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A blur of green and blue jerseys, the ubiquitous stench of sour sweat, the squeaking of sneakers against the gym floor, shouts of encouragement and instruction—Kenma vaguely registers each detail. Two blockers; Yaku receives cleanly. The ball is up in the air, spinning.
Kenma readies himself in front of the net and jumps up, arms extended above his head, eyes shifting to see whom to toss to. Entirely aware of Bokuto’s intense, unwavering golden gaze from the other side and Akaashi beside him, practical and deadly, taut like a spring before release, Kenma finds himself weighed down by the bold black ‘24’ on Fukurodani’s side of the scoreboard. Fukunaga calls for a toss and Kenma’s fingers only barely graze the surface of the ball when he catches sight of it: a shock of orange.
Kenma doesn’t think he’s ever bungled a toss this sloppily. The ball thuds to the floor gracelessly, and the referee blows his obnoxious whistle, bringing the match to a close. Kenma, only exasperated further by the hooting and cheering from the other side, looks around for the thief of his attention. The slight pout to his mouth flattens into a thin line when Tora slaps his back amiably, tells him it’s all right! We can beat them next time! (They haven’t beat Fukurodani once since the training camp started.) Yaku looks at him weird and Kuroo knowingly—Kenma chooses to ignore him—but the orange offender is nowhere to be seen.
Kenma sighs. You stupid, gay fool, he berates himself.
And so when Shouyou leaves his team’s table and parks himself between him and Lev during dinner that night, Kenma happily makes room for him, feels the dull thrum of idle delight in his blood every time their elbows brush, every time Shouyou gives him his undivided attention in the rare instance that he has more to say than a few sentences. He feels comfortable enough around him that it doesn’t manifest physically, but by the time Kenma heads to bed he feels exhausted and so very content both at the same time. He won’t say it, of course. He won’t say it feels both like a curse and a blessing to fall in love with Hinata Shouyou, his hazel eyes and his thin, rough hands, capable of limitless kindness.
Kenma won’t say it, but he secretly despises the training camp uniforms. They’re not uncomfortable or strange-looking, no, that’s not the issue at all; he’s just been looking forward to seeing Shouyou wear the Karasuno colors for so long (they are so inherent, so very a part of him) that the very sight of a yellow jersey seems to mock him.
However, this doesn’t hinder Kenma’s distracted gawking at Shouyou’s wiry form when he spikes or runs, and he’s gotten in trouble more than once as a result of glancing furtively, guiltily at him when he should’ve been paying attention to other players. Yaku only becomes more distressed, more doting, Kuroo more amused, more irksome. (Kenma can never remain irritated at Kuroo for long, though. He won’t say it, but that’s just how it is.)
That night, Kenma is heading to the Shinzen dining hall when he hears Shouyou call his name and it’s like an automatic response, the way his heart somersaults in his chest at the sound of his voice, clear as a bell; the way his fingers start to feel a little electric, like he’s a neon signboard flickering to life under the remnants of dusk simmering over the city. It’s hard to explain: it’s like a cocktail of both unease and excitement, and Kenma just wishes he’d stop feeling contradictory around Shouyou all the time.
Shouyou asks him to toss to him, and Kenma—he usually wouldn’t outside of practice, not even if Kuroo asked him, but Shouyou’s looking at him eagerly, and the lift of his face when he smiles expectantly is too much to say no to. They find a barely occupied gym—some of the Ubugawa first years keep to themselves and practice receives—and Kenma, still doubting whether he should’ve agreed to this, keeps his eyes on the ball Shouyou pitches up, makes a perfect toss, and watches Shouyou’s approach run and his missed spike.
“Heh, looks like I need to get used to your toss,” he says sheepishly, picking up the ball.
Kenma runs away after five tosses. Makes up some stupid excuse about being hungry and runs. Kenma doesn’t say it, he doesn’t say how he can’t toss to him because ‘you’re not who I toss to usually’, or ‘you asked me out of the blue and I wasn’t mentally prepared’ and he doesn’t tell him that he just can’t, this is too much for him, Shouyou and his hands and that triumphant look on his face when he spikes—they’re all too much for him, too new in such close proximity, too unfamiliar. He’s only seen them from the other side of the net; being this close overwhelms him in a way he can’t put into words. He loves all of it. He doesn’t say it, but he does. He loves it in a way he loves certain video games that get him all excited and make his teeth buzz with excitement, but at the same time make anxiety pool in his stomach, and he’d rather play a little bit a day, save it and come back to it a week later than going at it all at once.
So he really has nobody to blame but himself when he tosses and turns in his futon late that night and pines his sanity away.
“All right, Kenma?” Tora asks sleepily from his right.
Kenma nods, and then realizes he couldn’t have seen him in the dark. “I’m fine.”
Tora grunts in acknowledgement and Kenma, restless, turns on his phone just as the door slides open slowly and the quiet, tone-deaf hum of something awfully akin to ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’ fills the air. Kenma can already tell who it is before he raises his eyes to the silhouette of permanent bed-head against the dim lighting from the hallway.
