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It’s only a split-second, but Kageyama sees everything.
Hinata leaps into the air, his body arching, as if he’s spreading his wings to fly.
The ball leaves Kageyama’s fingertips, spins through the air, and then comes to a full stop—
A loud thud.
Hinata’s palm makes contact and the ball slams down on the linoleum court, unblocked. Both teams’ silence lasts a single breath. But Kageyama doesn’t need to look at the ball to know it’s scored them a point, doesn’t need to look at the stunned faces across them.
All he sees is Hinata frozen in mid-air for that eternal second. Hinata’s face: first scrunched up in concentration, those brown eyes as sharp as a bird of prey’s and just as dangerous; then exhilaration, his mouth pulling into a wide grin and eyes sparkling, making him look even younger than he really is.
As soon as his feet hit the floor he whips his head to the side to meet Kageyama’s eyes, and then they’re both screaming, howling. Hinata pumps his fists into the air. Kageyama screams something back—it’s not even a word, just a “whoooo!”—and then Tanaka is smacking Hinata’s back so hard the redhead almost topples over. But he’s laughing, they’re all laughing, and even Kageyama wants to give someone a high five. They’ve won. They’ve won.
The rush is addicting even though it feels the same every single time. Kageyama belatedly realizes that even the crowd’s cheers are deafening but all he sees is Hinata, little Hinata, running up to him.
Hinata hollers out a battle cry and slams his head into Kageyama’s chest. Kageyama topples over, Hinata coming down on top of him. That must be Nishinoya laughing right behind them, and Kageyama swears he hears Tsukishima groan, but suddenly the world goes all muffled, all fishbowl-quiet.
Hinata’s hair is falling into his face but his eyes are wide as ever, and he’s speaking a mile a minute. “We won, Kageyama! We won we won we won!”
Kageyama wants to kiss him all of a sudden. He’s not sure where the urge comes from, but even before he can knock their heads together something heavy lands on both of them. Nishinoya leaps on Hinata’s back, causing the redhead to giggle, and then Tanaka joins the pile and that is definitely Suga trying to hold Daichi back even for just a little while.
This is another thing that makes winning worth it. Kageyama’s old teammates have never congratulated him like this—not since the first few years of middle school, honestly—and for a moment his chest hurts so much but it hurts in a good way. Maybe he won’t glare at the second years too hard. Maybe.
Hinata finally rolls off of him and if Kageyama weren’t so surprised he would have grabbed his wrist, asked him to stay.
But the idea is ridiculous. Kageyama freezes, and lets himself get ushered out of the court.
There won’t be another competition until a few months later. It’s too far away and the post-victory high is still too strong for them to be in a hurry. Plus, now Kageyama can actually try to study. You’re still a student first, Kageyama can hear his mother say.
He scoffs.
Hinata’s come over to his house, under the excuse of having to study. Well, they both have to study but they won’t get anything done anyway. Hinata’s occupied with one of his older video games. He refuses to sit still, wiggling around and jerking his arms every time he hits the buttons on the controller. Kageyama had played against him the previous eleven rounds—with six wins and five losses—until he’d gotten sick of it and let Hinata try to beat his individual high score on his own.
Of course, the textbooks lying open on the desk have been long forgotten. Kageyama watches Hinata from beside him. He never really does sit still, and Kageyama’s sure that he’s moved at least five inches from where he originally sat a few minutes ago.
There are very interesting expressions across Hinata’s face. Sometimes he whines and then his nose and eyebrows scrunch up. Sometimes he lets out a stupid “wahhh!”, opens his eyes wide and scoots backwards so far he almost falls over.
He’s very much like a kid, and he almost jabs Kageyama enough times while flailing around that Kageyama gets pissed off about it. Hinata drops the controller, unconsciously hitting the pause button, and then Kageyama lunges.
“Uwahh, Kageyama, you looked like a troll just now—“
Hinata grabs Kageyama’s wrist and then squeezes his other hand. They wrestle in front of the TV, rolling around and almost knocking into the table. Kageyama tries to put Hinata into a headlock but the redhead dodges and laughs, breathless. He shoves Kageyama off him, tries to climb on top but gets his legs swept from underneath him.
