each other again in the gym (“Why are you here!?”) to when they start practicing together for the upcoming three on three.
“I hate you,” the redhead keeps muttering under his breath, then “Ugh, you’re so—I hate you!” Not loud, not really, but still loud enough to hear, his squeaky little voice carrying through the night behind him as he stomps away to pick up the ball again. Whipping around, he throws it back at Kageyama with what is probably all the angry force he can muster in those skinny arms of his, but if he hopes to hurt the setter in the process, well, it’s a futile attempt—he obviously lacks the power yet (and Kageyama obviously knows how to catch a fucking ball, you stupid idiot).
“Tch. Same here, dumbass,” says Kageyama right back, narrowing his eyes at the other in irritation before getting ready for his own serve (and maybe he’ll put a bit more power into it than absolutely necessary, he decides on the spot, just to prove his point).
But whereas Hinata’s words of hate are full of quiet boiling anger, the little guy positively sulking into the collar of his shirt or the crook of his arm, and repeatedly throwing Kageyama whatever he thinks passes for a scowl (kittens can do better), Kageyama’s counters are never mumbled or whispered or shyly muttered into any part of his clothing or body at all.
He says it out loud and clear for the other to hear, his voice booming over the short distance between them so that Hinata knows without a doubt that he heard him, and that he definitely more than agrees. So that they both know they’re on the same page here and whatever they’re doing is strictly out of necessity and not because either of them actually wants to play volleyball with the other (because they really don’t).
The glare he receives in return he expects as much as he stubbornly ignores it.
(Well, not quite; he glares back and Hinata shrinks into himself with a yelp. Ha.)
Kageyama will probably never tell the redhead that he doesn’t actually mean it when he says, “Same here.”
He isn’t exactly fond of Hinata either, of course (that would be ridiculous), and it’s true they do train together more because they have to rather than of their own free will, but honestly—what kind of reason could he have to outright hate the guy? Simply because he plays (really) shitty volleyball? Yeah, right. Half of his teammates back at Kitaichi did too and look at how that turned out, were they the ones being shunned in the end? No. (They sure hated him though, and made no secret out of it.)
Hinata’s also really loud and simply annoying as hell, he seems to babble constantly, can’t keep his little mouth shut, and it’s mostly nonsense no one cares for or ever wants to know about in the first place. And his undying (admirable, but only grudgingly so) determination despite his obvious lack of anything to support it grinds on Kageyama’s nerves like bare bone on even barer bone—but none of these supposed ‘qualities’ give the setter true reason to actually hate the guy.
He knows hate, alright, and this is not that.
It’s just a helpless sort of irritation on his part (and quite a lot of it, but no surprise given their wildly clashing personalities), and a resigned sort of exasperation—or maybe desperation—(or both actually?)—especially when another ball goes astray and lands high in the treetop just because Hinata, that stupid idiot, keeps adapting the same wrong position for his shitty receives. (“I told you to hold your arms lower!” “But I did!” “No, you fucking did not, because if you had this wouldn’t have happened!”)
Kageyama doesn’t really hate Hinata because he has no real reason to (and he honestly has better things to do as well—like trying not to lose his setter position for one).
But.
The redhead keeps angrily muttering under his breath, even as he climbs up the tree to get the ball back (and then grumbles and glares when Kageyama gets there first with a stick). “I hate you, I hate you,” he whispers threateningly over his shoulder, over and over again, pouting like a five-year-old who didn’t exactly get what they wanted for Christmas and sticking his tongue out for good measure, though not quite looking at Kageyama either (because he’s so obviously a fucking scaredy-cat, what an idiot). And Kageyama, he tries not to care, he truly does—tries and fails miserably.
Because despite himself, the words still irritate him; he’s bristling somewhere from the inside, somewhere just under his skin, and he feels his face fall into scowl after scowl, one more menacing than the other the more of Hinata’s angry muttering reaches his ears, and the hair on the back of his neck stands alert with some other yet elusive emotion he can’t quite name. So he yells back, “Same here, dumbass, same here,” over and over again, even if he doesn’t feel it at all, even though he’d prefer not to say anything and keep his stupid feelings out of volleyball altogether (not that he feels anything towards that guy, obviously, no).
But he’s definitely not going to lose to stupid Hinata, no matter what.
(Because, apparently, Hinata is definitely not going to lose to him either, or so he claims.)
-
They grow into each other. Or around each other. Or maybe just despite each other (or simply with each other? Because of each other? Whatever, he’s definitely not ready yet to admit as much). But although they’re a team now, they’re partners, and they’ve won games and lost games together, they’ve cheered and cried and fought together (sometimes with each other more than anything), and picked each other up again when they fell (and they fell hard), Hinata never quite stops with his ‘I hate you’s.
