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Hinata always flinches away. Hinata is a huge baby. To be fair, Kageyama’s kind of a baby, too, and he’s pretty sure if he were in Hinata’s shoes he’d be on the train to “Pissing Himself-ville” as well.
He gives the idiot’s head an extra-hard shake just to make absolutely sure he gets his point across. In retrospect, grabbing someone by their head and toeing the line of giving them a concussion is hardly an effective method of getting them to focus. But dear God, Hinata needs it.
Finally, Kageyama untangles his fingers from Hinata’s hair, and that’s that. He does well enough throughout the rest of the practice match. He could do better, though. He could definitely do better. They still win, because no fucking way would they lose, but there’s always room for improvement.
Hinata is enthusiastic about waving to his new friends as they leave Karasuno’s gym, hanging out the door and calling cheerful goodbyes after them. Kageyama tosses a ball at the back of his head. He pretends he doesn’t see him almost tumble through the doorway in his surprise.
“Clean-up time, moron. You’ve got to help.”
Hinata sticks his tongue out at him, hands planted firmly on his hips. “You’re just making an even bigger mess, throwing volleyballs around,” he counters, but this time when the ball comes flying towards him he catches it and dashes over to a bin to put it away.
Kageyama grins and runs to get them brooms.
*
Kageyama slips his shirt over his head and tosses it near where he thinks his bag is, smoothing his hair down before actually turning to get fresh clothes.
Hinata materializes before him, hands behind his back as he rocks back and forth from his heels to his toes. And again. And again. “You’re finished changing already?” Kageyama asks blankly. He stoops to retrieve his clean shirt and tuck the dirty one into his bag.
“Mm-hm! I win this one.” Hinata’s still rocking. Kageyama’s pretty sure he didn’t even take his jacket off while he changed clothes. That’s admittedly an impressive feat.
Still fidgeting.
“Stop that,” Kageyama mutters once he’s actually dressed. He makes to grab Hinata’s shoulder, to hold him still, and this time there’s not even any menace in it, like there was during the match. Just mild irritation. Even so, Hinata jumps back so violently that he ends up on his ass in the middle of the floor.
From the other side of the room, Tanaka chuckles loudly.
“Ah, whoops.” Hinata looks like he wants to be mortified, like he can’t believe he just lost his cool like that in front of most of the team. “Sorry, Kageyama-kun. I thought you were gonna -- oh! Never mind.” He shakes his head, drags himself to his feet, and smiles.
Thought he was gonna what? Kageyama squints suspiciously at him, but finishes zipping up his bag and pulls his shoes on. “It’s fine. You ready to go?” He’s already on his way out the door anyway.
*
Of two things Kageyama Tobio is absolutely certain: One is that Hinata has a black eye. A very painful-looking one, at that, that’s swollen up enough that his left eye is little more than a luminous sliver among a mass of purple-blue-black-yellow. Two is that he’s lying about how he got it. As much of a clumsy idiot as he is, literally no one can run into a door hard enough to do that. He clicks his tongue aggravatedly as Hinata walks beside him on the way to the club room.
Suga makes a horrified sound, muffled by his hand, when Hinata first walks in. The members already present turn to Kageyama, as though he and he alone can provide an explanation. He offers his best bitchface and shrugs.
“Wo-oah! Did my bestest kouhai get into a fight!? How cool! You totally kicked some ass, right?” Nishinoya’s arm is around his shoulder before Hinata even has a chance to react.
Kageyama sighs and sets his bag on the floor. His senpai are truly stupid sometimes. This thought only settles itself more firmly into his head when Tanaka scrambles over and starts pothering, too.
Hinata waves them both off, looking almost sheepish. “No, uh...actually, I ran into a door last night at home. I didn’t notice it wasn’t open all the way.” He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, but something about it is off. Kageyama sits beside his bag and just stares, trying to pinpoint exactly what the problem is. There’s nothing. He wishes he had Suga’s analytical ability.
Tanaka messes up his hair before drifting back to where he’d been taking his uniform from his bag. “Nah, we’ll say you got in a fight. That’s way more fun.”
Hinata’s good eye widens a bit, and he shakes his head. “But I’d really rather not--”
“Nonsense!” Nishinoya claps him amiably on the shoulder. “We know you’re tougher than you look.”
Kageyama is fifty different kinds of irate right now, and he’s about ready to kick his own senpai and tell him to leave poor Hinata alone, because clearly something’s off with him. He should’ve said, “Yeah, that’d be so cool! Like I was a real warrior! Hiya! Right, Kageyama-kun?” and Kageyama would have bonked him on the head so he would stop posing like a shitty cartoon ninja. But it would’ve been endearing. And it didn’t happen. He ends up glowering, arm on knees and chin on arm, while Noya returns to his previous station.
