Archive of Our Own

Kageyama re-enters his home with muscles so shredded, he’s sure they’ll slough off the bone any second.

He steps out of his sneakers and toes them neatly into the genkan, next to Hinata’s. Then he fixes Hinata’s. Kageyama gets it, he gets it. Coming home from hours-long practices so sore you would scream if you thought it wouldn’t shake your body too much. Doesn’t leave much space in your head for things like putting your shoes away nicely. He understands that. But he manages it every time. And he’s asked Hinata at least five times.

It’s easy enough to sort out, and once Hinata’s black sneakers are lined up properly, prim and parallel, Kageyama tries to let it go. He steps further into the apartment, shifting his gym bag from one chewed up shoulder to the other. He can’t even see the shoes anymore, they’re like six steps behind him. They’re not a problem, they’re not.

Traversing the apartment takes two seconds and two years and two lifetimes all at once. Something to do with the light, probably, how weird it warps when there’s mostly none of it, when it’s mostly dark. The streetlamps outside do their best but Kageyama half-wishes he could turn them off. Everything in the apartment starts to feel like it’s at the end of a dimly-lit tunnel. Walking to the kitchen feels like walking past things, things he can’t see, and he doesn’t like that much. His career makes him feel watched enough.

He makes it to the kitchen though, an eon or so later. He flips the light on immediately, chasing away the bad-horror-movie gloom, but bringing to his attention something even more unsettling.

A covered bowl of food sits on the dining table. The kitchen tissue resting atop it is grease-stained, small little circles of yum darkening the otherwise pristine paper. Even if it wasn’t situated right in front of his usual seat, Kageyama would know it’s for him. Hinata uses the coral-coloured bowl; this one is cobalt blue.

Kageyama’s fist tightens on the strap of his gym bag. His lips purse, wrinkling around the edges. It isn’t supposed to make him feel guilty.

He’d really tried to make it home in time for dinner.

Hinata had been so happy at the prospect. All-caps-screaming-over-text happy, the kind of happy Kageyama hasn’t evoked anywhere near as much as he used to. Back in high school, Kageyama barely had to do anything to get Hinata beaming and screaming. Now he’s gotta do something monumental, like… commit to dinner plans.

Laughable, that it’s so hard. Coming home to eat dinner with his boyfriend whom he shares a fucking apartment with. All he had to do was catch an earlier train. All he had to do was do less.

Less isn’t programmed into Kageyama’s psyche, and he can’t hardwire himself otherwise, not even for the love of his life, apparently. He might have reached the top but there’s always higher to climb, and doing less won’t get him there. Doing less would have made his boyfriend’s night, but Kageyama has been doing a lot of picking and choosing lately. Today, he chose volleyball. Over Hinata. When had those become separate things?

The bowl is a reminder of that separation. So it does make him feel guilty.

Guilt does different things to different people. Kageyama has been trying to work on what it does to him. The spike of anger between his top two ribs feels like a step in the wrong direction, but maybe it’s good that Hinata has long since gone to bed, so he doesn’t have to see Kageyama’s regression.

Why am I mad? Kageyama shoves his bag into the seat next to his own, picking the bowl up and bullying it into the microwave to reheat. Hinata made us food. He is my boyfriend. I love him. He loves me. Why does that make me mad?

The answer isn’t forthcoming by the time Kageyama has retrieved chopsticks, by the time his food is warmed up. Hot-ed up; Kageyama burns his index finger and thumb trying to lift the bowl out. Sucking them still-angrily into his mouth, he tries again with the washcloth hanging by the sink. Damp, like Hinata only just finished drying the dishes with them. Or maybe he got up to get a snack, and dried the dishes a second time. Kageyama has been gone long enough.

Guilt stabs spitefully again, and keeps stabbing, at least until Kageyama lifts the soiled tissue from the bowl. The grease stains, bleeding larger with the new heat, peel back to reveal steaming pork curry, pillowy white rice, glossy scallions. Kageyama’s anger dies the miserable death it deserves, leaving his stomach hollow. Hungry, he’s so hungry, and Hinata made him food.

As it happens, gratitude stabs just as sharp as guilt.

Showers help. They always do.

Kageyama likes his water set to skin-scorching. Likes to scald a bad day off himself, likes entering his shared bed feeling cleansed to his bone marrow. He’s more amenable after his shower, with a small pouch of food distending his otherwise taut stomach. A little pocket of Hinata-provided warmth inside him. Kageyama is sleepy and toasty and grateful.

Towelling dry, Kageyama leaves the bathroom, hair a mess beneath the cobalt blue flannel that smells a tad too much like tangerine (it always does, resting as close as it is to the orange flannel hanging on the rail next to it). The apartment is still gloomy but Kageyama welcomes it now, it blankets more than it burdens. A cushiony kind of darkness, made even homier by the soft sound of Hinata’s breathing once Kageyama enters their bedroom.

Even breathing, but not deep. Kageyama knows what Hinata’s sleep sounds like, breaths so full they suck up half the oxygen in the room. Kageyama folds his towel up, sets it on the table next to his side of the bed, then crawls in. Makes himself a taller, bigger curve behind Hinata’s unsleeping body.

Hinata doesn’t last a second in stillness. He squirms back against Kageyama, burrowing closer until he can’t. Kageyama lays an arm over the severe cut of Hinata’s hip.

“Okay?” Hinata asks. Low like he’d been asleep at least for a moment.

“Mm. Now,” Kageyama confirms.

“Good day?” Hinata continues, muffling a yawn behind a small, strong hand.

Kageyama hesitates. “Good day now.”

Hinata turns his head back. Kageyama tries to hide a wince.

“What happened?”

Somehow, I got mad because you cooked me food that I chose not to come home to eat with you doesn’t roll off the tongue easily. There are very few words that roll off Kageyama’s tongue easily, and it’s so much harder because What happened? rolls off Hinata’s tongue like gravity simply works better on it. What’s wrong? You can tell me. I just wanna know. Easy, easy, easy.

“Nothing,” is the easiest word Kageyama can say.

And it’s the hardest word for Hinata to swallow, but it’s late, and they’re tired, and they’re together. Togetherness is all Hinata wanted today, and he’s not going to disrupt it. Kageyama knows that. Can’t help but feel like he’s exploiting that.

“Okay,” Hinata mutters, very unconvinced. “Glad you’re back.” Very convinced.

Still dark in here, so Kageyama can barely see Hinata’s face. Just the outline of his lips, the way the street light moves around them when he talks, the darkness of the inside of his mouth. Kageyama kisses that mouth. Because it’s there, because he can, because he wants to. He’s an expert in its shape but even experts need reminders.

Hinata’s hum tastes like mint slowly going stale, like sleep you’ve barely dipped your toes into. Kageyama, mouth fresher, slips Hinata his tongue, hopes he likes the taste. Hinata does; sucks it out of the tip.

“Want to?” Hinata asks, squirming anew, with intent to be more than just close.

“Want to what?” Kageyama asks back. Like he doesn’t know. He might be stalling but that’s only because this kiss feels so nice. Not that what Hinata is alluding to can’t feel even nicer.

“Jerk,” Hinata grumbles. Kageyama gets his lower lip trapped between Hinata’s teeth.

Grinning once Hinata releases him, Kageyama takes his once-idle hand on a journey, stroking skin stretched smooth over dense muscle. Dense, quivering muscle. Hinata is very responsive. Particularly to squeezes. Kageyama gives him a few, digging his fingertips in, feeling up grooves into his boy, kneading Hinata’s body until all that thick muscle melts. Only then does Kageyama stroke at his cock.