Over time they turn into other phrases, though, very similar in kind, a thousand ‘I really don’t like you’s coupled with a hundred ‘I can’t stand you’s and peppered with a few more ‘You’re honestly annoying, Bakayama’s on top, but no matter what he never ever stops with the hate statements altogether, just changes them around a bit for... variety's sake? To keep things fresh and interesting? Who knows. Kageyama honestly doesn’t care anymore. He’s so used to them by now that the ‘Same here, idiot’ rolling off his tongue feels just as familiar and normal as any ‘dumbass’ or simply ‘Hinata’ (which is very familiar indeed).
After a while, he thinks he mainly says it so he doesn’t accidentally blurt out “I like you” instead.
Because he kind of does.
Somewhere along the way it happens, it just fucking happens, and he doesn’t know how, it’s not like he’s given his heart express permission or anything. He really kind of likes Hinata, he realises one day with a start, and he’s not sure what sort of like that even is—although he strongly suspects it’s the kind that has him waking up at night feeling horribly aroused over little redheads because... well, that might’ve happened a few times already—but it doesn’t matter anyway. He’s obviously going to keep it to himself, because obviously Hinata doesn’t and won’t ever like him back—otherwise he wouldn’t be so vocal about it, right?
So they continue like this, Hinata with his ‘I hate you’s and countless variations thereof, and Kageyama with his ‘Same here’s (and his secret ‘But I actually really like you’s he’ll never say, but thinks to himself when he’s maybe daydreaming about his decoy again), and it’s all fine, he can handle it just fine, it works out somewhat well enough for him—that is, until it doesn’t.
Until it gets... confusing?
Yeah, it gets confusing.
It honestly gets a little confusing when Hinata keeps saying “I hate you” even as he throws Kageyama smiles across the court that could rival the sun in their intensity, tells him “That was amazing! You’re so amazing!” in the very same breath (and it’s honest, completely honest), with his eyes alight and sparkling, and his hands held out for a jumping high five (“Come on! Don’t be a spoilsport, Bakayama!”).
It gets a little more confusing when Hinata keeps saying “I don’t like you” even as he begs and drags Kageyama out of his classroom to join him for lunch on the rooftop, and he steals half the setter’s bento, then buys him milk as compensation, and when he’s done he leans into Kageyama, nuzzles into him, and sometimes takes his arm and drapes it over himself, hums contentedly with his eyes half-closed and making sleepy noises (and then he jumps up a second later because “Kageyama! Come on, let’s practice!”).
It gets really confusing when Hinata keeps saying “I can’t stand you, I really can’t” even though he always waits so he and Kageyama can walk home together, and maybe they buy meat buns on the way, maybe Kageyama clicks his tongue and brushes the crumbs off Hinata’s chin (who smiles), maybe they shyly hold hands afterwards, walk a little closer, maybe Hinata looks quite sullen when they have to say goodbye and perks up when Kageyama ruffles his hair (and lingers far too long) and says they’ll race to school tomorrow (“Beat you there, Bakayama!” “Dream on, dumbass.”).
It gets especially confusing when Hinata sticks his tongue out and tells Kageyama he’s an annoying bastard and stupid and shit and he doesn’t like him, not at all—and then he hugs him fiercely and looks up fake-coyly through his lashes, smiling wide, and invites him over to his house anyway, “You know, so we can play volleyball and watch movies and play games and play volleyball!”
“You said ‘play volleyball’ twice.”
“Shut up. Will you come then?”
It could be the hopelessly hopeful glimmer in his eyes, or the promise of a beaming (beautiful) smile hiding in the corners of his mouth—and Kageyama should not be spending so much time looking at those lips (but he totally is)—or maybe it’s because Kageyama really, really fucking wants to, has wanted to for quite some time and just couldn’t muster up the courage to ask, so he mumbles “Fine” and shrugs, feigning disinterest and trying his best to make it seem as if he’s only doing it for Hinata’s sake and not for his own as well.
(The smile he’s been hoping for is right there, though, and it is just as beaming (beautiful) as he imagined.)
(His heart takes a sudden leap up into his throat, but that’s not exactly unexpected, is it?)
“I don’t like you at all, you know that?” says Hinata, laughing and lacing their hands together, and Kageyama can’t help but look at them for a moment—because they’ve been doing that for quite a while, haven’t they, and it feels so natural already and how can that be?—sensing a very familiar kind of heat creeping up his neck and into his cheeks and warming his ears, not unpleasantly.
“I know,” he replies almost automatically, frowning but just a little, “Same here, same here.” And if Hinata walks a little closer after that, leans into him, whispers his name affectionately (and Kageyama responds in kind), then that’s something they’ve been doing for quite a while, too.
(And it feels just as natural, to be honest.)
-
It’s much less confusing and much more of a shock when a few weeks later Hinata corners him in the club room, looking up at him with raw determination in his eyes he usually reserves for their volleyball matches, and says, “You know I hate you, right?”
