Chapter Text
The office is too hot for early September. Kageyama has his arms folded on his desk, chin digging into his forearms, as he stares into the spinning blades of the small fan currently blowing his hair off his forehead. It feels amazing, but there's still a little patch of sweat growing at the small of his back, and he kind of hates that Japan as a country doesn't believe in air conditioning communal spaces.
He's thinking that maybe he'll buy a popsicle on his way home from work when the door to the chief's office clicks open, and Yachi Madoka walks out in pointed black heels and a flawless pencil skirt and looks straight at him.
He sits up so fast he almost knocks the fan over.
"Kageyama," she barks, her heels click-click-clicking as she walks over to him, faster and more intensely than anyone should be able to move on what Kageyama thinks are essentially really pointy, dangerous stilts. Her perfume precedes her in a subtly floral cloud that he can only smell if he really inhales deeply. Which he does, because he was just totally dicking around, and the thought that he might get fired makes him so anxious that he'll hyperventilate if he doesn't concentrate on his breathing.
"Yes, chief!" Kageyama practically leaps from his chair and stands up straight, his index fingers pressed against the seams of his pants like his posture's being inspected at a military base, not a design firm.
Madoka stops in front of him and flicks her fingers at him, gesturing for him to loosen up. Or at least that's what he thinks that's what she means. He's not sure, so he just sort of twitches his fingers and forces his shoulders down about half an inch.
Madoka smiles, and her lipstick looks even pinker against her white teeth. "I don't believe you and Hitoka-chan have met, have you?"
"Um. No, chief," he says. His heart thumps extra hard as he thinks maybe he's not in trouble after all. "Who is that?"
"My daughter," Madoka says, and steps aside.
A girl stands there, hardly over 150 centimeters and probably weighing only 50 kilos soaking wet on a good day. She's pale, with blond hair drawn into a sideways ponytail that's reminiscent of the luxurious curls that slide sideways down Madoka's shoulders. But unlike Madoka, who is tall and confident and wears her suit and heels like she was born for it, Hitoka is wearing a short skirt and a frumpy sweater, knees bruised and scabby, converse tennis shoes scuffed and well-worn. She's also literally shaking like a leaf, still standing half-hidden behind her mother's shoulders.
"H-hi, my name is Yachi Hitoka. Pleased to meet you," she says, and even her voice is trembling.
He can relate to that.
"Kageyama Tobio," he says, bending in a deep bow. (Maybe too deep, he thinks a half-second later. Maybe he looks like he's making fun of her. Or maybe it's not deep enough, because this is Madoka's only daughter, and Madoka is kind of a big deal around here.) He swallows past his swirling anxieties and manages to force out in a voice that only half-sounds like a robot's, "You as well."
"So polite," Madoka says, sounding amused and a little pleased. "Kageyama, you can stand back up, now."
"Yes, chief." He jerks his head back up and looks at Hitoka again, perhaps too closely. Her ponytail holder has two tiny stars on it and he can't help but find it charming. She looks like the little sister type.
"Hmm." Madoka's lips curl and her eyes light up, her gaze lingering on Kageyama long enough to make him fidget.
"So, um. Chief." He looks back at Madoka and raises his eyebrows. "Did you need anything else?"
Somewhere, he's aware this is rude, but he's so, so shitty at small talk. He's probably supposed to ask Hitoka about her schooling or something--she looks about sixteen, he thinks--but he's never known how to interact with anyone outside a professional setting with any degree of success.
"Remind me how old you are, Kageyama-kun?" she asks sweetly, and the tone of voice and the addition of -kun instantly raises alarm bells in his head.
A shiver travels up his spine as he says, "Twenty-nine."
"Hitoka-chan just turned thirty today," she says.
"What," he says, honestly surprised. He does a double take, head to foot, but still can't see any signs that she's a day out of high school. It's unnatural.
"M-mother!" Hitoka-chan says, looking like she's about to wilt, red-faced and wobbly.
"It's no big deal," he says, interpreting the near-tears look as embarrassment for her age. "My birthday's in December."
Madoka glances very conspicuously at his left hand. That spine-chilling feeling returns, and he tucks his hand in his pocket.
"Remind me, Kageyama-kun, do you have a girlfriend?"
