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Shouyou has an embarrassing crush on Kageyama.
It’s not a groundbreaking self-realisation. It’s not the oh… moment people have been preaching about in novels. It’s more of a — suggestion.
Shouyou’s aware of the fact that he’s an embarrassing person in general (yes, Natsu and his friends have told him so many times in many different ways). But he doesn’t think the second part of it—you know, the one saying he has a crush on his stupid volleyball partner, is even a possibility before Pedro points it out.
Pedro’s opinion is uncalled for, really. It’s the end of Rio Olympics 2016 and Japan’s just won against Argentina, thanks to Kageyama’s serve that tipped off the opposing team’s balance and his final block with Bokuto-san, stealing the 4th set, when Pedro says the most outrageous thing he’s ever heard, “I see, you have a crush on him,” and successfully stops Shouyou’s endless blabbering about how cool Kageyama’s sets are, other than his serves and blocks.
Him? The Hinata Shouyou? Having a crush on the full-time volleyball idiot and part-time mediocre friend Kageyama?
No way!
So Shouyou tries to explain to Pedro how ‘un-crush-able’ Kageyama is, tall and dumb and occasionally a jerk, despite the fact that yes, he’s the best partner Shouyou can ask for in this lifetime or whatever. To which Pedro only sighs and tells him “you’re 6ft deep in denial” and “shut up” because Shouyou’s screaming louder than Luffy (Pedro’s already changed the channel since the match ended).
“I don’t like Kageyama in that sense!” Shouyou fumes. “Can you imagine—kissing that guy?”
“No, cause I’m not the one who wanna kiss him.”
“Well—me neither! He’s like—never uses chapstick anyway! He always eats the skin off his lips. Gross!”
“Weird you know that, but okay,” Pedro answers half-heartedly, his interest in Shouyou’s disastrous love life dies the moment One Piece is on.
The topic drops and Pedro no longer insists on the unthinkable prospect, which should have given Shouyou peace of mind. But somehow, Shouyou’s cheeks are still hot and his brain is still itching with the need to talk more about Kageyama. More about his stupid mouth, more about his annoying eyes, more about his grumpy face. Just, more.
Shouyou thinks biking back from work to the point of almost hitting an old lady just to catch the end of the match might have mixed up some of his neurons. He’s not in his right mind right now. So he huffs at Pedro for the final time and marches back to his room, kicking the door open so harshly that Pedro’s cat on his bed jolts up from sleep. She stretches with a wide yawn before blinking at Shouyou and settling on his blanket again.
“I don’t give a fuck about Kageyama,” Shouyou whispers to Cleo as he lies down beside her, squishing his body against the wall because Cleo’s curling in the middle of the bed.
“I don’t,” he says again, just to reassure himself.
Cleo gives him a lazy meow.
Shouyou hums in agreement and presses his overly heated face onto the pillow. That’s right, absolutely no fuck is given.
*
He does, in fact, give plenty of fucks. Some of the fucks are unfortunately acknowledged when Kageyama calls him at around 11:30pm.
“Where are you?” Kageyama asks. He sounds—off. Like dreams slipping into reality. Like he’s a creation of Shouyou’s sleep-muddled brain and not a real person. Because there’s no way the real Kageyama, the guy who had screaming matches with Shouyou everyday in high school and spoke English like a caveman can sound this rough, this—sexy.
Sexy. Shouyou blinks, completely awake now. God, he did not just call Kageyama sexy.
Shouyou blames it on the fact that they haven’t talked for a year.
“Uh—” Shouyou squeaks. “At home? It’s the middle of the night, Bakageyama.”
“Home,” Kageyama whispers, stretching the syllable. Shouyou’s stomach swoops. “In Rio? Or Miyagi?”
“Rio, duh, what’s wrong with—” Oh, Shouyou remembers now. There was one time when Kageyama sounded like this, and that was when— “Are you drunk?”Kageyama hums, a static noise that makes Shouyou want to squirm and curl up and maybe die a little under his blanket. “I drank a bit.”
“Where are you?” Shouyou asks, unease. He can hear faint cars’ honking, footsteps that aren’t Kageyama’s, chattering in Japanese in the background. He doesn’t know where Kageyama is, but he knows the JNT are probably around, so he shouldn’t be this worried about Kageyama dying on the street or something. Well, theoretically speaking, at least.
“S’fine, just beer.” Kageyama trips on his words a little, voice dripping with the night wind. There’s someone laughing on Kageyama’s end now, some louder and drunken voices, and they do nothing to calm Shouyou down.
“Just beer? Last time you had beer you ate leaves and made out with a volleyball!” Shouyou sits up and flips his blanket aside. “Where are you right now? I’m picking you up.”
“It was a dare!” Kageyama hisses. “And I’m not drunk!”
“Yes you are!”
“Go back to sleep!”
“No! Where the fuck are you?”
“I’m fine!” Kageyama yells, and the finality in his voice makes both of them pause. With a sigh, Kageyama’s voice softens. “It’s fine, Shouyou. Calm down, okay?”
“—okay,” Shouyou mutters and settles with the fact that he’s been more jittery today. So he lies back down and hugs the blanket, thighs squeezing the cotton and face buried in it. Though the blanket does little in covering the heat on Shouyou’s cheeks at Kageyama saying his name. His given name. Kageyama must be wasted.
“Okay,” Shouyou repeats, small. His skin feels even hotter than the time he got sunburnt.
There’s a silence between them, then the noises on Kageyama’s end quiet down. Or maybe it’s just Shouyou’s imagination, being too focused on Kageyama’s breathing and his low voice. “We won today.”
“I saw,” Shouyou mutters against the blanket, the thrill of seeing Kageyama’s triumphant smile rushing down his spine again. “Congrats! I—uh, proud of you. You worked hard.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Kageyama says, shy and awkward, and Shouyou has to bite the cotton to contain a grin forming on his lips. God, 5 years and this guy still doesn’t know how to take a compliment. Another pause, then. “You’re going to beat me, right? What you promised.”
“Of course, you drunkard,” Shouyou exclaims, defiant. “That was why I came to Brazil, duh! I’m training really hard right now so you better be prepared! I’ll be back in Japan soon and I’ll kick your sorry butt so hard it will grow like—another butt!”
Kageyama laughs. So free and genuine that Shouyou doesn’t think his little heart can take it. “You’re disgusting.”
Shouyou hums happily in lieu of a reply. They lapse into another silence, but he doesn’t mind. Nor does he think he’ll mind if they stay on the phone like this for all eternity, not saying anything and just hearing each other breathe like absolute weirdos. A few minutes pass, and Shouyou’s limbs slump down the mattress as drowsiness claims him again, heartbeats even out as the clock’s ticking.
“You’re sleeping?” Kageyama’s whisper slips into rhythm.
Tick.
“Not yet.”
Tick.
“Hey.”
Tick.
“Mm?”
Tick.
“Can I come see you?”
Kageyama’s words drown out other noises. They thump deafeningly in Shouyou’s ears, all the way from the top of his head to the curling of his toes. He snaps his eyes open and jolts up straight, sleepiness long lost. “What? Now?”
“Not now, dumbass. The day after. We have press conferences the whole day tomorrow.”
“Oh, uh, yeah, obviously, I know that.” Shouyou tries to stop the disappointment in his tone from spilling out. He hopes it work.
“The fuck you moping for?” Kageyama clicks his tongue.
It doesn’t work.