Suga comes over; Hinata hasn’t even had a chance to start changing yet. He hooks a gentle finger under Hinata’s chin and tilts his head up to survey the extent of the damage, Daichi leaning over his shoulder. “Have you put ice on it?”
Hinata nods quickly.
“Can you see from it?” Daichi asks calmly, but something in his eyes is far from calm, and Kageyama thanks even his most distant ancestors that he’s not the only one who noticed something weird.
Hinata shakes his head, looking vastly more uncertain than he’d been a few seconds ago.
“Do you think you can play today?” asks Suga finally, and Hinata inhales sharply.
“Yeah, of course! I’m always okay to play!”
“No, I think you should definitely sit out. Just this once!” the captain adds when Hinata opens his mouth to protest. “I’m sure it’ll be well enough tomorrow morning for you to function normally.”
Hinata pouts and agrees. Just like that. Sirens roar to life in Kageyama’s head, and he catches the look Suga and Daichi exchange. He didn’t put up a fight. It’s not because Daichi told him no. Daichi’s told him he couldn’t play before, and he worked his scrawny ass off for days to earn his place.
He could’ve easily won this argument. But there was no argument. And that alone makes something cold and uncomfortable twist and resettle in Kageyama’s chest, worming its way into his heart to make its presence known there.
Daichi regains his senses. “Go wait in the gym for us. Maybe help coach and sensei start setting up.”
Hinata nods, wandering back out the door. His footsteps become receding dull thuds on the wooden stairs outside. Daichi rounds on Kageyama.
“What was that?”
“I have no idea,” Kageyama tells him, and he means it. He’d like nothing more than to know why Hinata is acting so defeated all of a sudden, why he has a black eye, why the fight seems to have gone out of him completely…
“I’m sure he’ll tell us when he wants to,” Suga offers.
‘When Hinata wants to’ sounds too far away. Kageyama doesn’t like it. At all.
*
Hinata’s the kind of person who ends up walking around the clubroom shirtless for fifteen minutes straight because he got distracted halfway through changing. One time he almost left without finishing dressing.
Nothing like this has happened in, by Kageyama’s count, five weeks. It should be, at the very least, a semi-weekly occurrence. So it becomes his mission to see Hinata shirtless. Logical thought process swiftly informs him that this is not only creepy as fuck, but equally gay as fuck. Kageyama tells logical thought process to eat a dick and let him worry about his friend the way he wants.
His mission proves extremely difficult when he discovers Hinata’s talent at hiding himself. Kageyama can legitimately watch him from the moment he opens his bag to the moment he heads off to the gym, and not once does he see his torso. How the hell he can get his shirt on but keep his jacket zipped up is something he simply cannot fathom. He abandons his mission after three practices.
But that doesn’t stop him from noticing the welts that litter his arm one week. Angry red and purple ones. He can definitely pick out a hand-shape just under where his sleeve ends. He wants to commit homicide at the mere thought that someone hurt Hinata.
There’s no confirmation, he reminds himself. Nothing to say for sure that anyone hurt him. He’s a clumsy bastard, after all. Maybe even the clumsiest bastard on the team. And just who, in their right goddamn mind, would even be able to find a reason to hurt a ray of sunshine like Hinata?
Not that Kageyama can’t point a finger at himself. But he never “hurts him” hurts him. He intimidates him and is rough with him, but they’re teenagers, for fuck’s sake; roughhousing and idiocy is what they live for. He never truly holds any ill intent toward his teammate.
So even if Hinata isn’t necessarily constantly a ray of sunshine, no one should ever ever even consider harming him. Ever. No one would.
One look from Suga tells him otherwise.
His gaze travels from Hinata’s arm to Kageyama’s eyes as he sets up the net. And Kageyama has never, in his whole life, seen such fury in someone’s eyes.
*
“You’re limping.”
“Am not.”
“Are, too.”
“Whatever.”
Hinata shouldn’t be this subdued. It’s frightening. They should be on the verge of exchanging blows, and well past the point of exchanging insults, but they’ve walked halfway across school grounds and have barely said a word to each other.
“I mean, why the hell are you limping, dumbass?” Kageyama elaborates after a few more seconds of silence.
Hinata won’t look at him. “I fell off my bike,” he offers feebly.
Yeah, right. And Kageyama’s a fucking circus clown. He slows a bit to accommodate Hinata’s inability to put weight on his right leg. They’d be racing right now, if stupid Hinata hadn’t gotten hurt.