Hiding behind flimsy boxers, thin material. It’s short and heavy and hard beneath the fabric, slicking up the way the inner seam of Kageyama’s lips is. He wishes he could taste but he’s too tired to draw this out anymore than he already has. Plus his own cock is heavy too, and he’s slipped his sweatpants down to rub its underside into Hinata’s ass, but that’s not really doing him any favours beyond making him want to come too quick.

And Hinata’s whining for it, anyway. “In, in, please in. Taking too long, wanna be full now.”

Kageyama tugs Hinata’s boxers down. Plays around with him a little more in front, fingernails dragging light through the hair trimmed (mostly) neat at the base of Hinata’s fat cock, tap-tap-tapping at the wet head. Lets Hinata fuck his hand for a couple thrusts before leaving him alone to play with him in the back. Then stopping once he figures out that Hinata already has.

“When?” Kageyama asks quietly, dipping into smooth, warm, wet heat. Dripping wet.

“When I heard the front door open,” Hinata admits, sounding like he’s smiling.

“What did you use?”

“Just my fingers, just three. Please.”

“Sure that’s enough?” Kageyama fists his own cock, his groans curling in the pit of his throat.

“Make it enough.”

Kageyama bites Hinata’s shoulder. “I’m going to fuck you open.”

Hinata is still begging for it even when Kageyama pushes in. The warmth is too much, it’s a shock for Kageyama to learn how close he already is. The fabric of Hinata’s boxers had rubbed him almost raw and his cock feels the ache now. He’s sensitive all down the underside of his shaft, and Hinata’s rim sucks on it sloppy, makes Kageyama’s balls feel full. He fucks in slow pulses, gripping Hinata’s hip to hold him still, fidgety little thing that he is. Robbed of movement, shackled to Kageyama’s cock, Hinata makes up for it by whining. Too loud for the closeness they occupy, but quiet enough that it doesn’t breach their bubble, that Kageyama can believe nothing exists outside of them.

For a moment, he wishes nothing did. Hinata is all kinds of slick, tight good around him, against him, and it’s making Kageyama’s heart throb as much as his cock. He wants this to be his only obligation. Could live a happy life fucking the man he loves, wishes that was all that was ever expected of him. Wishes that having this didn’t feel like crossing something insurmountable, finding something rare. Wishes that it wasn’t suddenly so difficult to commit to this thing and this person that he’s pledged to commit to since he was fifteen, why were promises so much easier to make and keep back then—?

“‘Yama.”

Hinata’s breath spells Kageyama’s name in short, sweet gusts. Kageyama tightens his grip, licks over the grooves of his teeth stamped into the round of Hinata’s shoulder.

“With me, please.”

He means come with me probably, because Kageyama has stayed true with his pace, true and precise, nailing Hinata right where he needs it, nailing him right to the edge. But stay with me doesn’t seem too far-fetched either, not with Kageyama’s head swimming somewhere else, somewhere away from this, to the point where fucking Hinata had become nothing more than rote repetition.

Kageyama groans, working his hips harder, working himself back inside, back here, back to this moment. “Sorry, ‘m sorry. Want you, Hinata.”

“Have me,” Hinata mumbles. Lifting Kageyama’s hand from his hip, slipping Kageyama’s first two fingers into his mouth, suckling to soothe as he careens ever closer. “You have me. Have me, oh fuck.”

Orgasm had fallen away but it’s easy to chase after it again. Hinata’s tongue, the pull of his lips, makes Kageyama cross-eyed, and the way his rim tugs on Kageyama’s cock, begs to keep it close, only exacerbates that. Caught between two suctions, Hinata drawing him inside wherever he can, not coming becomes an impossibility. The wave rolls up from above and below, forward and back, and Kageyama pushes it into Hinata until they’re both shaking, wetting their sheets, their bodies, coherency dribbling from them in aching, rolling blurts of ecstasy.

It’s heavy pleasure, like a good kind of cholesterol thickening his blood, making it pump fastfastfast then slower, slower, until they’re spent. Kageyama pulls out with a gasp, rutting his wet cock, getting limp now, between Hinata’s cheeks a few more times. He strokes the pads of his fingers over Hinata’s panting tongue before pulling those away too. He’s even more sore now, but this is an ache he can welcome, an ache he’d fuck Hinata all over again just to feel for a little longer. It makes cleanup more of a bitch than usual, but it makes falling asleep with Hinata in his arms even more of a reward than Kageyama feels like he deserves.

“Love you.”

But who is he to decide what he does and doesn’t deserve? Who is he to reject a gift willingly given? Food in a blue bowl or love from tired lips.

“Love you.”

Dawn’s light wakes Kageyama up before his alarm can. He’s grateful for that, because Hinata may sleep deeply but Kageyama doesn’t like to risk disrupting it if he doesn’t have to. So he’s careful when he slips Hinata out from his arms, rolling onto his back and rubbing tired fists into bleary eyes. Blinking them open reveals strips of milky morning light thrown against the ceiling and the walls, making soft the darkness from the night before. Showcasing the framed pictures on the desks, the volleyball trinkets and charms and paraphernalia hanging off the walls. Unfolded laundry spilling out of its hamper, clothes hanging haphazard in the just-open closet. Home in early morning highlights.

Kageyama keeps his wince quiet when he sits up, running a hand over his aching abs, rolling his neck til it pops. Hinata shifts sleepily beside him. Demanding attention even unconscious. Kageyama gives it to him because Hinata doesn’t ever need to ask (though these days he has been, which makes Kageyama feel even worse), turning to face his boyfriend. Red hair a mess on the pillow, freckles dotting his cheeks and nose, spraying across the bare arm peeking out from beneath the sheets. Hinata looks young and probably always will, baby-faced though nowhere near baby-bodied. It’s especially obvious when he sleeps. Cut of all his strings, he looks almost exactly like the kid Kageyama fell in love with.

Save for the bites colouring his tan skin. That’s an addition Kageyama wouldn’t even think to fantasise about until his second year, and even then, it would make him flush fiercely every time.

Still makes him flush now, stomach curling with the memory of Hinata’s body against his, opening onto his. Mm. Would Hinata mind much if Kageyama woke him up for more…?

Kageyama’s second alarm rings. Fuck.

He shuts it off with a grimace, glaring daggers at the 5:10am blaring boldly from his screen. Tries to keep his groans to a minimum when he stands from the bed, patters out of their room and over to the bathroom. He hates the harshness of the bathroom light but there isn’t a window in here, and the last time he tried to brush his teeth in darkness, he used Hinata’s toothbrush. Hinata hadn’t minded. Kageyama really had. Swapping spit is only fun when he’s horny.

He runs his toothbrush over his teeth, across his gums. Spits mint out into the sink, then slaps water on his face. Takes a look at the skincare products Yachi bought him for his last birthday, grimacing. They work, is the thing, but they make his face feel too silky, like it’ll melt off his bones any second. Plus, he’ll just sweat it off soon anyway. Maybe when he gets back.

Hinata is still sleeping once Kageyama returns to the bedroom to change into his running gear. Puffing out tiny breaths from his freckly nose. His hair is hiding just out of reach of sunlight and it looks tawny. Temporary brunette boy. Kageyama likes how Hinata changes colour in the morning. He likes looking at Hinata in any hue but it just makes him appreciate the orange even more later.