“I’m not moping!” Shouyou shouts, as if his volume can cover the heat on his ears. “I’m annoyed! You’re annoying! I was sleeping and then you called and ruined everything, Bakageyama!”
“You picked up!” Kageyama matches his loud volume. “Could have said so at the beginning and fuck off to sleep or whatever!”
“Well it doesn’t matter now, does it?”
“I swapped my flight ticket!” Kageyama yells, a sudden change of topic. Shouyou’s heart nearly drops out of his ass. “I can stay back in Rio for like 2 days or something. So—so do you want me to come over or not?”
Shouyou’s stomach squeezes tight into a knot, the bed sways beneath him.
They haven’t talked for a year. They haven’t seen each other for a year.
“Yeah, sure,” Shouyou says despite himself. He lies down again, his back feels a little damp.
“Yeah?” Kageyama breathes, somehow sounds relieved.
“Yeah,” Shouyou chews on his words. “I wanna see you too, maybe.”
“I know. You’ve missed me so much.”
Shouyou groans. “Don’t be an ass!”
“I’m not,” Kageyama mutters. Then Shouyou hears footsteps again, firm like the drums of his heart. Kageyama sighs into the phone. “I’m tired.”
“No shit.”
“My eyes hurt.”
“Go to sleep then.”
Kageyama hums, soft now. “Night, dumbass.”
Shouyou stretches before recoiling like a shrimp and snuggles back to his blanket. Warmth spreads across his chest and a smile lingers on his lips as he whispers, “night.”
And when the line cuts off, Shouyou mumbles a tiny, Tobio, before drifting off to sleep.
*
“You’re distracted today.” Heitor sits on the staircase beside Shouyou and says with his slightly off Japanese. He’s been trying to learn Japanese for a while now.
“Am I?” Shouyou closes the cap of his water bottle and mindlessly kicks the sand under his feet. His cheeks burn dry under the scorching sun, the salty sea wind, and the brimming desire to win inside his chest. “The other team is strong, more experienced than us. I want to play with them again soon.”
“Not that.” Heitor’s mouth pinches and his hands gesturing. “Like—different distracted. You seem so—”
Shouyou cocks his head, confused. Heitor sighs loudly and gives up.
“Like you’re thinking about something else,” Heitor says in Portuguese. “You always give 120% effort to every game, but today was like—110% only. What’s on your mind?”
Something else? Well, Shouyou’s been thinking about the trajectory of the wind today, the area he needs to cover for a perfect receive, the next move to shrug off the blockers.
Actually, no, that’s something Shouyou thinks about all the time. If it’s something else, then maybe, it’s the intensity of beach volleyball, the impatience to get better at everything, the hunger to go back to Japan, fulfill his promise with Kageyama from when they were only stupid kids, stand at the top of the world with him until they’re old and grey.
Kageyama. Right.
He’s going to see Kageyama soon. After over a year of nothing but random texts and a short phone call last night, Shouyou’s going to see Kageyama. In the flesh! He can laugh at his stupid face, touch his blotchy skin, smell his leathery scent, hear his annoying voice that Shouyou knows is even more annoying than when he hears it on the phone.
His cheeks turn even redder. He thinks the sun is too hot today.
“Nothing.” Shouyou dips his face down and scratches the stick-on label of his water bottle with his thumb, glue sticking on the blunt nail. “Sorry, I’ll focus better next time! Just—one of those days today, I guess.”
“Don’t sweat on it.” Heitor laughs and pats his back, pushing Shouyou’s jumpy heart into its place. “Not blaming you, just wondering. Something’s bothering you? Or—someone?”
Shouyou turns to him in an instant, eyes wide and mouth equally wide.
“Wow, you’re so easy to read!” Heitor wheezes and clutches his stomach.
“I’m not! You’re—you’re just—” Shouyou was meant to say old, but he realises that not everyone is an unfiltered idiot like Kageyama, so he deflates like a balloon. “How do you even know stuff like that?”
“Well, first of all, your face is redder than a baboon’s butt—”
“Baboon—”
“—and second of all, I used to make that face too.” Heitor shrugs, and Shouyou cocks a brow at him. “You know, when I realised I had feelings for Nice.”
Shouyou almost throws the water bottle at him. Almost.
Heitor snickers. “So, tell me, who’s the lucky one that got our Ninja’s heart? Huh?”
Shouyou splutters some syllables that do not sound like Kageyama at all.
They squabble for a while, long enough for Heitor to cough out sand between the boisterous laughs and for Shouyou’s face to burn raw and scarlet like the edge of the clouds floating too close to the sun.
Shouyou thinks the bond between Heitor and him is strong enough to move past the teammate threshold now. Heitor is tall and he looks intimidating—the kind of guy who can make kids cry if he doesn’t smile. But in reality, he’s gentle and warm. Like someone Shouyou knows. Shouyou wonders if that’s the reason they changed from being volleyball partners to friends so quickly.
“How did you and Nice get together anyway?” Shouyou asks while mindlessly drawing weird patterns on the sand. The sun is setting from afar, draping fiery orange on his skin that resembles the color of his hair.
“She kissed me one day and asked if we’re going out or what.”
“That’s Nice for you.” Shouyou chuckles. “But like—how did you realise you love her?”
Shouyou expects certain sorts of answers from Heitor, considering how he’s the cheesy one in the relationship. Something like she’s the wave that crashes into my shore one day and lingers on for all eternity. Or she’s the first sunlight after winter that melts away the snow inside my heart. Something like that, romantic and grand and swoon-worthy that Shouyou can’t understand because he’s never been in a relationship and his grades in Contemporary Literature could shame his entire family.
“I just knew.” Heitor’s answer is as simple as it could be.
“You just knew?” Shouyou parrots mechanically. He feels like being scammed. One second he’s expecting a heartfelt movie and the next he’s watching boring news about some guy who can finish a pizza under a minute.
“Yeah. Woke up one day and I knew.” Heitor shrugs. “Besides, how does anyone know why they’re in love anyway?”
“But—don’t you at least have a reason? An explanation? Or something! I don’t know.”
“Reason.” Heitor hums, contemplating for a moment. “If I have to say why, then probably because she’s my best friend.”
Like a knot, Shouyou’s throat got tied up, speechless. Oh, is all he can mutter.
“She understands me, you know? Brings out the best in me, makes me fearless—well, not literally fearless. We’re bound to be scared once in a while. But even if I break down, things wouldn’t get too bad, cause she’ll help me pick up the pieces. Ain’t nothing I can’t do. Like, as long as she’s there, I—I’m—”
“—invincible.” Shouyou whispers, small, mind caught up in too many memories ago.
“Yeah! Invincible! That’s the word!” Heitor barks out a laugh and gives Shouyou’s back heavy pats. Shouyou nods stiffly as if he’s a malfunctioned machine, thoughts bouncing between the familiarity and novelty residing in Heitor’s words like he’s decoding a ‘way too complex for his capacity’ encrypted message.
“C’mon, it’s late, let’s go home.” Heitor clasps his hands after a silence.
So they pack up all their stuff and leave in time for dinner, although Shouyou doesn’t think he can stomach much tonight.
*
Best friend. Shouyou’s index finger taps slowly on the keyboard of Pedro’s laptop, shoulders hunching and legs crossing on his bed. He reads from Cambridge Dictionary:
A person who you value above other friends in your life. Someone you trust and have fun with. The first person you call when you get good news or want to go out for a bite to eat is an example of your best friends.