“Bullshit,” he snaps, and then it's like someone’s tipped a jar of marbles. Word marbles. Word marbles that he’s spent a month collecting and placing carefully in the jar because he’s really damn bad at expressing himself, and maybe now isn’t exactly the most opportune time to start. “Someone did that to you. Someone made you limp. Someone...someone hurt you enough to make you limp like that, and I’ll bet my entire volleyball career there’s some huge nasty bruise on your leg that some shithead with major fucking issues put there. I know it, Suga knows it -- hell, even the captain knows it, and I’m pretty sure coach and sensei have noticed, too!
“We know something is wrong, okay? Did you really think you could hide that? Because you couldn’t. And...and we’re gonna find out, whether you tell us or not, and I’m sure Tanaka and Noya won’t have a problem beating their ass into the ground. I won’t, either, by the fucking way. So just sit down and fucking talk to us, you idiot.”
They’ve stopped walking now. Hinata gazes up at him pensively. Hinata doesn’t do shit like that. Hinata insults him back, argues with him, snatches something from his hands so Kageyama will chase him. Hinata laughs. Hinata makes everything better. He doesn’t...he doesn’t just stare at him with sad brown eyes, looking like he hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks, his hair lying much flatter than it should be, his shoulders sagging way too much.
He smiles. And it’s devoid of any real amusement or happiness. “Don’t be stupid. I’m fine. I told you, I just fell off my bike.” He continues on his way. “Quit trying to make a big deal out of things.”
*
It’s not a bruise. Kageyama kind of wishes it had been a bruise. But Hinata’s thigh has a wad of bandages taped haphazardly to it, and Daichi once again tells him to sit out of practice, and Hinata once again agrees. Kageyama wants to scream bloody murder.
He doesn’t even get much practicing done, because he’s too busy sitting in the corner of the gym tossing a ball to Hinata, who sits cross-legged with his back against the wall, catching it and tossing it back. They don’t talk. The quiet is disorienting.
“Say, um,” Hinata begins, fucking finally; Kageyama thanks everything he can think to thank, “say something like that actually were happening.” His stomach drops again, his heart returning to its place. The cold place. The uncomfortable one. Hinata offers a shy look, head bowed slightly, ball clutched to his chest. “Do you really think you guys could do something?”
“Are you actually stupid?” Kageyama asks, and he’s grateful to see a spark flare in Hinata’s otherwise dull eyes. It may be irritation. It may be amusement. He tosses the ball back to Kageyama. “Our senpai probably want a good fight. They need to get it out of their system.” Plus, y’know, the whole team knows something’s up, and they’re about ninety-eight percent sure you’re being bullied, and even fucking Tsukishima seems ready to kill someone over it. He can’t really say that. It might frighten Hinata into not talking again.
A lot of things, he realizes, seem to frighten Hinata lately.
“Do you want to go outside?” he asks suddenly, and he’s surprised when Hinata nods and uses the wall to pull himself back onto his feet. He sighs, dropping the ball and moving to help Hinata lean against him. He walks him out the door and into the shade of the building opposite. It’s pretty damn cold, but at least it hasn’t snowed yet, so they’re okay to sit on the ground.
“So, if I told you that someone was being kind of a huge dick to me, you guys would make them stop?” Yes, of fucking course yes, how stupid could he be?
Kageyama grabs his hands to make him stop wringing them like that. “It’s what teams are for, right?” He carefully looks away, avoiding Hinata’s eyes. He’s not holding his hands in a way intended to be intimate, obviously. But Hinata’s such a dumbass, that was probably his first thought. He grits his teeth. “What’s under the bandage?”
Hinata’s hands are gone instantly, as he draws his knees up to his chest and clamps his arms protectively around his legs. “You don’t wanna see.”
“Is it something…” God, he doesn’t want to ask. He’s afraid to know. He swallows, sighs, and tries again. “Is it something you did yourself?”
“No! No.” Hinata shakes his head fervently, eyes wide. “They did it. Not me.”
“Let me see, Hinata.”
Hinata chews his lip as he shakes his head again, and what could possibly be so bad that he’s hiding it even from his best friend? “It’s...I don’t want you to know. I didn’t want anyone to know. I wouldn’t have minded just the team knowing, maybe, and I was actually gonna say something, but...but they reacted so bad and I didn’t want you guys doing that too and I’m sorry.” Kageyama watches, horrified, as tears flood his eyes instantaneously and begin to roll down his cheeks. “I don’t want anyone to hate me. Especially not you.”
“Uh, I…” Fuck, he needs to say something comforting. “Er, you know, you really are a dumbass.”
Way to fucking blow that one, Kageyama. Maybe some streamers and party hats are in order. Or would he prefer Dunce caps? He groans when Hinata turns his head abruptly away.