It’s warm outside, the kind of loose warmth that’s just perfect to run in. Kageyama’s breaths are light, measured, as he starts his jog. His muscles throb even though he takes it easy, feet slapping the ground too hard for the first few steps while he acclimates to the pain. He’s in a good mood, though. Today, the ache is nothing more than a reminder of how hard he’s worked. And, for what it’s worth, he’s still holding things together.

Things have teetered recently, sure. It’s feeling more and more fragile, his relationship with Hinata. More and more likely that something or someone will slip, dislodging god knows what in the process. There’s nothing that can’t be worked on, Kageyama is certain, but there’s something so destabilising about having everything you ever wanted. Hinata isn’t thousands of miles away anymore. He’s in Kageyama’s timezone now, Kageyama’s house, Kageyama’s bed. Their house, their bed. Loving Hinata kinda felt easier from further away. Less to lose.

But they’re good for now. Hinata might not set his shoes together properly in the genkan, but they’re good. And Kageyama will take this strenuous love, this hard-to-handle love, over the far-away kind, any and every day of the week. He never wants Hinata further than he can throw him, further than Hinata can jump, ever again.

Kageyama’s phone buzzes in his pocket. Good thing, too; he’s run himself almost out of his usual range, far enough that it’ll be tricky to get back in time to freshen up and catch his train to the gym. He starts a lighter run back while he unlocks his phone, but the notification he sees there almost makes him drop it.

oikawa-san
tell hinata-chan to answer his phone, i know hes with you

That doesn’t really sour Kageyama’s mood, per se, but it doesn’t exactly brighten it either. Trust Oikawa-san’s first text in months to be a command. The one before that was a command, too. And the one before that.

He isn’t, I’m on a run and he’s in bed
Don’t wake him up

oikawa-san
ugh
fine when you get back tell him i want to see him
only got until next sunday

?You’re here

oikawa-san
the invite was for him not you

Fine I’ll tell him

oikawa-san
thaaaaank youuu tobio-chaaaaan 😘😘😘😘😘

Oikawa knows Kageyama hates emojis.

He also knows he hates it whenever he’s in town, and he asks expressly to see Hinata. It’s not that Kageyama wants to see him first. He’d almost rather not, to be honest. But they got really close while Hinata was in Brazil, didn’t they, Hinata and Oikawa, The kind of close that Kageyama almost had to compete with once Hinata came back. He’s been competing with Oikawa all his life. He thinks he’s allowed to be tired of it.

So, no. Mood not brightened. And it doesn’t get any brighter once he finishes his jog, returns to the apartment, and finds Hinata gone. It’s not a surprise, Hinata’s always up and off by the time Kageyama completes his morning run. Their schedules only ever align once they both get home. And Kageyama couldn’t even make that work for them.

Maybe he isn’t holding things together.

“You’re late!”

Kageyama grimaces. “I know. Sorry.”

Kageyama isn’t consciously weighing his head down so he can’t make eye contact with his friends; his thoughts are too heavy. They press on the front of his skull and the very top knob of his spine strains as a result. He’s quick to open up his gym locker but he isn’t quick to leave it; just sorta stays there, unpacking his water bottle and towel as slowly as he can.

“What kept you, huh?” Hoshiumi continues, a disjointed, bright, loud voice somewhere to Kageyama’s right. “Your watch break or something?”

Kageyama stares at it, ticking on his right wrist. He wishes that’s all it was.

“Hinata keep you behind, hm? Hm?”

Well. In a manner of speaking.

“I bet that’s what it was, lucky bastard,” Hoshiumi exclaims at Kageyama’s continued silence. He doesn’t stop at exclamations, either, bounding over to poke and prod at Kageyama’s tense back. He’s not so much different from when they were in high school, to be honest. Kageyama sometimes can’t decide if that’s a good thing.

“You’re late too if you’re still in here,” Kageyama finally grunts, shoving his locker closed and glaring down at the tiny, silver-haired spitfire now slapping at his chest. “Leave me alone.”

“No,” Hoshiumi grins. “Come spot me.”

Kageyama acquiesces, only because if Hoshiumi is grunting from the weight of a bar between his hands, he won’t be talking. Or so he assumes, at least until Hoshiumi sets up his weights, lays back on the bench, starts his reps, and doesn’t shut the fuck up.

“Are you working on that serve later today?”

“Probably, if Hirugami-san allots time for it.”

“What, you think he won’t?”

“I’m not the only team member. There’s always more to pay attention to than me.”

“That’s altruistic of you!”

“If you say so.”

“And how is Hinata-kun, really?”

“Fine.”

“Was he mad that you got home late yesterday?”

“No.”

“I told you! So you were worried about nothing.”

“...Okay.”

That’s enough to finally give him pause. Hoshiumi sets the bar back on its rack and heaves himself up to sitting, sizing Kageyama up over his shoulder. The frowny-eyed concern makes Kageyama about as flushed as if he’d been pumping iron.

“Well that was enthusiastic.”

Kageyama grimaces. “Everything’s fine.”

“Did I say it wasn’t?”

“Is there a reason why you’ve stopped?”

Oh, good. Ushijima’s appearance completes the intervention squad and Kageyama is another acceptably-worried gaze away from walking right out. He’ll find weights somewhere else, somewhere less… well-meaning.

“Everything is fine,” Kageyama repeats. If he says it one more time will they believe him? Will he believe him?

“Okay, now I’m calling bullshit. What’s wrong with you?” Somehow, the way Hoshiumi says it, it doesn’t feel condemning. It compels Kageyama to reassess once again, to catalogue himself, because what is wrong, truly? Though he’s not certain how he’s supposed to get it all out in a room full of muscleheads.

But Musclehead Supreme is staring at him like he really wants to hear the answer, so Kageyama stammers his way through each hard-won syllable of an explanation. The beginnings of one. “I’m not… doing well enough. With Hinata.”

A pause, filled only by some of the worst pop music Kageyama has ever heard (in fairness, he thinks all pop music is the worst he’s ever heard), blaring from the gym speakers.

Then, Ushijima, helpful as shit, comes out with, “In bed?”

Kageyama blanches. “No. What?”

Hoshiumi grins. “So you are doing well in bed.”

The syllables that come out of Kageyama’s mouth that time aren’t actual words. And Hoshiumi and Ushijima let him suffer all incoherent like that for a good minute before relenting, Hoshiumi with a batshit insane cackle and Ushijima with an almost equally insane grin.

“Sorry, sorry,” Hoshiumi says, not sounding it. “Not doing well enough how, then?”

It’s even harder to explain now. Kageyama considers finding a corner and sulking in it. But he does want to try. He’s got a whole lot of ground to cover, living with this new in-house type of love, but, you know. Baby steps.

“It’s little things,” he starts, rubbing at the skin of his elbow. “I get angrier than I should about things that don’t matter. Mine and Hinata’s schedules don’t line up so I don’t see him much, but he’s better at making that easier on us than I am. Yesterday, he made us dinner but I didn’t get home in time to eat it with him. And I said I would. So.”

Hoshiumi hums, musing. Not for the first time, Kageyama is glad he’s around, because as much as he appreciates Ushijima’s stoic, contemplative silences most of the time, he couldn’t deal with quiet right now, not in response to him bearing his soul.

“Was he mad at you for it?” Hoshiumi asks.

Kageyama shakes his head. “No.” And he seriously can’t help grinning a little, remembering. “Not mad.”

Hoshiumi makes a face. “Ew.”

Kageyama raises a brow. Still kinda smiling. “So you don’t want to know how well I’m doing in bed.”

Hoshiumi makes a noise and a face. “It’s not funny when you say it.”