Shouyou blinks at the overly bright screen until his eyes itch a little, brain drifting between the soulless words and the liveliness of his memories. Kageyama, rude and blunt and stupid as he is, can be considered as Shouyou’s best friend. He’s the first person Shouyou wanted to scream at when he made the receive during that Inarizaki match. The first person Shouyou asked out to join his and Yamaguchi’s trip to the temple for New Year.
Kageyama though, Shouyou’s stomach gurgles unhappily despite the food he shoved down earlier, does he think of Shouyou as his best friend? Kageyama did pretend to not see Shouyou’s receive. He did also text that boring “no” to Shouyou’s pleasant invite because he’s rude and blunt and stupid.
So no. Perhaps not his best friend. Perhaps Shouyou’s just the only person who can match Kageyama’s shitty personalities and his volleyball obsession. A partner and a rival who races him forward and competes with him even when they’re worlds apart. Cheesy promises and utter trust to keep at it for as long as they can, until they stand at the top together.
Volleyball partner and rival, that’s the territory they’re familiar with. Shouyou’s happy with it.
She’s my best friend.
Shouyou punches his pillow 3 times.
do u think kageyama see me as his best friend?? After a minute or two, Shouyou resorts to asking Yachi for some wisdom.
A seen receipt, Yachi doesn’t reply for a while. Then Shouyou’s added to a group chat named LMAO LOOK AT THIS.
The top message is the screenshot of his text to Yachi earlier.
And for the next minute, his screen is flooded with countless thumb down emojis from everyone—Yachi, Yamaguchi, Tsukishima. Everyone except Kageyama. Because he isn’t in this group chat.
stob!!1!! my screen iz lagging sm >:((
We’ll stop when you stop being such an idiot. My nephew is smarter than you. He’s 2.
Jerk. Shouyou clicks his tongue at Tsukishima’s message.
Seriously Hinata? Yachi’s text pops up on the screen and makes him squirm. Look at this.
The link sent to Shouyou is a Google Drive containing different files, arranged neatly in order from 1st year National to Graduation Day, milestone after milestone of their high school years condensed into photos of overly big smiles and proud eyes and bodies huddling up together that always smell like dumb teenagers and gym and sweat.
Shouyou goes through each file with a grin behind the heel of his palm before asking the group chat again. what’s special abt the photos?
jesus, can u just look at kageyama? Shouyou can practically hear Yamaguchi’s groan even through the text.
And look at Kageyama Shouyou does. He’s—normal, as always. Dumb and doesn’t know how to smile and so tall that every nerve inside Shouyou wants to jump out for a duel. That’s why he’s always arranged to stand at the last line and Shouyou’s always at the front. Because his smile is the best and not because of other height-related reasons at all!
But right there and then, Shouyou pauses. A realisation so vile and obvious seeps into his mind: Kageyama never looks at the camera.
No. His gaze is always on Shouyou. On the back of his hair, on the number of his jersey, on his entire being, wholly, sincerely.
It’s something grand. Something bigger than best friends or sharing good news or going out for a bite together. Something stretching deeper and dating back further than I’ll be the one who beats you or You can fly even higher. Something all-encompassing for the past 19 years. Something complex and indescribable that Shouyou feels like he’s putting together a jigsaw puzzle with a few missing pieces. Important ones.
He doesn’t understand it. It’s frustrating because it’s Kageyama, it’s the one person who he’s supposed to know better than anyone, and he doesn’t understand it.
So he goes back to the group chat for another piece of wisdom, sending 20 different stickers at once before realising that everyone’s already off to work, contributing to society and doing better things than indulging Shouyou’s desire to solve puzzles. Whatever. He thinks and returns to the photos with an agitated groan.
He stares at the screen until Pedro’s old laptop blinks shut. And later that night, Brazil’s wind turns out to be too hot and suffocating for a good sleep.
*
Kageyama gets off the cab at approximately 11:25 am. Shouyou knows, he’s been checking his phone constantly.
The last time they texted was months ago during Oikawa-san’s visit—Kageyama sent him a message that said “don’t fall off the earth you idiot,” and Shouyou replied with “what the fuck?”, just to receive a seen receipt from him. Kageyama is horrible at texting. He’s even more horrible at knowing what to talk about.
So it’s fair for Shouyou to be nervous about their relationship, whether it’s become too awkward.
And yet, nothing changes.
It’s like a switch being flipped upon the sight of Kageyama, gruff and annoying and familiar, transforming Shouyou right back to his 16 self. To their 16 selves. Easy. Comfortable.
They squabble as soon as Kageyama takes his luggage off the cab’s trunk. Something along the line of “did you haul your whole house over here, Bakageyama?” and “stop talking and help me, dumbass. It’s hot.”
Shouyou does help Kageyama bring the bags inside, he also fires questions nonstop at Kageyama. “The Olympics! What does it feel like standing at the world stage?”, “did you meet any cool players?”, “do they actually hand out condoms at the village?” and many more, just because Shouyou’s nosy and curious. Kageyama gives the shortest and most curt answers humanly possible while avoiding the last question without a fault, despite Shouyou’s insistence.
Shouyou laughs and calls him immature. Kageyama karate-chops his head.
By the time they settle down and Kageyama’s stomach starts to gurgle, it’s almost 12.
“Hop on,” Shouyou says and gestures at the back seat of his bicycle.
Kageyama eyes the vehicle, then Shouyou, then himself. “Seriously?”
“Please, I bike for a living.” Shouyou sits on the saddle before looking back at Kageyama over his shoulder, smirking. “I can handle you fine, city boy.”
Kageyama stands there and blushes for a beat, the heat and humidity of Brazil air evident on his skin. “Stop calling everyone living in Tokyo city boy,” Kageyama grunts as he finally gives in and sits in the back seat. “You sound like a dickhead.”
“Vulgar, Kageyama-kun! And I sound cool! Trendy!” Shouyou braces against the handlebars, Kageyama’s grips on the sides of his T-shirt sending him into an adrenaline rush. “Now hold on tight!”
“For what?”
“Imma show you what Tokyo—Rio drift is all about!”
Rio drift is average, at best, according to Kageyama’s review. “It’s not my fault you weigh a thousand—” and their argument cuts off at the smell of food and chatter from the nearby farmer market. They exchange a knowing look and without a word, decide to put aside their fight for the time being.
Taken the differences between Japanese and Brazilian cultures, Kageyama is predictably taken aback with how friendly the people are, how they keep putting fruits in his hands and encourage him to try them, how they call him handsome and other embarrassing praises when Shouyou tells them Kageyama plays at the Olympics. Kageyama blushes red and shy, stuttering out “obrigado” in heavily accented Portuguese while bowing repeatedly at the storekeepers.
Some even ask Kageyama to take pictures with them despite not knowing who he is, just a vague fact that he’s on TV and somewhat popular. Shouyou doesn’t intervene. He watches Kageyama’s lips morph into an awkward rectangular smile for the camera and snickers to himself.
The feeling is nice, yet hard to put an exact finger on. It’s not just about seeing your friend in a foreign country after so long. It’s more like going back home after a long day of classes and practice, smelling his mum’s curry cooking downstairs and hearing Natsu’s favourite TV shows playing in the background. Cosy. Peaceful. Shouyou likes it. Home. Brazil. Kageyama. He likes being with Kageyama in Brazil which feels like home.
“What’re you looking at?” Kageyama says, mouth full of food.
“You.” Shouyou shrugs, elbow nudging his arm. “City boy.”
Kageyama scrunches his nose and looks away. Shouyou doesn’t miss the way heat travels up to the tip of Kageyama’s ears. “You’re an idiot.”