“I mean,” he mutters, pissed at himself, “how the hell could you even think that anything you do could make me hate you? You’ve served a ball into the back of my goddamn head. That was the breaking point. There’s no way you can top that anymore.”
Hinata sniffles and Kageyama can see a faint smile on his face. He shuffles closer to rest his hands on his shins and forces him to sit with his legs outstretched. It takes a few minutes to work his way through the bandage, given that it’s essentially imprisoned inside of medical tape, but he manages, and peels back the gauze.
Heavy bruising (it’s green and black and splotchy and shiny) aside, someone’s taken something definitely sharp and jagged and carved “FAG” in harsh, bold letters across his skin. Kageyama digs his fingernails into his own knee. “You cleaned it?” he asks around the anger flooding his throat like lava. Hinata nods, eyes shining with tears again, and he looks so afraid, so fragile, like he expects Kageyama to snap on him or something stupid. “Good. Now tell me who did it.”
“I...you’re not mad?” Hinata’s voice is tremulous, his eyes still fearful.
Kageyama sighs hopelessly. “Of course not, dickhead. Why would I be?”
“I don’t know. Just, people aren’t really nice about it, y’know? I wasn’t sure if you’d be like that….”
“Hinata.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m gay, too.”
“Oh.”
Kageyama continues to stare impatiently until Hinata straightens up suddenly and his mouth falls open. God, he’s so stupid. They’re both so stupid. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” He isn’t sure what to do besides shift the gauze and tape back into place. He leaves his hands on his legs; maybe it’s comforting in some way. “Now are you going to tell me who did this or no?”
“I think I can handle it okay on my own for now.”
Kageyama could smack him. But he won’t, because Hinata’s seen enough violence in the last while to last him a lifetime. Instead he bows his head and heaves a sigh through gritted teeth. “Fucking… fine, fine. Okay. Do whatever. If you won’t tell me that, then tell me how long it’s been happening.”
Hinata purses his lips. Like he actually has to think about it. Kageyama’s stomach hurts. “Since, uh, the beginning of May? Maybe the end of April. The start of the school year, I guess.”
“...What?”
“What?”
“It’s...Hinata, it’s November.”
Hinata tilts his head and blinks owlishly at him. “Yeah?”
Fuck, fuck, Kageyama’s going to be sick. That’s...he has to stop and count. That’s at least seven months. That’s his entire high school career so far. His head is buzzing unpleasantly, his fingers itching, his vision blurred. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“It’s not a big deal. I’m sure they’re not really bad people beyond that, so I thought I’d give them a chance to grow. I mean, I gave you a chance, and now you’re my best friend. Plus, uh, I don’t know how the Dean would react if I told him I was bullied for being gay.” Hinata giggles, sheepish, quiet, and his eyes are still too dull for Kageyama’s tastes.
“You are such an idiot. You could’ve...god, I don’t know, you could’ve told me, or the captain, or the coach, or even sensei, I don’t care, you can’t just let people treat you that way, you complete turd. None of us give a shit if you’re gay. We’re probably the gayest volleyball team in Japan. I mean, have you seen Daichi and Sugawara?” Kageyama rubs his hand over his forehead. “We would’ve done something.”
“I don’t get why you’re so mad…”
Kageyama gapes at him. He has got to be kidding. He glances briefly to the sky, begging for help from whoever is listening. “You’re our teammate. Nobody screws with our teammates. That’s just that. How would you feel if someone told you Noya was being bullied?”
Understanding dawns on Hinata’s face. “Really, really mad,” he muses. “I’d wanna kick those bullies’ asses.”
Finally. He closes his eyes and bows his head. “That’s how we feel when we see you come to practice all bruised up and act like nothing’s wrong.”
There’s silence again. It’s worse out here, where the sounds of practice aren’t reverberating through the gym, shoes squeaking and volleyballs bouncing along the floor. Then Hinata whimpers, and Kageyama whips around to look at him as he starts crying again. Did he fuck up? He must’ve fucked up. Maybe he should’ve left the talking to Suga or something. “Ah, shit, Hina...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” He didn’t mean to do whatever he did. Upset him, he supposes, but Hinata shakes his head and wipes his eyes.
The action is pointless, because more tears leak out to replace the ones lost. Hinata reaches out tentatively to him, still looking hard at the ground as though it holds the answers to his problems. Kageyama knows exactly what he’s aiming for. His arms find their way around Hinata of their own accord, holding fast; he pulls him forward roughly so that he’s almost in his lap and presses his face to his shoulder.
Hinata weeps against the top of his head, which is actually kind of gross because he’s probably getting snot and tears everywhere. Kageyama’s too focused on not crying to care.