"Mother, please," Hitoka-chan says. She's definitely gonna cry.
"I'm just asking," Madoka says, and Kageyama is trapped, because he sees where this is going, now. He could lie to his boss, who is looking at him with this freaky, preternatural kind of expression, like she can read his mind and will make his life a living hell if he dares deceive her. Or he could tell the half-truth, that no, he doesn't have a girlfriend, and probably get himself set up on a horribly awkward date with her anxiety-ridden daughter.
Not that he's judging her for the anxiety thing. Clearly he has a lot of it himself. It just comes out in terse, monosyllabic responses and resting bitch face rather than trembling and tearing up.
(The third option, to tell the whole-truth--that he is in fact a homosexual and has no interest in females in general, no offense to her daughter--isn't really an option at all, for obvious reasons. He's not out at work and probably never will be. He has no reason to be.)
"No," he says, figuring going on one awkward date to appease his boss and then going their separate ways is probably the easiest option.
The air around Madoka changes, something sharp like the stench of ozone before lightning strikes, and Kageyama immediately regrets his decision. He doesn't hear exactly what she says after that--his blood is rushing in his ears, drowning out every sound--but he knows he just made a huge mistake. He watches Hitoka's mouth move, followed by a bow and a hasty retreat, and then reluctantly looks at Madoka.
She's still smiling, primed like a storm. "Kageyama-kun. What did you think of Hitoka-chan?"
"She's nice," he says. The muscles in his legs are bunching and cording, ready to run. It's a ridiculous place to have such a strong fight or flight reaction, but he can feel the adrenaline pumping. He should have lied. He should have run.
"You know, after age thirty, they say girls are less likely to find a husband." Madoka walks her fingers along the edge of Kageyama's desk like she's not about to proposition him on behalf of her daughter in front of the entire office. "Since you're the same age, what would you think of going out with her sometime?"
"I would have to think about it," he hedges. It's not a refusal, but not an agreement, either. "I wouldn't want it to affect my work."
"Always so serious, Kageyama," she says, and the way she drops the -kun makes it easier for him to breathe. She smiles at him, softer and more sincerely, and pats his shoulder. "Back to work."
"Yes, chief!" he says, and immediately sits back down in his chair, back to his tiny fan blowing his bangs off his forehead and making all the papers flutter like nervous birds. He's dodged a bullet, maybe.
Or maybe he's just dug himself deeper.
* * *
Kageyama buys a popsicle and walks home from the station to his empty house in the residential district, a narrow building with a rusted bike rack and too many plants overtaking the balcony. He can smell whatever his elderly neighbors are making for dinner, something with leeks and potatoes and a little spice. Probably curry.
He hasn't had curry since the last time he visited his parents. He can't cook, so he eats takeout from the convenience store. Tonight he has some rice balls and a piece of milk bread, because he's cranky and has convinced himself he deserves it.
After he eats, he cracks open a beer and stretches out his knee on the couch. It still bothers him, even now, like old men who can feel a snowstorm brewing in their broken limbs. Except he doesn't feel snowstorms; he feels bitterness, regret that he's still living in Miyagi and working a boring ass desk job.
Then, because he's a masochist, he opens his laptop to check the score of the national men's volleyball game. There's a clip of a perfect set and this impossibly tiny spiker slamming past the opposing team's defense, and that's it, that's all he can take before his heart breaks, and he slams the computer shut. He shoves it under a throw pillow because he's still mentally about five years old sometimes, and then heaves himself off the couch and across the apartment on his aching knee.
This is fine, he thinks, sorting his recycling into the proper bins like a mature, responsible adult. Maybe he's not playing volleyball, and maybe he's not dating, but he is surviving, and that's something.
It's enough for now.
* * *
The next day, Kageyama arrives at work early, his lunch under his arm, and heads toward the break room.
He is intercepted by click-click-clicks only halfway down the hall, and Madoka swoops into his peripheral vision, pursing her lips and asking, "Do you still have that blue tie?"
His first thought is: Fuck, I forgot a meeting, followed by, Is this one wrinkled? He shifts his lunch under his elbow, freeing his hand so he can adjust the red tie he's wearing. It feels smooth and silky under his fingers, and he can't figure out what's wrong with it.
"Yes," he answers, somewhat belatedly, still frowning at his tie.