“It’s nice, isn’t it?”
“What?” Kageyama asks. “Your bicycling skill? Please, I can walk faster than that.”
“The people, you ass!” Shouyou tuts. “I like it. It’s nice being here,”
—especially now that you’re with me.
Kageyama turns to stare at Shouyou. He contemplates for a moment. “Yeah, it’s nice.”
They go to Christ the Redeemer next, simply because it’s a must-see attraction and not because Kageyama’s enthusiastic about the statue. It’s crowded as hell, hot and sweaty and swamped with tourists, but Shouyou insists on taking at least one picture anyway.
“C’mon, I need proof to show Miwa-san that you’re having fun in Rio!” Shouyou whines.
“You talked to my sister?” Kageyama asks, incredulous.
Oops. “HAHA!” Shouyou feigns a laugh. “I totally did not call her every other week at all and talk shit about you at all! Now stop making that dumb face and smile for the camera!”
“My face is not dumb.”
One thing they forget is that both of them are terrible at taking photos, despite having a whole competition on who can take better pictures. Half of them are out of focus and the other half are just a blurred mess. In the end, after 20 minutes of struggling with the sun crisping up their hair, they resort to asking a tourist to take a photo for them. In hindsight, they should’ve done so at the beginning.
“Say cheese, boys. 1, 2…” The lady counts and Shouyou seizes his chance. He swings his arm around Kageyama’s shoulder and yanks him down abruptly. But Kageyama doesn’t yell at him. It’s worse. He loops an arm around Shouyou’s waist, pressing their sides together. “3!” and the camera clicks.
Shouyou doesn’t need to look at the photo to see how red his face is. Considering the lady’s coos of how cute they are. Considering the phantom heat of Kageyama’s hand still burning Shouyou’s skin even when they’ve pulled apart.
“HA! Whose face is dumb now, huh?” Kageyama laughs at Shouyou in the picture, all wide eyes and wide mouth as he looks at Kageyama. Shouyou’s too flustered to make a coherent comeback.
Shouyou bikes slowly past the wall murals afterwards, pointing at faces he thinks are funny and giggling when Kageyama tightens the grip on his waist and hisses at him to pay attention to the road. Then comes dinner, a tucked-away ramen shop that Shouyou knows tastes like Kageyama’s favourite store back in Miyagi.
“Just thought you’d miss Japanese food.” Shouyou explains at Kageyama’s raised brows. “Bet you had tons of Brazilian dishes at the Olympics village already.”
Kageyama narrows his eyes. “Did you actually use your brain for once?”
“Just admit that I’m a wonderful friend and an awesome human being in general already.”
“You’re a stupid friend and a delusional human being in general.”
“Hey!”
The ramen shop is hot and loud and buzzing, the typical liveliness of being jam-packed with people. Waiters bump into their backs sometimes and they’re seated so closely their knees and elbows keep knocking against each other.
They eat too much meat, drink too much beer, and by the end of the day, they walk home instead. Kageyama’s hands are shoved inside his pockets and Shouyou’s bike rattles against the cobblestone road as he drags it along his side. Both match each other’s steps. Night wind whizzes through their oily faces. It feels just like high school.
This rare moment of silence gives Shouyou time to think. One year passes and Kageyama’s not changed much. Still stupid, still blunt, still rude. Still the guy Shouyou wants to spend the rest of his life playing volleyball with and competing on everything.
But he does seem softer now, his hands warm, eyes kind, smile gentle. Almost like a slouchy sweater, overrun with fuzz. The one Shouyou has worn so many times it’s become more than an item. A piece of comfort he hangs onto amidst the changing weather.
Shouyou doesn’t miss the way Kageyama’s touches linger a few seconds more on him. How the corner of his lips unknowingly curls up at something stupid Shouyou says. How there’s always a blush high on his cheeks whenever his gaze lands on Shouyou or when Shouyou speaks Portuguese, which, he kind of hopes that it’s not because of the sun.
He also doesn’t miss the way his own heart stutters in his chest, how his skin tingles not from the summer heat, how something weird and new flutters in his stomach.
He wonders what those emotions are.
*
“I told you, dumbass, I’ll sleep on the couch!”
“No, I’ll sleep on the couch! Don’t you know it’s rude to let guests stay the night in the living room, Bakageyama?”
They’ve been arguing for 10 minutes, at least, on who has the privilege to sleep on the tiny and cramped sofa and who’s unfortunate enough to stay in Shouyou’s perfectly comfortable bed. Kageyama’s reasoning is “you were stupid enough to not prepare a futon so I’ll take the couch”, which in Shouyou’s opinion, is complete trash. While Shouyou fires back with “fuck you the sofa is mine since I’m the perfect host and your limbs are unnecessarily long!”
The fight only halts when Pedro comes out to the living room for water.
“Is this Kageyama?” Pedro asks Shouyou in Portuguese.
“Uh—yeah,” Shouyou squeaks. “Pedro, Kageyama. Kageyama, Pedro, my housemate.”
Kageyama nods at Pedro. Pedro, though, spends an excruciating amount of time eyeing Kageyama up and down. Shouyou suddenly senses a weird twist in his guts. He feels like he has to hide Kageyama away like Mother Gothel does to Rapunzel.
“He’s hot. No wonder you’re so gay,” Pedro says in Portuguese, toneless. Flames catch onto Shouyou’s face instantly. “Don’t try anything on the sofa though, it’s my grandma’s.”
And with that, Pedro puts on his headphones again and walks back to his room.
“What did he say?” Kageyama asks.
“Nothing!” Shouyou yelps. “Nothing! He just—he said you looked like an idiot.”
Kageyama doesn’t seem to believe what Shouyou said. He leans down to scrutinise Shouyou for a while, standing way too close and making Shouyou feel heady and jiterry. Shouyou has to keep his gaze down on the floor, he can smell Kageyama’s minty breath and the scent of his own shampoo.
“Then why are you blushing?”
“I’m not—blushing!” Shouyou screams and shoves Kageyama’s face away, skin grows even hotter. “You know what? Have at it, Kageyama! I’ll sleep on my perfectly comfy bed. Good night!”
Well, his bed is comfy alright. But sleeping, that’s out of the question.
He keeps tossing and turning. The bed keeps squeaking because of his frustration. His mind keeps replaying Pedro’s words everytime he closes his eyes. Don’t try anything on the sofa, don’t try anything on the sofa, don’t try anything on the sofa—
What could they try anyway? It’s not like Kageyama can press him down onto the cushions and lock him in place. It’s not like Kageyama can pick him up and push him to the corner.
Though Kageyama can definitely do it, benefits of being a pro athlete. He’s all broad and firm now, packed with muscles everywhere. His arms are stronger and more bulky and—
No. No. Stop it! Shouyou sits up, slapping his forehead a few times to get rid of the dirty thoughts and quietly apologize to Pedro’s grandma and her sofa.
But as soon as he lies down, those imaginations come back to Shouyou’s brain again, unable to be shaken away like a starving leech. So half a boner later and countless attempts at conjuring up unsexy thoughts, he kicks the blanket away and marches to the bathroom.
Though his exasperation quickly subsides.
Two toothbrushes lean against each other under the harsh fluorescent light. One for Shouyou, bristles already frayed. And one for Kageyama, completely new because of course that idiot forgot to pack his toothbrush and had to buy one at the convenience store. He spent 10 minutes at the aisle choosing between different brands, then dug up one deep at the back because it had fewer fingerprints from other customers. Shouyou snickered and called him lame, Kageyama threw toilet paper rolls at him.