They must stay like that for ten minutes, at least. Hinata apologizes over and over again, cries more, apologizes for making Kageyama cry -- he’s not fucking crying, he’s just angry, is all -- and then finally settles back down and scrubs at his eyes until they’re clear.
“Sorry. I guess I really should’ve said something earlier.” He’s still kind of pretty much in his lap, and that’s great and all except Hinata is heavy as hell and Kageyama’s a wee bit uncomfortable with their close proximity. But he can’t be that much of a jackass, to tell the person he’s comforting to get the hell off of him, so he just keeps hugging him.
“You can say something now.”
Hinata nods. “They’re in our year. Not my class, though. Class two. I tried to befriend them when school started, and one day they were talking about girls and they asked what kind of girls I found cute and I said ‘I don’t like girls’ and - and I didn’t think it was bad. No one at my old school cared. But then the next day they started being really terrible and it’s just been getting worse.”
Kageyama rubs careful circles on Hinata’s back. That would do it, alright. He gives them a few more minutes (practice is definitely over by now; they’d be cleaning up, which is a perfect opportunity) before hauling Hinata to his feet and hooking an arm around his waist to walk him back into the gym. “We’re going to go talk to the captain. And the coach.”
And if those kids ever touch him again, Kageyama will end up snapping some necks.
Hinata only nods again, solemnly, and allows himself to be led into the gym. Fortunately, Ukai is talking to Daichi and Suga just inside the doors. The pair skid to a halt beside them, and all three look up. Kageyama gives Daichi a steady look. “Is the Dean homophobic?”
Daichi’s eyes flicker down to where Kageyama’s arm is still around Hinata. Shit, he forgot about that. It’s not for them, for the love of Christ, it’s for Hinata, and Kageyama tries to explain with a scowl. “No, not at all. He’s actually very supportive of the LGBT community at our school. Er...why?”
“So if someone was being bullied for being gay, he’d help them?”
Three people turn to stare at Hinata, who tenses nervously against Kageyama. He’s so dumb. It’s Daichi and Sugawara they’re talking to, here. Kageyama tightens his grip slightly and hopes that helps. “Yes. He’s done it before,” Suga tells them, reaching out slowly to put a hand on Hinata’s shoulder. He still flinches, even though it’s Sugawara and he almost cried after he stepped on a ladybug once. “Would you like to go see him? I’m sure he’s still around.”
Hinata, too still, too mute, shrugs and shifts closer to Kageyama. Everyone keeps staring.
In the end, Kageyama helps Hinata to the Dean’s office, and they talk in private while Kageyama waits anxiously outside the doors. When, at last, Hinata emerges, he looks vastly more bright and energized than he had just minutes earlier. Kageyama smirks. “Went well?”
“He’s gonna talk to them tomorrow and he says he’ll at least expel them,” he explains, bouncing slightly despite his limp. That’s such a burden lifted from his shoulders, and Kageyama still can’t stand the idea that something like that went on for so many months behind the volleyballs club’s backs.
He falls into step beside him, still keeping the pace relatively slow for Hinata’s comfort. “Good. I hope they get arrested.”
*
They’re the only people in the clubroom when they change out of their training clothes. Suga’s promised to wait out on the steps with Daichi so they can lock up once the first years are gone.
So when Hinata tries the bullshit with his jacket again, Kageyama tears it off in one swift movement and hurls it to the ground. “Stop that. Stop hiding. It’s all fine now.” He has to physically restrain himself from reacting badly to the mess of bruises and scabs that are his torso. Whatever those kids used on his leg was apparently directed at his ribs, too, but there are no words. Just quick, severe lines. What isn’t cut is dark and shining, like harsh blows with fists and harsher ones with feet. He only pictures it for a moment, but fire flares in his eyes and the set of his jaw hardens. “Jesus fucking…” He drops his face into one hand, peering at Hinata through his fingers. He’s pale and dumbstruck, put off by the sudden exposure of his own body.
He means to hug him again. But the moment his arm is raised, Hinata ducks away so rapidly that they both end up freezing. It’s at Hinata’s apologetic smile that he thinks, ‘fuck this’ and gathers him up in his arms once again. “You really piss me off, you know?”
Hinata laughs breezily. “You piss me off more. Asshole.”
“Hardly. You piss me off most, you absolute fuck.”
They let go of each other, smiles breaking out on their faces. The captain and vice captain are waiting outside. They should really get their asses in gear.
“Here, put a shirt on,” he grumbles, attempting to ignore the web of injuries that also adorns Hinata’s back as he hands him his sweater.
“I don’t mind you seeing,” Hinata starts, tugging the shirt down over his head and closing his bag, “Not much. So you can look if you want.” He fiddles momentarily with the hem of the shirt.
