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pearlsandpemberly · 14 days

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being seen - kageyama tobio x hinata shouyou

Summary:

Hinata is mute but that doesn’t stop him from being the loudest person in the room. Kageyama is the idiot who always knows what he’s saying.

Genre: Fluff

POV: Third Person

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55230229

Note: I'm simply vibrating with excitement waiting for the film so I rewatched all of Haikyuu and remembered this pairing <3

Hinata Shouyou doesn’t need to talk to make his presence known.

Or, as Tsukishima sometimes says, Hinata is the only person who can be so obnoxiously loud whilst being unable to speak.

The middle blocker of Karasuno is lightening in a bottle and every player and volleyball fan is in awe of the short redhead. Within the first minute of meeting or observing Hinata, it becomes obvious that he’s not quite like his teammates: his gestures and facial expressions are larger than life, his enthusiasm radiates off his body as he shakes with excitement, and his determination is so present that anyone can taste it. However, sometimes his hands form signs, more fluid and complex than the silent signals some players keep hidden to their teams when in play; his mouth doesn’t move the same way everyone else’s does when the team bow in thanks at the beginning of the game, though he bows deeper than anyone else; and the only sounds that leave his lips are the occasional cries on court or joyous laughter.

But it doesn’t matter, because on the court, Hinata is the loudest of them all.

He’s a blur of blue and orange, trainers squeaking as he runs and jumps, flies, spiking the ball with such vicious speed, the slam echoing before the other team has caught up with the play. Karasuno yell and clap each other’s hands and backs, but Hinata’s bright eyes and wide grin outshines everyone else’s glee. When they win, he’s takes to jumping on all of his teammates, pummelling them with his fists and accepting high fives – when they lose, he’s trembling with a mixture of emotions, but his determined expression only seems to intensify, despite the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. Rival players seem intimidated when they come to shake the middle blocker’s hand at the end of the game, unable to look away from Hinata’s unnerving stare that encourages challenge beneath the haze of heartbreak.

Everyone talks about Karasuno’s number ten; it’s hard not to. No one says a bad word about him, and even if they were to dare, they would have to bypass Karasuno’s number nine first.

Kageyama Tobio remembers the first day he met Hinata.

The last year of Junior High and the last tournament Kitagawa Daiichi’s volleyball team would play. Yukigaoka’s team had meant nothing to him as they walked onto the court and took their positions. Their number one had been so short that it made Kageyama snort with mirth, but he couldn’t help but be fascinated by how his teammates talk to him without him having to say a word, his hands making all the conversation.

It had been a quick game filled with easy rallies and unsatisfactory wins, but their anomaly had harboured all of Kageyama’s attention. Their team had no place at the tournament, and neither did their small captain, but the boy had shown potential that made Kageyama’s blood boil. The way he had jumped like he had wings made his jaw drop but the way he had persisted even when all was going downhill for his team made Kageyama bristle with rage.

He remembers grabbing onto the netting and yelling at the boy, asking, demanding, pleading to know where he had been and he hadn’t looked at him. He remembers the same boy standing on the steps, looking down on him with tears streaming down his cheeks and staring at him with the same fire that has burned within Kageyama for years.

And Kageyama remembers seeing the boy again on his first day at Karasuno, and felt the fire reignite.

Hi! My name is Hinata Shouyou and I’m mute. I have apraxia that affects my speech, which basically means my brain won’t let me talk. No questions are stupid :)

Hinata holds up the pad in the gym when he meets his seniors and again when he properly meets the other first years. Everyone reads and nods, some with a nervous uncertainty, smiles either encouraging or weak. The less skittish members like Tanaka ask for further clarification and Hinata scrawls his answers down without hesitation.