Kageyama expects him to get angry, to start flailing around like a wild animal, but instead Hinata laughs. His body shakes so hard that he has trouble breathing. Tears threaten to spill from the corner of his eyes as he clutches his stomach hard.
Should Kageyama be offended? He only stares at Hinata, dazed and confused, and only a little put off. Hinata takes one glance at him and then continues laughing harder.
“What?” Kageyama grunts, flicking Hinata’s ear. Hinata snorts and tries to calm down. His shoulders still shake but he tries to keep the giggles in. He bites his lip so hard Kageyama thinks it might bleed, and he has the strange urge to press his fingers against that red mouth.
After all, Hinata is spread out underneath him. His brown eyes are sparkling as they stare Kageyama down, and Kageyama is so close that he can see himself reflected in them. Hinata hums thoughtfully, not bothering to say anything else.
Hinata radiates warmth. There’s a look in his eyes, one that Kageyama is achingly familiar with. It’s a look Hinata sends him after a good toss sometimes—not always during a game but sometimes just during practice, or when they’ve decided to play alone in the park, or when they’ve arrived early at the gym.
He can’t tell what the look means but it makes his heart flip a little bit inside of his chest, and suddenly Kageyama’s throat is dry. Nobody’s said anything for a while. The air hangs a little heavier, or is that just him?
“Kage—“
Hinata speaks right as Kageyama pushes himself off with a grunt. Kageyama didn’t mean to interrupt him, but he feels like his skin is burning. His palms are gross and sweaty, and no matter how many times he wipes them off his pants they remain clammy. Hinata looked so innocent, so open, and the idea makes something burst out of Kageyama’s chest.
Whatever that something is, he isn’t sure what.
Kageyama refuses to face Hinata. Hinata makes a displeased noise. It makes Kageyama jump, but he refuses to make eye contact. Hinata scrambles up next him, pushing his face into Kageyama’s own personal space, trying to look at the setter’s face. Kageyama looks away, swallows, and turns his head once more when Hinata tries to look again.
“What’s up with you?” Hinata asks, voice innocent and curious. Kageyama murmurs something unintelligible. Hinata presses his chin on top of Kageyama’s shoulder and the setter swallows thickly. Too many images flash through his head, too many sensations.
Hinata, wild-eyed and sweaty after they win a match, blocking out the bright stadium lights as he knocks Kageyama down. Hinata, throwing a smile at Kageyama right after spiking a ball that he’d tossed. Hinata, so small beneath him, looking up with that expectant gaze, his mouth open as he pants from laughing too hard—
Hinata’s close. Hinata’s much too close.
But Kageyama realizes that he wants him closer.
This is a dangerous thought, Kageyama thinks.
“Are you that upset you lost? Because if you keep brooding I’m just going to eat the snacks in your bag...”
Hinata bolts away. Kageyama struggles to spin around and grab him by the heel, but he fails. Hinata dives into his bookbag, pulling out random junk until he finds the food that Kageyama had been saving for himself for later.
“Oi, that’s mine!” Kageyama snaps, reaching out. Once Hinata is sticking his tongue out at him and generally being annoying it’s much easier to breathe. Why did Kageyama ever want to kiss him?
Either way, he’s glad for the distraction, and is glad that his heartbeat is starting to settle. It must have been just a fluke, just a consequence of getting too worked up in a hot room—
“Give that back, you thief!”
“You’re too slow, Kageyama!”
Eventually Hinata throws the carton at Kageyama’s face. Kageyama catches it, scowls, and Hinata jokes about him looking so scary.
They don’t actually ever get any studying done, but they race two more times—Hinata wins one and Kageyama wins the other. Later that night when Hinata waves goodbye, that sunny smile on his lips, Kageyama ignores the way his heart does somersaults in his chest.
He must be sick, Kageyama thinks. Must be indigestion or the stomach flu or a heatstroke or something. Because if he isn’t sick, if this is what he really thinks it is—
He’s in trouble.
