Work Text:
The afternoon sun hung low over the Karasuno High Gymnasium, casting long, amber shadows across the polished wooden floor. It was the sort of heavy, stifling heat that made one's sports kit stick unpleasantly to one’s back, yet the relentless squeak of sneakers showed no signs of slowing down.
Shōyō Hinata stood at the back of the court, his orange hair damp and sticking to his forehead in wild, unruly spikes. His wide, amber eyes were fixed entirely on the boy standing by the net.
To Hinata, Tobio Kageyama seemed to command volleyball by some sort of divine right. Kageyama stood with his usual severe, dark-browed expression, tossing a leather ball lightly between his hands. The sheer, effortless brilliance of his posture made Hinata’s chest ache with a profound sort of envy that had long since warped into something altogether different.
He really is magnificent, Hinata thought, his heart doing a strange, fluttering sort of flip-flop. Like a king, but a proper one. The way he knows exactly where the ball will go before it even leaves his fingers... it’s bloody brilliant.
"Oi, Hinata!" Kageyama called out, his voice sharp but lacking its usual venom. "Stop gaping like a landed fish and get into position."
"Right!" Hinata chirped, practically vibrating on the spot. He bounded forward, his face glowing with a pure, unadulterated devotion. "You’re just so amazing, Kageyama! That last set was brilliant! I don't think anyone else in the entire country could have made a pass that perfect!"
Kageyama caught the ball and tucked it under his arm. A slight, dignified nod was his only immediate response. He accepted the praise with a quiet, practiced grace, crossing his arms and looking down his nose, though a tiny, faint flush of pink crept up the back of his neck.
"Naturally," Kageyama said loftily, clearing his throat. "It was a standard delivery. Anyone who actually practices should be able to appreciate the trajectory."
"No, but really!" Hinata insisted, stepping closer, his eyes shining like freshly minted galleons. "You're incredible. I’m so lucky I get to match with you."
Kageyama looked down at the smaller boy, intending to tell him to shut up. But as he looked at Hinata—really looked at him—the words died in his throat.
Hinata was practically radiating light. He was small, yes, and his technique was still a frightful mess, but Kageyama felt a sudden, distinct jolt of astonishment in his chest. He’s calling me amazing? Kageyama thought, his mind boggling slightly. Has he looked in a mirror? He flies. He actually flies through the air like a bloody firework, and he thinks I’m the one who’s spectacular?
It was utterly baffling to Kageyama. Hinata possessed a terrifying, blinding sort of talent that made Kageyama’s own hard-earned skills feel almost mundane, yet here the idiot was, looking at him as though Kageyama had personally invented the sport.
From the sidelines, a deep, collective groan echoed through the gymnasium.
Keishin Ukai, the coach, pinched the bridge of his nose, looking profoundly weary. "If they don't stop doing... that, I’m going to be sick right into the water cooler."
"It's revolting," Kei Tsukishima agreed, his face twisted into an expression of deep, aristocratic disgust as he leaned heavily on his knees. "They’ve been at this puppy-dog routine for twenty minutes. It’s bad enough watching them bicker, but this mutual admiration society is thoroughly offensive to the senses."
"Now, now, Tsukishima," Sugawara said, though his own smile was incredibly strained and his eyes were twitching. "It's nice that they're getting along. Though... I do wish they wouldn't look at each other quite so much like... well..."
"Like they’re about to share a single chocolate cauldron between them," Ryūnosuke Tanaka muttered, shuddering violently as he wiped sweat from his brow. "It’s unnatural. Look at Hinata’s face. It’s bouncing light everywhere. My eyes are burning."
Back on the court, entirely oblivious to the waves of revulsion rolling off their teammates, Hinata took another step into Kageyama’s personal space.
"Can we try the quick attack again?" Hinata asked, his voice dropped to an eager, hushed whisper. "The one where you make me feel like I’ve got wings?"
Kageyama’s breath hitched slightly. He looked away, staring determinedly at the net, though his hand gripped the volleyball so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"Fine," Kageyama muttered, his tone gruff but entirely devoid of its usual bite. "But only because your approach was acceptable. Get ready, you absolute moron."
"Yay!" Hinata skipped back to the line, his joy practically infectious, leaving Kageyama standing there, thoroughly bewildered by the realization that the most extraordinary boy he had ever met thought he was the one worth watching.