Whenever they first meet a team for a practise match, Hinata holds up the same writing, grinning from ear to ear. The young men are, for the most part, always kind: the second and third years treat him as well as any of his other teammates; the first years rope him into conversation with ease after the games. Kenma from Nekoma gravitates towards Hinata, their silent exchanges bringing Kenma’s team to tears seeing him finally make a friend. Aone from Date Tech, another player with few words to say, always gives his time to Hinata when they cross paths. Even their more ‘extreme’ rivals like Oikawa never use Hinata’s condition against him, sticking to insults regarding the team and his less-than-perfect volleyball skills.

Overall, most introductions go well.

Kageyama’s didn’t quite go that way.

“Swallowed your tongue, have you?”

It’s the first thing Kageyama says to Hinata because the silence between them has stretched on beyond his usual threshold of comfort since his serve had been interrupted.

Immediately shame begins to crawl up his neck and twist in his abdomen as he watches the boy in front of him go red in the face as his mouth quivers slightly. Kageyama doesn’t get an answer but instead watches the boy stalk up to him, standing on his tiptoes as he reaches into his jacket pocket to whip out a book and pen. He skims through pages covered in writing to a blank one and begins to scrawl furiously. The pad slaps Kageyama in the face as he holds it up.

Why are you here??? Shouldn’t you be somewhere else? You aren’t supposed to be here, this is MY place and MY time!!!

Kageyama pulls his head back, squinting his eyes to look at the chicken scratch on the page before his eyes flicker back to the boy. “What, you think I can read that shit?”

He doesn’t know why he’s saying these things, he knows it’s ridiculously rude, but it’s out before he can do anything to take it back. The boy doesn’t seem overly deterred, simply pushing the pad against Kageyama’s face again. Kageyama bats it away, snarling with irritation.

“Why does it matter why I’m here?” he says. “Why are you here?”

The boy’s eyebrows rise and disappear under his hair as he looks at Kageyama like he’s the biggest moron in the world, nostrils flaring as he starts writing again.

Because I’m joining the volleyball team, idiot. Why else?

“You? Seriously?” Kageyama scoffs. “I doubt you’ve improved over the past several months to earn a place here.”

Fists clench at his sides and the boy’s eyes flash with an almost satisfied determination. It’s the same look that Kageyama remembers at the tournament and the fire within him is stoked again.

The argument that ensues is hardly one-sided and the boy barely uses his pad to fight back. It isn’t until the second and third years come in that Kageyama remembers his name.

Hinata Shouyou.

After they’re kicked out of practise, Kageyama thinks better and holds his tongue, despite the various prods and pokes that Hinata bombards him with as he circles around outside the gym. Wrestling with his growing concern that he won’t be allowed into the team and the irresistible urge to punch the very person threatening his spot on the team has Kageyama ruminating so intensely that he begins to lose himself in his emotions and miraculously gains the ability to block out the annoyance.

That’s until Hinata grabs the back of his jacket and shoves the battered pad back in Kageyama’s face, the metal rings almost catching him in the eye.

“Watch it, jackass!” Kageyama grunts, ripping it out of Hinata’s hands and crumpling the paper, tearing several pages clean off and throwing the rest to the ground. “Like I can be on a team with someone as unbearable and useless as you.”

When he makes eye contact with Hinata, he sees his eyes go hard and his shoulders tense. Kageyama braces himself for a punch to the gut – or the face – but the contact doesn’t come. Instead, Hinata closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths, turning on his heel in a circle as he appears to count in his head.

Kageyama looks back to the ruined paper on the ground and grits his teeth, shame eating at his insides. He looks to the torn pages in his hand and unfurls his fist, eyes scanning what he had initially been presented with.

Are you going to stop stewing like a baby or are we going to actually do something to get on the team?

‘Baby’ and ‘do’ are underlined pointedly, but Kageyama’s gaze sets on another word.

We.

They have to be a team – Daichi hasn’t given them another option – and Kageyama currently wants to murder the one person keeping him from volleyball practise. But Hinata is all Kageyama has.