Hinata is likeable.
Kageyama is unlikeable.
This is clearly the problem.
Hinata is the closest friend he’s had in a long, long time. Hinata is the one who slams his way past Kageyama’s walls, the one who runs headfirst into his life and clings onto the setter with an iron grip. Hinata is fire and sunshine, a whirlwind that even Kageyama has trouble catching up to sometimes.
He’s an idiot, but he’s kind (and beautiful and wonderful and many other things that Kageyama wouldn’t ever actually say to his face; the mere idea makes the tall boy’s cheeks feel hot) and gets along well with other people.
Hinata is clingy and touchy-feely. He yammers often, even if he doesn’t even make sense half of the time. He likes clinging to Nishinoya, an arm linked with his upperclassman, as they join forces. He gives Tanaka high-fives and gets patted on the back often. He smiles brighter than the sun when Suga ruffles his hair. He even huddles next to Yachi sometimes as they talk about one thing or the other, their eyes both gleaming. Hinata even hangs around with Yamaguchi, pressing shoulders (or rather, Hinata’s shoulders to Yamaguchi’s arms).
Not to mention his classmates, his friends outside of volleyball club, and his friends from other teams outside of Karasuno. Hinata is naturally friendly, naturally warm and huggable and the fact that Kageyama wants to touch him, really touch him in a way that is far from friendly and platonic, makes guilt squirm in the taller boy’s gut.
Hinata deserves so much better (but there are even fewer people that Kageyama can think of that deserve Hinata), so maybe Kageyama should just will it away. He tries, he tries really hard, but it’s difficult and often leaves him nothing but a stammering, grumpy mess.
He can’t ignore him—it hurts Kageyama too much to do that. The thought of Hinata truly angry at him, or even so upset that he cries, makes Kageyama realize that he will never forgive himself.
This isn’t fair.
This really isn’t fair.
Kageyama is selfish.
This is what he thinks when he lets Hinata sit so close to him that their sides press together. Hinata’s babbling, lunchbox empty on his lap. Kageyama chews carefully for once. He tries to concentrate on the food instead of the warmth at his side, practically cocooned into his ribcage.
There are crumbs dusting the edge of Hinata’s mouth, almost at his chin. Kageyama’s fingers twitch. He wants to reach out, wants to wipe it off and mumble something about Hinata being such a five year old—
Hinata cuts himself off mid-sentence, freezing in place.
Before Kageyama’s realized it he’s reached forward, wiping away the mess at the boy’s chin. Hinata looks up at him, wide brown eyes quivering. Kageyama doesn’t glance into his eyes; he doesn’t want Hinata to see, to realize how Kageyama feels about him, to be afraid.
“You act like a five year old,” Kageyama mumbles, pulling back sharply. Hinata huffs, but he doesn’t call Kageyama a creep or a pervert. For once, the setter is glad that he’s so oblivious.
“And you’re as tall as one too,” Kageyama adds, because insulting other people is the only way he can deal with the way his chest constricts. Hinata lets out a loud, weird, offended noise, and tells him that at least he isn’t ugly.
At least neither of them take it personally, and before he knows it they’re bickering again.
Bickering is good. Bickering is comfortable. Bickering is familiar.
And when Kageyama grips Hinata’s hands to prevent the younger boy from smacking him in the face, well, he tries to push down the sudden burst of warmth in his chest.
It’s nothing they haven’t done before, so Kageyama feels a little less guilty.
“Hey, Kageyama, give me a toss!”
The days have gotten longer as summer nears. They’ve finished practice even before sunset, but Hinata probably wants to play as long as there’s still some daylight. Kageyama doesn’t mind; he isn’t totally worn out yet, and wishes that he could just play volleyball forever (although that sounds more like something Hinata would say).
The gym is locked behind them so they’ll have to go somewhere else. There’s lots of space in the nearby park, and they toss to each other without any real force. There’s no real urgency, no real game until they compete on who can toss higher.
It backfires when the ball lands into a tree. Hinata groans and blames him.
“You threw it, so you get it!” Hinata says, pointing at him. Kageyama frowns.