Kageyama shakes his head and drapes the jacket back around Hinata’s shoulders. He won’t be having any more of that doleful expression. Not after they just got everything sorted out, to some extent. How long are people usually affected after something like this? He has no clue. He just hopes it isn’t very long, because few things frustrate him more than Hinata being upset.
*
Kageyama waits by the gym doors, confused as all hell. He should’ve run into Hinata by now. He should’ve raced him to the doors, and then to the clubroom, and then probably back. Until the rest of the team showed up.
But he peeks inside the gym and Daichi, Suga, and Asahi are setting up nets. That’s it.
Instinct kicks his feet into some semblance of running. He recollects himself and sprints to the clubroom, nearly tripping up every step on the way. It’s unlocked. It should be. It usually is at this time. That doesn’t mean Kageyama wants it to open.
Hinata’s already there. Kageyama takes a deep breath, carefully examining the back of his head in the dim light. His bag is laying on the floor beside him,open partially, but there’s no indication that he’s started getting ready for practice. “Hey, what the hell are you doing? We can’t get to the gym before the senpai if you wait around here.”
Hinata shrugs and sniffles softly. “I don’t think I’m gonna practice today,” he says, voice shaking.
His heart clenches, fighting the aggravating cold. Surely nothing bad could’ve happened to Hinata. Maybe he’s so happy to not have to deal with those assholes anymore that he’s crying. Yes, that must be it. Kageyama creeps over to sit beside him, and he has to brace himself before looking at his face.
Yeah, that’s not it. It’s as bad as Kageyama’s seen it. His lip is split and swollen and bleeding, purple fans out from around his nose like wings and there’s sticky, barely-dried blood smeared beneath it. His eyebrow and cheekbone on the right side of his face have started to redden into the beginnings of a black eye. Kageyama reaches out, extremely slowly, deliberately, to brush his bloodied bangs from his face and examine the cut on his forehead.
“It wasn’t…?” But of course it was. No other fuckheaded punks would hurt Hinata. “Where are they?”
Hinata shrugs again, turning away from him. He’s clutching so tightly at his right arm that his knuckles are white.
“I thought they were being expelled.”
“Yeah,” he says under his breath. “They are. They got phone calls last night about it,. They had to come to school early, so they stopped me this morning on their way to see the Dean.”
“Tell me you fought back,” Kageyama growls, digging a first aid kit from the back cupboard.
Hinata doesn’t answer him for a while. It’s tense silence while he cleans the blood from his face and dabs alcohol on his forehead. Then, “I stopped doing that a few months ago.”
Kageyama sighs exasperatedly. Sometimes this kid is just too much. “You usually fight back. Haven’t I told you you’re a stubborn shithead? Because you’re a stubborn shithead."
Hinata sighs, "You’re more of a stubborn shithead.”
“That’s what I mean,” Kageyama points out, rifling around for a Band Aid.
Hinata is about to say something, eyebrows furrowed, mouth open, but the door flies open and their senpai scramble in, tumbling over each other and laughing boisterously. They stop dead when they see the oddball duo sitting cross-legged on the floor while Kageyama tends to Hinata’s wounds. Already, Hinata has curled into himself with a gasp. It’s only Tanaka and Nishinoya. Only the idiots. Also maybe their favourite teammates. But Hinata takes a few extra moments to process this.
“Kageyama, what the hell?” Tanaka wails melodramatically.
“Why would you beat up Hinata?” Noya cries.
Kageyama gapes at them. “I didn’t do it! I wouldn’t do that!” he snaps, slamming the first aid kit down. His senpai may be cool and all, but he’s definitely right to acknowledge their idiocy.
“So it was someone else then!”
Tanaka's face is distorted with fury. “I fucking knew it!”
“Whose asses are we kicking?” Noya cracks his knuckles and draws himself up to his full height. Which isn’t much.
Hinata hunches over further. For a moment, Kageyama thinks he’s going to be sick, and he makes to demand that he do that somewhere that isn’t his lap, but he tilts his head up to gaze imploringly at Kageyama. The taller hums. “They’re on the way to the Dean’s office. You can probably catch up. Don’t leave too many marks.”
“We’ll avenge you, sunshine kouhai!” Nishinoya roars, leaping out the door with Tanaka in his wake. Kageyama sees the rage on their faces and in the squaring of their shoulders, and when he turns back to Hinata, the redhead has a faint smile on his face.
“They’re good senpai,” he says softly.
Kageyama ruffles his hair. “The coolest. Now, shirt off.” He picks up the first aid kit again.
Hinata is just staring.
“I know they got you there, too. And your legs, probably. I’m not stupid. Shirt. Off.”