Kageyama looks back up to see that Hinata’s stopped spinning and is facing him with his eyes open and dead set on Kageyama’s face. That determination is back and more fervent than before and Kageyama realises that Hinata has probably faced more crap in his entire life than he’s been throwing at him for the past half an hour. And if he can face all that and still be as obnoxious as he is, then there can’t be much that will stop him.

Perhaps he’ll be the key.

Kageyama stuffs his hands in his pockets and squares his shoulders. “You barely got any skills to back yourself up,” he says, unable to quite dispel the gruffness of his tone. “So you’re going to have to put in a shit-ton of work if you’re going to help out.”

Hinata’s mouth pulls to the side and he nods once. He blazes and Kageyama suddenly finds him hard to look directly at.

The team pick up elements of sign language as they train more together.

Hinata sticks to the pad when he needs it, though it doesn’t come up in practise much; they all get by with mostly nodding as the second and third years give him tips. However, Sugawara approaches him early on and tentatively signs something, and everyone sees how Hinata’s eyes light up as he signs back, his movements as fast as his quick plays on the court. Sugawara rubs the back of his neck and confesses his understanding isn’t perfect, but Hinata doesn’t seem to care.

From that moment on, everyone begins to try and learn.

The court phrases come first: ‘nice receive’, ‘one more’, and variations of ‘all right’ or ‘well done’ get picked up quickly. Then the insults: Kageyama is pretty sure that the only thing Hinata bothered to sign to him for weeks has been ‘idiot’. Basic greetings and pleasantries become easy to understand given different contexts (and to whom Hinata extends those pleasantries to) – Kageyama doesn’t need anyone to tell him that Hinata is saying ‘please’ over and over again, begging to be tossed to. Tanaka asks to learn all the curses, but Daichi shuts it down immediately, though it doesn’t stop everyone from finding out a lot when Hinata gets in a fight with Tsukishima later that practise. The hand signals that Sugawara uses adjust slightly with Hinata’s help, and they add more, which helps broaden the conversation on court without giving away too much to the opposition.

Not everyone gets there immediately, but Hinata doesn’t have to rely too much on writing things down because there’s one person who just knows straightaway, and it’s both surprising and understandable that it’s Kageyama.

It’s not easy to tell if Kageyama knows exactly what Hinata’s signing, especially if it becomes long-winded or is simply too fast to comprehend, but his response always seems to be in the right vein. Most of the time, however, Hinata’s hands don’t even move and they still have a flowing conversation, though they still default to bickering most of the time. Daichi’s constant demands for the pair to stop arguing stops feeling oxymoronic very quickly.

What fascinates most of the team is that Kageyama, stubborn and bristly and headstrong as he is, never speaks for or over Hinata. He scolds him for missing his sets, he berates him for receiving poorly, and he fights with him more than anyone else, even Tsukishima, but he never interrupts him if he’s signing, waiting patiently to then yell and tell Hinata that he’s the idiot and his idea is stupid.

After two months, the notepad becomes obsolete in the gym.

The volleyball smacks the ground, each hand missing it as they dive to save it.

Aoba Johsai’s cheers continue to echo in Karasuno’s ears, even as they line up and shake their hands. They file out of the room and barely pass comment to each other as they individually begin to process their loss.

They aren’t going to Nationals.

The team step outside and go to the water fountain before being called back for a meeting, but two members linger back. Takeda notices that their first-year duo is absent and turns back to find them when he hears it: a strangled yell of frustration and anger.

Rounding the corner, the teacher’s eyes widen when he sees Hinata barrel into Kageyama, shoving him back with all his strength. The setter’s eyes are wide and he stumbles back with little resistance until the pair collapse, Hinata gripping the front of Kageyama’s shirt with his knees either side of his hips.

Hinata’s still yelling, his brow furrowed and eyes creased with emotion, chest heaving. With his free hand, he starts to sign and Takeda can’t really see what’s being said, but Kageyama’s features contorts with upset and a twinge of guilt. Water runs from the black strands down his face in a way that could make it look like he’s crying. Their breathing seems to sync up as they stare at each other – Kageyama reaches up to Hinata, his fingers trembling as they come up in between them.

