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The whole ‘never use a public bathroom again’ thing was great in theory, but not so great in practice. You see, in the immediate aftermath of Oikawa leaving, Hinata had failed to consider how everything outside of a house could be construed as a public bathroom. He’d just resolved to never tempt fate again, gone to the toilet (having to wait until the heated blood was gone from his half-hard dick) and left (after checking the coast was clear, and he will admit, he'd basically bolted the whole way back to his team).
And at least for a while after their defeat to Seijou, Hinata had been too distraught to even remember what had happened in the bathroom with Oikawa; he had been too focused on practicing his jumps, dives, receives, everything, in an attempt to overcome the sting of loss. And since he only went to school and then home his resolution never really faced any obstacles. School time was volleyball time ergo his brain didn’t even register the danger of the school bathroom (again, he was too busy thinking volleyball thoughts).
So much had been happening at that time anyway. Kageyama had apologised for that last toss, an argument erupting because Hinata had always been tactile with his emotions, no matter what form they took and how dare Kageyama apologise, he’d beat that look of regret out of him. But they’d talked it out, their teacher Takeda smoothing concrete beneath their feet as a foundation to stand back up on. It hadn’t immediately cooled over his frustrations though, so he’d gone to the bathroom straight after their talk (leaving Kageyama to start the packing up). Pants still on, sitting hunched over on the lid cradling his head in his palms, Hinata still hadn’t remembered the Oikawa Bathroom Incident (as it had been so named in his head).
He wondered now what the Grand King would think of that. Maybe he’d understand because of course all he could think about was volleyball; getting better, getting strong enough to defeat Seijou, to finally match up with Nekoma and Kenma. The Grand King seemed to be a guy that burned just as fiercely with the desire to win.
But did it burn all the time? Because for Hinata it was a never-ending ache like a crow clawing at the edges his chest.
It wanted out; a hungry crow ready to scavenge whatever it found. Hungry, starving, it would open its’ beak and feed on the talent of those around, growing stronger, strong enough to fight bigger and more cunning enemies.
He could be excused then, for the first few weeks, of thinking with the teeth in his brain and the beak poking through his ribs instead of warm hands and warm lips. Even if they were the hands of the best setter in the prefecture, the lips of a Grand King that could bring out the very best in his soldiers.
The weeks had moved on with hardly a thought to that kiss and their team had evolved, even getting the nervous but totally amazing Yachi as manager. He’d been so excited, actively encouraging her not just because an extra manager was an extra person that loved volleyball because he’d seen the quiet dedication and tenacity in her that Hinata knew people had overlooked, that she herself had overlooked.
People had overlooked him too, but now they had no choice when their attention was forced to him and Yachi sure as hell had it in her to do the same. Also, Shimizu was less intimidating by Yachi’s side, which was nice (he’d never told Noya and Tanaka how absolutely intimidating he found Shimizu, not sure if they’d be happy or offended.)
Yachi was always happy to toss to him, she had really easy to understand notes, never got mad and was so happy when he did well. He wished she’d joined earlier in the year but he was just grateful to have her now. Even Kageyama was pretty nice to her (a bit weird to see him talking with a girl like a normal person, but if he’d been mean then Hinata would have bit him or something.)
The first few weeks, crazy and busy, had given Hinata no time to think until he did have time to think.
And then that hungry crow in his chest had moved down to his belly, melting into something new, an all-too different sort of hunger. A hunger that tasted of lingering thoughts and wandering hands and whispered threats in his ears.
And with it came the anxiety. Because yes, his school had been mostly safe but now it was different and it could happen anywhere. Anytime. Something!
Something like with the Grand King.
But Hinata couldn’t not pee all day so he’d sucked it up, ignored the anxious whirling thoughts and went. And if the thoughts had started to affect his sleep then maybe he’d just decided to exhaust himself with volleyball (everyone had thought he was mad before with volleyball, but even Kageyama had been a bit bewildered by his dogged persistence.)
