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Hinata Shoyo wakes with the sun coming through the curtains, spreading warmth across his face. There’s a bird outside the window that has been chirping excitedly since the sun came up hours ago, but Hinata had somehow managed to sleep through it until now. Without even opening his eyes, he lets out a groan, patting his left hand next to him to feel for the warmth of his husband. Once he finds Kageyama, he tangles their fingers together and runs his thumb across the back of Kageyama’s hand.
“Nnnn,” Kageyama complains, and Hinata hears the rustling of him trying to bury his face deeper into his pillow. When they’d first retired from volleyball, Kageyama had protested being woken up before 9am. Now that they were older, the cut-off was 10. Hinata blinks his eyes open, squinting at the alarm clock. 10:40. Perfect.
“It’s past ten,” he informs his husband, matter of fact, but his fingers stay tracing gentle shapes and words. His latest favorite thing to trace is “I love you”. First in Japanese, then Portuguese, then Italian, then Spanish, then English. Rinse and repeat.
“I don’t care,” Kageyama huffs, but sits up and reaches over with his unoccupied hand to run it through Hinata’s hair. Hinata closes his eyes, remembering a time when Kageyama used to be rougher, used to pull his hair when he flubbed serves and fight him and pitch fits on the court. Now, the touches are gentler, slower, softer. They’re too old for their play-fighting to have any real kick to it.
“Yeah, yeah,” Hinata grabs Kageyama’s hand and uses it to pull himself in a seated position, “I know all about your ability to waste half the day by sleeping in.”
“We’re not professional athletes anymore, we don’t have to wake up at 4 every day for training,” Kageyama points out. He reaches for the glass of water on their nightstand, and Hinata waits patiently for him to drain all of it before he corrals his husband into the bathroom. They brush their teeth side by side. Hinata used to bump their hips together until Kageyama, in an effort to keep him still, would drape himself over Hinata bodily, using his body weight to appease Hinata’s constant need for motion. Now, Hinata settles for tapping his fingers on the counter, matching the rhythm of Kageyama’s favorite song.
“We haven’t been professional athletes for a long time,” Hinata says, absentmindedly. Kageyama hums in agreement, thick around the toothpaste foaming in his mouth.
They’ve always complimented each other when standing side by side in an opposites-attract kind of way. One short, one tall; one with red hair, one with black; one with blue eyes, one with brown. As the years had passed, they began to compliment each other in a more matching way. They had matching gray hair and matching wrinkles at the corner of their eyes and matching watery eyes and matching creases around their mouths that denoted years of happiness, smiling, and laughter. Softer to kiss and softer to love and softer to be around. Time has made a lot of changes and Hinata loves them all.
Kageyama is the first to spit in the sink, then Hinata follows. Their plan today is one of Hinata’s favorite things to do. Since they’d retired from coaching ten years ago, they’d picked up the habit of walking in the park behind their apartment complex every Friday morning. There was a volleyball net there, amongst the winding paths of the park, and a bench right across from it. It was the perfect location for Hinata and Kageyama to watch university students play pick-up games before having to rush off to their classes, so long as it wasn’t too cold. The bench is tucked neatly underneath a tree that blocks the sunlight, so they can sometimes stay well into midday without getting sunburnt. Of course, that doesn’t stop Kageyama from nagging Hinata to wear sunscreen because he already has sun damage from Brazil or something silly like that. At this point, Hinata doesn’t think the sun can do any actual damage that hasn’t already been done in his younger years.
Now, Kageyama holds up a tube of sunscreen, wiggling it threateningly at Hinata as Hinata dries his hands on his towel.
“I don’t need it,” Hinata complains, but Kageyama is already reaching towards him with gentle fingertips and soft hands. The volleyball callouses from their younger days have since faded from his fingertips and his hands have a bit of a shake to them now, but Hinata doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to do anything but relish in Kageyama’s touch. Hinata lets Kageyama spread the sunscreen evenly, then places a kiss on his wrist, where the skin is thinnest and the veins are bluest, as he pulls away. Kageyama smiles at him, crinkling his eyes warmly, before pulling away and exiting the bathroom.
They don’t really need to bundle up, since the weather’s supposed to be fairly nice today, but Kageyama has been running cold lately. So, while Kageyama waters their plants, Hinata pulls clothes out of their shared wardrobe for his husband to wear. A soft, cozy pair of dark pants, a long sleeve shirt, a warm vest to go over it, and a hat that started off as Hinata’s but became Kageyama’s somewhere along the way. They have a lot of clothes that do that– the migrating around their wardrobe without any real ownership until they have a conglomerate of their clothes rather than individual articles.
“That’s my shirt,” Kageyama used to like reminding him when they were younger, to which Hinata would reply with a cheerful, “What’s yours is mine!” Now, neither of them really remember which article of clothing started off where. It’s been too long. They share every aspect of their lives, so sharing clothing isn’t as daunting as it used to be.
Kageyama comes back from watering the plants, the cuff of his sleep shirt damp from where he spilled some of the water on himself, and sees that Hinata’s laid out all of his clothes.