A jolt passes through Takeda’s chest when he sees Kageyama form a sign.

“I’m sorry.”

A breath seems to catch in Hinata’s throat as he stares down at his teammate. His back begins to tense and his grip on Kageyama’s shirt tightens as he appears to prepare to start arguing again.

Takeda quickly steps forward and calls them back to the meeting, sharing what kind words he can muster whilst knowing that there’s nothing he can really say to alleviate the boys from their disappointment. They unravel from each other, standing slowly to follow him back to the rest of the team.

The teacher turns back to watch them trudge along – Kageyama’s hand has found its place on Hinata’s shoulder and is gripping onto it tightly.

“Do you really know what I’m saying all the time?”

Kageyama tilts his head as he walks alongside Hinata, his eyes always watching. Hinata looks a little awkward, his lips scrunched up and shoulders creeping up to his ears with an undetermined tension.

“Pretty much,” Kageyama says, shrugging. “You’ve never told me that I’ve gone wrong before – have I at some point today?”

“No, no!” His signs are almost forceful. “It’s just surprising that you know so much so quickly – Sugawara’s impressed because it’s still difficult for him. But you’re so good at it.”

Being complimented so directly by Hinata isn’t common, so it makes Kageyama’s face grow warm. “Why are you so surprised?” he asks.

“Because you’re so bad at anything that isn’t volleyball.”

Kageyama bristles, giving Hinata a pinch on the back of his neck, to which Hinata hits him back. “Idiot!” he barks, signing it himself to emphasise. “You’re just as bad as I am!”

“Get off, get off!” Hinata stumbles, almost knocking into his bike which Kageyama is pushing along with one hand. “It’s not a bad thing, but it’s weird because your English is terrible and I don’t get how you don’t seem to have a problem with sign language at all.”

“My English is just fine,” Kageyama says hotly. “I don’t know, sign language is visual, so maybe that’s why it’s easier.”

“It’s not just that though.”

Hinata’s face has screwed itself up again and for a second Kageyama considers that he may be constipated. He doesn’t push anything, continuing to walk along to the corner where they usually depart, and when they reach it he pauses, waiting for Hinata to ask for his bike back.

And eventually, Hinata looks away from the concrete back to Kageyama. “You know things that I’ve never taught you or the rest of the team. You get things that I’d never expect you to get. Sometimes I just throw stuff at you and you just know it, which is great, but…I just don’t understandt. Are you studying in your own time or something?”

For a second Kageyama blanches. He thinks about the books on his dresser being the only ones he’s bought and opened voluntarily in years; he thinks about the countless YouTube videos he’s watched when he gets home after school; but mostly, he thinks about all the time he spends watching Hinata. Not just his hands, but his facial expressions, his body language, the way he moves, the way he breathes.

He thinks about the way he feels about English classes and homework. He thinks about the way he’s always felt about volleyball. He thinks about Hinata.

His ears are too hot.

“I don’t know,” Kageyama eventually manages to say, but it’s not a real answer. “I’ve looked at some stuff, sure – I mean, it’s not fair on us having to read your crappy handwriting all the time, is it?”

Hinata pauses for a second, and then he laughs. It’s a lovely sound which is too rare in Kageyama’s opinion – that thought dissipates when he takes a light punch to the gut, letting out a grunt as Hinata smiles up at him. It’s blinding, as always.

“You’re funny, Bakayama. That wasn’t hard to admit, was it?” He takes his bike off Kageyama with an odd gentleness, swinging his leg over to perch on the seat. “And I’ve seen your handwriting – you can’t talk.”

“Ironic,” Kageyama says gruffly before pressing his lips together in shame.