“I wasn’t the one who hit the ball into a tree, dumbass,” Kageyama replies, scowling. Hinata frowns, but then perks up as he gets an idea.
“I know! Whoever gets it down has to treat both of us for drinks!” He stands up straight, giddy with childish excitement, and Kageyama swallows down a smile.
“Fine.”
Hinata jumps up high, higher than Kageyama has ever seen, but he’s still too short to reach the ball. The setter finds a fallen branch, reaches up, and tries to knock the ball down.
He jumps up right when Hinata does, and when both of them fail Hinata frowns. He jumps too far forward and knocks Kageyama over. They both fall into a heap on the grass, a fistful of Kageyama’s shirt in Hinata’s grip.
Kageyama groans, blinking up to see nothing but blue sky.
“Sorry,” Hinata says. He laughs a bit, not sounding sorry at all. Kageyama’s still too winded to say anything, just lies on his back and breathes. Hinata suddenly goes all boneless and plops down on top of him, causing Kageyama to yelp.
“Get off! You’re heavy.”
Hinata isn’t heavy, not really. The grass tickles the back of Kageyama’s neck and Hinata’s hair tickles his chin. Kageyama can feel the smaller boy’s breaths against his collarbone. Can Hinata feel Kageyama’s heart starting to pound in his chest? Can Hinata hear the gulp Kageyama takes when he realizes the redhead’s lips have brushed against his skin?
“’m tired,” Hinata mumbles.
“Then get off me and go home.”
“Nah.”
Kageyama could easily lift him up, drop him to the side and that would be that. But he doesn’t. He sighs—not too deeply since Hinata’s still pressed against his chest—and makes a vague noise of disapproval. In a few minutes the sun will set, and he’ll have an excuse to go home.
But right now he has Hinata pressed against him, the boy’s limbs like jelly. He’s a dead weight on Kageyama’s sore body, but the sound of him breathing steadily blends into the din that surrounds them.
This is okay, Kageyama thinks. Hinata can’t see his face. He won’t know.
Kageyama is selfish. He’ll take what he can get.
He pulls at the grass. He wants to put a hand on the small of Hinata’s back, just to keep him there. Which isn’t needed, since Hinata isn’t moving anyway. But.
“Kageyama,” Hinata says. It’s quiet, so quiet that Kageyama almost misses it. But he doesn’t, because he is attuned to everything Hinata Shouyou.
That soft, tiny tone of voice doesn’t fit him, Kageyama thinks. Hinata is bright, is loud, and his presence takes up more space than his body actually does. Even when he hesitates, even when he’s worried or afraid or anxious, he is never this quiet, this vulnerable.
Kageyama briefly remembers pinning Hinata down, feeling his head swim as the redhead stares at him with sharp, brown eyes. He’d said Kageyama’s name in this same, quiet tone, but Kageyama hadn’t let him finish—
Because he was afraid.
Can Hinata see right through him?
“Yeah?” Kageyama responds, even though it’s a little too late. He tries to match Hinata’s quiet breath. His hands feel cold and clammy, and he swallows. They’re lying on top of each other in the public park, right before the sun sets, right next to a rowdy group of kids playing soccer.
But the world takes a back seat, the way it always does when Hinata stands with him.
“I had fun today,” Hinata says, burying his face in the crook of Kageyama’s neck. Kageyama holds a breath then steadily exhales, tries to control his pounding heartbeat. He lifts his hand, keeps it in the air, right above Hinata’s back.
“Me too,” Kageyama replies, even though today has been the same as every single other day.
(But that doesn’t make it any less true)
“Let’s... do this again,” Hinata says. It’s awkward but sincere, a little shy.
“Idiot. We always do.” Kageyama thinks, fuck it, and places his clammy hand against Hinata’s spine. He can feel the heat from Hinata’s skin seeping through his shirt. He’s a little sweaty, but both of them are, and Kageyama doesn’t really care.
Hinata snorts.
“Yeah, we do.”
Kageyama suddenly, fiercely wishes Hinata would look at him. He can feel the boy smile into his neck, dry lips curling up against his skin and his collar.
