Chapter Text
The first day of high school is supposed to be a fresh start. That's what Hinata keeps telling himself as he speeds down the street on his bike, the crisp morning air whipping at his cheeks. He's determined to be different this year—more chill, less awkward, maybe even a little mysterious.
But that idea is completely obliterated the moment he walks into class 1-B and sees him .
Tall, sharp-jawed, with eyes like they're already judging the entire room— Kageyama Tobio . He's leaning back in his seat with arms crossed, looking like he owns the air around him. His uniform is ironed to perfection, and there's something in the way he doesn’t look at anyone that somehow makes everyone look at him.
Hinata freezes, halfway through the classroom door, his heart slamming once in his chest like it’s trying to warn him: trouble ahead .
He's cute. Really cute.
"Shit," Hinata mutters under his breath, quickly finding the nearest empty seat. He doesn’t realize until he sits down that it’s diagonally behind Kageyama. Close enough to see the way his hair sticks up just slightly in the back. Too close.
No. Absolutely not. I am not doing this.
He tears his eyes away and takes a deep breath, focusing on his notebook. He’ll just keep his head down, blend in, and crush on someone normal. Someone boring. Someone safe .
But Kageyama is a magnet. The more Hinata tells himself not to look, the more he feels his gaze drifting back. During roll call, Kageyama mutters a curt "here" in a voice deeper than expected. When the teacher makes a joke, Kageyama doesn’t even flinch—but Hinata notices the twitch at the corner of his mouth.
By lunch, Hinata has catalogued the number of times he’s accidentally looked at him (six), the number of times Kageyama might’ve caught him (three), and the number of times his stomach did that stupid thing when Kageyama brushed his bangs out of his eyes (too many).
He ends up eating on the roof, alone, legs dangling through the railing, trying to drown his thoughts in melon bread and wind.
"Okay, get a grip," he tells himself, chewing furiously. "This is not a thing. You are not gonna be that guy who has a crush on the mysterious boy just because he looks like he walked out of a drama."
Except… Kageyama does. And worse, he smells good. Hinata caught a whiff when he passed by earlier—something clean and slightly minty—and now that scent is branded into his memory like a curse.
It only gets worse when he walks back to class and finds Kageyama already sitting, tapping his pen against his notebook, brows furrowed like he's solving the meaning of life.
Hinata takes his seat without looking up, but his ears are hot. He can feel the tension stretching between them, like a string that's been pulled too tight but hasn’t snapped.
When school ends, Hinata bolts out before he can embarrass himself, before he can stare again or, god forbid, talk to him.
But the image stays: Kageyama with his head tilted slightly in thought, the late afternoon sun cutting across his cheekbone, eyes narrowed in focus like he’s trying to figure something out.
Hinata bikes home with that picture stuck in his mind, and a terrible truth slowly sinking in.
He's already in way too deep.