One time he’d run into Kageyama in the toilets and he’d been half-hard in seconds because what if Kageyama held him the way the Grand King had? Would his lips be bitten and chapped or soft like a girl’s? Would his touch be gentle, awkward or as firm as the head-grips he only-sometimes now fell prey to?
He’d peed in the cubicle, ignoring Kageyama’s shout not to ‘take too long shitting idiot! Yachi’s waiting for us in her classroom.’
It had just been a bleed-over thing Hinata had decided, a remnant of feeling tickling down from Grand King to King. Obviously. The logic of it made sense. It had nothing to do with scary-faced, socially-awkward Kageyama at all.
A month had gone by and before he knew it Hinata was in Tokyo (first time ever. And he got to see Kenma, which was awesome.) They’d been late the day before, but Tanaka’s sister had driven them here and even told him stories of the little giant (Kageyama had been lucky he’d woken up to hear it at all, though Hinata had forced Saeko to repeat the story a few times more. He’d also made sure to tell everyone on the team when they’d arrived and reiterated to Tanaka how amazing his sister was.)
Hinata had privately thought Saeko would have been a great volleyball player: her sinewy arms firm with power, her reactions quick to avoid potholes (and cars, and people . . .), her tenacity which was as unfailing as Tanaka’s.
If he had had space to think about anything other than volleyball and the recurring belly heat at the certain Bathroom memories, he might have been half in-love with her. Or extremely intimidated. Hinata’s not entirely sure where the line is on that yet. He’s not entirely sure if intimidation is that far from arousal for him.
But Saeko was still in bed today after a long night drinking with the coaches and today was all about volleyball, about beating Lev, about opening his eyes during their freak quick.
It was because of all that, the angry simmering tension between him and Kageyama, his own frustrations and want for more, that Hinata had stormed off to the bathroom during the break to cool down and splash himself with water.
He’d also wanted to ring Kageyama’s neck for backing down, for taking a step back like their current quick was the best they could do when it wasn’t and it would be defeated. It had been defeated.
He’d taken a few gulps of water and let the water run over his cheeks. The day had been hot, was still hot, and Hinata knew he wore his anger on his skin.
Cool down, cool down.
Eventually he’d had enough water and turned with a quick jerk to get a towel to wipe himself dry. But the noise of his shoes squeaking had covered the creak of an opening door. The thump as he yanked the paper towels out in rapid succession had blocked the pit-pat of footsteps. His back had been to the door and his eyes had been half shut, lashes wet and tongue licking lips.
He’d scrubbed at his face, a harsh movement that belied the irritation he hadn’t quite got rid of, irritation at the stubbornness of his partner.
‘Why couldn’t this be the one subject that Kageyama’s singlemindness didn’t extend to?’
That was what he’d been thinking; thinking frustrations and ruminations as he’d bunched up the used paper in his hands, eyes only opening to throw the paper in the bin. And that was why he hadn’t seen the other person, not until he’d lobbed wet paper at their head (because the bin was right next to the door and not beside him.)
It all comes to this point, all his musings and worries sort of stalling as he sees the wet paper towel fly through the air and towards the person. It must be the surprise of it – Hinata understands how it could be very surprising – that explains why the other person doesn’t dodge. Because all the guys here are volleyball players and volleyball players are supposed to be quick on their feet.
The scrunched paper towel drops and surprise has to be the only explanation because Kuroo, captain of Nekoma and provocation master (Kenma had texted this nickname to him last week, bestowed upon the captain by the then-unknown Bokuto) is definitely a person who is nimble on his feet. Like a cat.
Actually all of the Nekoma players really seemed to have the cat-like thing going on.
Kuroo’s nose is scrunched up, the thick fringe over his face wobbling like it’s its own entity and Hinata feels his inner-Yachi coming out, telling him to postrate himself on the floor and beg for forgiveness while he can. There’s nobody to hide behind and Hinata doesn’t want to fight, doesn’t know if he could even hold his fists up to someone that’s Kenma’s friend (his childhood friend even!)