His heart pounds but most of all he is happy, Kageyama is happy in the way only Hinata has made him feel.
He can’t even convince himself to feel guilty.
Hinata hums, probably getting sleepy, and curls up further. Kageyama knows they should get up, start to go home, maybe eat something and take a warm bath. He wants to blame Hinata but he can only blame himself, because he wants Hinata to stay too.
Right there Kageyama realizes it. The thought surfaces in his mind like a swimmer gasping for fresh air. He mouths the words and realizes that they fit.
He loves Hinata. He loves him a lot.
The idea makes his chest hurt, but it hurts in a good way. He clutches the back of Hinata’s shirt, as if he’s trying to transfer these feelings through his fingertips.
Hinata inhales and slowly gets up. Kageyama keeps his hand light against his back. He watches the redhead crawl up, support himself on his elbows until they’re looking at each other.
“Did we get the ball down?” Hinata asks, turning his head to look up at the tree. Their volleyball remains nested in the branches. He groans.
“Let’s just get it tomorrow,” Kageyama says. Hinata nods.
“I’m hungry.”
They dust themselves off and get up, gathering their things. It’s an old volleyball, practically falling apart anyway. Hinata has two newer ones at home. They make their way down the road, Hinata starting to yawn. His arms swing at his sides, the back of his hand brushing against Kageyama’s every once in a while.
Kageyama lets himself wonder if maybe Hinata wants to touch him too. Hinata, who has many other friends but wants to eat lunch with Kageyama anyway. Hinata, who goes to his empty house and plays his video games and eats all his food and makes him feel less alone. Hinata, who trusts Kageyama 100% or even more, who looks at him whenever they score with their freak quicks, who plays volleyball with him pretty much every day.
Does he—
Hinata tugs him inside a shop by his wrist. Kageyama’s skin burns where they touch—
Does Hinata like him too?
“Stop zoning out, Bakageyama, you look like a zombie. You’ll scare everyone else away.”
It’s hard to tell because Hinata is beautiful and fiery and Kageyama doesn’t think he deserves him but.
But Kageyama is selfish.
He grips Hinata’s hands, laces their fingers together. He expects Hinata to look at him weirdly, maybe ask if he’s sick, or be disgusted because Kageyama is not affectionate, he is not likeable, he isn’t pleasant to be around.
Instead, Hinata grins, brighter than the sun, and squeezes his fingers back.
Kageyama wants to ask him, does your heart hurt when you see me too? He thinks it’s a silly question, because why would anyone’s heart hurt at seeing Kageyama? But Hinata looks alive all of a sudden, all sleepiness gone from his eyes, and Kageyama has no choice but to hold his hand as he’s dragged into the convenience store aisles.
Hinata doesn’t mention anything out of the ordinary; he talks about volleyball and how hard his Math test was and how his homeroom teacher might be getting bald. Kageyama barely interjects until they get into an argument about whether flavored milk actually tastes like the flavor it’s supposed to have.
They whine and bicker and hold hands, Hinata swinging their arms together every now and then.
Eventually they grow quiet, finally running out of things to say. Kageyama doesn’t want to assume anything, doesn’t want to take advantage of Hinata’s natural affection, but he also doesn’t want to let go of the small hand in his.
They reach the crossroads where they’re supposed to part. Kageyama freezes before Hinata can say goodbye.
“Hinata,” he croaks, and clears his throat. Hinata tilts his head to the side, scuffing his shoes as he stops in place.
I like you.
“Goodnight,” Kageyama says quietly. Hinata nods, slowly pulling away his fingers. Kageyama’s tempted not to let him, tempted to keep gripping his hand until Hinata whines and demands to be let go. But he doesn’t, and their hands are free again.
Kageyama’s skin is cold where they no longer touch.
“Goodnight.” Hinata grins, adjusting his bag. “See you tomorrow.”
Kageyama nods, and because he doesn’t know what else to say, turns away without another word.
Nothing changes between them, except that Hinata likes to hold his hand more often. Kageyama’s heart still feels like it’s doing gymnastics in his chest, and his hands still ache with wanting to touch Hinata’s skin.