Shouyou only felt warm then. He only feels warm now.
He isn’t alone anymore.
Maybe it’s not so bad having Kageyama over. Maybe it’s not so bad having Kageyama around for more than 2 days of his visit. 2 weeks. 2 months. 2 years. Shouyou wouldn’t mind.
His legs carry his body unconsciously. Before he knows it, he’s in the living room, kneeling in front of the couch, looking at Kageyama sleeping like a creep. Kageyama’s limbs are settled in an awkward position to fit into the tiny sofa. Face scrunched up. Hair mussed because Cleo’s curling next to his head. For whatever reason, Cleo’s particularly affectionate with Kageyama, headbutting him upon first meeting rather than hissing at him as other cats do.
Although Kageyama had a blank expression when she did this (because that’s how his face is), Shouyou could see the curious and tender sparks in his eyes. He knows Kageyama is a cat person. Cats are just never Kageyama animals.
Shouyou also notices the white sleeveless undershirt Kageyama’s wearing. The one with tiny holes and has been washed so many times its color has faded to eggshell. It’s ugly and threadbare. But it also does little in covering up Kageyama’s heavenly muscles nor making him seem like anything other than comforting and cosy. Shouyou stares at Kageyama for a moment, he thinks Kageyama looks like home again.
“Kageyama,” Shouyou whispers and shakes Kageyama’s shoulder. “Yama, wake up.”
Kageyama takes a few seconds to hum groggily, his eyes barely open. “H’nata?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“What—”
“Let’s go to bed. It’s uncomfortable sleeping here.” Shouyou pushes Kageyama’s fringe off his face, the night’s drowsiness making his movement soft. “Please?”
“Yeah, alright.” Kageyama doesn’t put up a fight anymore. He’s still half-asleep and his back cracks alarmingly when he stands up. Shouyou drags him by the wrist to his bedroom, Kageyama doesn’t forget to bring Cleo with him.
They settle on the bed soon after, Cleo curling up between the pillows. Shouyou’s bed is big enough for one person. But two people and a cat, now that’s a problem. It’s gummy hot with the sheet clinging to their skin. Cramped, too. Shouyou can barely turn without bumping his elbow against Kageyama’s chest or knocking their knees together. At this stage, neither of them would get any decent sleep.
“I’ll go to the living room,” Shouyou says after he slaps his hand on Kageyama’s face for the 5th time.
“Hinata,” Kageyama mumbles, eyes still closed. It almost sounds like a plea when Kageyama drapes his limbs over to Shouyou and nuzzles his face in the crook of Shouyou’s neck.
The weight makes it hard for Shouyou to breathe, he thinks, as he stares at the dark ceiling with a heart on his throat.
“What?” His voice shakes a little with how close Kageyama is, how he smells—like Shouyou’s shampoo and vaguely fresh grass.
“Just sleep.” Kageyama’s breath tickles his skin.
“But it’s hot.”
“It’s fine.”
“And small.”
“It’s not.”
“It’s better if—”
“Shouyou,” Kageyama whispers, pulling Shouyou close. His thumb accidentally slides under the hem of Shouyou’s T-shirt and touches his stomach. The rough voice, the skin-on-skin contact, the soft lips on Shouyou’s neck, they put a stop to all of Shouyou’s reasoning. “We’ll figure something else out tomorrow. Let’s just—let’s sleep, okay?”
“Okay,” Shouyou says, finally allowing his body to melt into Kageyama’s sturdy embrace. Kageyama lets out a pleased hum and rubs his face deeper into the space where Shouyou’s neck meets his shoulder. His arm around Shouyou’s waist and leg over Shouyou’s thighs. Warm and grounding.
2 days. He only has so much time with Kageyama.
“Okay,” he repeats it once, just for himself.
*
Kageyama tripped face first into the sand, unsurprisingly enough.
Beach volleyball is intense, unforgiving. It tears apart the confidence of even the toughest players like Kageyama and Oikawa-san, telling them wonders are limitless. It sweeps their footings off and breaks them down to pieces just to build them up again, stronger and much more resilient after each fall. After each time they spit out sand and stand up to take on more challenges the beach has to offer.
The obstacles only make Shouyou’s limbs ache and his heart roar, nurturing a searing want to get better, fiercer, to hone his flaws into his strengths. It’s a tear-jerking, restless sort of experience. Like that time he stood a few stairs above Kageyama outside the gym, yelling at him that Shouyou would be the one who beat him and stand on the court the longest. And he knows Kageyama feels the same way, makes the same promise. Both then and now.
“Blurgh!” Kageyama coughs out sand as he stands up after the involuntary dive. He rubs the remaining dirt off his lashes, his cheeks red under the noon sun and his hair dishevelled due to the sea wind.
Dazed from the heat, Shouyou thinks he looks beautiful.
Shouyou has his hands on his hips when he cackles from the other side of the net. “Give it a few more times, you’ll learn to love the sand.”
“Doubt it. Only idiots like you love how it tastes.”
“Says the one who just ate a handful of it!”
“Shut up!”
“Stop fighting, kids.” Heitor chides lightly in Japanese and walks over to Kageyama, helping him dust sand off his hair. “You wanna stop?”
Kageyama shakes his head instantly. “I’m fine, Heitor-san. Let’s keep playing.”
“Just like Ninja.” Heitor laughs before yelling out to Shouyou and his friend on the opposite side of the net in Portuguese. “Shouyou, Carlos, up for another match?”
“Bring it on, old man!” Carlos snickers.
“YOSH!” Shouyou screams, fists pumping the air. “Let’s destroy them this time, Carlos!”
They play until late afternoon. Kageyama eats sand a few times more (Shouyou seizes the opportunity to take pictures of him to send to Oikawa-san), then he gets the hang of it. His tosses turn more calculated along with the wind’s directions and his footing becomes steadier when he lands and receives. Kageyama adapts quickly, the sheer interest in sands and the novelty of beach volleyball propel his maximal concentration. And by the end of it, he and Heitor are only a few points behind Shouyou’s team.
The prospect of beating Shouyou has Kageyama high on adrenaline. So when Carlos has to leave early and Heitor calls for a break, a pout is prominent on Kageyama’s lips.
“Geez, chill out, Kageyama-kun!” Shouyou says as he pokes Kageyama’s red cheeks.
Kageyama immediately swats his hand away. “You’re the last person I wanna hear lecturing about being chill.”
“I’ve learnt my lesson, okay? Besides, I’m more of a grown-up than you.”
“We’re only 6 months apart.”
“Doesn’t matter. My age starts with number 2 now, you loser.”
Kageyama rolls his eyes. “You’re number 2.”
Shouyou deadpans.
“Number 2 means poop. A piece of crap.” Kageyama offers helpfully. “I insulted you.”
“I know what a number 2 is! Fuck you!” Shouyou kicks him in the shin. Kageyama dodges easily enough. “Teens these days, don’t even know how to respect their senpai.” Shouyou shakes his head with a sigh. “And put on more sunscreen. I could literally fry an egg on your face.”
Kageyama frowns. “The sun is about to set already. I don’t need it.”
“Quit whining. Your head’s on fire,” Shouyou says as he pulls a bottle of sunscreen out of his bag and squeezes a dollop onto the back of his hand. “Who are you tryna be? Asian Hades? Come here.”
