Chapter Text
It was understood among Karasuno volleyball players that Kageyama had a resting bitch face issue. And yet, Hinata felt the difference between Kageyama’s angry face and his normal face was pretty easy to discern once you got to know him. The best indicator was how many wrinkles had formed on the bridge of his nose. No wrinkles, that was just Kageyama spacing out. One wrinkle, that was his concentration face. Two wrinkles, now we were getting to annoyed. Three wrinkles crammed into such a tight space, pulling his eyebrows down into sharp angled slopes, narrowing the view of those dark eyes that smoldered like hot coals … that was anger.
Four wrinkles was not possible. If you made Kageyama angrier than three wrinkles, his right eyebrow would start to twitch. A fine, almost invisible movement, Hinata had only seen it once. He normally stays in the range of two wrinkles and a lot of yelling.
Right now, Kageyama is scowling with two wrinkles. It’s annoying because Hinata is barely keeping it together. The whole train ride down, he’s been dreading this. He almost said no to coming at all.
It isn’t just the distance between Miyagi and Tokyo. It’s the fact that Kageyama went pro. It’s the fact that Kageyama is currently at the selection camp for the men’s Olympic team. It’s the fact that—while Hinata has a plan—he’s basically in a holding pattern right now.
He burns with jealousy and frustration.
While Kageyama glares at him, Hinata is about to shout back, “Hey, you invited ME!” but before he can, a familiar voice calls out,
“Shoyo-kun!”
A third wrinkle pops up, then immediately disappears. Kageyama’s attention slides in the direction of the voice, but there’s no surprise on his face. He seems to have known that the other man was there.
When Hinata turns, he recognizes the man’s face right away but can’t remember his name. He’s tall, blond, and overly familiar. But Hinata doesn’t have a clue—Actually, that’s not true. He remembers his name just not which one he is.
“Miya-san! Hi!”
Hinata feels really proud of himself for the quick save. He has never been able to tell the Miya brothers apart, although he remembers hearing that one of them no longer plays volleyball, so perhaps he doesn’t need to anymore.
Without much else to say, Hinata concludes, “I guess you’re participating in the Olympic selection camp too?”
Three wrinkles again. Kageyama shoots him a glare that would strip paint off a car. Hinata mouths, “What?” at him and Kageyama just turns up his nose and looks off in the other direction.
It is going to be that kind of night. Great. Hinata tries not to let it get to him. An hour and a half on the Shinkansen, all to watch Kageyama pout and sulk about… who knows what? No, thank you! Especially since just saying the words “Olympic selection camp” leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He smiles broadly at Miya and continues the mindless chatter because it seems to annoy Kageyama and that soothes Hinata’s intense jealousy.
It feels harmless. The same sort of tit-for-tat bickering they always have. When Miya invites himself to tag along with their plans to get food, Hinata doesn’t discourage it and Kageyama looks ready to commit a violent murder but doesn’t veto it. After all, what are they supposed to say? That Miya-san is about to third wheel it on their first date in four weeks? Kageyama probably doesn’t want his personal life openly discussed in the national team locker room.
“I hear you’re going to Brazil,” Miya says over dinner. “When do you leave?”
“Not for months still! April.”
He whistles. “What’s the holdup? Just go!”
“Well, I’d like to know more of the language … and not completely humiliate myself by making stupid mistakes on a beach court.”
Miya looks starry-eyed as he says, “Beach volleyball! Ahhhh this is such an amazing idea, Shoyo-kun. You make me feel like I shouldn’t have gone to college. Training on the beach! You’re going to come back with such a tan! Say—you need to tell me if it’s true that people over there wear those tiny little swimsuits, even the men!”
Hinata laughs nervously. “I don’t think they wear them to play beach volleyball, at least.”
“Oh?” A grin and a wink. “Maybe you’ll end up wearing them. I can see that.”
It doesn’t slip Hinata’s notice that they have been at three wrinkles for a solid twenty minutes, or that Kageyama has ordered curry with pork cutlet and a soft-boiled egg on top. His favorite. His comfort food. He ordered that, and he is barely picking at it.
The three wrinkles relax with a startled blink when Kageyama catches him watching.
“How was practice?” Hinata asks instead of what he really wants to ask. He knows enough to know he will never get a truthful answer out of Kageyama while Miya-san is with them.
…Whichever Miya this is. He still doesn’t know.