Kageyama can’t exactly answer, probably because his voice is firmly lodged somewhere in his throat together with his wildly beating heart, so he nods instead, swallows thickly. “Good,” Hinata says, unsmiling, defiant, “Because I do.” And then he’s reaching up and pulling Kageyama down by the collar, and kisses him full force on the lips.
It’s less of a shock and more of a given that Kageyama spends the rest of practice in a befuddled sort of daze, and the number of volleyballs hitting his head reaches double digits before someone finally tells him to take a break, maybe go see the nurse’s office just to be safe? (His teammates are very worried about him.)
Hinata, of course, keeps smiling throughout. (Hinata is a little shit.)
(But whatever, that’s actually all okay, none of that really matters because afterwards, on their way home, Hinata kisses Kageyama twice more and holy shit—it’s all kinds of amazing...)
-
“Gah, you’re so—!!” Hinata begins, flails his arms wildly in the air as he tries to find the right words, “Honestly, I really—” And then he cuts himself off as he surges forward, crashes their lips back together in another searing kiss.
“Same here,” mutters Kageyama in between (when he can), shifting to adjust their positions on the couch, hands coming up to settle on Hinata’s narrow hips and pull him just a tiny little bit closer into his lap.
“No,” says Hinata, defiant until the very end, follows that up with another wet kiss, “I mean it.” And another. “I don’t like you, I really don’t.” He winds his arms around Kageyama’s neck for emphasis, leans in for yet another welcomed kiss. “You’re such a tyrant,” he mumbles against the setter’s lips, smiling wide, “You know, you’re so stupid, you’re such a ki—ah!”
Slowly, Kageyama releases Hinata’s lip from between his teeth where he’s bitten down on it, watches with a sort of self-satisfied grin the shell-shocked gasp he receives for his uncouth act. Hinata shoves at his shoulder, eyes wide and glaring (but only half-heartedly), and then he frowns, holding a finger to his bruised lip to see if it’s bleeding (it is, but only a little).
“Fuck—that hurt!” he says, voice wavering somewhere between surprised, scolding and amused, “Bakayama!”
Rolling his eyes exasperatedly, Kageyama leans in again for another, softer kiss, hesitating just a few inches short to sort of ask for permission first. When after a second, Hinata huffs and brings their lips together once more, Kageyama gently runs his tongue over the abused flesh and nibbles in silent apology. Hinata makes a (cute) squeaky sound at that, then hums contentedly into the kiss.
“Kageyama,” he whispers after a little while, and he shifts a bit deeper into the setter’s lap, making the other hiss at the contact (which creates far-too-delicious friction for both of them), “Your parents won’t be home until later.”
It’s not even a question, just a statement, bold in nature—a not-so-veiled demand more than anything, to be honest—and Kageyama’s mouth runs a little dry so he has to settle for a nod instead of answering. Hinata smiles devilishly. As always, Kageyama doesn’t really know what to do in this kind of situation, so there’s no protest or much of anything (apart from an embarrassing noise or two) coming from his mouth as Hinata stands up; he simply lets himself be lifted from the couch with a helping hand and led into his bedroom where Hinata pushes him down with a grin and crawls on top, and shows him just how much he can’t stand Kageyama.
(A little later, the redhead laughs softly, mutters sleepily, “I really don’t like you...” Draped all over Kageyama’s bare chest and drawing tantalising, lazy circles onto still sweat-slick skin, he murmurs, “I really, really don’t. I don’t like you...” And Kageyama doesn’t say anything back—he’s probably a little too preoccupied burying his fingers in soft orange hair and trying to wipe that stupid grin off his face.)
-
He says it a few years later, when they’re lazing around in their apartment (not-)watching TV, Kageyama with his head on Shouyou’s lap and half-asleep, and Shouyou lightly carding his fingers through his setter’s fine hair. It’s humid and hot outside, even worse inside (and it definitely sucks that their ventilator broke down for the fifth time that month, what the fuck). Kageyama honestly doesn’t mean to say it, it just kind of slips out in his somewhat-sleep-drunken state, and he later blames it on the stupid weather.
Instead of the old ‘Same here, dumbass’ he replies to Shouyou’s affectionate ‘I don’t like you, you know’ with an equally affectionate “I love you too.”
It takes approximately three seconds for his lazy-ass mind to realise what he just said. One second to open his eyes wide and look up in shock. Two more for the surprised look lingering on Shouyou’s face to turn into the softest, most happiest smile the world has ever seen. And another three seconds before he leans down and kisses Kageyama thoroughly, lovingly, mumbling, “Okay, fine. Maybe I like you a little bit, too.”
(“Maybe? Like? A little bit?”
“Maybe a lot.”
“Maybe?”
“A lot.”
“... Only like?”
“Don’t push your luck, Bakayama.” And then he laughs and kisses him again.)