Shouyou grabs Kageyama by the cheeks, and even though Kageyama’s grimacing, he doesn’t protest any further. Instead, he closes his eyes and relaxes his body, allowing Shouyou to dab sunscreen on his face.
Kageyama’s rarely so tame and soft like this. Most of the time, he’s stiff and spikey like a hedgehog, putting up a secure exterior to fend off intruders. But now he’s willing to be vulnerable in front of Shouyou, willing to take down the barricade and welcome Shouyou in. Shouyou wants to stay here forever.
Lost in thought, Shouyou’s hand shifts from dabbing to a much more tender movement. He brushes his fingers against the line of Kageyama’s cheekbones, traces along the slope of his sharp jawline, lingers on the corner of his thin lips. His skin soft, addictive, electrifying. A low buzz crackles under Shouyou’s palm.
“Done?” Kageyama’s voice breaks Shouyou from his reverie. He takes a sharp breath, suddenly aware of how Kageyama’s staring at him with great intent. Blue eyes focused and unwavering as if he’s studying Shouyou, digging into Shouyou’s deepest and darkest secrets.
Shouyou looks away. A part of him feels like getting busted for an unknown crime. “Yeah, all good now.” He fumbles to close the cap of the sunscreen bottle and stands up. “I’ll—uh, go check on Heitor.”
*
A nice dinner and a few cups of beer make a good recipe for bonding.
All three of them are in a restaurant now—the place where Shouyou took Oikawa-san a few months ago. The atmosphere is still bursting with laughter as Shouyou remembers. The light is still that ugly yellow shade and the table is still sticky from the humid air. What’s different is perhaps, Shouyou himself.
He’s not a lost, homesick kid with a stolen wallet anymore. He’s here now with feet strong on the sand and hands fast in the wind. He’s here now with confidence torn to the core then built back up. He’s here now with the person who helps him fly, who makes him invincible.
He thinks it’s nice. Amazing, even, just how easily Kageyama fits into his world. He might be out of bounds for Shouyou’s reach. But not out of place in Shouyou’s life.
Shouyou looks at Kageyama talking animatedly to Heitor, cheeks red and tipsy. They’re talking about something other than volleyball, like why Shouyou got his Ninja nickname in the first place. Shouyou laughs and says it’s because he’s super duper cool, duh. Kageyama doesn’t believe him, and it leads to a whole argument about some topics that Shouyou can’t keep track of anymore. He’s a bit inebriated, both from the alcohol and contentment.
Still, he can sense Heitor’s gaze on them, can hear it clearly when Heitor says in Portuguese, “you two are good together.”
Shouyou pointedly ignores him. Kageyama doesn’t seem to catch it, being too busy wiping rice off Shouyou's face because gross, dumbass. Then he turns to Heitor and talks to him like nothing had happened. Something about Heitor’s new-found love for gardening and whatnot.
“Let’s have dinner with the Adlers too, sometimes,” Shouyou blurts dizzyingly amidst the heat on his cheeks and Heitor’s laugh. “I wanna—I wanna meet them.”
“Meet them?” Kageyama frowns. “What do you mean? You knew all of them already.”
“Yeah—but not like this.”
“Like what?”
Shouyou stays silent, because he doesn’t know how to keep in his corny, excessive feelings. Doesn’t know how to say, “like how you guys are without volleyball, off the court,” without revealing the fact that he wants to invade every aspect of Kageyama’s life. Wants to know him and everyone around him and his daily routine like the back of his hand. Like when they were in high school. When it was just practice, school, more practice. When they were still Karasuno’s inseparable duo.
Shouyou wants to be with him, maybe because of volleyball. But maybe not because of volleyball is fine too. He wants to be with Kageyama all the time. He wants to be with Kageyama forever.
But he can’t say it. Because Kageyama might not be the best at pragmatics, but he’s the best at understanding Shouyou.
“Nothing.” Shouyou shakes his head. “Kinda drunk—I think.”
“Told you to slow down on the chugging, idiot!”
The night goes on and eventually, dinner comes to an end. Heitor’s gone home after exchanging numbers with Kageyama and the street’s died down of vehicles, but Shouyou insists on a walk along the beach anyway, saying it’s good for digestion and that they’ll put on multiple alarms so Kageyama won’t miss his flight tomorrow morning.
Deep down, he knows he’s just buying more time before the inevitable goodbye.
“See? The beach at night is the best!” They’re sitting on their slippers now, bare toes dug into the damp sand and hair a mess due to the wind. It’s dark and quiet around them, save for the indiscernible chatters of people playing volleyball nearby and the waves’ resounding crashes to the shore. The air tastes funny and familiar in Shouyou’s mouth, the ocean’s tangy saltiness and something distinctively Kageyama’s.
Shouyou sighs at the fuzzy feeling curling inside his chest. “Ain’t nothing like this in the city.”
Kageyama makes a noise from the back of his throat, sluggish and tipsy. Shouyou tears his gaze away from the dark sea and turns to Kageyama, his eyes hooded and cheeks lit up because of a lighthouse and bright windows near the coast. He looks unreal from Shouyou’s half-drunk vision. As if he’ll disappear once Shouyou reaches his hands out.
So Shouyou does nothing. Because he wants to stay in this dream a little longer. He wants to hold onto the Brazil that has Kageyama a little longer.
“Tokyo has pools,” Kageyama says, dignified.
It starts with a snicker, then Shouyou is full on laughing and wheezing uncontrollably like a man possessed. It’s not even funny, he just can’t stop laughing. Kageyama has to punch him 3 times to shut him up, because you’re so loud, dumbass.
“Sorry.” Shouyou giggles. “I’m sure they’re nice too.”
“Duh! They’re warm,” Kageyama says, and Shouyou’s whole body shakes again. He knows Kageyama’s thinking about the heated toddler splash pools because he’s only ever been to those. The adult ones are only for people who know how to swim. Kageyama’s not included. “Should’ve brought Cleo here.”
“You like her?”
“Yeah. I like cats, but Miwa’s allergic.” Kageyama pouts.
“Well, you moved out,” Shouyou says. “Why don’t you get one now?”
Kageyama’s expression pinches. “The Adlers’ dorm doesn’t allow pets. You know that.”
“Then you should get your own apartment!” Shouyou exclaims. “Yeah! Why not? A bunch of athletes have their own space now.”
Kageyama takes a moment to work his inebriated brain, then he shakes his head decisively. “I’m not allowed to cook. Captain’s order.”
“Lame! We’re in the 21st century, what are takeouts for?”
“Unhealthy diets.”
“You’re such a baby, Kageyama-kun!”
“I’m not!” Kageyama turns to Shouyou and kicks him. “Ushijima-san’s cooking is the best.”
“Who says you need Ushijima-san?” Shouyou laughs and kicks him back. “I can cook for you. I’m sure my cooking is way better than his!”
Kageyama stays silent. Shouyou rambles on.
“Yeah! Just imagine having your own apartment, building your own furniture, picking out your own paint colors. Green, I like green. Then you can have house plants on the window sill, a flower vase on the dining table, and a tiny coffee table for your balcony. You know, the one they show on TV all the time. I never got the chance to buy stuff like that cause I’ve been moving around. So it’s nice having a place to settle down.”
“And you?” Kageyama croaks out, eyes focused on Shouyou.
“Hm?”
“This apartment,” Kageyama mutters. “Will you be there too?”
Ocean air’s knocked out of Shouyou’s lungs, his toes curl and uncurl in the sand.
“Nah.” He shakes his head and looks at the sea. “I’ll go pro and earn enough money to get my own place by then, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Kageyama echoes, small.