“If we’re going to make light of this,” Ushijima pitches in, clearly done thinking, “We can do it while we’re working.”

Kageyama sighs, palming the nape of his neck. It’s hot to the touch and taut. “I’m sorry. I do need help.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Eh?” Kageyama frowns. Ushijima isn’t actually an asshole, he thought.

“You’ve told us everything that you believe is wrong,” Ushijima continues, face placid and knowing. “Identified every problem. So you have the faculties to fix it.”

“...Right.”

“No, no, he’s right,” Hoshiumi adds at Kageyama’s scepticism. “What advice were you looking for anyway? Don’t come home late, don’t be an asshole. We can’t tell you anything you haven’t already told yourself.”

Kageyama can’t tell yet if this is helping. He pushes one more time, tries to instill how raft-in-the-middle-of-the-ocean he feels. “Telling isn’t doing. I can know what to fix but that isn’t going to make it any easier to do.”

Hoshiumi scoffs. “When have you ever wanted to do what’s easy?”

That’s… true. That might even be part of the problem. Kageyama doesn’t do things by halves, he knows that. Never has. Nothing was worth having if he hadn’t crawled himself out of pits, walked on water, over nails, to obtain it.

Hinata had never been difficult to have, though. And isn’t it a bad thing that he is, now? When loving someone becomes the hardest thing in your life to do, especially if it wasn’t always, is it not normal to be scared? Difficulty, striving past it, is written into Kageyama’s blood. Maybe love, love that’s hard, isn’t.

“Yours is not the first relationship to experience problems,” Ushijima says.

“I know that,” Kageyama grunts, peeved. He hadn’t insinuated that at all.

“Let me finish,” Ushijima chastises, strong brows drawing down over hazel eyes. There’s indignance caught up in that colour, mixed with something that looks a little like approval. Kageyama is surprised he can recognise that on Ushijima’s face; it’s rarely directed at him. “Relationships have disintegrated over less. Much less. You’re not listening when we commend you for knowing what’s wrong. Fix it. You’re no stranger to hard work, anyway.”

From Ushijima, that’s nothing short of glowing. Speaking of, Kageyama’s face is. He can feel the heat flooding up it, making the back of his neck even hotter. He bows his head until he feels that same highest knob of his spine strain once more.

“Thank you,” he mumbles.

Ushijima frowns. “I didn’t do anything. Told you what you already know.”

“It helped, Ushijima-san.” He turns to Hoshiumi too, bobs his head again. “You as well, Hoshiumi-san.”

“God, don’t do that. You look weird when you’re deferring to me,” Hoshiumi grimaces.

Kageyama pouts. “I should have let the bar drop on you.”

“Huh?” Hoshiumi exclaims, jumping from the bench, getting all up in Kageyama’s face like he does best. “Yeah, that right? It’s your turn anyway, you little shit, try and say that again while I’m spotting you!”

“He can’t,” Ushijima diffuses before Kageyama’s answering grin can really set Hoshiumi off. “Our time’s up, we need to be at practice in fifteen minutes.”

“Tomorrow, then!” Hoshiumi yells, grabbing his towel and whipping Kageyama’s shoulder something fierce with it. “I’m making you go first, slacker.”

Kageyama can’t find the antagonism to care about that. Can’t find anything even remotely negative, not anymore. There really is something to be said for talking problems outside of his own head, making them take shape somewhere he can’t bias them into an untameable monster. He knows what’s wrong. He knows how to make it right.

He can’t stand having Hinata on his mind when every thought of him is marred by shit like this, stuck in his own self-destruction. He’s quick to whip out his phone in the locker room, but slow to stop his smile when he sees the text already waiting for him on it.

hinata 🟠
oikawa’s blowing up my phone, should i ignore him

Kageyama snorts.

Yes

hinata 🟠
will do just checking!
was gym okay?

It was good, yeah
?And you

hinata 🟠
boring 😔 miss you
coming home late today?

Not as late as yesterday
Still later than you

hinata 🟠
need anything from the store?

Milk please

hinata 🟠
well duh

Maybe it’s the ache in his muscles reintroducing itself as he works through drills with the rest of the team. Maybe it’s the second barrage of texts he gets from Oikawa berating him for Hinata’s continued radio silence. Or maybe it’s just that his sneakers are wearing down and he can feel them biting too tight around his ankles and toes. Whatever it is, by the end of the day, Kageyama isn’t exactly a picture of happiness.

So weird, how quickly his mood drops. It’s not new, Kageyama knows he can be temperamental. Doesn’t make it any less irritating, doesn’t make him any less irritated. The train ride back from practice is only marginally relieving, silent and soothing but the seconds tick away slow as shit for how badly Kageyama wants to be home.

But he gets there. Up the elevator, down the hallway, into the apartment—

And he trips over Hinata’s shoes.

The step Kageyama takes to steady himself is more of a stomp. He has to pull his tongue deeper into his mouth so he doesn’t bite into it, and the impact of his teeth together definitely chips at least one of them. His head throbs.

That’s the sixth time this week. Maybe seventh. One thing, all Kageyama asks is one. Thing. Just one—

“Kageyama? That you?”

Kageyama swallows. Breathes in slow. Breathes out slower. Does that a couple more times.

“Kageyama?”

“Yeah.” He loves this man. He loves him so much. “Yeah, Hinata. It’s me.”

Something fluffy and ginger pops its head out from the kitchen. Hinata smiles sheepishly. “I forgot to set my shoes aside didn’t I?”

The recognition, paired with that sweet face, is deep freeze and shocking heat all at once. Blanched, Kageyama melts into his impulse and stalks forward to kiss Hinata’s sheepish smiling mouth. Hands to Hinata’s face, Kageyama keeps him still, lipping at the surprised noise Hinata makes until Hinata starts to hum. Kageyama likes it right here. Animosity can’t fester right here. There’s no space for it.

Pulling away leaves their lips wet. Hinata is blushing beneath Kageyama’s palms.

“Yes,” Kageyama says. “Yes, you did.”

Hinata giggles, bashful. “I’m sorry. I think. I don’t know, if you’re gonna do that everytime I forget…”

“I won’t. Please don’t forget again.” Kageyama sighs, stepping past Hinata with a hand to his waist. “I just missed you today.”

Hinata makes some happy noises behind him. “I missed you too. Hungry?”

“Yeah.”

“Almost done with dinner, wanna help?”

Kageyama smiles. It’s a small smile, one he tucks just barely into his cheeks, one he keeps to himself. Mostly. Hinata can probably hear it in his voice. “Okay. What do I do?”

“Could you grab a couple eggs? I picked up some more at the store today but the old carton still has a few left, I think it’s in the back toward the right.”

Kageyama props his gym bag on the floor by his chair. He heads to the fridge. He opens it.

The old eggs carton is tucked underneath the new one. They’re usually behind the milk carton.

He finds the eggs pretty easy. They’re the first thing he sees. Nothing to obstruct them because there is no milk carton.

Kageyama’s knuckles press into the thin skin atop them. Bone stretches that skin tight, white.

“Hinata. There’s no milk.”

Hinata’s voice is all curious. “Milk? I asked for eggs.”

“And I asked for milk.”

A sharp slapping sound follows, like Hinata just clapped his hand to his forehead. “Milk! Oh, my god, I knew I forgot something. I thought I wrote everything down, too, I specifically told myself to so I would remember… It’s okay, I’ll head back there after practice tomorrow. Oh, wait, no, practice is gonna run late, the store will be closed. Hm. Do you think you can manage the trip? You’ll be getting home before me anyways.”