So instead he babbles, hands flying, face boiling hot like a kettle that’s screaming it’s done and tries to go over and pick up the (offending) wet scrunched paper towel of doom. He’s not sure what Kuroo’s expression is (and can’t really catch it past his own panicked mortification,) and he can’t work up the courage to look a second time.
He stumbles his way over, bumping into the sink counter after a mere step. Objectively it hurts, but Hinata just keeps squeaking out noises that are meant to be words. He bounces off with his hip so it changes his course directory and he half collapses to his knees, a little to the left and just decides to half crab-walk the rest of the way over to the paper towel.
“Hey.”
His fingers close around the offending object (it’s so wet, he’d thrown a wet paper towel straight at the captain of Nekoma’s face. What if there had been drool or snot in it or something?)
“Oi, kid, number 10.”
Hinata has the wet lump squished in his hands like some of offering (a pitiful offering to a Cat-God) and he tries to go around Kuroo to put it in the bin.
“Hinata, are you even listening to me?”
Of course he’s listening. He’s listening and panicking, because what if Kuroo complains to Kenma and then Kenma never talks to him again? What if he refuses to play volleyball against him or stops sending those links of really awesome decorations of volleyballs?
Hinata is near beside himself at the thought because Kenma is amazing. He’s smart and funny and always responds to Hinata’s messages, even if it takes him a little bit longer than others. He goes at his own pace and Hinata respects that.
“Hinata, you need to calm down,” Kuroo says and compounds it with a palm across his mouth and a warm hand on his shoulder that prevents him moving.
It prevents him from moving because Hinata freezes at the touch, looking into the slanted amber eyes that are watching him with a hint of curiousity and it is now, in this moment, that he completely and utterly remembers Oikawa.
He drops the paper, the heat of his breath coming back and warming his cheeks and quakes with the knowledge of how tall and imposing Kuroo is. It is a very different feeling then the one he has when the tall and imposing figure is on the other side of a volleyball net and all he can think is ‘rival’, ‘envy’, ‘I will defeat you.’
They stare at each other for a while but it feels a lot longer than that. Maybe it is. Hinata’s not quite sure why Kuroo isn’t saying anything, but he’s not arguing. Maybe he is waiting for Hinata to speak? He always seemed to have the laid-back air of someone who’d lounge on a throne and stare at you until you confess all your sins, a glass of wine in hand and a tamed monster at their feet.
He’s like an ant under a microscope, but the microscope is pretty amber with flecks of black. He really does have the eyes of a cat Hinata realises.
There are a few drops of water on Kuroo’s skin from the paper towel and HInata watches as two trail down in a racing match, diving off the pointed edge of Kuroo’s chin. Kuroo’s hand is so big; his fingers able to graze Hinata’s ear.
Tiny, Hinata feels tiny, in a way he doesn’t usually, and malleable. He squeezes his legs together, inner thighs rubbing each other; he’s utterly overwhelmed by the situation.
“You alright now sweetheart?” Kuroo finally asks and takes the hand from his mouth to rest on his other shoulder.
Sweetheart is very different from the usual ‘shrimp, midget, squirt’ he’s been getting by the others. It’s more along the lines of what his mother calls him.
He’d overreacted hadn’t he? Absolutely, entirely, and now Kuroo’s probably pitying him like he’s a 10-year-old kid lost and looking for his mother (first Seijou practice match, the remembered humiliation, added to the humiliation that it hadn’t been the first time that had happened) instead of an independent 16-year-old.
Kuroo is waiting for an answer so Hinata nods silently, biting his lip as he tries to order what he wants to say.
“You sure panicked there didn’t you?” Kuroo muses and Hinata instinctively bows to apologise for troubling him even further.
But he’s closer to Kuroo than he thought so his head bumps into the centre of Kuroo’s chest.
Kuroo’s hands reflexively squeeze his shoulders, and Hinata holds onto Kuroo’s training jersey that he’s already crumpling up in his palms. He looks up the long line of Kuroo’s body to see him blinking down at him and how does this keep happening? He thought Oikawa was a one-off! Could he not go simply back to the terrifying rival-only bathroom incidents?