Instead, Hinata laughs again. “Heard it before – get some new material.” His face settles into a soft smile, a smile that makes Kageyama’s knees go funny and tongue go dry. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Kageyama stands on that corner for a while after Hinata cycles away, staring up the hill. A dogwalker jumps when he suddenly crouches and screams into his hands.

Karasuno’s deviant duo are the standout of their team; they always find new ways to surprise people, be them spectators or their own team members.

So, it shocks everyone when they stop talking to each other altogether.

The tension from the practise match hadn’t gone unnoticed, but Tanaka didn’t expect to see Hinata and Kageyama fighting in a way that’s so unfamiliar to what the team are used to. He pulls Hinata back, yelling at them all the way, and Kageyama shouts something before storming out of the gym, spitting his words as he turns his back on them. Yachi whips her head to and from the door and Tanaka, eyes wide with panic and tears. Hinata is still tense in Tanaka’s grip, snarling as he continues to try and break away. “What the hell happened?” Tanaka keeps asking, but Yachi keeps whimpering and Hinata keeps struggling.

Daichi tries not to worry too much when he sees the pair practising on opposite sides of the gym in the morning, but when the silence continues, the concern grows. Sugawara understands without anything being said and follows Hinata out at the end of practise, catching him as he’s changing. Kageyama stalks past them without a word.

“Hinata,” Sugawara calls gently. “You okay to chat?”

Hinata turns with a reluctance, finishing the buttons on his uniform jacket. “What’s up?”

“You and Kageyama…are you two alright? Tanaka told us that you had an argument yesterday.”

“I don’t want to talk about him,” Hinata signs firmly, his expression hardening. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got somewhere to be.”

Sugawara gives him the most understanding smile he’s got, pushing down his own apprehension. “My, my, you’ve never been that eager to get to class before,” he laughs. “I’m almost proud – but you know you can talk to me or any of the others if you need to, okay?”

Hinata slings his bag over his shoulder and looks to him with a furrowed brow and downturned lips. Through the anger, there’s a touch of something underneath that pains Sugawara. “I know. I’ll see you later.”

“Will do!” As a last attempt, Sugawara places a hand on Hinata’s shoulder. “Whatever it is, it’ll blow over, I’m sure.”

The smile Hinata gives him makes Sugawara feel a little uncertain as he walks away.

Multiple practises pass and it’s the same thing. They’re the first in, doing their own warmups in their own corners; they do the drills and passes with their other teammates as normal, but never breathe a word to each other; and they never make eye contact, though they seem to keep missing each other’s stolen glances.

After their afternoon practise, Hinata flies out of the door immediately, a weird change of pace. Kageyama is always the last to leave, setting over and over and over again as Yachi watches. It’s strange – even in her limited time watching the team, she already knows how good Kageyama is at volleyball, setting especially. Truthfully, she’s not sure if he’s trying something different or doing what he usually does when Hinata isn’t there, but by the way Kageyama swears through his teeth when he misses the plastic bottles, Yachi slowly becomes positive that he’s trying regardless.

One day, she plucks up the courage to just ask.

“Kageyama?”

He looks up, still bent as he places the bottles on the line. “Hm?”

“Um – what exactly are you doing?”

Kageyama straightens, looking at her with his usual scary stiff expression. “I’m just trying something new,” he answers gruffly. “This type of set should make it easier for Hinata to hit.”

“Hinata? Just Hinata?”

He shrugs. “And others too – but it should be good for the fast attacks.”

“Right!” Yachi looks back to the line of bottles – and then she thinks of their shouts and shoves. “So…so why are you doing this without him?”

Kageyama stiffens slightly and Yachi immediately puts her hands up. “I’m sorry! Forgive me, that was insensitive. I didn’t mean to –”

“It’s fine.”

His tone indicates that it’s anything but fine, yet Yachi knows it’s not because of her. They start their usual routine: Yachi throws ball after ball and Kageyama sets one after the other; sometimes he’s successful, and sometimes he’s not. Yachi’s not always perfect, but he never gets angry at her – only at himself.