"Go home and get it," Madoka says. "It matches your eyes. You have dinner reservations at 18:00 at Rigoletto."
"What?" he says. Rigoletto is an Italian place that he's only been in twice, and that was just to visit the bar. It's all fancy hanging lights and seductive shadows, with a menu that serves things like tapas, whatever that is. "Chief, that isn't really--"
"18:00, Kageyama."
She's ignoring him. He wants to tell her off, but she's his boss, and he needs this job to pay his bills so he can do whatever really sad version of living he's doing right now. He balls up his hands into fists and grits his teeth, trying to think of a polite way to tell her no that won't make her want to fire him.
"Stop scowling," Madoka says. "It's not a good look on you. Go home and get that tie."
"Yes, chief," he says, and hates himself for the coward he's become.
As he's walking out, she pats his arm and says, "It's just one date, Kageyama. If you two don't hit it off, I won't hold it against you. And if you do, well." She smiles, spreads her hands, and raises her eyebrows. Kageyama doesn't believe her for a second.
"I understand," he says, even though he doesn't understand at all. He thinks about what bullshit this is the whole train ride home, that he can't just tell his boss he likes dick and have it be okay and maybe get a date with her son, instead. It's shitty but it's life and he has to deal with it.
The blue tie is hanging in the back of his small closet. He looks in the mirror once he's put it on and grudgingly admits that yeah, it does make his eyes look bluer. Intimidatingly blue eyes isn't usually the theme he's going for, because he's intense as it is, and enough small children have run away crying from him in subway trains that he knows he doesn't really need to look more intense. But Madoka told him to, so he does, and he even grabs a comb off his bathroom counter and sticks it in his pocket so he can fix his hair before 18:00.
* * *
Yachi Hitoka is a different person when her mother isn't around.
Even though Kageyama can see she's nervous from the moment he locks eyes with her outside the restaurant, there's a steeliness to her spine that wasn't there before, a squareness to her shoulders despite the red in her cheeks.
Good for her, he thinks, and it's not bitter, it's not jealous, it's not.
They're seated in a romantic corner by a glittering chandelier. The napkins are cloth, folded into triangles, too many forks set on either side of the place mat. The waiter takes their drink orders, and then they're left just staring awkwardly at each other in this perfect ambiance that neither one of them wants.
"So," he says.
"So," she says back.
He wants to drum his fingers on the table, but that would be rude. He adjusts his tie and clears his throat and tries to think of something to say.
"I have a girlfriend," Hitoka blurts.
Kageyama stares at her, open-mouthed with shock. Her cheeks are redder now, and she's fidgeting, but she's staring right at him, meeting his gaze head-on. He realizes that she's braver than he's ever been in his life, and suddenly he wants to tell her, wants to have one soul in this world know, even if it's just his boss's daughter. I'm gay too, he wants to say. I'm lost too. Help me.
"M-me too," is what he says, because he's a hopeless fuckup.
Hitoka's forehead wrinkles. "Why would you lie to my mother about having a girlfriend?"
"What?" he says. He replays the conversation in his head. 'I have a girlfriend.' 'Me too.' "Oh, shit, no. I mean, I'm gay too."
"Oh," she says.
"Oh," he echoes, leaning back in his chair, feeling like every bit of energy has just been sucked out of him by that confession. It's the first time he's ever said it out loud, he realizes, and starts to laugh.
"Ummm, are you okay?" Hitoka asks.
"I don't know," he says honestly. "I've never told anyone before."
Hitoka squeaks. "I'm so sorry! I mean, uh, I'm glad I could--help? No, that's not right either, um!" She flails her hands around, paling like maybe she's going to faint.
Okay, so she's not completely different without her mother around.
"Calm down, it's fine. It felt, uh. Good." It's the truth, actually.
"That's great," she says, seeming to relax for a split-second, before she panics again, "Oh my goodness, my mother doesn't know! Please don't tell her! Please!"
"I won't."
Hitoka slumps her shoulders and sighs, clutching her hand over her heart, like it had been about to pound out of her chest. "Oh, thank goodness. I won't tell her about you either, of course."
"Thanks," he says awkwardly, and they fall back into silence.
Their waters arrive and collect condensation on the coasters. Kageyama orders the A set with coffee and Hitoka orders the C set with a strawberry dessert. They still don't talk.
