Chapter Text
Hinata’s eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep and the kind of grogginess that clung to his limbs like a wet blanket. Pale morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting long shadows across the unfamiliar room. For a long moment, he just lay still, blinking against the brightness, trying to gather his scattered thoughts and piece together where exactly he was. The faint hum of the city beyond the window—cars drifting by, distant voices, the occasional bird—mingled with the quiet creaks and sighs of the apartment settling into the day.
And then, like a sudden gust of cold air, the sharp realization crashed over him: This isn’t my room. This isn’t my bed.
His heart jolted, panic prickling beneath his skin. He bolted upright, sheets slipping away from his bare shoulders, and for the first time really looked at himself. His fingers trembled as they moved to his neck and collarbone, brushing over the faint but vivid bruises and bite marks there—purples bleeding into reds, tender and stubborn against the soft morning light. Each mark was a flashback all on its own, a silent testimony to the chaos of the night before.
The memories came rushing in like a tide—unruly and relentless: the bar, crowded and noisy, laughter blending with the music pulsing through the room, the dizzy swirl of drinks warming his blood. How he’d locked eyes with the raven-haired boy—tall, intense, the kind of striking presence you can’t forget but somehow hadn’t caught the name of. The way they’d stumbled out together, hands brushing, then clasping, bodies pressed close in the cramped cab as the city lights blurred past.
Then everything else: the urgent, hungry kissing; the desperate groping and biting; the burning heat and aching need that had swallowed them both whole. Falling into bed tangled and reckless, like strangers and yet something else entirely. Every touch replayed behind his eyelids, every shiver of sensation branded itself deeper into his skin and memory.
Blinking against the brightness, Hinata’s gaze darted frantically around the room, desperate for an escape route or some sign that this was just a bad dream. As far as he could see, he was alone. The bed next to his was empty, the sheets still rumpled, the air thick with the faint scent of someone else’s cologne. Only the soft rustle of fabric and his own ragged breathing broke the silence, his heart hammering in his chest like a wild drumbeat.
He knew he had to get out. Fast. The longer he stayed here, the more impossible it would become—especially since he didn’t even know the guy’s name. Or his address. Or how he’d let himself fall into this mess in the first place.
With a shaky breath, Hinata swung his legs off the bed and scrambled for his clothes. The moment he pulled the shirt and pants from beneath a chair, his stomach lurched. The fabric was sticky, slick in places. The pants… well, Hinata didn’t want to think about that. His face flamed crimson as the memories bubbled up again—the sloppy kisses, the wild grabbing, the heat so thick it left them both drenched in more than just sweat.
“Okay, okay, focus,” he muttered under his breath, cheeks burning hotter than the morning sun pouring through the window. His eyes scanned the room wildly, searching for anything to cover himself with, anything that might spare him the embarrassment of sneaking out half-naked.
Then he spotted it—a long, black shirt hanging carelessly over the back of a chair. Without hesitating, he grabbed it and slipped it on. It swallowed him completely; the sleeves flopped past his wrists and the hem dragged near his knees. He looked like a tiny, flustered ghost lost in someone else’s clothes—but at least it was better than nothing.
Steeling himself, Hinata carefully ninja-crawled out of bed, trying to make as little noise as possible. Halfway to the door, disaster struck— crash! His elbow slammed into a nearby shelf.
Milk bottles. Dozens of them. Tumbled, shattered, white liquid spreading slowly across the floor, pooling around Hinata’s knees.
His jaw dropped. Milk bottles? Like, collectible milk bottles? What kind of person collected milk? Was this some weird hipster thing? Was he some kind of secret milk sommelier? The questions whirled in his mind as he stared, frozen.
Before he could process any more, the door creaked open behind him.
The boy stepped in, toothbrush dangling lazily from his mouth, eyes half-lidded in a deadpan stare. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t blink. Just looked at Hinata crouched amidst the milky wreckage, shirt hanging loose and hair sticking up in every direction.
Hinata swallowed hard, feeling like he’d been caught red-handed in the weirdest crime imaginable. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, only broken by the faint dripping of milk from broken glass.
Neither of them moved.
Hinata’s cheeks burned hotter than ever. The oversized shirt suddenly felt like a lead weight dragging him down. The boy just stood there, toothbrush in mouth, watching him like some strange statue.
Hinata wished he could disappear. Or at least crawl under the bed and stay there forever.
Finally, the boy’s voice cut through the silence, perfectly calm like this was the most normal thing in the world:
“Why are you wearing my shirt?”