When they’re forced to stop by Takeda, Yachi and Kageyama are putting the balls away when Kageyama suddenly speaks.

“He was being stupid, but he was right.” Kageyama looks into the cart of volleyballs, mouth barely moving. “He deserves to fly on his own. But, right now, he can’t do that without me – or not with the method we’ve been using. He deserves that chance.”

Yachi swallows, staring up at him nervously. Kageyama doesn’t say much and never like that, but she believes every word. “You know, he’s practising too,” she says quietly. “He told me.”

Kageyama sighs and pushes the cart. “I know,” is his reply.

She doesn’t ask how.

Things stay mostly the same when they go to Tokyo for the training camp, and the team despair in silence as the pair start to play together in the practise matches but still keep their interactions minimal. But then, they get it.

Kageyama’s set syncs perfectly with Hinata’s hand and the ball slams down past their opponents, everyone’s eyes widening at the speed and sound. Karasuno cheer and then sigh with relief when Hinata bounds towards Kageyama with the biggest smile anyone had seen in weeks. Kageyama isn’t smiling, and they immediately begin to bicker again, but it’s been so long since they’ve done it that no one cares.

After all the matches are finished, the teams start their cooldowns and out of the corner of her eye, Yachi spots the pair – they’re standing opposite each other a little bit further away from the others. Hinata is signing and it surprises her to see that Kageyama is signing back rather than talking. Curiosity is a bit too overwhelming because she knows she should probably look away.

“Huh.” A voice behind her makes Yachi jump and she turns to see Tsukishima and Yamaguchi eyeing them as well.

“What?”

Yamaguchi smiles. “Never thought I’d see the day Kageyama apologise to someone.”

Yachi gasps. “He did?”

Surprisingly, Tsukishima chuckles, raising an eyebrow. “Not quite,” he says. “He stopped halfway.”

“What are they saying?”

Again, she’s surprised that Tsukishima responds. “Both kind of tried to apologise and backed down when they saw what was happening. Now they’re arguing about not needing to apologise.” He squints and then smirks. “Hinata just asked what Kageyama thought of his spikes – yeah, Kageyama’s not going to answer that.”

“I can’t believe you can keep up,” Yamaguchi mutters, his eyebrows knitted together. “It’s still a bit of a blur.”

“It bodes well for the future.” Tsukishima pauses and his eyes widen slightly. Yachi notices.

“What?”

He looks away and adjusts his glasses, mouth trembling as if he’s trying not to laugh. “What morons,” he says, mostly to himself, and goes back to stretching. Yachi turns to Yamaguchi, who is also struggling to control the curvature of his mouth and decides not to press further. Her gaze drifts back to the pair and, even across that distance, she can see the softness in Kageyama’s expression.

The bus journey home is quiet, most of the boys sleeping from the exhausting week. Hinata and Kageyama are sat on the same bench, a welcome sight. Ukai glances back and sees that Hinata has fallen asleep with his head on Kageyama’s shoulder; Kageyama’s eyelids are half-closed, chin touching the red hair.

Everyone has heard Hinata shout. Multiple times.

As his time on the team has gone on, Hinata has become less conscious of the noises that he makes. The grunts and groans when a ball smacks him in the face rather than his arms are plentiful; the laughter that rings out when a play goes particularly well is infectious; and the cheers when his teammates do well are incredibly encouraging. The only time people get lost is when Hinata tries to describe some court moves with his ridiculous onomatopoeias, but only other like-minded individuals (or ‘freaks’, as Tsukishima puts it) understand.

Hearing Hinata cry out triumphantly louder than anyone else when he scores the final point against Shiratorizawa, even louder than the third years, is the best sound in the world.

Hearing Hinata try to stifle his sobs as he pleads to Coach Ukai to keep playing through his fever is one the team hope never to hear again.

“So, what’s the deal with them?”