"So," he says once the silence becomes excruciating.
"So," she says, still blushing at the table.
"We could still have dinner."
She lights up. "Yeah!"
* * *
That's how he finds out Hitoka does web design, and that she's known her girlfriend since high school but they recently reconnected when Hitoka started doing web design for an LGBTQ organization in the area. She also invites Kageyama to their next meetup, to which he says, "Maybe," even though he knows he has nothing better to do and he really needs to get out more often. They exchange email addresses and promise to keep in touch.
He goes to work on Monday with a smile on his face and forgets to tell Madoka he doesn't think he'll go out with Hitoka again. (Not romantically, anyway.)
At some point during the week, sometime between a mail from Hitoka and eating his cold bento alone in the break room, he realizes he's planning to go to the meetup on Saturday.
The thought is less terrifying than he expected.
* * *
Kageyama spends the ten minutes between the station and the bar convincing himself why this is a terrible, terrible idea. He's not the kind of guy who makes friends. Frienemies, yes. Friends, no.
The bar is on the third floor, and he waffles in the elevator, holding his finger over the button but not actually pushing it. He's still standing there when it just starts moving on its own, and suddenly the doors are swooshing open to the third floor and Hitoka is standing there in a sundress.
"Kageyama-kun!" she says, blinking rapidly. Her surprise easily melts into excitement, and she claps her hands and does a little jump. "I didn't think you'd actually come! I mean, not that I doubted you, you just didn't seem very--um. A-anyway, I was going to meet Kiyoko-chan outside, but come on, I'll introduce you to everyone."
And that's how he finds himself being literally dragged by his arm to a low table in a back room. There's a huge group sitting on pillows in a circle, already laughing into their drinks and looking like there's absolutely no room for an awkward outsider. His heart's pounding so hard that he's thinking wildly of gnawing his own arm off to escape.
Then he locks eyes with a redhead sitting on the opposite side of the room, next to one of the only open seats, and his heart beats even faster and harder.
"E-everyone," Hitoka tries to say over the noise, but her voice is small and wobbly and nobody hears. "Guys, if you could please, I have someone new…"
The guy with the red hair jabs the person he's sitting next to (rowdy, sharp teeth, no hair) and says, "Hey, shut up, Hitoka-chan is talking!"
"Th-thanks," she says with a smile, and then she seems to find herself again, the way she had in the restaurant, brightening and speaking without a trace of a stutter. "Everyone, this is the person I was telling you about. His name is Kageyama Tobio."
"Nice to meet you!" Kageyama says, way too loudly, and he cringes at how he can't even introduce himself without fucking up.
He's not expecting the roar of welcome, or the strangers patting him on the shoulder and introducing themselves back at him. He's also not expecting Hitoka's tiny hand to push him into the open spot next to the redhead with a quickly whispered, "I'll be right back. I still have to meet Kiyoko-chan, but Shouyou will take care of you," but, well, it happens. And then he's just sitting there, his hands curled up into fists on his knees, petrified.
The redhead shifts, angling himself toward Kageyama, and says, "I'm Hinata Shouyou!" and Kageyama thinks, frantically, Oh no, I'm fucked. Hinata has the most adorable voice Kageyama has ever heard in his life, and his face is round and flushed and smiling and so cute that Kageyama has the startling urge to squish it.
"Nice to meet you," he says again, and he doesn't know where to look or what else to say. He thinks he's probably blushing and he hopes the abnormal heat is a plausible excuse.
Hinata slides him a bottle of beer from somewhere and says, "So, how do you know Hitoka-chan?"
"Oh, uh. I work with her mom." Kageyama is grateful for something to do with his hands. He wraps both of them around the bottle, folds his fingers together and stares at the deep amber liquid slowly fizzing inside. "She set us up on a date."
"Uhhh. Awkward."
"Yeah." He wants to add to that, to say that it's actually been nice finding a friend in Hitoka, that he doesn't regret it, but the words feel weird in his mouth. So he drinks his beer and stares at the table and feels stupid about his horrible social skills.