Maybe animosity can fester right here.

Kageyama closes the fridge door. He turns around. Hinata isn’t facing him, still working away at the chopping board on the opposite side of the kitchen. At Kageyama’s continued silence, he looks over his shoulder. Such a sweet face.

One thing. All Kageyama asks is one. Thing. Just one thing.

Kageyama gets to watch that face fall.

“You’re… you’re not actually mad about this, are you?”

Something inside implodes. “No. Why would I be mad when someone asks me what I want from the store, I ask for one thing, and they say, well duh?”

Hinata frowns. “Kageyama.”

“Why would I be mad when I come home to see that they bought everything except that one thing?”

“Are you serious?”

“And why would I be mad when I ask over, and over, and over again for that one person to set their shoes aside nicely, so I don’t trip and almost fucking die every fucking time I come home from twelve fucking hours of training? Why would that make me mad?”

“I train twelve hours too!” Hinata explodes in turn. Kageyama has the presence of mind to be relieved that Hinata sets the knife down. Also kind of thinks he doesn’t deserve that kindness, but he’s too incensed to listen to guilt. “Every day, Kageyama, or didn’t you know? You think I’m running around purposefully forgetting things? I’m trying my best!”

“This is your best? Ignoring me is your best?”

“You cannot talk about ignoring. Where were you last night? What happened to dinner?”

“Twelve hours of training, I just fucking said.”

“So that excuse works for you but not for me?”

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep because of it!”

“Promises I can’t—it’s a fucking carton of milk, Kageyama!”

“It’s not about the milk!” Kageyama roars, feeling fucking ridiculous. This is so fucking ridiculous. His anger is sweat in his eyes and veins pulsing out of his temples. “It’s not about the shoes, either, it’s us! I—It’s—It’s not about what you’re doing or not doing, it’s about who you’re doing or not doing it for. I don’t give a shit that you forget things, I give a shit that you offer something, then don’t follow through. I give a shit that you say you’ll fix your shoes and then you don’t. Just tell me it’s hard for you to listen. Just tell me it’s hard for you to be here for me!”

Kageyama is expecting some more pushback. The silence he gets instead is a deafening shock. Air rushes in and out of his lungs in these loud, ugly gasps, and the longer the silence lingers, the louder and uglier they sound.

Hinata looks appalled in a weird way. It’s careful, calculated horror, like he’s sizing Kageyama up and disgusted by what he finds all at once. He’s statue-still everywhere except for his hands, shaking by his sides.

He’s still for so long that when he moves, lightning-fast in a way he’s never had to be outside the court, inside their home, Kageyama misses it between blinks. He lags behind, still unsure of what he just said, if he actually meant it. Becoming more and more horrified because he did mean it. Does mean it.

“Hinata,” he says quietly, then louder, stumbling out of the kitchen and into the hallway. Hinata is slipping on his shoes, wobbling on one foot, center of gravity fucked because anger has him shaking so bad still. “Hinata, where are you going?”

“Out,” Hinata says. His eyes are locked on his feet. “I’ll fix my fucking shoes when I get back, don’t worry.”

There’s nothing Kageyama can say to that that won’t make him sound like an asshole. Finally. Thank you. He’s still pondering his options when Hinata leaves, slamming the door almost as hard as Kageyama had slammed the fridge. The noise rings in Kageyama’s ears the same way.

Kageyama lags some more. Then he heads back into the kitchen. Clears up the beginnings of dinner, stuffing them in the fridge in front of the eggs. He picks up his gym bag, dumps it in their bedroom. Showers quickly, brushes his teeth quicker. Slips into bed and falls asleep fast, because when he wakes up, Hinata will be asleep. Kageyama will go for his run tomorrow morning and return to an empty house. He doesn’t have to talk to empty houses and empty houses don’t talk back.

Dawn’s light wakes Kageyama up before his alarm can. He stands from the bed, patters out of the room and over to the bathroom. He runs his toothbrush over his teeth, across his gums. Spits mint out into the sink, then slaps water on his face. Hinata is still sleeping once Kageyama returns to the bedroom to change into his running gear.

Kageyama leaves the apartment. Kageyama runs, and runs, and runs.

He’s being a little bitch right now and he knows it. His game is off, so off, and he’s snapping at everything that moves like he isn’t the problem. It gets to be so bad, Hirugami has to pull him aside.

“You okay?” Hirugami asks, head tilted low to try and catch Kageyama’s averted gaze.

Kageyama doesn’t let him find it. “I’m fine.”

Just out of vision, Hirugami nods slowly and sighs. “Are you gonna keep being fine the rest of the day? It’s bumming us out a little.”

It’s touchy, a reprimand like that coming from the collective. Hits too close to home, even all these years later. Kageyama plays with the hem of his gym shorts, drawing the fabric into clenched hands. He keeps it tugged there until his fists stop trembling.

“I can go home,” he offers. Maybe it’ll feel better if he offers it before Hirugami-san can.

“I’m not kicking you out, Kageyama-kun,” Hirugami clarifies, sounding contrite. “We want you here, need you here, even. But if you’re not feeling your best you’re not playing your best. We can have you off the court for just one day if that’s the case.”

No such thing as ‘just one day’ with Kageyama, especially not for volleyball. He’s reluctant to leave the court even at the end of a practice, much less at a time like this. Today, though, his hesitation isn’t all wholesome like it usually is. It feels less like he’s trying to stay and more like he’s trying to stay away from something. Someone.

“Okay,” Kageyama mutters. “Yeah, okay.”

So he walk-of-shames his way out. Off the court, back to the lockers (he doesn’t even need to change clothes; he’s barely worked up a sweat), out of the gym, onto the train. It’s still light out, sun a fair few hours away from dipping. Kageyama doesn’t like its glare. Feels too seen under it.

And the one saving grace he has is that Hinata’s practice runs late today. Kageyama can prolong his reckoning a couple hours longer. He’s too fresh with failure, flushed all over his face, to handle judgment day right now.

Kinda surprising, then, to reenter the apartment and find Hinata’s shoes in the genkan. As perfectly parallel as if Kageyama had put them there himself.

Kageyama shuts the door to hide his swallow, the shameful shuffle of his feet as he toes his own shoes off. Hinata’s doing his own shuffling in the kitchen, shifting pots around, opening and closing the fridge. Kageyama could walk out, probably. He doesn’t think Hinata heard the door. If he’s fast enough maybe he could make it to the shower he doesn’t need and scald his skin off, cleanse himself so Hinata doesn’t have to rinse him like he deserves.

Little bitch attitude again. The anticipation is always worse than the fallout.

Kageyama makes his way to the kitchen with self-righteousness so misplaced it hangs off him like clothes two sizes too big. Somewhere, something inside of him is laughing, great heaving bouts of it. But even that voice sobers up once he locks eyes with Hinata. Washcloth in hand, drying the pots he’d used to start the dinner they hadn’t eaten. The second dinner Kageyama has ruined this week.

He’s pretty when he’s mad, too, that’s what bites. It’s been a long time since Kageyama has seen Hinata in sunlight that isn’t milky with the early hour. Afternoon looks just as good on him. He shines, he blazes, you’ve gotta squint to see him. Summer colour palette all over him, year-round.

Glaring at Kageyama currently. Just a little. Just enough.

“You’re early,” he says.

Kageyama presses his lips together. “So are you.”

Hinata hums, noncommittal. He turns to the dishes again, speaking with his back to Kageyama. “Had a headache. Put me off my game, there was no use staying.”