A group of the new first years stand and stare at the two arguing second years. It’s the end of practise and the awe they feel around the insane Karasuno duo isn’t exactly waning, but rather is now accompanied with…confusion.

Everyone is still adapting to the energy that comes with the addition of the young and the loss of the old, and it’s still not exactly smooth going. It also doesn’t help that in an instant, the scary setter and the boisterous spiker have gone from working in incredible sync to shouting at each other. Well, one is.

Some of them have seen their matches before and therefore have seen their petty squabbles and joyful interactions on the court, however seeing it up close only makes it all the more strange. A fully fledged conversation is happening and it’s no mystery as to what’s being talked about, which is both extraordinary and mildly dumbfounding.

At all three practises, something like this has happened – but then, they’ve also witnessed their incredible fast attacks, their early morning races to the gym, and their joint departure up the hill whilst the setter pushes the spiker’s bike so he can talk with ease.

It’s the only time when the setter doesn’t look so menacing.

One first year is brave enough to ask what everyone is thinking. It’s supposed to be just to the other first years, but the team’s libero bounds over.

“You’ll get used to it soon enough,” he says cheerily. “If it’s ever too out of hand, either the captain or the coach will tell them to stop.”

The first year flushes but presses anyway. “Yeah, but I mean…like, do they have a psychic connection or something? I mean, he’s not even signing right now.”

“They’re just on the same wavelength of stupid,” someone mutters behind them, and the group turn to see the blond middle blocker staring at the pair with a tired expression. The libero laughs.

Another first year cocks his head to the side when he sees the spiker grab onto the setter’s face and squish his cheeks together. The setter splutters but stops his tirade; his cheeks go bright red and his expression smooths out. The spiker smiles at him widely and goes to pick up a discarded volleyball.

“Weird,” he says to himself.

The setter suddenly looks over to the group and his eyes bore into his with such intensity that the first year wishes he could be swallowed whole.

“Kageyama!” the coach barks, making everyone jump. “Don’t look at people like that! I’m not having you scare off the newbies.”

The setter breaks eye contact and mutters an apology. The spiker karate chops him on the head.

That same first year wonders if they’re something else going on but knows better than to voice that thought aloud.

They’re constantly touching in one way or another.

Mostly, it’s through casual violence: punches, kicks, bouts of wrestling, and general roughhousing. Then there’s the congratulatory gestures: the high fives, the fist bumps, the pats on the back in group hugs.

And then there are the rarer instances of cautious affection.

Kageyama will touch the top of Hinata’s head, tousling his hair as he does. Hinata will interlock their fingers if they do a double high five, shaking their joint hands with glee. They’re glued to each other’s sides in timeouts, on the bus, during the end-of-day debriefs.

On and off court, their eyes find each other first. Every time.

And every time, it’s like Kageyama is a blind man getting his first look at the sun.

Hinata huffs and tugs on Kageyama’s sleeve. “I can cycle home in the rain – I do it all the time.”

Kageyama shakes his head, holding his umbrella over the two of them. “No way, I’m not having you come in tomorrow with a cold that will spread to the entire team and ruin the training week. It’ll clear up in a minute.”

He’s been saying that for fifteen minutes now, but Hinata doesn’t complain further for now, fingers still holding onto Kageyama’s jacket. His bike is propped up against a tree behind them and he keeps turning to check on it, despite not having seen any other people walk by in a while. They had been travelling back from Yamaguchi’s house after a mildly disastrous studying session, and whilst they are most likely in a better position than they had been the last year, the threat of failure and retaking tests hangs over the pair similarly to the dark clouds above them.

Another tug. “You’re being quiet.”

Kageyama glares at him. “I’m always quiet.”

“Yeah, but you’re being weirdly quiet.”

“So?”

Hinata looks at him with that annoying expression; eyes too wide, eyebrows raised too high, lips pressed together. Kageyama gives him a shove but Hinata grabs onto both of his wrists, getting up on his tiptoes and staring into his eyes. The umbrella wobbles dangerously and Kageyama just manages to hold on as his heart lurches at the proximity. A drop of water falls on the top of his head.