Hinata blinked, flustered, tugging nervously at the way-too-big sleeves. “Uh… well, it was either this or walk out half-naked, and—yeah, this seemed like the better option.”
The boy raised an eyebrow. “What happened to my milk collection?”
Hinata’s eyes widened. “I didn’t mean to! It just… happened.”
The boy sighed, like he was dealing with the world’s most ridiculous mess. “I thought you were dead. It’s two in the afternoon. Sneaking out now is a little pointless, don’t you think?”
Hinata felt like the floor was swallowing him whole. Slowly, he sank lower, clutching the shirt, shrinking into himself like a nervous turtle. This guy might be the strangest person I’ve ever met. Each question felt like a spotlight on his embarrassment.
Then, without skipping a beat, the boy said, “Oh, by the way—I’m Kageyama Tobio.”
Hinata looked up, blinking. “I’m Hinata Shouyou…”
There was an awkward pause before Hinata added, voice shaky, “I’m glad I finally know your name.”
Kageyama deadpanned, voice flat as ice, “Call me Tobio. That’s what you were screaming last night.”
Hinata’s mouth fell open, and he immediately buried his face in his hands, cheeks burning hotter than a furnace. He wished he could disappear right then and there.
Then Kageyama turned away, and Hinata caught sight of the long, angry scratch marks running down his back—definitely not from a stray cat.
Hinata’s heart skipped a beat. Yep. Totally my fault. The realization made his pulse race and his brain short-circuit all at once. At this rate, his heart wasn’t going to survive the day.
***
Hinata shuffled closer to the table where Kageyama was sitting, nonchalantly sipping on—of all things—another glass of milk. The sheer amount of dairy consumption was confusing enough, but Hinata had bigger problems. Like the fact that his clothes were soaked in, well… things he didn’t want to name aloud.
He cleared his throat, voice barely above a whisper. “Uh… hey, Tobio? Can I, uh, maybe borrow some clothes? Mine are kinda… soiled.”
Kageyama’s eyes narrowed as he took another swig of milk. “Soiled? What happened to your clothes?”
Hinata’s face immediately flamed. “You know… uh, last night reasons.”
Kageyama tilted his head like he was about to dissect a complex scientific mystery. “Last night reasons? That’s not an answer.”
Hinata squirmed under the gaze, cheeks burning hotter by the second. “I—uh—okay, fine! We, um, had a bit of… fun. And yeah, things got messy.”
Kageyama blinked, expression deadpan but his eyes widened just a fraction. “Messy? How messy?”
Hinata swallowed hard, his voice cracking a little. “Like… fluids everywhere. Bodily fluids…”
Kageyama narrowed his eyes in realization. “Oh, from when you came in your pants last night after kissing?”
Hinata’s face flushed an even deeper red, and before he could stop himself, the dam broke. He basically collapsed into a mess of embarrassed tears, voice wobbling as he confessed, “I don’t even know how I got myself into this, okay? I’m a complete disaster! A walking, talking disaster who somehow ended up making a milk tsunami and ruining my own pants in your apartment!”
Kageyama blinked, completely thrown off by the sudden emotional flood. The stoic facade cracked, and after a very awkward pause, he reached out a hand—not sure whether to pat Hinata on the back or check if he was going to explode.
“Okay, okay,” Kageyama said slowly, his voice softer now, like he was trying not to panic. “You can take my clothes. Of course.”
Hinata sniffled, blinking up at him gratefully.
“And,” Kageyama added, “I’ll make breakfast. Because if you survived last night, you deserve pancakes or something.”
Hinata’s mouth twitched into a small, shaky smile. “Milk pancakes?”
Kageyama smirked. “Yeah, milk pancakes. And maybe no more milk collections on the floor next time.”
Hinata laughed through his embarrassment, and for the first time that morning, the awkward tension eased—just a little.
***
After Kageyama finishes making breakfast—probably with way too much milk—Hinata sits at the table, nervously twisting the oversized shirt sleeves, still flushed but somehow a little calmer.
Kageyama slides a plate of pancakes in front of him without saying much, just that trademark intense gaze softened a bit.
Hinata looks up, the embarrassment melting into something else—a shy, honest smile.
“I guess this was… not exactly how I imagined meeting someone,” Hinata says, voice small.
Kageyama shrugs, mouth half-full of pancake. “You’re lucky I’m not the ‘kick you out at dawn’ type.”
They share a quiet laugh, the tension between them easing.
As Hinata takes a bite, he thinks: maybe this mess of a morning isn’t so bad after all.