“Fine,” Kageyama grunts. Two notches are forming at the end of each eyebrow, although Kageyama seems to be trying to stay calm and relaxed.
At least until Miya slaps him heavily on the back and tells Hinata, “Don’t mind him, he’s upset because he was playing right wing all day.”
“Oh…”
Hinata knows it’s true just from how Kageyama looks. He flinches. The wrinkles on the bridge of his nose relax fully. This is a silly thing to be ashamed of, but Hinata knows how Kageyama feels about playing setter.
It’s silly, but he isn’t quite sure how silly it is. Would it just ruin Kageyama’s day? Or would Kageyama actually feel bad about playing in the Olympics as a wing spiker?
Hinata can’t tell, but he’d like to think his boyfriend isn’t that much of an idiot.
* * * * * *
As soon as the door to his apartment is closed, Kageyama is on top of him. Pressed back into the wall, Kageyama’s tongue down his throat, the setter’s hands desperately hunting for skin to make contact with.
It’s not a complete surprise. It took them a long time to get rid of Miya-san. Not before the topics of Kageyama as a spiker and Hinata’s complete lack of career prospects had been examined in depth, winding them both up in different ways.
Kageyama’s kisses are hungry and desperate. It almost feels like being yelled at. And he is technically pinning Hinata to the wall (not that Hinata minds that so much). Still… It feels like if they came up for air, they could seamlessly transition into an argument instead. The energy is weird. Hinata keeps trying to slow it down. He keeps trying to lure Kageyama out with sweet kisses. Touches across his shoulders and back. Instead of taming the hunger, these acts seem to annoy Kageyama. It’s only when he bites Hinata a little too hard and Hinata grabs a fistful of Kageyama’s hair and barks, “Knock it off!” that Kageyama calms down.
He’s panting. The sound is loud against Hinata’s ear. Much of Kageyama’s body weight is leaning against him. He seems to sag, then slide like he’s turned to jello. The only indication that Kageyama is still in control of his body is how softly he lands on his knees as he reaches the floor. Then he looks up at Hinata.
From the floor. On his knees. Roughly between Hinata’s legs.
Whoa…
Hinata isn’t sure what’s happening but he doesn’t like it. He slides down to the floor too and crosses his legs like a child in front of Kageyama. It’s the most unsexual thing he can think to do. Kageyama doesn’t look surprised, but he does look deflated. As if the moment they stopped, what was actually bothering him finally caught up with him.
Some of this Hinata can deduce. This Miya-san is the setter (which would make him Atsumu, right? Miya Atsumu was the setter … Hinata is almost certain). There is only one setter on a team, plus an alternate. Maybe while Kageyama was playing right, Miya-san was allowed to set. Hinata could see how Kageyama would read all kinds of signals into that.
“You usually like competing against strong players,” Hinata notes. “Especially strong setters. It usually fires you up.”
Kageyama shrugs. He’s staring at the floor, looking tired and stressed out. Hinata can’t help himself. He reaches up and runs his hands strongly through the other man’s hair, raking his fingers against Kageyama’s scalp as Kageyama closes his eyes and sighs.
“Sorry,” Kageyama grunts. “That guy … he just gets into my head.”
“Mmmm…”
“And it didn’t help that he was flirting with you.”
Hinata blinks at him. “No, he wasn’t!”
“A man tells you he’s picturing you in a Speedo and you think he’s not flirting with you?”
“Oh … um … okay, maybe I can see your point. That was pretty awkward.”
“You shouldn’t encourage it.”
“I was just being friendly!” Hinata protests. “Are you jealous?”
There’s not a hint of insecurity in Kageyama’s voice as he says, “Yes.” He’s just calmly stating a fact. He is jealous.
For some reason, Hinata really does not want Kageyama to catch on to how much this pleases him.
“That’s ridiculous,” he says. “He’s just a weird guy. He’s overly friendly with everyone.”
“He is a weird guy,” Kageyama agrees. “He’s a weird guy who, for some reason, wants everything that’s mine.”
Hinata can feel his eyebrows arch. He isn’t sure if he should argue or preen. Kageyama is not beyond fighting over things he does not want. It’s unclear how to read into being grouped together with playing as a setter. Hinata kind of wants to ask Kageyama to rank the things he thinks Miya-san is trying to steal from him in order of importance.
…But, no, that’s childish.
“You know what I’ve been thinking about a lot?” he says instead. “Winning third place at Nationals.”