"I can see how you'd be a good match, if she wasn't so in love with Kiyoko-chan," Hinata continues, as though it doesn't bother him at all that Kageyama can hardly string three words together without his hands shaking. Kageyama looks up kind of hopefully, like maybe he can keep listening to this cute, bubbly voice all night without completely embarrassing himself. "She's small and cute, and you're all tall and cranky-looking, but I bet you've got a soft side."
"That's just my face," he says, thinking, You're small and cute. Sort of. He's short, but his biceps look like he works out every day, and upon closer inspection, which is totally not creepy or perverted at all, he notices that his thighs are kind of massive. And just then, it hits him that Hinata's that player for the national men's team, the short one who can jump amazingly high and control the ball wherever he is in the air. "Oh. You're Hinata Shouyou."
"Um, yeah," Hinata says, laughing. His nose crinkles when he laughs and the effect is devastatingly adorable. "And you're Kageyama Tobio."
"I mean, you play for the national league. I saw your game." Well, part of it, before he got too bitter and had to turn it off.
"You like volleyball?"
"Kinda," he says. Some of Hinata's light dims, and he thinks that was the wrong thing to say. But he doesn't know how to answer that honestly. He used to live and breathe volleyball, and he still loves it more than anything, to the point where watching it and not being able to play it makes his throat close up and his eyes itch. He's allergic to not playing volleyball.
But then Hinata's recovering, a smile curling his mouth, and his eyes sweep over Kageyama from head to toe. He looks up at him through his eyelashes and says, "You look like you're in shape. You could play, probably," and Kageyama chokes on his drink.
Is this flirting? Or is it just a professional athlete sizing up Kageyama's muscles? He's not gonna lie, he's still in fucking excellent shape, lifts weights and does low-impact cardiovascular exercises and stretches his knee every night like the physical therapist showed him. But someone like Hinata couldn't possibly be interested in someone like Kageyama, could he?
He tells himself that just because Hinata is at some queer meetup thing, doesn't mean he's interested in men--and even if he's interested in men, that doesn't mean he's interested in Kageyama. As confident as he is in his physical shape, he knows he's a disaster mentally, and besides, someone as bright and adorable as Hinata probably already has someone.
So he says, "Probably," and then scowls as he realizes how arrogant that sounded, and this isn't how he wanted things to go at all. He knows he's making that scary face right now, the one that makes kids cry and dogs bark, but he just can't help it, that's just how his face is--
Hinata starts laughing.
"Hey," he snaps, turning red, his shoulders migrating up towards his ears. It's not funny. He probably could play. It's been a while, but his fingers still remember how to set a ball. It's all muscle memory.
"You're hilarious," Hinata informs him once he's collected himself, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. His smile is bright and engaging as he pats Kageyama on the shoulder and says, "Let me buy you another drink. I feel like you get funnier the drunker you get. What do you want?
"Um. Kirin Bitters," he says, kind of confused, still feeling like he should be offended but instead feeling something hot rush down his spine as Hinata's warm hand touches his shoulder.
"Gotcha," he says, then pulls away, raising a hand to signal the waitress. "Excuse me! Could we get another?"
Kageyama hunches down and tries to become one with the table. He doesn't know why he suddenly thinks drinking Kirin Bitters is embarrassing. When he finally looks away from Hinata, he sees Hitoka came back at some point, tucked underneath the arm of a tall woman with silky black hair and a beauty mark at the corner of her mouth. They're both watching him, wearing identical smiles as though they've accomplished something.
He ignores them and turns his body towards Hinata, their knees bumping slightly, which is probably just because they've crammed too many people into a small restaurant and not because of anything else. He lets Hinata buy him two more Kirin Bitters and doesn't think much of it. Hinata just has money, probably, and he seems like the generous type.
Hinata also gives him his e-mail address, and Kageyama's face is red from the alcohol as he types it in and gives Hinata his in exchange. He's drunk, but not so drunk he can't find his way back to the station, but Hinata walks with him the whole way anyway. Kageyama feels light and airy and actually smiles as he taps his IC card and walks in to catch the last train home.
He sobers up a little by the time he gets home, but not a lot, just enough that he doesn't miss the door with his key when he unlocks it. He peels himself out of his smoky-smelling shirt and collapses face-down in his bed, tasting lemon lime in his mouth. His smile is pressed into his pillow even though he doesn't know what he's smiling for.
He falls asleep with his shoes on.