He still wants to kiss him, wants to hold his face in his hands and press their lips together, but whenever Kageyama gets the urge he feels his face grow warm and tries to ignore it. Tries to forget it.
They play volleyball, practice new attacks, eat lunch together, go home together, argue over stupid things, race each other half of the time, and occasionally hold hands.
Whenever Hinata presses up against him, Kageyama is twice as aware of every subtle movement.
When they play a practice game, he is still aware of everything—sees everything Hinata does in a split-second.
Run. Feint. Jump. Ball. Spike.
Score. Win.
Scream.
Hinata runs towards him again, leaping up. Kageyama expects to be knocked down but he isn’t. Instead Hinata laughs, throws his arms around Kageyama’s shoulders and nuzzles his face into his chest. Kageyama’s not good with hugs and it’s awkward with their height difference, but he tries. He wraps his arms around Hinata and presses his face into the top of the shorter boy’s head. This is the first time he’s ever done this, and he feels Hinata freeze with the realization.
Still, he continues.
I love you, he mouths into Hinata’s hair.
Hinata probably won’t know he ever tried to say anything.
Their opponents are congratulating them, asking for a rematch. Everyone’s up for another one anyway, so they do it, and Kageyama’s back to thinking about volleyball.
Except sometimes he still feels Hinata’s hair against his lips, or Hinata’s arms around his shoulders and his face pressed against his chest.
That evening, Kageyama feels good. His body tingles all over, but it’s not tiredness—more of excitement. Ukai says they’ve all done a good job and to get some rest. Tomorrow is a Sunday so there isn’t any practice.
But Hinata will probably call him and they’ll probably end up tossing to each other again, or something.
Still, Kageyama doesn’t mind, even though right now he’s yawning. Hinata patters next to him, still bursting with energy even though he’d been running around all day.
A small hand slides into Kageyama’s bigger one.
He looks down, catches Hinata looking up at him shyly. If Kageyama focuses on his face underneath the streetlamps (which he does), he can see a faint hint of red on those cheeks.
The sight is so adorable it makes Kageyama grip his hand even tighter.
“I love you too,” Hinata mumbles, loud enough just for the two of them to hear.
Kageyama feels his cheeks flush. His entire thought process shuts down for about five seconds because holy shit Hinata heard him.
Holy shit Hinata loves him.
He loves him too.
“T-Took you long enough, dumbass.” Kageyama knows he has no right to say it but he does anyway. It’s all he can spit out because suddenly he knows that Hinata did like him, did want to touch him, did feel his cheeks go warm at the thought of Kageyama, out of all people.
The relief he feels makes his knees go weak.
“At least I can say it out loud,” Hinata bites back, even though his face is still red.
“F-Fine.”
They stop walking and stand in the middle of the street. They stare at each other, looking awkward and embarrassed and generally stiff. Still, their hands are linked and Hinata tugs at Kageyama’s hand, wanting him to go closer.
“You never said it before so...” Hinata trails off, his eyes still so bright even under the streetlamps. Kageyama’s breath hitches in his throat.
“I—“
Hinata’s gaze is wide, expectant, and Kageyama has absolutely no urge to hold back and hide the way he feels.
“I love you.”
It comes out naturally. It fits. It’s true. Kageyama’s chest is light and he feels all fuzzy, like he’s so happy that he’s floating.
Hinata smiles, at first slowly and carefully, and then all at once.
The image of Hinata’s smile is burned into Kageyama’s brain and the back of his eyelids. This is one kind of smile out of Hinata’s many; it is not unfamiliar but it isn’t any less beautiful, any less precious. No matter how small, no matter how nervous—
He had smiled because Kageyama said he loved Hinata Shouyou.
Kageyama smiles back.
And he thinks, was there ever a need to ask Hinata to stay? He would’ve stayed anyway. Stayed here and gripped Kageyama’s large, clammy palms and loved him back even though because he’s grumpy unlikeable unsociable imperfect Kageyama.
But when has Hinata ever not?