“What keeps happening?”
Hinata pales and can’t even answer. Was Kuroo a mind reader?
Kuroo’s mouth quirks in wry amusement. “You’re not having a good day, are you?”
Hinata shakes his head against Kuroo’s chest, deciding to bury his face into the sweaty material. He’s giving up, just for the moment, and letting himself hide here.
Kuroo hums and with no seeming hesitation, starts carding his fingers through Hinata’s hair.
Hinata, ever eager, ever receptive to lap up comfort and affection, smoothly transitions from surprise to a measure of bliss he’s been struggling to attain for months.
Maybe Kuroo isn’t as scary and intimidating as Hinata had first thought. Hinata knew many people who wouldn’t pat and comfort someone who had thrown a used towel at their face – and this was Kenma’s friend after all.
Hinata takes a few deep breaths and is hit with sweat, salonpas, and something that has to be distinctively Kuroo. He’s not sure he likes it and it’s hard to pinpoint another’s smell, especially if you’re sweaty too. He resolves to try and sniff Kuroo later.
Much later. Because now is for patting.
And pat him he does, until Hinata is nearing purring and all the energy of the day has left his body through the spots where Kuroo’s touching him. He somewhat nuzzles into Kuroo’s chest a bit more, his arms snug between them and hips leaning slightly forwards as his body droops.
Kuroo huffs a laugh through his nose.
“It seems even crows like to snuggle on occasion. I see now how you and Kenma are friends.”
He doesn’t quite get that, certain there’s some in-joke there relating to Kenma. He gets a solid ruffle on his head in lieu of an explanation and then Kuroo steps back. Hinata instinctively follows the warmth but is stopped with a light push to his forehead.
“Sorry little guy, I’d help you out a bit longer – not my first time after all – but I don’t think you’ll be wanting to be so close when my pants come down,” he jests.
Hinata is blissed-out enough that he just replies “I don’t care, it wouldn’t be my first time.”
Eyebrows go up, hands in pockets as Kuroo rocks back on his heels and head cocks to the side. A toothy grin suffuses the captain’s face.
“No, I didn’t mean it like – my younger sister always –” Hinata flails, waving his hand like he can clear the air of this misunderstanding. He ends up face-palming just to stop digging himself deeper into this hole.
“You can go to the toilet, please just go to the toilet,” he mumbles.
Kuroo laughs and is still laughing as he goes and just does that.
It’s when Hinata hears piss hit the urinal that he grasps the strangeness of him just mindlessly standing there even though he’d been so in his in head that he hadn’t even heard the rustle of Kuroo’s pants dropping.
He wants to say thank you, but is quite aware that lingering around when Nekoma isn’t even a team they’re versing for another two matches, is weird and creepy. Hinata has never classed himself as a weird and creepy guy and he doesn’t particularly want to now.
The urinal flushes and Hinata jumps. He twitches to look back but Kuroo - nicer than he’d ever expected - is probably already uncomfortable by the fact that Hinata had stayed to hear him pee.
The tap turns on and Hinata makes a quick (rash others – Tsukishima, Kageyama, assholes – may call it) decision to at least thank the other team’s captain. His own captain, while strong and amazing and supportive, would’ve been less likely to hug and comfort a rival team’s player. He would’ve probably just gotten Suga to deal with the situation instead.
Hinata faces Kuroo, the other wiping his hands dry on his track pants (why hadn’t he just done that? If he’d not used a paper towel this whole situation could’ve been avoided . . . although the petting had been very nice) and bows.
“I’m sorry for throwing that paper towel at you. Thank you for not getting mad at me. You’re much nicer than I thought and still sort of scary but you’re really good at patting my head. So thank you very much.” It might have ended a bit louder than he’d liked, and he might’ve probably said too much when a simple ‘thanks for not killing me’ would’ve sufficed but he did it and now it’s done.