“But I guess,” Shouyou starts, and Kageyama’s head perks up. “If we do get a place, then we can find something close to each other.
Kageyama takes a moment to breathe. “You think?”
“Yeah—I mean, I still gotta deliver you food, remember? And you should never be trusted to use the washing machine alone. Like, ever again!”
“I mixed up the buttons once,” Kageyama hisses, and Shouyou cackles at the blush creeping onto his ears. Then, Kageyama inhales deeply and says, “but yeah, that sounds nice.”
“Obviously,” Shouyou grumbles out an imitation of Kageyama.
Kageyama hits the back of his head.
They lapse into silence afterwards, before Kageyama says again. “Orange.”
“What?”
“I’ll paint my living room orange,” he murmurs, a little shy. “I like that color.”
“Good choice, Kageyama-kun.” Shouyou grins and stares at Kageyama, a little longer than he should. It isn’t for nothing, though. Because Shouyou hopes to carve his flushed cheeks, his dishevelled hair, his wobbly smile into his brain. To keep them in his memory for as long as he can.
He really doesn’t want tomorrow to come.
*
When Kageyama leaves for his flight, he doesn’t say much. Typical Kageyama.
But right there at the foyer, when Shouyou’s lips are a thin line and his fingers twist at each other behind his back, uncharastically quiet, Kageyama pulls him into a hug.
A hug so tight that Shouyou’s heart aches.
“Less than a year left,” Kageyama says. “Don’t waste it.”
“You know I won’t,” Shouyou clutches Kageyama’s shirt and mumbles against his shoulder. When they break away, Kageyama doesn’t look at him.
Shouyou swallows, fist clenching tight to hang onto the fleeting warmth. Just a few more seconds, he prays.
Still, it doesn’t change the fact that Kageyama has to go. Shouyou stretches out his hands and grins. “Safe flight, Kageyama.”
“Thanks.” Kageyama nods and picks up his bag. “Bye, Hinata.”
When Kageyama leaves for his flight, he takes a part of Shouyou with him.
*
A few minutes after Kageyama left Shouyou’s place, there’s a new text in the group chat, a YouTube video sent by Tsukishima. He also directly tags Shouyou and tells him to watch it. Shouyou takes a moment to look at the thumbnail. It’s Kageyama. He’s wearing the red JNT uniform, fringe stuck to his forehead in an awkward position because of post-match sweat, his eyes bright and proud. Beautiful, as always.
Breathing out the slight squeeze in his chest, Shouyou clicks on the video. It’s an interview, right there on the court.
“Kageyama-senshu, congratulations on Japan’s win against Argentina,” a female voice says in Japanese, off camera.
Kageyama wipes sweat off his forehead with his arm while panting, and bows. “Thank you.”
“And in your first Olympics too, when you’re only 19! Amazing!” The interviewer exclaims. “May I ask what is your inspiration to play volleyball?”
“My grandpa—” Kageyama’s answer is cut short by some JNT members walking past him as they cheer with their fists pumping the air. Catching sight of Kageyama, Bokuto-san and Hoshiumi-san ruffles his hair and ducks his head forward playfully while grinning at the camera. At the back, Miya-san yells “good game, Tobio! Say nice thing about me!” before getting smacked by Yaku-san.
There’s a smile on Kageyama’s lips as he looks at his teammates then. There’s a smile on Shouyou’s lips now, too.
“Your grandpa,” the interviewer picks up Kageyama’s answer. “Is he here?”
Kageyama shakes his head. “No, he passed away a long time ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry for your loss,” she says. “That must be difficult.”
“It was. A part of volleyball died with him.” Kageyama nods. “But there’s my partner.”
“Your girlfriend?”
“My volleyball partner.” His smile softens, sweeter. The one that is too private for the whole world to see. “Enjoying volleyball, having fun, making friends, he makes everything possible again. Someone stronger, better. As long as he’s there, I’m invincible.”
The interviewer takes a moment to continue. “That’s very poetic, Kageyama-senshu. May I ask who’s your partner in the team?”
“He’s not here yet, but soon. Next Olympics, Japan will be stronger than ever.”
Shouyou doesn’t know the exact word for it.
It, being a drowning feeling, dizzy, unsteady, yet gratifying at the same time. As if he misses the last step of the stairs and thinks he’s going to fall, just to end up unscathed, foot firm and balanced on the wooden plank. As if he pats his right pocket and can’t find his phone and house key, heart lodged to his throat, just to realise he misplaces them on his left side. It’s a whole body experience. His fingers shake, his stomach twists, his temples buzz.
Winded, he can’t think, he can’t speak. Not even when he dials Kageyama’s numbers, not even when Kageyama picks up.
“Hinata?”
Shouyou chokes. “I—”
“Did I forget something at your place?”
“No, no—I—” Shouyou scrambles for words. “Where are you right now?”
“In the cab?” Kageyama says, doubtful. “Are you okay?”
Shouyou shakes his head, failing to speak.
“Hey, you can tell me. What’s wrong?” Kageyama says, but silence is what follows him. “Are you—are you crying?”
Shouyou shakes his head again. But there are tears trailing down his cheeks now. It’s odd, and dangerous, how a few comforting words from Kageyama can easily break Shouyou down, unravel him whole.
“I—I saw your interview, the one—on the court,” Shouyou struggles to speak. “Tsukishima sent me.”
“Oh,” Kageyama makes a noise. “Is that why you’re crying?”
“I’m not—I’m not crying!” Shouyou exclaims, frustrated, as he wipes tears forcefully off his cheeks.
“I don’t understand why you’re crying,” Kageyama says. “I said nice things about you.”
“Those were—” Shouyou grunts. “You can’t go around and say—things like that about a—a friend, you idiot!”
“What was I supposed to do? Insult you?”
“No! No! Stupid-yama! Idiot-yama!”
“HAH?” Kageyama yells. Great, now he’s angry too. “What’s your problem? I can’t insult you on national television and now I can’t say good things about you either? What do you want then? Fuck off!”
Shouyou cries. “So you were lying then? For the goddamn audience?”
“Why the fuck do I need to lie? It’s the truth!”
“The truth?” Shouyou shrieks. “That I made your life possible again? That I’m your someone better? That you know I’ll be there for the next Olympics—”
“Yes. Yes. All of it!”
“How?”
“How? You changed everything, Hinata, since middle school. You—you infuriated me! You’re loud and you’re dumb and you sucked so bad!”
“What the fuck—”
“But you were there! You were always there even when everyone left and you stayed, no matter how lousy you were at volleyball. Because you’re so fucking stubborn! You’re the most stubborn idiot I’ve ever met. And I lov—I know you’ll never give up. I know you’ll reach the top with me one day. I know.”
“Kageyama—”
“So that’s why I said it. Because that’s who you are to me. You don’t have to cry. Just—get good and come back here and win, you got me?”
Shouyou takes a long moment to answer, his voice quivering, “are you saying that you’ve always believed in me? Ever since we met and I didn’t know jackshit about volleyball?”
Kageyama grunts unwillingly. “I suppose.”
“Even when we weren’t friends yet?”
“We don’t have to be friends for me to believe in you. I believe in you because you are you,” Kageyama says. Then he sighs. “Look, my phone is about to die, so I’ll hang up. I’ll—”
“Wait!” Shouyou blurts. “Wait a second!”
“What?”
