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They hadn’t meant for it to happen again.
It started the way it always did — a push, a glare, something biting said between gritted teeth after a practice match. Kageyama’s hand catching Oikawa’s wrist a little too hard in the hallway. Oikawa’s smirk growing sharp and amused, like he was waiting for it.
The slam of a door. Breathless silence. Then heat.
It was like a pattern now, muscle memory. Kissing before speaking, grabbing before thinking. Oikawa would always be the first to lean in — laughing low, eyes hooded, hands confident — and Kageyama, despite himself, always let him.
And yet, tonight… it felt different.
Kageyama had pulled Oikawa down by the collar, mouth meeting his like he was angry, like he wanted to shut him up. Oikawa had kissed him back harder, backing him into the wall of his small apartment, laughing softly into the kiss — until it wasn’t a game anymore.
The laughter faded. The touches slowed. The heat didn’t burn anymore — it simmered.
Now, they were tangled on Kageyama’s couch, the lamp casting a soft gold glow over both of them. Oikawa’s hand was splayed across Kageyama’s waist beneath his shirt, not groping, just holding. His mouth was pressed to the curve of Kageyama’s neck, warm and open-mouthed, dragging slowly across skin like he didn’t want to miss a single inch.
Kageyama’s breath hitched. His fingers curled in Oikawa’s shirt.
“You keep doing that,” Kageyama muttered, voice low, “like you’re trying to leave marks.”
Oikawa pulled back just enough to look at him. His lips were pink, eyes glassy. “Maybe I am,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something tender. “You don’t stop me.”
Kageyama didn’t answer. Not with words.
He leaned up, just enough to brush his lips against Oikawa’s. It was slower this time. Not desperate, not needy. Just soft. Warm. Like he wanted to kiss him, not just needed to.
Oikawa kissed him back like he was made of something delicate — and he was rarely that gentle with anyone. His hand slid up Kageyama’s side, resting just beneath his ribs. The touch was light, grounding. Possessive, somehow, in its quietness.
“I don’t get it,” Kageyama said between kisses. “We’re not… together.”
Oikawa’s mouth ghosted over his again, not quite a kiss, just hovering. “Then why do you kiss me like you want to be?”
Kageyama’s cheeks flushed. He scowled — only a little. “You’re annoying.”
“I know.” Oikawa grinned, but the hand on Kageyama’s waist tightened slightly, like he was holding on. “But you let me touch you like this. You kiss me back like this.” He nuzzled into Kageyama’s neck again, and this time, his lips pressed down harder — a slow, possessive kiss just under his ear. “You let me have this.”
Kageyama shivered. “Maybe I want to.”
That stopped Oikawa. Just for a second. His breath caught against Kageyama’s skin, and he pulled back to look at him — not smirking, not teasing. Just looking.
“Say it again,” Oikawa whispered.
“Maybe I want to,” Kageyama repeated, quieter now, but steadier. “Maybe I want… this. You.”
Oikawa blinked, then kissed him again — deeper this time, slower, like he was trying to memorize it. There was no hunger in it anymore, just warmth. Just something blooming in the center of his chest that made his hands shake a little.
Kageyama pulled him closer, burying his face in the crook of Oikawa’s neck, and let himself be held. Their legs tangled tighter. Their hands wandered, but only gently — slow touches up arms, down backs, under shirts but not further.
The kind of touch that says I’m not going anywhere.
Oikawa kissed his shoulder, then his neck again, and again — slow, deliberate. Like every spot he kissed, he claimed.
"You're mine," he said softly. Not smug. Not dramatic. Just true.
Kageyama didn't argue. He just pulled him closer.
They didn’t say love, not yet. But it lived in the space between every kiss.
And when they finally fell asleep, bodies wrapped around each other, lips still brushing between half-dreams, it wasn’t a hook-up anymore.
It hadn’t been for a long time.
Morning crept in slowly. The kind that blurred the edges of everything, where the air was still and the light from the window poured in soft and golden.
Oikawa woke first.
He always did, though he never moved. Not when Kageyama was curled against him like this, half on his chest, mouth slightly open, brow relaxed in a way Oikawa rarely saw.
His hair was a mess — soft from sleep, falling into his face. His breath was warm where it puffed against Oikawa’s collarbone. One of his hands had fisted in Oikawa’s shirt sometime during the night and never let go.
Oikawa smiled, just barely. One hand came up to gently brush Kageyama’s hair back from his forehead, fingers lingering a second longer than they needed to.
He didn’t mean to kiss him awake. Not really. He just… couldn’t help it.
A light kiss to his temple first. Then one to his cheek. Then one right at the corner of his mouth.
Kageyama stirred, groaning under his breath. “Too early…”
“You’re always up early for practice,” Oikawa teased softly, lips brushing his jaw.
Kageyama’s eyes cracked open, just barely. “Practice is different.”
“Mmm… so what’s this, then?” Oikawa whispered, thumb tracing slow circles along his back. “Still hooking up?”
Kageyama blinked at him — sleepy, confused, like his brain hadn’t quite caught up yet. But then something in his expression shifted. Softened.
“No,” he said quietly.
Oikawa stilled. “…No?”
Kageyama shook his head against his chest. “I don’t want it to be.”
The air between them changed. Not tense — just heavier. Real.
Oikawa’s voice came out quieter than he meant. “So what do you want it to be?”
Kageyama hesitated. Swallowed. Then looked up at him, cheeks pink from sleep and nerves and maybe something else.
“I want it to be… real,” he said. “I want to try. With you.”
Oikawa stared at him for a long second, like he hadn’t expected it — like it had been a quiet wish, not a possibility.
Then he smiled.
Not his usual cocky, teasing smirk. Something smaller. Softer. The kind of smile he gave only to Kageyama, in moments like this — when the rest of the world didn’t exist.
“You really want to be mine?” he asked, brushing his nose lightly against Kageyama’s. “Officially?”
Kageyama flushed deeper. But he didn’t look away. “Yeah.”
Oikawa leaned down and kissed him — slow, gentle, a little sleepy, but full of everything he didn’t need to say.
When he pulled back, he murmured, “Then I’m yours, too.”
They laid there for a while, tangled under the sheets, not saying much. Just soft touches and the occasional lazy kiss. Kageyama fell asleep again for a bit, head tucked under Oikawa’s chin, and Oikawa held him like something fragile and trusted.
Later, when they finally got up — still in the same clothes, hair messy, bodies warm from lingering closeness — Kageyama paused in the hallway, turning to look at him with that same serious expression.
“No one needs to know,” he said quietly. “Not yet.”
Oikawa nodded. “Our secret.”
He stepped forward, cupping Kageyama’s cheek in one hand, and kissed him again — slower this time. Not sleepy. Not teasing. Just sure.
“I like having something that’s just ours,” Oikawa whispered.
Kageyama nodded, eyes soft. “Me too.”
They stayed like that for a moment — forehead to forehead, hearts in sync, the morning sun spilling golden light around them.
And though the world would never see it, in this small quiet space, they were something real. Something tender.
Something just for them.