“You don’t have to do that,” Kageyama tells him, starting to dress himself with careful hands.
“I like to dress you,” Hinata replies, and he can’t keep his smile out of his voice as he watches Kageyama. He loves watching his husband doing the little things– buttoning up his shirt, shaving, eating breakfast– it’s something he’s never managed to stop appreciating, even after all these years. It reminds him that Kageyama is entirely his.
“You’re treating me like a little kid,” Kageyama gripes, but the kiss he presses into Hinata’s hairline after he finishes dressing says thank you and I love you and I’m glad you’re here, so Hinata forgives his grumpy old man antics.
Once they’re all dressed, Kageyama places the lunches Hinata prepared last night in a little basket, intertwines their fingers, and they set off for their bench.
“I think you’re the grumpy old man and I’m the fun old man,” Hinata muses, keys jangling as he twists them and locks their front door.
“Who’s fun?” Kageyama says, “You’re just too energetic. Not even old age can mellow you.”
Hinata glances at him through narrowed, suspicious eyes, and lets out a huff of fond laughter when he sees that Kageyama’s mouth is ticked up in a half-smile. He loops one of his arms through Kageyama’s free one and lets his husband lead him on the winding walkway through the park.
“Someone’s got to keep us both young, and it won’t be you!” Hinata responds cheerfully.
“You’re older than me,” Kageyama reminds him, squeezing Hinata’s hand where it’s tucked into his elbow. His fingers are cool from the chill in the air that has managed to cut through his vest.
“At this age, does it even matter?” Hinata muses, and Kageyama doesn’t respond other than a quiet laugh, so he knows he’s won this one.
“Seven hundred and ninety-two to seven hundred and eighty-nine,” Hinata says, in case Kageyama forgot who was in the lead.
“I’ve gotten soft since we got married,” Kageyama mourns his lead, “I need to be meaner.”
“You’ve always been soft,” Hinata argues.
“Soft for you, maybe,” Kageyama rolls his eyes, “But I know some people who might disagree with you.”
Hinata lets out a laugh at Kageyama’s sass and transfers his attention to what’s around them. There’s a cool breeze blowing through the park, and Hinata’s glad that he pulled out warmer clothes for his husband. The trees, well past their blooming of spring, are now a vibrant green, dancing in the wind in a way that makes Hinata wish he could dance the way he used to. The birds are exchanging songs as they dart from branch to branch, a game of chase or courting or, maybe, karaoke. They make Hinata feel warm.
There’s a young man walking a fluffy dog further down the path, a woman on the phone during her jog– Hinata catches a string of “and I told him that if he did it again we’d be done” as she passes, and wishes she was going slower so that he could get more of the drama– and, of course, the college students at the volleyball net. There are more of them than there usually are, playing four against five this morning with their bags cast to the side so that they can throw themselves down in the sand pit without any worries about their laptops or books.
Kageyama leads Hinata over to the bench, lowering him gently before sitting down himself with a deep sigh. He bends over the picnic basket, pulling out two of the drinks that he had packed. He unwraps the straws, puncturing the cardboard boxes for both himself and Hinata before handing one of them over. Hinata takes a long sip, watching one of the college students dive for the ball, miss it, and receive a faceful of sand for his troubles.
“That was you,” Kageyama tells him in a low voice, and Hinata elbows him with a squawk of laughter.
“As if you were any better when you came to visit me. I demolished you in the sand,” Hinata shoots back, letting Kageyama catch his elbow with one hand and tug him closer, pulling him so that he’s nestled under Kageyama’s chin.
“Sure,” he says, and Hinata is so caught up in listening to the familiar sound of his heartbeat, his breath, that he almost misses Kageyama’s sarcasm.
“Booooo,” Hinata booes him, giving Kageyama a thumbs down with the hand that isn’t holding his drink. Kageyama ignores him, giving him a tight squeeze and sipping from his straw. Hinata remembers the way Kageyama used to fall over himself in the sand, the way he’d lose his feet, the way he’d have sand stuck to him all up and down his arms.
“I can’t believe you ate sand in front of me and I still married you,” Hinata teases him, wiggling closer to lean his head on Kageyama’s shoulder.
“Low standards,” Kageyama replies. Hinata rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. They watch the game for a moment, silent but for the sipping sounds Kageyama’s straw makes. Hinata takes a deep breath and squeezes his eyes shut, letting the fresh air fill his lungs. He thinks about all the ways in which they know each other, all the memories they have together. So many years and so much to show for it.
“Excuse me,” a voice interrupts Hinata’s musing, and he opens his eyes to see one of the college students standing in front of their bench, volleyball tucked under one arm and expression sheepish.
“Excused,” Kageyama replies, and takes another long sip. The student blinks, caught off guard, and shifts his weight from the balls of his feet to his heels.
“Ignore him,” Hinata says, pinching the inside of Kageyama’s elbow, “What can we do for you?”