God, it’s gotta be bad then, for Hinata to say there’s no use staying to play volleyball. They’re two sides of the same coin even mid-battle.

“Same,” Kageyama offers.

“You don’t get headaches,” Hinata calls him on his bullshit immediately.

“My game was off, I meant,” Kageyama clarifies. He’s still just standing in the middle of the kitchen. Doesn’t want to move too far in any direction, not so much treading on eggshells as fucking mines.

“Huh. Funny, that.”

Kageyama can’t help it. He rises to the bait. “Hilarious.” Bitter and caustic.

Hinata doesn’t take that lying down. Finished with the last dish, he throws the washcloth down and heads to the fridge. Opens it with really quite unwarranted force, not that Kageyama is in any place to judge that. Reaches inside then tugs out his next move, his counterstrike.

“I got milk.” He slams the carton onto the kitchen counter.

Kageyama should be grateful. He should get on his sorry knees, fall on his sorry ass, and say sorry. He doesn’t.

He says, “Wasn’t so hard, was it.”

There isn’t much sense in what happens after that.

They’re both surging forward for some reason. To yell, to slap, to punch, they don’t know until they touch, and when they do, they don’t do any of those things. They grab, they tug, pulling at clothes, at skin. Their kiss is quite literally bruising, and not just for their mouths, but for Kageyama’s bicep where Hinata’s fingers are clawing, for Hinata’s neck where Kageyama’s palm is squeezing. The kiss bites, their teeth pinned to whichever parts of each other’s mouths they can stick them first. Kageyama gets Hinata’s canine caught in the corner of his mouth. He treats Hinata to an incisor, digging right onto the tip of Hinata’s tongue.

It feels good to touch Hinata. Hurts, too, they’re not being kind with it. Not gentle like two days ago but as irreverent as they can get. This isn’t the time to be tender. The only thing that can pave the way for that is an apology, Kageyama knows it. He’s simply too impatient to go without Hinata’s touch for too long. He’s greedy, and he’s selfish, and he’s feeling so fucking good it just makes it that much better, that he doesn’t deserve it.

Hinata is pressed against the kitchen table now. Kageyama doesn’t remember putting him there, but he won’t move him. For all intents and purposes, Hinata is in his arms again. Squirming around like he’d rather be anywhere else, sure, but he’s here. And he’s pushing up into Kageyama, too. Shoving at Kageyama’s chest only to pull him closer by the hair at the crown of his head. Damn near chewing on Kageyama’s lower lip only to suck it soothed in the same breath, the same tick of his jaw.

“You’re a piece of shit sometimes, you know that?” Hinata grunts.

That’ll hurt Kageyama a lot later. Not just the fact that it’s true, but that he’s debased their relationship so much that Hinata can even say it. The grit in Hinata’s voice, though. The way he shoves his hips into Kageyama’s as emphasis. Later is not now.

Kageyama shoves Hinata’s thighs apart, bullies himself between them, and when that’s not enough, he hefts Hinata onto the table. Grabs at his hips and yanks him closer, bruising him there too, no doubt. He wants so badly to rock Hinata against him slowly. Stoke the pleasure up in little bits until it throbs. He doesn’t exactly prefer it like this; the impatience, the acrimony. Not for the first time, Kageyama laments his cowardice. He should have apologised sooner. Forgiveness would feel better than this.

The thought of saying sorry this way, with his body, doesn’t sit right with him. Now’s not the time for it. He can’t expect to suck, fuck, then heal. He’s gotta put in the work, hell at this point he’s gotta put in overtime.

Hinata sucks something searing into Kageyama’s neck. Kageyama will clock in later.

He fills his palms with Hinata’s ass, rucking Hinata’s shorts into the divot between his pelvis and his thighs. Hinata’s cock makes the fabric over it look obscene, shiny with how stretched taut it is. The pressure makes Hinata whine. He tries to swallow it down and that cuts Kageyama too. Hinata never hides his noises. Kageyama hasn’t earned Hinata’s unabashed pleasure back yet, and that’s when he realises Hinata is being generous. His writhing body, his smarting kisses, his push and pull. This is all that Hinata has decided Kageyama deserves, and it’s still far more than Kageyama has a right to.

Kinda makes him want to get on his knees.

He hits the floor hard, jarred right up to his teeth. Hinata gasps. With the surprise, he can’t keep that one in. He clutches Kageyama’s hair in one hand, leans the other behind him, props himself up on it. His eyebrows pinch down, then one raises.

“Groveling now?”

Kageyama grunts. “Is that what you want me to do?”

Hinata huffs, hooking his legs over Kageyama’s shoulders and bringing himself closer to the edge of the table. “Why not. Make yourself useful.”

So Kageyama licks over Hinata’s asshole through the fabric of his shorts. Perhaps a loose interpretation of useful but when in Rome. Hinata sighs. Kageyama tilts his head up to watch Hinata tilt his to the side. Appraising but not necessarily complimentary.

“Hm. That’s good.” Alright, so a little complimentary.

“Are you going to let me use my hands?” Kageyama asks, nudging his nose against the bulk of Hinata’s balls.

“If you think you can do it right.”

Kageyama won’t hide how much he likes this. The condescension, Hinata’s nerve. His cock is this thick, achy distraction between his folded legs and he’d do anything to have Hinata on it, and he likes that Hinata knows. The leverage Hinta wields here, his awareness of it.

Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry, Hinata. It tingles on Kageyama’s tongue and he’s not sure what it says about him, the fact that sex is the only thing that has pushed it this close to spilling forth. The shame, now, does nothing more than harden his cock until it leaks, but he’s not looking forward to how it’ll feel after… whatever this is. However much Hinata will let him do.

Kageyama rests his hands on Hinata’s thighs, skin-to-skin because he’s greedy and Hinata doesn’t stop him. Fitting his thumbs under the hems, Kageyama massages Hinata’s inner thighs and licks his hole wet, as wet as he can with polyester blocking his way. Hinata lets him for a while, but he’s even more impatient now than usual, with all that’s left unsaid fueling them. He’s shuffling the shorts down and off soon enough, and Kageyama would have been just fine tonguing at cloth forever, because he never thought he’d be allowed anything more. With more clenching right in front of his face, Hinata’s hole just barely shiny with seeped-through spit, Kageyama can’t stifle a groan.

There’s no asking for permission this time. Kageyama gets impatient too. He licks around Hinata’s rim, fucks the tip of his tongue against the furl, and when it opens up enough, he sucks at it. Clamps his lips firm on the flushed skin while he squeezes his fingerprints into Hinata’s shaking thighs.

Hinata’s jerking his cock off above Kageyama, leaking onto his face. He’ll pull Kageyama up sometimes with that unforgiving grip on his hair, forcing eye contact, glaring down with as much lust as anger. Then it’s almost like he gets tired of Kageyama’s eyes, can’t stand to look at them anymore, and he’ll shove Kageyama down, deeper into him, suffocating. Kageyama doesn’t stop working Hinata open, working him sloppy, even as his heartbeat stutters. Jerky with the possibility that Hinata could ever not stand the sight of him.

“Taste good, ‘yama?” Hinata gloats, humming all pleased and prideful when Kageyama nods. “Mm. Such a sucker for me.”

Kageyama fucking wishes. Hinata’s cock is dripping and Kageyama wants it in his mouth so bad his own cock is kicking for it. Needs to feel Hinata press on his tongue, weigh it down to the bottom of his mouth. Needs to suck it into the back of his throat and further.

He doesn’t realise he’s looking at it, straining against Hinata’s touch to stare, until Hinata smirks at him.

