Work Text:
Kageyama’s pet peeve is foods that looks like other foods. It messes with his brain, okay? Something that looks like pizza should taste like pizza, plain and simple.
Hinata has never been privy this information, though. It’s a niche quirk that’s never come up before, and there's no need to bring it up now, especially since his husband was kind enough to bake him a cake...but why on Earth does it look like a deep dish pizza?!
“Do you get it, ‘yama?” Hinata smiles as he sets down the obscure pizza cake with 27 candles.
Kageyama fakes a smile. “Oh, yeah, totally…” he lies, but Hinata isn't buying it. “Okay. Out with it,” the ginger demands.
Kageyama lets out a deep breath. “I just don’t understand why you went to the trouble of making the cake look like something it’s not.” He instantly regrets his answer when he sees Hinata’s usual smile flip upside down.
“I can’t believe this!” he pouts. “I guess you are pretty dense, huh, dummy-yama. Didn’t you notice the toppings?”
Kageyama looks to the cake, decorated with (fake) sausage and something that resembled…what was that…anchovies? What a strange combination. Something about this seems oddly familiar…
Kageyama’s mind is sent back to 2019, when he and Hinata traveled to Chicago with the national team to compete in the FIVB Volleyball Men's Nations League invitational. Their first night, Hinata dragged Kageyama to a pizza place, insisting they eat like locals. ‘When in Rome,’ he said (though actual Italians probably wouldn’t approve of the comparison).
They tell the waitress what they want, but something must have been lost in translation because when it arrives, their pizza was topped with—you guessed it—sausage and anchovies.
“Kageyama! I told you that wasn’t the word for mushrooms!” Hinata scowls as he picks off the salty fish.
“Then why didn’t you correct me, boke?” He helps discard the unwanted topping.
“Forget it.” Hinata's glare quickly turns to smirk. “Hey, ‘yama. I’ll give you 10 bucks if you eat one of the anchovies.”
Kageyama grimaces. “Ew, no way. Why don’t you do it?”
“Okay, fine.” Hinata proceeds to eat the fish whole, smacking his lips as he shrugs. “Not bad, but not good either. Now hand it over, Kageyama," he says, holding out his hand.
“Hand what over?”
“Hello? My 10 dollars?”
Kageyama sports a feral grin. “I don’t remember betting anything. You ate that of your own free will.”
Hinata replays the conversation in his head, that son-of-a-bitch was right. He’d been bested, victim to a technicality. He moves to Kageyama’s side of the booth, grabs another anchovy, and tries to shove it in Kageyama’s mouth. Kageyama purses his lips and turns his head to the side. But Hinata was persistent, still attempting to press the fish through Kageyama’s lips, who eventually gives in. When Hinata’s fingers slip into his mouth and brush against his tongue, Kageyama jolts and inadvertently bites him.
“OUCH!” Hinata yelps. “What the heck did you do that for?”
Kageyama finishes the anchovy and quickly gulps down his glass of water. “You can’t just put your fingers in someone’s mouth, dumbass!” His face is flushed, but that could easily be explained by the disgusting fish he just ate. Unless...
“Um, ‘yama?” Hinata stutters.
Kageyama is irritated and flustered and about a million other things that he can't seem to describe. All he can muster is a short “What?”.
“I thought of something else you could give me instead.” He reaches out to Kageyama’s cheek.
The setter's eyes widen as he asks, “What are you doing?”
Hinata leans in closer to Kageyama’s face, whispering, “I’m going to kiss you now. Okay?”
Kageyama gulps. “Okay.”
It was their first kiss, and while it was saltier than either would have hoped, it was perfect. Hinata smiles at Kageyama. “And now we’re even.”
Fast forward four years, and Kageyama is standing in their shared kitchen looking at the most beautiful cake. One that just happened to be shaped like a pizza.
“I love you so much, Shoyo.”
Hinata smiles, realizing that his husband finally understands. “I love you too!” He pulls him in for a passionate kiss and whispers, “Happy birthday, Tobio.”