“I—” Hinata hesitates. “When you were here, I realized something. No, actually, it started way back in high school. I was just too scared to tell you. I didn’t want anything bad to happen to us. But I won’t see you for a long time and it’s—it’s fine if you hate me—”
“Hinata,” Kageyama croaks, “what’re you trying to say?”
It’s two completely different things. To have always been aware of a feeling buried deep at the back of his heart, and finally gathered enough courage to dig it up, to admit it, to say it out loud. Like a rundown dam, the pressure keeps building, little by little, day by day. Until eventually, it cracks.
“What I’m trying to say is that—I like you.”
—and cracks,
“I like you, Tobio.”
—and cracks,
“I like you so much.”
—and cracks,
“I… I love you.”
—and irretrievably, overflows.
For a moment, there’s nothing but Kageyama’s ragged breaths on the other end, before he finds his voice again. “How do you—how do you say stop in Portuguese?”
Shouyou’s heart drops. It’s nothing he hasn’t predicted. It’s nothing he hasn’t predicted and yet, it still hurts. “I—stop? It’s not like I can stop my feeling—”
“Not you, idiot!” Kageyama yells, sounding so stressed. “To the taxi driver! How do I—what’s stop in Portuguese? I need to get off this cab!”
“Get off the—” Shouyou stands up abruptly from the bed, nearly tripping on the sheet. “Your flight’s in a few hours!”
“Doesn’t matter! I want—I need to see you!”
“Wha—does this mean you also—”
“Yes. Yes. God, yes, Shouyou. Fuck, my phone’s really dying now. Don’t go anywhere, wait—”
And the line cuts off.
*
There’s a knock on the door, Shouyou almost hits his toes on the table running to open it.
The man on the other side grins. “Bom día, senhor! I’m from PPE Fios Esmaltados! Do you have a few minutes to talk about cable—”
“I’m busy right now!” Shouyou yells.
“But our cable is the best for your TV—”
“I don’t have a TV!”
The man eyes the gigantic TV in the middle of the living room.
Shouyou shifts, covering it with his body. “That’s a toy.”
The man deadpans.
“Goodbye!” he squeaks. Then he closes the door shut.
A few minutes later, there’s another knock.
“Kage—”
“Senhor, I can see that your TV needs a little more—”
“My TV doesn’t need anything! Goodbye!”
Another few minutes later, there’s another knock.
Shouyou grunts as he yanks open the door. “I told you I don’t have—”
He trails off, because standing right in front of him is Kageyama, sweaty and red faced and panting and so, so impossibly beautiful. Shouyou stares, eyes wide. “Oh, you’re not the cable guy.”
Kageyama moves past the threshold and drops his bag on the floor. Wordlessly, he holds Shouyou’s face between his large palms, shaking slightly. But he leans down and tilts his head.
And he kisses Shouyou.
The first thing Shouyou registers, is that Kageyama’s lips are warm, and slightly chapped.
The second thing he registers, is that they’re kissing. The adult, romantic kissing.
The third thing he registers, is that he wants to keep kissing Kageyama. For a long time. Maybe forever.
So he pushes himself to his toes and swings an arm around Kageyama’s shoulders, dragging him down. His other palm wovens in Kageyama’s hair and tugs slightly at the black strands. Kageyama hums, deep and pleased. His hands slide along Shouyou’s torso, from his cheeks to his hips, pulling him closer by the waist. Shouyou makes a giddy noise into his lips, and Kageyama deepens the kiss until Shouyou bends backward.
When they finally break away, both are breathless. Still, they press their foreheads together, breathing in each other’s air, chests rising and falling rapidly in tandem.
Shouyou mutters, “you came back.”
Kageyama nods, whispering as he leaves light kisses on Shouyou’s hairline, his cheekbones, his eyebrows. “I love you.”
“You ran all the way.”
“I love you.”
“You missed your flight.”
“I love you, a lot.” Kageyama explains.
“That can’t be your excuse for everything, Kageyama-kun,” Shouyou chides, though he can’t stop the fit of giggles bursting out of him from the ticklish touches.
“It’s Tobio.” Kageyama mutters. “You should only call me Tobio from now on.”
“Tobio,” Shouyou corrects. Then he tiptoes to kiss Kageyama again, sighing into the warmth, the plushness of their mouths pressing together and licking experimentally at Kageyama’s lower lip. Kageyama’s breath turns heavy, rough. His hand stumbles back to close the door behind him before grabbing Shouyou’s waist again, yanking him up to the tip of his toes, until it almost hurts to stand. Shouyou whines, “Tobio.”
Kageyama nods and walks Shouyou backwards into his room while never breaking the kiss. Not that Shouyou wants him too, anyway. Any second away from Kageyama’s lips seems like a waste to him, now. After stumbling and tripping and snickering, they finally fall onto the bed, Kageyama lying on top of him, unmoving.
“Heavy. Get—off me,” Shouyou wheezes.
Kageyama has his face in Shouyou’s neck. “Thought you could handle me?” he says, teasing.
“I can!”
“Doesn’t seem like it.”
Shouyou huffs, shuffling aside so he can hold Kageyama’s face—red and giddy, also. “Guess I’ll have to prove it to you then.”
They spend the rest of the morning holed up in Shouyou’s room kissing, the humidity of Brazil winds in their hair and the look of dumb, oblivious teenage boys on their faces. They still don’t know how to kiss, neither have had any experience before. So most of the time, it’s just lips mushing together and light bites until they run out of breath.
I’ll learn, Kageyama declares, I’ll learn how to kiss and be a better kisser than you. He says, with a single-minded focus and determination like he is with volleyball. To be good, to be able to do it forever and ever. Like he is with everything he loves in life. And that includes Shouyou.
So Shouyou nods. I’ll learn too, he challenges, the loser has to buy the winner 10 GunGun yogurt boxes. And the look on Kageyama’s face is priceless. Is everything he wants it to be for the boy he loves.
Later that night, when the air is still too hot and when they’re still too giddy about the leap in their relationship, shuffling under a thin blanket and squeezing for a spot on a single bed, Kageyama hugs Shouyou close and kisses his ear, mumbling, “mine.”
“Your what?” Shouyou mutters, half-asleep.
“—my person, my someone better,” is what Shouyou can hear. “Mine.”
“Yours.” Shouyou smiles, nuzzling deep into Kageyama’s chest, slowly drifting into slumber.
And sleep, they do.
*
When Kageyama leaves for his flight again, they spend most of their goodbye time kissing.
Kageyama does pull away a few times, but Shouyou insists on it. Insists on mapping out his lips. Every line, every corner, every curve. Where it starts and where it ends. Remember, he reminds himself. He wants to remember this. He wants this knowledge, this sensation that only he has the privilege to know to sear onto his memory for the next few months. Until they meet again and he learns something new about Kageyama’s lips.
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Tobio,” Shouyou says. “I’m sorry I’ll keep you waiting a little longer.”
Kageyama frowns. “You don’t have to say sor—”
“But one day, I won’t keep you waiting anymore. I promise.”
Kageyama smiles, sweet and soft. The one that’s too private for the world. But Shouyou knows now, it’s the one that’s only made for him. His person. His someone better.
“I’ll see you at the top, Shouyou,” Kageyama tells him before waving his final goodbye and disappearing behind the closed door.
It’s not easy falling asleep that night, with how restless and exhilarated he feels, still. So Shouyou grabs his phone and types in the search toolbar a few words, eyes flitting through numerous results. Until eventually, a gold and white logo catches his eyes.
Shouyou grins to himself as he peers at it—the possibility of something great in his life.
MSBY Black Jackals, huh?