“Still awake?” Kuroo asks, his voice hushed as he settles into his futon. He smells like mild soap and fresh laundry; Kenma supposes he’d just showered after practice at the third gym. “Go to sleep, Kenma.”
“Did Akaashi toss to Shouyou?” Kenma doesn’t understand what provokes him to ask this question. He knows for a fact that Akaashi did indeed toss to Shouyou—Lev wouldn’t shut up about their three-on-three—and it’s not like it bothers him, he’s talking to Kuroo after all, but it still unsettles him a little that he felt the need to ask him.
“Yeah. It was pretty cool.” Kuroo shifts. “Heard you actually tossed for him.” Kenma hears rather than sees Kuroo’s smirk.
“Heard you pulled a nasty prank on Karasuno’s captain.”[1]
Kuroo’s eyes widen in the faint light of Kenma’s phone, and he presses his two pillows to the sides of his head and hides his face. (Everyone else gets only one; Tora doesn’t think it’s fair, he says Kuroo is abusing his position of power in the team.) Kenma, satisfied, turns off his phone and proceeds to eye the uneven ceiling purposelessly. This examination would have proven useless if not for the abrupt revelation it brings, and Kenma half sits up in his bed: the amount of anxiety he feels around Shouyou is nothing compared to the kind he feels around people he’s unfamiliar with, and this discomfort feels more rooted in his embarrassingly large crush on Shouyou, rather than in Shouyou’s presence itself. Kenma is floored enough that he can’t fall asleep until later into the night.
As the training camp draws to a close, Kenma once again finds himself sitting with Shouyou and Lev, this time on the grassy fringe overlooking the barbeque celebrating everyone’s hard work during the camp. The air is heady with the thick scent of broiling fat, and people gather like ravenous animals around grills, with tongs and chopsticks held at the ready to snatch up meat before anybody else can. Kenma catches sight of Kuroo chatting with Kai, and sniggers inwardly when Bokuto swipes away his meat with no sense of stealth, but still managing to look rather impressive.
“Kenma, should I go get you some?” Shouyou asks.
“No, I’m good.” Kenma absently taps away at the game on his phone, hair effectively curtaining his face—he’d rather not move around too much at social gatherings.
“Kuroo-san told us about the top five spikers in the country!” Lev says through his mouthful of food.
Shouyou chews thoughtfully. “If I beat Sakusa, would that mean I’d be Japan’s number one?”
Kenma doesn’t register Lev’s response, but stares a little shyly at Shouyou’s face, radiant under the sunlight, and thinks it’s a little unfair that he has to be subjected to this.
“Kenma-san!” Lev manages to avert Kenma’s gaze with his question, “Who’s better at serves? We know you said Hinata was better at receives—”
“Shouyou.”
Lev throws a coughing fit at that, and Kenma, resigning himself to the fact that there’s no use convincing himself he was unbiased in his reply, reaches out to wipe away the smidge of sauce on Shouyou’s chin.
Suddenly, Lev’s coughing thins to a drone in Kenma’s ears just like the hubbub rising from below them as Shouyou grows wide-eyed and flushes an unceremonious red. Kenma, who hadn’t expected this, turns back to his phone, once again relying on his hair to veil him off along with his warm, warm face.
That evening, Kenma and Shouyou walk around the hallways of Shinzen High School one last time before Shouyou’s team has to leave. Shouyou chatters on beside him and Kenma is more than content just listening to him, humming now and then to indicate that yes, he’s paying attention. The floor is dappled with the honey-colored sunlight filtering through the windows, and Kenma is vaguely surprised by how a lot of things he sees around him remind him of Shouyou more often than not. He’s just about to bravely tell him this when Shouyou casually links their hands together, and Kenma has to make a conscious effort to stop himself from jumping two feet into the air.
“We’ll see you at nationals, right?” Shouyou’s hair is set aflame by the evening sun, and his eyes are dangerously focused, a look that sends chills down Kenma’s spine.
It takes time for Kenma to process the question, and it suddenly hits him how grateful he is to Hinata Shouyou—for trying to converse with him that day when he’d gotten lost in Miyagi, for never giving up on trying to befriend him, for that time months ago when he’d told him he’d make sure he enjoyed their next match. For the countless texts that made him smile when he read them on the subway, and for inciting him to try harder at volleyball, because if anything, the reason he’s been playing so well these past few days was because he was playing against Shouyou. “Yes, of course.” He squeezes his hand for good measure and hopes he didn’t imagine the pink tips of Shouyou’s ears.
Kenma is left feeling dazed after Hinata leaves with a thousand-watt smile to pack his things. He walks around without direction, too many things buzzing through his mind, and absent-mindedly notices that he’s reached the dining hall.
“Kenma?” Kuroo waves his hand in front of his face. “Kenma, you look lost.”
And maybe Kuroo’s right, maybe Kenma has lost himself, blinded in a sea of sunlight, but he thinks he might be okay with that—the sunlight has somehow also made everything clearer, brighter.
Yeah, he thinks, even as he rolls his eyes at Kuroo’s knowing smile. He’s definitely okay with that.