He knows, without Kageyama having to say so, that Kageyama spent far more time thinking about how they didn’t win first place at Nationals. Hinata used to be like that too, but suffering through Kageyama’s Olympic angst—wanting to be supportive but also feeling desperate and irritated—has changed his perspective.
“What about it?”
“Third place means you won your last game.”
“Obviously,” Kageyama snorts. He sounds annoyed and the wrinkles on the bridge of his nose briefly tighten to confirm it. Without thinking about it, Hinata brushes his fingertips across them as if he could smooth them out that way.
Kageyama looks confused and flustered, but Hinata pays no attention. “Second place means losing your last game. Sometimes I wonder whether it would be better to take third place and leave with the thrill of victory or be ranked higher but your last moment at Nationals is a loss. The only teams that get to end Nationals with a win are first place and third place.”
“The best is obviously to not lose at all and get first place.”
“Sure, but if you can’t have that, which would you rather?”
Kageyama thinks about the question very seriously. He seems a little confused by it but also like he’s calming down as he ponders it.
“Silver,” he finally decides.
“Why?”
“Because I’ll forget the loss eventually, and silver means you’re better than bronze.”
“Right. So … which would you prefer: to be a setter and get no game time and therefore no Olympic medal or to play a bit in a different position and get a medal?”
He wasn’t sure if Kageyama was too tired or too embarrassed to glare at him properly, but either way his reaction was limp and heatless. He shrugs, “I’d rather be rejected as a setter than rejected because I was deployed in an unsuitable manner.”
“I don’t think that’s what’s happening. You’ve been invited to national team training camps regularly for years. It’s the same people coaching every time. It’s not like they are unaware of your status as a ‘genius setter.’”
He adds a little sarcastic hiss to the words “genius setter.” He can’t help it. The part of him that is dying of resentment that he isn’t even in these conversations for Olympic play can only be suppressed for so long. His affection, his love, for Kageyama can only go so far here.
Kageyama is studying him, suddenly focused—angst and introspection locked away from sight. His expression is flat, he’s suspiciously quiet. Hinata thinks about apologizing a couple of times, but there’s a chance Kageyama’s shift is about something else altogether.
Finally, Kageyama says, “Do you want to use the bath first?”
* * * * * *
All fresh and clean, Hinata lies on his side and stares out Kageyama’s window at the brick face of the neighboring building. He hates this. There’s a knot in his stomach full of frustration and disappointment—Kageyama is moving forward and he’s not. But then, he’s comfortable and warm, spending time with someone he really loves.
He wants to tell Kageyama that visiting is hard. Not just because of the distance. Not just because he will need to wake up at 4 am to get the 5:30 am train back so that he can meet his beach coach at 8 am. It’s hard because every good day Kageyama has is just a reminder of how slim Hinata’s chances are of ever catching up.
He appreciates that Kageyama is having a bit of a hard time with things right now, and he does want to be supportive … but, at the same time, Kageyama is only having a hard time because he’s impossibly stubborn and has ridiculous standards. By any sane person’s rationale, things are going well for Kageyama.
Hinata wonders what would happen if he pointed that out.
And then he wonders if Kageyama will lose interest in him when there’s no more meaningful volleyball to play against each other.
He closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep as he hears Kageyama come back from the bath. There’s a pause—movement halting and perhaps Hinata can feel the stare. But he won’t break. He’ll stay “asleep” and then he won’t run the risk of ruining things between them.
The bed shifts as Kageyama sits down on it. Hinata just keeps repeating to himself you’re asleep, you’re asleep, you’re asleep…
He tries not to startle as Kageyama lies down next to him and slides his arm around his waist. It’s rare that Kageyama wants to spoon. Or rather… it’s rare that Kageyama admits that he wants to spoon. Hinata must have fooled him.
Rarer still is the way Kageyama kisses the back of his shoulder before settling down.
It takes Hinata a long time to fall asleep for real.
* * * * * *
It’s a tickle under his nose that wakes him up. Kageyama’s jet black hair, clean and soft from his bath, brushes against him. At some point in the night, he’d rolled over and Kageyama just shifted to continue cuddling up against him. He was like this when he was sleepy—unguarded and openly affectionate. Hinata likes these moments the best.
He shifts onto his back, folds one hand behind his head and is surprised to find Kageyama follow the movements of his body—shifting as he shifted, moving in effortless subconscious complement until he is back tucked against Hinata in this new configuration.