“Want it, don’t you?” He tilts it closer, pumping it slowly. That’s gotta feel like torture when he’s so hard Kageyama can feel the heat radiating off it. More torture for Kageyama, though, not getting to pump it himself.

He glares. “You know I do.”

Hinata fists his hair harder. Kageyama winces. Fine, deserved.

“Kiss my ass,” Hinata grins.

Kageyama does as he’s told because obeying feels like penance. He’s got so much to atone for and his cowardice won’t let him start anywhere but here, in between Hinata’s legs, sucking kisses onto his rim. Hinata lets him fit a finger inside after a while and Kageyama uses it to pet, not so much to fuck. Hinata isn’t wet enough inside, for all Kageyama’s efforts to change that. They’ve gotta get lube but Kageyama doesn’t want to move anywhere that doesn’t take him as close as possible to Hinata’s hole.

Convenient, then, that Hinata tugs some lube out for him. Probably had it stuffed in the pocket of his shorts. Kageyama doesn’t question it; they’ve pulled lube from weirder places. Horny as they are, as often as they are, you don’t get very far in their household without finding some.

So then it’s two fingers inside, slicked beyond reason because Kageyama wants to speed this up now. He’s really hard, it’s kind of giving him a headache. He wants to test the limits of how much Hinata will give him, wants to see just how indebted he can get. He already feels like he’s in way over his head with Hinata moaning like this above him, pulling on his cock with a hand almost as wet as Kageyama’s fingers, wet with precome.

Kageyama is only just nudging at Hinata’s prostate, coaxing out a couple reedier moans with every brush, when Hinata tugs him all the way up by his hair. His grip tightens, he’s frustrated. Kageyama winces again, into a grin this time.

“Are you impatient, Hinata?”

“Fuck you,” Hinata spits, turning around, bending himself over. So good, he’s so good, Kageyama wishes he could tell him.

“You first.” Kageyama grips Hinata’s hips, tilting him over some more, squishing his fingers into the perfect hinge of Hinata’s body. The muscles there tense and release. Anticipation has Hinata bouncing on his toes.

“Then hurry up,” Hinata pants, turning over his shoulder to glare. “You wanted your fuck so take it—oh.”

Kageyama doesn’t stop filling until Hinata is full. Pelvis to Hinata’s ass, all of his cock tucked so deep inside that it’s displacing lube. The groan that claws its way up Kageyama’s throat has so many words in it for how unintelligible it is. So much left unsaid. You feel so good. I’m sorry. Look so pretty getting fucked. I’m sorry. Love you. Love you so much.

Kageyama pretends that it’s pleasure tying his tongue. He pulls Hinata onto his cock with that same grip on Hinata’s hips, and when that’s not enough, he fucks his own hips forward. The impact hits like a punch every time, rattles Kageyama’s teeth in his skull. Hinata wouldn’t be able to hide his moans even if he wanted to; Kageyama fucks them out of him.

And oh, how he wishes he could go slower. He wants to be sweet on Hinata, love on him. Everytime Kageyama fucks root-deep, he wishes he could stay still, stay inside. Wishes he could roll his hips while he’s as deep as he can get, grind on Hinata’s prostate until his balls ache with how badly he wants to come. Wants to lay himself over Hinata’s back and slowly shove him up this fucking table without ever backing out even an inch.

He’s this close to it until Hinata turns back again, plastering the side of his face to the tabletop.

“I’m still mad at you,” he moans.

“Yes, baby,” Kageyama groans.

“So fucking mad.”

“Mmph, Hinata.”

“You’re such an asshole and you drive me insane and you seriously don’t know what’s good for you, do you—ah, fuck, that’s good, that’s so good.”

His eyebrows tip up in the middle, his mouth pouts, and still his eyes condemn. Kageyama’s breath catches at the top of his chest and he fucks into Hinata again because they might be fighting but Hinata is beautiful and he deserves that thrust, deserves to feel good. Kageyama’s putting in the work on him and in this moment, in these next few, suspended in boiling pleasure, that work feels like being absolved.

Kageyama’s mouth prickles, needing so badly to be on Hinata’s skin, to lay kisses that he’d hope Hinata would feel as deep as his dick. He tracks his hand over Hinata’s body, the base of his spine and up it, everywhere he wants to mouth at. He stops at Hinata’s neck, the flushed-red nape of it, and it’s not time for kisses, so Kageyama squeezes instead. He clamps his hand on the back of Hinata’s neck and holds him down. Hinata gasps. His eyes start trying to look at each other.

“Oh, my god, Kageyama.”

“Mad at me now?”

“You’re gonna make me come.” He’s whining.

“Mhm.”

“Close, I’m so close.”

“Yeah, you are. Fuck me back.”

Kageyama loosens his grip so Hinata can, and Hinata does. He pushes himself onto Kageyama’s cock, and Kageyama fucks him away, and Hinata pushes himself right back. Over, and over, and over. Kageyama’s blood boils the sweat on his skin. He can almost feel himself sizzling, and Hinata? Hinata, sweet, smiley Hinata. He’s biting his bottom lip off, clawing at the table, and fucking himself near to tears. Look what you’ve done to him, Kageyama’s conscience scolds. Look what I’ve done to him, Kageyama preens back.

Hinata comes first. He doesn’t announce it, which is a shame since Kageyama loves when he does, loves hearing an orgasm spill itself out in Hinata’s words. But he knows when it happens anyway. Hinata shakes until he stills, tremors forcing his body onto and then away from Kageyama’s still-fucking hips. His asshole pulses, drawing Kageyama’s cock in with each wave of his orgasm, sucking it deeper and deeper and oh—

For his part, Kageyama is loud when he comes. He can’t not make noise, not when he’s been holding on this long. Hinata is this warm, wet vice on him, and the pressure draws out this long, low moan that makes Kageyama’s throat hurt. His abdomen heaves on each peak of the orgasm, his diaphragm pushing up so that moan lasts even longer. His cock tries to kick as it spills but Hinata is so tight it barely moves. Just throbs in place, filling Hinata up even more, filling him up wet, filling him up sticky.

Pleasure holds Kageyama captive for a while. He doesn’t realise how hard he’s gripping Hinata’s neck until he lets go.

“Fuck,” he hisses, petting his fingertips on the bruises he’s left there. Still bright red, still forming. “I’m sorry.”

Hinata tilts his head against Kageyama’s stroking hand for two seconds, maybe. Long enough to make Kageyama’s chest ache, to make longing burn through him so strongly it almost brings him to his knees again. And it’s still too short.

He’s pulling away all too soon, wriggling off Kageyama’s cock and tearing a napkin off the roll to wipe himself down. The absence of afterglow douses Kageyama cold, shocks him to an awkward standstill, cock slick and softening against his thigh.

“Hinata,” he tries.

Hinata looks up at him. “Yes?”

“I…” Kageyama falters.

Hinata cocks his head to the side. “You wanna talk now, then? After you’ve gotten your dick wet?”

The jibe stabs in the wrong place, triggers defence rather than the guilt that it’s supposed to. “You wanted it, too.”

“Yeah Kageyama, I did,” Hinata sighs, wiping down the table, balling up his clothes. He starts heading out of the kitchen. “Hope that makes you feel better about it.”

Days go by. Night falls, morning rises, hours tumbling over themselves. Kageyama and Hinata don’t talk.

Or, they do, just not about the elephant in the room. They throw around cursory comments, meaningless, mindless, mundane shit that usually feels fulfilling outside of this stalemate. What time are you getting home? The package you were waiting for arrived. There’s food in the fridge. Fragments of what was, the only things that Kageyama is able to hold, now that the rest of his relationship is slipping through his fingers.