Hinata doesn’t really like looking back on what-ifs. They stress him out too much, and so he’s always preferred being a go-getter, doing what he can, when his can, with his own two hands. It’s a pity that attitude doesn’t change the regret that always pulls at his sides, trying to eat away his confidence and determination but he likes to think of it as a work-in-progress.
Kuroo is silent for a bit and Hinata doesn’t move from his bow. He actively pushes away any regrets and what-ifs; he has said his thank you and that’s that.
“It’s not good to keep all your problems trapped in that head of yours,” Kuroo advises and Hinata peeks up curiously. “Kenma does that and mulls over the problem until it seems worse than it actually is.”
“But Kenma’s really smart,” Hinata says slowly, quite aware that his and Kenma’s brains work in different ways. He’s not stupid, it’s just that setters like Kenma and that pretty Fukurodani one are a whole different level to him, able to think on and off court in a way that Hinata wouldn’t even consider and quite frankly amazes him. He’d say it’s a setter thing but Kageyama’s test scores undermine that theory.
“Too smart for his own good sometimes,” Kuroo deadpans and promptly walks over, spins Hinata around and reaches criss-crossed under Hinata’s armpits to hoist him up.
Hinata’s legs leave the ground.
“Geh! What are you-”
“Breaks nearly over and you need to get out of your head and back onto the court. I’m taking you to Kenma.”
Hinata scrambles for purchase but Kuroo is big and strong and holds him up with ease, so Hinata just clamps onto the captains forearms that are criss-crossed across his chest – the Nekoma captain’s arms actually long enough to do that, his palms also big enough that they his weight is disturbed comfortably and all in all, it’s a much more stable hold than Hinata’s used to. He almost feels like a cat, just dangling from his owner’s arms.
A cat wouldn’t noticed the coiled muscles he c can feel under the track suit jacket; it’s a different type of strength than the one Oikawa had.
Hinata glances up at a narrow nose and those scouring eyes are appraising him once again. Hinata’s mouth is slightly open and he can feel how big his eyes have gone.
Kuroo is actually, very, very pretty.
“You’re pretty.”
Oh no. He hears his own words echo outside his head. He’d said that aloud hadn’t he?
Hinata rattles around as Kuroo laughs, legs swinging like a limp rag doll and a female manager passing at that moment throws them a concerned look.
“You have to tell Kenma that when we get there,” Kuroo says with amusement, a big grin and maybe with just the slightest red to his cheeks. Hinata doesn’t know, he might be wrong, but his own cheeks heat up in response. He doesn’t think he’s ever made someone blush before.
He thinks he likes the feeling. He thinks not many people have made Kuroo blush and something in him thrills with delight that he has, no matter how unintentional.
“In any case, thank you little one, I usually only get those types of comments from Bokuto.”
Has Bokuto made him blush harder than now? Has Kuroo ever bit his lip and broken gaze because he’s so flustered?
Hinata doesn’t know what’s going on in his head, he doesn’t know why he’s so caught on this. He just knows he’s going to be watching Kuroo more during the matches, trying to see if the heat and exhaustion of the game colours his cheeks.
“I didn’t mean to overstep,” Hinata gets the words from his brain to his mouth, because he’d just called a third-year pretty and he was still thinking about it.
Kuroo just shakes him a bit to tease and Hinata drops his chin to his chest and rolls his bottom lip under his teeth to keep any further silly words where they belong. They stay where he wants, but it’s hard, all the words and thoughts mixed up and biting into each other.
They reach the room where Nekoma is taking their break and revising their strategies but before they go in Kuroo gets the final word.
“If it’s any consolation, I think you’re pretty pretty too.”
Kuroo enters the room, maybe with the hint of a smile still on his face and bemusement twinkling in his eyes. Or maybe his face is back to its slack, teasing regard for the world. Hinata doesn’t know because Kenma comes into view, saying his name in hello and the others all asking questions that Kuroo answers simply but directly.
And Hinata knows, in a way he’s sort of known but hadn’t quite figured out yet.
Public bathrooms aren’t just a place to meet rivals.
They’re also a place to meet crushes.