He has to help him. That’s not only awkward, but concerning, and he’s as gentle as possible while he guides his arms through the sleeves. Extra careful with his right arm, which, judging by Hinata’s agonized expression, might be broken. “So how many of them are there, exactly?” he asks as he finds another alcohol swab and starts wiping -- carefully, carefully, because Hinata hisses and in normal circumstances he’d scoff and tell him that he’s a baby, but these are hardly normal circumstances -- at the scratches (actual scratches; made with someone’s fingernails) on his shoulders.
There’s a very faint, “So cool, Asahi-san!” from outside. Hinata snorts, hushed but definitely amused.
“Four, usually. Sometimes only three.” That’s just unfair. That’s unfair and they definitely fucking knew it. If he weren’t so busy coddling Hinata, he’d be out there helping the rest of the club. “Four today, though.”
They’re probably going to get banned from club activities, the lot of them, because Lord knows the second-years are too intense to hold back. They might get the volleyball club disbanded altogether. Wouldn’t that be a story.
It’s hardly any help when the door opens again and Tsukishima and Yamaguchi are silhouetted against the rising sun.
Tsukishima’s eyes harden immediately. Kageyama could laugh. The cold-hearted Tsukishima, expressing actual concern. He waits for the other first year to talk first.
“He spoke up?”
Kageyama nods curtly.
“Is that why I hear--?"
“The senpai intercepted them on the way to the Dean’s office.”
He’s hardly surprised when Tsukishima dumps his bag just inside the door and nods. “You want the lights on?”
“Yup.” Kageyama had forgotten they were even off, sitting here in the dimly-lit room and trying not to lose his cool.
That’s the end of that. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi set off in the direction of the infuriated expletives that echo around the whole schoolyard, so damn loud, so damn pissed.
It’s much easier to see what he’s doing in the light. It’s also easier to see all the damage to Hinata’s body this way. Hinata clears his throat, catching Kageyama’s attention. “Did you all know?”
“We all figured. We were waiting for you to say something, because we didn’t want to upset you or something dumb like that. The senpai actually asked me to talk it out of you.” He motions for Hinata to turn so he can work at the scratches on his lower back.
“Oh. Sorry for making you guys worry.”
It’s still wrong. He presses just a bit too hard with the swab. “You’re supposed to say ‘that’s stupid’ or something.”
“What?”
“Don’t apologize.” It’s not his damn fault, anyway. “Moron,” he tacks on as an afterthought.
“You’re a moron,” Hinata mutters, still curled protectively over his arm. God, he’s so fucking stubborn. Honestly.
The second Kageyama is done cleaning up his back, he reaches out to touch his arm, earning himself a strained whine. “Is it broken?”
“Dunno.” His friend makes to shrug, but apparently thinks better of it. “Maybe?”
Hasn’t he broken a bone before? Kageyama rubs his fingers under his eyes and breathes deeply. “Does it hurt like a bitch?”
“Uh, yes?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” He’d be well within his rights to take off this instant and catch the tail end of the scuffle outside. “I will actually kill them.”
“Actually actually? That’s illegal, Kageyama-kun.” Hinata grins cheekily, some of the colour restored to his face.
“Shut up.”
“You shut up.”
“It’s hardly insulting when all you do is throw my own words back at me.”
“Fine. You’re a bag of dicks.”
“That’s boring.”
“A really big bag of really tiny dicks.”
He laughs at that. Only a little. A tiny bit. It’s barely a laugh at all. That was dumb, he reminds himself, so laughing at it would be dumb.
Luck is not with him today. That should have been made clear when he found Hinata alone in the clubroom with a broken arm. Daichi and Suga show up while he’s laughing at Hinata’s shitty insult, and Hinata’s laughing too but that’s way less embarrassing for him.
“Sorry we’re late!” they exclaim, darting over to Hinata with those dumb concerned-parent looks that he’s seen too much of lately.
“We had to make sure Nishinoya and Tanaka didn’t kill someone,” Suga explains.
“And that Asahi scared the hell out of them. The other guys, not our teammates,” Daichi adds. All it takes for that is Asahi's presence, interestingly enough.
Kageyama’s far from content with sitting idly by while the third-years fuss over Hinata, but he’s not about to say anything. They both confirm that Hinata’s arm is almost definitely broken, which leads to Daichi dashing outside to call Takeda-sensei over and ask that he drive them to the hospital, and Hinata looking distraught as he tries to figure out how many weeks without volleyball that will be.
His face swelled up really fast. It looks kind of gross now. Kageyama still won’t leave, even if that means missing a chance to beat someone up, if only the tiniest bit. Hinata’s got that frightened air about him still. Until it’s gone, Kageyama stays put. That’s just how it has to be.