Hinata lets two fingers wander through Kageyama’s hair before turning his attention to the ceiling, sparing a quick glance at his phone to confirm what his body seemed to know. 4:00. He has to get up soon.
He can’t help mulling over the night before. Kageyama is bad at apologies. Meaningful ones at least. He is fine when it comes to routine apologies—missed tosses, brushing against someone accidentally, being late to meet up. But he sucks at actually apologizing over anything more serious than that. Towards the end, it seemed like it might have occurred to Kageyama that he was basically whining and sulking about not having a career-defining moment exactly the way he wanted it at nineteen. It might have occurred to him the heroic patience he was forcing Hinata to exert. He might be sorry about it.
But Hinata doesn’t expect him to say it.
It was easy to convince himself not to be mad. It was less easy to convince himself to be comfortable with having a front row seat to watching someone else live the life he wants. Logically, he knows it is unfair to blame Kageyama for that…
But he may have been flirting with Miya Atsumu a bit too. Just a little… just because it seemed to annoy Kageyama.
Okay … because it seemed to upset him.
He rubs his face with his hand and groans. Then he covers his mouth and listens to the silence. It is too quiet. Kageyama isn’t much of a snorer, but Hinata can usually hear his breathing when he is sleeping. Hinata lifts his head and glances down. Kageyama’s eyes are closed but so is his mouth. He has no expression but his features are not slack or relaxed.
“Oh, you’re awake.”
“No, I’m not,” Kageyama replies. He yawns and stretches as if to emphasize that point.
“Did I wake you up? I’m sorry…”
Kageyama grumbles something he can’t hear—probably “moron”—and drags Hinata down until they are face to face with the covers thrown over their heads. Hinata catches only a hint of dark eyes as the tiny bit of moonlight is shut out. He feels Kageyama’s lips on his before his eyes adjust to the darkness.
These are the best kisses. Slow, nudging mouths open rather than pressing them together. Warm and wet. Hinata’s body tingles, and he doesn’t mind the taste of morning breath as much as he should.
“I have to get up soon,” Hinata whispers at the weight and heat of Kageyama’s body. He worries if he moves around too much he might poke Kageyama in the eye.
“You have time.”
“Like 15 minutes!”
“That’s plenty.”
“Umm. I’m sorry, you might like sitting in dried lube for several hours but I will need a shower if we fool around now.”
Kageyama tsch-s and, Hinata imagines, probably rolls his eyes. He’s crawling down Hinata’s body and dragging the covers with him. The cool air rushes across Hinata’s as his face and naked chest are exposed. It isn’t a surprise when Kageyama tugs at the waistband of his shorts, but he yelps anyway.
Kageyama’s mouth is warm and wet. It engulfs him before he can argue against it. Of course, his cock is interested, but his cock is usually curious about things in the morning when he’s just woken up. He groans and lets his head fall back. The rubbing feeling of Kageyama’s lips as he bobs his head up and down is so clear in his mind, while the wet, suckage beyond slowly melts his brain out from under him. Within minutes, he is panting. The physical feelings and the emotional feelings are difficult to sort from one another. His body craves it—not just the pleasure, but the closeness, all the exploring touches, the sensation of being tasted and savored. At the same time, this sort of thing always makes him feel incredibly shy. Even though he’s done arguably worse to Kageyama. It’s still a bit unbelieavable to him that Kageyama would suck his cock. Most of the other things they do, it’s obvious what Kageyama gets out of it, but this… this bliss … it isn’t selfless, really, it’s indulgent in ways Hinata has trouble understanding.
He moans Kageyama’s name and can’t help the pop in his hips. The wetness on the outside echoes the wetness building on the inside. There’s no other way to describe it—rich, hot, juices swelling. Blood pumping at a furious pace, rushing in, filling and against the boundaries of his body. He feels the sweat between his back and the bedsheets. His fingers are in Kageyama’s hair, his hand might be a fist. It’s beautiful torture and then he comes.
It feels like the only polite thing to do is reciprocate. Hinata wants to, but also doesn’t want to move and also needs to move a lot very very soon.
Kageyama doesn’t seem to mind. He looks smug. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand then slides off the bed—dragging the covers halfway with him so that they spill out over the floor and Hinata feels exposed and completely ruined.
“Come on,” Kageyama says. “You have enough time for a cup of coffee, probably.”
Hinata decides that actually Kageyama may be great at apologies after all.