Chapter Text
Kageyama had spent most of his afternoon cleaning until the sun started to set in order to make sure the place was spotless. Typically, he would absentmindedly wipe down counters and straighten out cushions in his quick and careless manner, but rather this time he cleaned until he was left tired with his hands faintly rough and sore from all the work. Everything was wiped, scrubbed, and wiped again, all with determined intention, even vacuuming the living room twice, and doing it again after noticing a single track near the couch. He also refolded the throw blanket draped over the armrest until the corners lined up just right, and then adjusted it once more for good measure. On some other occasion, he wouldn’t put much thought into tidying up this carefully but working his ass off like this was completely necessary. It might as well be the bare minimum for these circumstances.
For Hinata was coming home.
Shoyo told him he would be arriving soon from Brazil a few days prior, and Kageyama felt like it was a must to make sure he felt right at home when he’s back. Tobio even brought up the idea of Hinata staying over at his place in the meantime, and ever since Hinata had accepted that suggestion with immediate enthusiasm, Tobio has been counting down the days of his return.
There wasn’t anything too flashy going on in his apartment suite, but it was nonetheless on the expensive side. One of his friends said he practically wasted its potential with how restrained and minimalistic it looked. Kageyama didn’t really care about how luxurious it had to look, though, completely fine with it’s neutral colors, modest furniture, and open space. Not to mention the view.
Some would probably lie and scam for a place with a breathtaking cityscape that Kageyama gets to witness every day at home. Thirty floors up, there’s a charming spectacle of the suburbs he never really got used to, but that’s what he gets for being born on the countryside. So now, instead of mountains and trees, there’s skyscrapers of glass and steel bleeding against the early winter’s sunset. Thinking about it, he can’t wait for Hinata to see it for himself. Together, with him.
As Kageyama stared out, lost in thought, the glass window subtly reflected his silhouette back. He was older, sharper around the edges too. Kageyama studied the reflection without really meaning to, tilting his head slightly. Would Hinata even still recognize him?
The reflection widened as he shifted, reminding him of the space behind him. The place was praised for being “open-concepted” and “exclusive” as the agents would call it when he first toured the place, the kind of apartment people call a suite because apartment feels too small a word for it.
But the furniture grounded it, being nothing near overly decorative or excessive. Sure, things here and there were a bit expensive, such as the couch, but those were necessities for comfort rather than to show off. Stylistic choices weren’t that much of Kageyama’s thing, leaving most things feeling bare like the walls, only being adorned by a few framed prints he rarely looks at anyways.
Everything had a purpose, exactly where it needs to be and why it needs to be there.
But for the first time since he’d bought the place, something about it felt…unfinished.
He exhales slowly as he turns away from the window, rolling his broad shoulders to somewhat relieve the ache from hours of cleaning.
The holidays weren’t something he used to think about much. Growing up, they were just days off practice and meals louder than usual. Even now, the idea of ‘holiday preparations’ mostly translates to someone else telling him he should probably buy a tree.
There is a tree.
There, in a corner near the windows, tall but understated with string lights woven through its branches faintly glowing, and definitely not something he picked out himself. His sister had sent links for what to get and his friends, Yachi, Tsukishima, and Yamaguchi sent voice messages full of unsolicited opinions. Eventually, Kageyama had just nodded along and let someone deliver it. The lights are warm against the darkening sky, not blinking, and the ornaments are minimal at best.
He furrows his eyebrows. Is this enough?
Tobio simply sighs, walking towards the kitchen as the overhead lights flick on as he steps in. The space gleams from the shiny marble counters and stainless steel appliances that catch the light just right, polished to a soft glisten. The faint scent of citrus cleaning solution lingers near it, layered over the neutral smell of metal and stone. It was meticulously accompanied by stocked food of lean proteins and electrolyte drinks lined up inside the pantry and a fridge that cost more than his first year’s rent ever did. He should probably cook something before Hinata arrives. The thought barely finished forming before reality catches up to it. Hinata’s flight doesn’t land for another three hours. The food would get cold by then if he started now, so he tucks the idea for later. Instead, he scanned the area one more time, eyes checking if there was something else to clean–a stray crumb, a smudge–though logically, there was nothing else left to do.
Hinata hasn’t seen the place yet, but he definitely knows about it. Everyone does, apparently. Reporters seem to love bringing it up, and think it’s endearing to see the so-called “genius setter” living in something that looks like it belongs to a corporate CEO instead of an athlete who still forgets to drink water after practice.
But knowing and seeing are two very different things.
He rubs the back of his neck, fingers pressing into the muscle there as he glances around once again. The suite has always felt fine and comfortable, convenient. Nothing more than a place to sleep between matches and training camps, a resting point. So he can focus on just himself, even for a little while.
Until now, that is.
What would Hinata think of it?
The questions start to settle heavily. How would he even react to the place? Awestruck? Most likely, Hinata isn’t one to be subtle–but what if he doesn’t? What if he feels completely off in a place like this? His stomach starts to slowly twist.
Kageyama moves before he can dwell on it, carrying himself down the hallway. The floors are polished wood and warm under his bare feet, as they lead to a few doors. He stops at one of them, the guest room that he barely checks, untouched for months.
It’s perfectly neat. The bed is made with hotel precision, with fresh sheets and extra pillows just in case Hinata needs them. He’d coughed earlier when he first opened the door during his time cleaning, from the dust stirred up from months of disuse, immediately setting him to work until there wasn’t a single trace left.
It still doesn’t look lived in, though. It was too formal to look like something for Hinata. It bothered Kageyama to think about it now.
He steps inside and grips at the handle to push the door open wider, short-sightedly as if the extra space might somehow make the room more inviting.
It doesn’t.
He backs out and goes on to the next, his own bedroom. It’s much different than the previous one, softer. It’s a lot less pristine, and the lights were dimmer, bedding darker as well. Instead of a sharp, linen scent from the other room, this one faintly smells of detergent and leftover coffee. A chair by the window holds yesterday’s hoodie that was thrown there without much care.
On the nightstand sits a phone charger.
And next to it, another one.
He doesn’t remember buying a second charger, at least consciously. He couldn’t place how or when it ended up there either. He just knows that at some point, it felt necessary.
Kageyama sits on the edge of the bed with his hands braced on either side to stretch out his back. The city noise filters in subtly through the glass, with that same distant hum reminding him how just far above the ground he is.
He had played in front of tens of thousands of people, served match point under stadium lights with a heart pounding against his chest and sweat stinging his eyes. He’s faced immense pressure against players just as cunning and strong as him, but not once has he hesitated under those moments.
And yet, this felt absurdly harder to handle.
Hinata’s been gone for so long. Yes, they’d talked, called, and texted at odd hours with screens glowing in dark rooms and voices warped by the long distance and poor internet connection, but to see him again in person felt almost daunting to wrap around. Kageyama closes his eyes, and unbidden, memories surface of times back in high school. Memories of Hinata. The way he leans over to talk about nonsense, breath brushing Kageyama’s ear, how he would bump shoulders and grab his wrist, grinning like he always had. The warmth of him after practice, all sun and sweat and complete uncontained energy, pressed too close and somehow never close enough.
But now Hinata is coming here. Into Kageyama’s space, for the first time ever.
He stands up abruptly to put his thoughts aside. He showers again and dresses in his usual simple hoodie and sweatpants, checking the time for what must be the fifth time in the last ten minutes.
Each minute ticks closer, and he’ll be here soon enough.