Suga waves him over. “Could you help Hinata out to sensei’s car?” he asks, helping said dumbass back onto his own two feet. That’s right; he hasn’t checked his legs for injury yet. But he doesn’t limp, he’s just a bit shaky in his steps, so Kageyama keeps a firm hold on him all the way down the stairs and into the car.
He steps away once he’s buckled him in and closed the door, waiting for Takeda-sensei to drive away. Suga’s hand appears on his shoulder. “You’re not sending him to the hospital alone.”
“What?”
“Get in the car.”
“Wha--?”
“Now.”
Sugawara is Daichi-level scary sometimes. No wonder they get on so well. He’s scrambling into the back seat beside Hinata before he registers his own actions. Hinata, despite the pain he’s in, is giggling behind his good hand.
“Shut up,” he grumbles, snapping his seat belt into place.
“You made Suga angryyy.” Like he fucking knew he would manage that. What an asshole.
“You made the whole team angry,” Kageyama counters harshly. “Now stop laughing and wallow with me.”
They have the privilege of watching Nishinoya and Tanaka jump around as they wave them off. “I punched someone for you, Hinata!” Noya yells, and Tanaka nods.
“Me, too! You’re welcome!”
“See, they’re super-pissed.” Point made, Kageyama settles back into his seat to watch Hinata. Super-pissed, and expressing it weirdly, but angry nonetheless.
“Mm, I know. They seem really happy that they’re probably gonna get suspended.”
*
The Dean gets one look at Hinata that afternoon and only suspends them each for a week. Since it was only Nishinoya, Tanaka, and Tsukishima that actually threw any punches, the club itself is excused from facing any penalties. His bullies (they’re really quite ugly and brutish, Kageyama decides the moment he sees them, and he’s glad Hinata never became properly acquainted with them) are expelled and arrested, much to the team's collective delight.
Kageyama spends the day watching Hinata bloom again under all the positive attention. His mother and sister show up to the hospital and spend hours cossetting and crying, leaving Kageyama standing awkwardly in the corner as Hinata reassures them. He’s pretty sure it should be the other way around.
“You...uh...you okay?” he asks when they’re alone again. He should really be heading home. Hinata’s mom left and promised to return within an hour to take her kid home, which means Kageyama will be here alone.
“I feel a lot better.” He looks a lot better. Wait, no, that’s a lie. He looks like complete shit, all bandaged and swollen-faced and fat-lipped. But his eyes look better, and Kageyama is undeniably grateful for that. “I don’t have to put up with them anymore.”
Seven months. Kageyama’s incredulous. He’s only seen sunshine and happiness (and teasing and stubbornness and excitement and courage) in Hinata for so long that he never even noticed anything was off until barely two months ago. He’ll admit that he’s tough. Not aloud, of course.
But he’ll admit it to himself.
“Yeah.”
Comfortable silence befalls them. Kageyama observes Hinata for a short while, picking out reawakened vitality and vigor everywhere. There’s definitely a burden gone. He’s completely safe now, under the volleyball club’s protection for the rest of his high school career. No one’s even going to consider hurting him again. A breeze disturbs the curtains covering the open window. He smells the cold in the air before he feels it.
“Kageyama-kun, do you want to stay over at my house tonight?”
“Would your mom be okay with that?” He’d love to.
Hinata laughs lightly. “She actually asked earlier, but you were too zoned out to notice.”
He blushes and swats his arm, his good one, delicately so as not to startle him. “Yeah, fine. It sounds fun.”
“Good. And you have to hold the PS3 controller with one hand, because otherwise that’s cheating,” he demands, gesturing to the arm that’s in a cast.
Kageyama Tobio is not a cheater. He sticks out his tongue at Hinata. “I accept your dumb challenge.”
Hinata is useless without his right arm, to the point that he can’t get into the car on his own. It’s a good fucking thing that Kageyama’s with him. His mom is laughing merrily when they finally manage to open the door through Kageyama’s name-calling and Hinata’s insistence that he’s perfectly capable of using his left arm to do shit.
He also can’t brush his own teeth. Or eat his own food (thank God his mom composes herself enough to help with that), and they both fail spectacularly at playing any and every game they try so that they have to resort to watching television. He can’t open his own backpack. He can’t change his own clothes, but Kageyama’s helped enough with that task that there’s not even a question when he fights the cast through his shirt sleeve and slips his pyjama top over his head.
He’ll have to learn to do these things on his own, but for now, Kageyama has no complaints about helping out a bit.
When they finally settle in for the night, laughing over Hinata’s helplessness and the mess he made of the sink, Hinata stops to look at him for a while.
“Thank you,” he breathes, smiling, and Kageyama just hums and grins at the ceiling.
As it should be.