“What are you doing?” he manages to ask, voice higher than he wants it to be.

Hinata just stares at him, gaze flitting from side to side. It’s an irritating practise that he’s taken up because he knows that Kageyama loathes eye contact, and yet cannot draw away because he’s always watching him. Hinata lifts one hand and deliberately pokes his chest right over Kageyama’s heart; his eyes soften slightly.

Kageyama sighs heavily. “I…it’s just…” he struggles for another couple seconds. “I am…worried that we aren’t going to do well at the Spring Tournament.”

A beat. And then Hinata pulls his grip away, a laugh barking out from his lips. “Oh, come on! That’s not like you at all.” He pauses and looks away for a second. “Why are you worried?” he then asks, calmer than before.

“I don’t know.”

Unsatisfied, Hinata pokes Kageyama’s chest again. Kageyama tries to glare again, but the effect is lost because it dissolves underneath Hinata’s probing stare.

“I don’t know,” he says again, weakier this time. “Can’t help it – it’s Nishinoya, Ennoshita, and Tanaka’s last chance. And with what happened at the last tournament…I know we’re better than we were then, but it’s so easily lost. So…yeah.”

Kageyama had started mumbling halfway through, but he knows he’s been heard. His eyes train back to Hinata because he always looks, never wanting to miss anything he may say to him. Hinata looks thoughtful, pursing his lips as he rocks back on his heels. And then –

“You’re such a moron, you know.”

Kageyama blinks before grabbing onto the top of Hinata’s head. “You’re the moron!” he retorts, tugging on some of the strands.

Hinata bats him off casually. “Of all people, you’re the last who needs to worry about the tournament,” he signs, shaking his head. “I mean, come on – it’s you! Also, it’s not that it’s easy to lose, it’s just that everyone so badly wants to win. We’ve won before and we’ll win again – even then, it’s just that the other team will win first. But we won’t let that happen – we’ll win.”

Kageyama’s mouth twitches: his hand doesn’t move. Hinata beams up at him.

“I mean, you’ve still got me, haven’t you? So, what do you have to worry about?”

And he does. Because ever since that first day they laid eyes on each other in the gym, he has had Hinata and Hinata has had him, and Kageyama never thought that he would have anyone like him.

Everything’s very hot and Kageyama feels his throat clamp shut against his will – not like he knows what he could say to that anyway. So, he doesn’t talk and takes away his hand from his hair.

“I know.”

Hinata smiles that soft smile he does whenever Kageyama chooses to sign rather than speak. He’s never asked Kageyama why he does it because he doesn’t have to. “Good.”

“Hinata…”

Kageyama’s voice is quiet; apprehensive. His gaze shifts from the floor to Hinata.

A quizzical brow. Mouth slightly turned up at the corners. Those blazing eyes.

The umbrella collapses onto the ground and starts to bounce away, but Kageyama doesn’t care because his hands are on Hinata’s cheeks and he’s kissing Hinata and he hears Hinata make a sound of surprise and relief as he kisses him back, lips clumsy and enthusiastic against Kageyama’s too-stiff mouth, arms flinging around his neck.

Kageyama knows in that instant that he loves all of Hinata’s sounds, that the one’s he’s making now are his new favourites, and that he so badly wants to learn them all.

And he will because Hinata is made for him.

Because they are made for each other.

The duo carry on as normal. No one notices a difference because there really isn’t one – they’re as synchronised and bizarre as usual.

It’s not until Karasuno win the match that will send them to the semifinals at Nationals in their third year, when Hinata jumps straight into Kageyama’s arms and Kageyama presses his face into his neck mumbling words that are Hinata’s alone, does the held breath let out. No one is surprised.

#kagehina #kageyama x hinata #kageyama tobio #hinata shouyou #hinakage #shobio #kagehina fluff

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