“You’re…” he trails off, eyes darting back to his friends, who give him encouraging nods, “You’re Hinata Shoyo and Kageyama Tobio?”
He says it like a question, but Hinata thinks it’s meant to be a statement.
“No,” Kageyama says, right as Hinata says, “Yes!”
The student smiles at them awkwardly as Hinata elbows Kageyama in the side.
“Stop being a nuisance, you’re too old for that,” Hinata scolds him, and Kageyama gives him a half-smile, but doesn’t say anything.
“We are Hinata Shoyo and Kageyama Tobio,” Hinata confirms, turning back to the student.
“That’s so cool,” the student bounces a bit, “Do you think you could, maybe, tell me what I’m doing wrong with this set? You definitely don’t have to, I just thought maybe you’d have good advice? It’s totally fine if not, I’m sure you’re busy!”
“Mmm,” Hinata lets out a hum through his smile, “Very busy in our old age, that’s why we come and sit aimlessly on this park bench.”
The student laughs, and stands patiently as the two husbands clamber to their feet. Kageyama throws his drink into the recycling bin as they pass it on their way to the volleyball net.
“This sounds more like Tobio’s field of expertise than mine,” Hinata explains to the student as they approach his friends, “But I can try to help too!”
“Thank you so much,” the student breathes, “You’re the coolest.”
“I am quite cool,” Kageyama says, “That’s why I wear so many layers.”
“You wear so many layers because I pick out your clothes for you,” Hinata corrects him. Otherwise, Kageyama would pretend to be fine, shivering his way through the day without admitting that he’s cold.
“Guys, you were right,” the student tells his friends, and he sounds almost awed. His friends beam at him.
“We told you they’d help,” one of them says, bumping her shoulders with the student. Hinata and Kageyama have a bit of a reputation for giving college students volleyball tips when asked. There are a handful of students that have gathered together to watch the student receive Hinata and Kageyama’s advice, whispering to each other in excitement.
“Okay,” Kageyama says, pulling away from where he had linked arms with Hinata, “Let’s see this toss.”
The student nods stiffly, then tosses the ball to his friend. She bumps the ball back to him, a beautiful, high arc in the air; straight into her friend’s waiting fingertips. The student bends his wrists, pushing the ball outwards and towards another waiting student, and– misses. He misses.
The student turns back to Kageyama, his ears red, “I’m having trouble aiming. I always go too far to the left.”
“Do it again,” Kageyama says, and the two of them watch as the students go through the motions again. Sure enough, the student’s aim is too far to the left.
“Your footwork isn’t positioned correctly,” He nudges the student’s feet further apart, “You have to set your feet correctly and make sure you’re following through with your motions. Again, this time focus on your feet.” In this lighting, if Hinata squints a bit, Kageyama is almost restored to his former glory; an Olympian, standing proud and tall, giving younger players advice at volleyball camps around the country. They used to travel together, from place to place, paid for giving talks at schools, camps, universities. Hinata would almost miss those days if he didn’t have such a strong appreciation for their slow, quiet mornings where they could focus on each other rather than tight itineraries.
The student gives Kageyama a sharp nod, then gets back into position with a different posture than the one he had before. They go through the process again; his friend passes to him, he sets, and this time, his set makes it to the spiker. Kageyama’s mouth quirks up in a smile.
“Woah,” the student turns to face them, staring at his hands as if he can’t believe what he’s done, “It worked!”
“Of course it worked,” Kageyama huffs, “I was a gold medallist.”
“Thank you so much,” the student rushes towards them, gripping them both in a firm handshake before turning back to his friends and throwing his arms up in a cheer. As his friends high-five him, slap his back, and ruffle his hair, Hinata and Kageyama take the opportunity to head back towards their bench.
“You’ve still got it,” Hinata tells his husband, impressed, as Kageyama picks up their things from the bench in preparation for heading home.
“Does that count as a win for me?” Kageyama’s eyes crinkle with the force of his smile. God, Hinata loves his wrinkles. He pulls Kageyama down to kiss the corner of his left eye, then his right.
“No,” he says as he pulls away, “You’re only this great because we got this great together.”
“I’m not sure that’s true,” Kageyama protests, but he twines their fingers together and lets their hands swing between them as they make their way home. Step by step, swing by swing, making their way to the place they’ve built together. Everything good they’ve done, Hinata is realizing, they’ve done together. If not together, then for each other.
“I know that look, what are you thinking about?” Kageyama asks, watching Hinata out of the corner of his eyes.
“Nothing,” Hinata responds, “Just that we should tell Tsukki and Yamaguchi that we’ve still got it the next time we get coffee together.”
“They’ll probably make fun of us for being volleyball nerds,” Kageyama muses, “We never really grew out of it.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Hinata sighs, “But it is what brought us together so…”
He gives a one shouldered shrug. Kageyama looks down at him out of the corner of his eyes, then leans to press a kiss to his forehead.
“Wouldn’t have had it any other way,” he says, and Hinata smiles at the affection in his voice.
Together, hand in hand, they go back home.