He’s horrified by how quickly he gets used to it. After another day or two, he isn’t so snappy at practice. He’s able to keep a level head while he plays, maybe even too level a head. His gameplay is ferocious, more exacting than it needs to be, compensating for too much. His teammates don’t say anything, probably because Kageyama looks like he’d snap if they tried. The thread he’s walking on is pulled too taut. So people let him play, and Kageyama does. This is what he’s always staying out so late for, right? This is what he started jeopardising his home for, right? Might as well stay good at it.

And for a second, here and there, it’s easy to believe that Hinata is assimilating too. The one-word responses over text, in the house, start to flesh out into slightly longer sentences. His expression isn’t as pinched, his tone isn’t as clipped. He doesn’t bundle himself to the very edge of their bed anymore; that only happened those first few nights. From the outside looking in, it’s not a far cry to assume that he’s being amicable.

But if you’re on the outside looking in, that means you don’t know Hinata.

You don’t know how many emojis he adds to the ends of his texts; just enough to convey his enthusiasm without pissing Kageyama off. You don’t know he hums to himself when he thinks he’s alone, and even after he knows he isn’t. You don’t know how he smiles when he’s talking or thinking or breathing, like he can’t help it, tickled pink just to be alive, pleased as punch about his own existence.

Missing out on all that, watching as Hinata takes away the parts of him that make him him, all because Kageyama forced his hand, is. Difficult. If he thinks about it too much he loses his balance on that thread. He’s fairly certain his heart might be breaking.

He doesn’t want to accept that. Throws himself into his work so he can’t. Tries to convince himself that this happens to couples, doesn’t it? It’s normal for passion to wane. It happened to Kageyama’s parents, to his sister. To Hinata’s parents too, he’s pretty sure. They won’t break up, there will never be enough love lost to necessitate that, but, y’know. They don’t have to be firing on all cylinders all the time, do they?

Kageyama only gets so far running on that logic. He needs help, and it’s been a while since he’s felt this particular kind of adrift. Treading water, barely keeping his chin above it, swamped by all that he’s doing wrong on his quest to find how to do things right. He can count on one hand, maybe two, the number of times he’s floundered like this. Most of those times, Hinata has helped. But when Hinata hasn’t, someone else always has.

Desperate. It’s because he’s desperate, Kageyama tells himself. But it doesn’t make closing the bathroom door, locking it, sitting on the closed bathroom seat, and opening his text messages any easier.

?Are you still in town

oikawa-san
what day is it, tobio-chan?

Friday

oikawa-san
and which day did i say i was leaving?
ill give you a sec to scroll up

Kageyama scowls. Insufferable fucking asshole.

.Sunday

oikawa-san
right! good job
yes im still here idiot
why

I need to talk to you

oikawa-san
that right?

It’s about Hinata. I need some help

oikawa-san
if youre looking for sympathy you wont get it
ive always said hinata deserves better

Fuck, Hinata got to him first. Kageyama won’t protest the insult, he’s said it to himself a million different ways this week. But he’s not going to let Oikawa believe for even a second that Kageyama isn’t trying. He’s crawled over nails to deny that impression and this may well be where those efforts matter most.

.I know. So help me be better
Please

oikawa-san
god youre gross when you grovel at me
fine

Thank you
?I can meet you at the park at 1pm tomorrow

oikawa-san
better make it noon
youve got work to do tobio

“I’d like to start this by saying you’re absolutely at fault here and you’ve deserved every single second of this.”

Kageyama purses his lips together and nods. Getting berated, however rightfully so, by Oikawa Tooru. Now this is penance.

Oikawa huffs and shrugs his coat off, lifting long legs over the bench opposite Kageyama. He sits with a sneer, eyebrow raised.

“Alright. Talk.”

Ugh. Kageyama hadn’t exactly thought that he’d be able to get through this without talking, but a guy can dream.

“I fucked up,” he begins.

When Kageyama doesn’t continue, Oikawa nods. “Go on.”

Worth a shot. Kageyama heaves a sigh.

“I know I’ve been short-tempered recently. I know that. I thought I was getting better at controlling it but I suppose I haven’t. I’m too used to having my own space, and when I do, the only person I can get annoyed at is myself. And I don’t get annoyed, because I always do things the way I like. I keep things tidy, and I buy things I need when I need them, and I don’t have to worry about anyone else.”

Oikawa snorts. “Okay, bachelor.”

Kageyama glares. “Asshole. I thought you were going to listen.”

“I am, I am.”

Only once Kageyama waits a couple more seconds, only once he tests Oikawa’s silence and proves it will actually last this time, does he carry on.

“Living with Hinata has been… hard. Not because it’s Hinata. Living with anyone is hard. I’ve shared dorms before, the same small things annoy me. I don’t know why they’ve been setting me off so much more recently.”

Oikawa lifts that same calculating brow again.

Kageyama frowns. “Fine. What?”

“Don’t you?”

“Don’t I what?”

“Don’t you know why things have been setting you off more?”

“...No?” Kageyama hedges.

“Try.”

This was such a bad idea. Kageyama’s head hurts. He puts it in his hands, hoping to massage the ache away with tense fingers. The joints in them crack with every clench.

Try. Okay. He will. He is. This is for Hinata.

“I—We—He means more to me. So it hurts more, when things aren’t working out. When things aren’t right.”

“Right for you.”

Kageyama glares between his crackly fingers. “Don’t. You know that’s not me anymore. You know I’ve gotten better.”

Oikawa folds his arms atop the bench, staring Kageyama down. “You have. With volleyball. I don’t know anything about what you’re like in a relationship.”

That realisation is… disconcerting. It hints at a potential truth that Kageyama acknowledges he has very much been avoiding. The regression he’s been so painfully aware of might not be regression at all. Maybe he just never changed. A problem fixed is actually a problem stowed, waiting until an application outside of volleyball to reveal itself again.

“You’re saying I’m still a tyrant.”

Oikawa must see what that assessment, the mere insinuation of it, is doing to Kageyama, because he frowns and shakes his head. Even looks appalled, like he’d never dare say so. “No, of course not. I’m saying you can’t change every single thing about yourself, nobody can.”

“So I am a tyrant.”

“Jesus, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa protests, tugging the skin on the bridge of his nose, pinching it taut. “So you like order. You like to put your shoes in the right place and to fold your clothes neatly, what-the-fuck-ever. You prefer it if your partner does the same thing. That doesn’t make you a tyrant.”

That’s a much easier assessment to swallow. Kageyama knows he’s not in the clear, not yet, but for the first time in days, he feels like he’s gaining some ground. Funny, how talking to someone will do that.

“Okay. So why did I yell at Hinata for doing things differently?”

Oikawa sniffs. “Nice try. That one’s for you to figure out.”

Fair enough. Kageyama plumbs his brain some more. He’s been avoiding the specifics of his fight with Hinata, keeping it at arm’s length even as it batters on his brain, demanding to be let in every second. It’s the most torture he’s experienced all week, reliving each word, replaying the hurt, fine-tooth-combing it.

This is your best? Ignoring me is your best?

“I felt like he was ignoring me,” Kageyama starts. He doesn’t want to let the words out. He has to unhinge his jaw, unlock his teeth, to free them.

“Pfft. Yeah, he mentioned that,” Oikawa says. He sounds derisive. “Don’t know where you’ve been your entire fucking life but Hinata-chan couldn’t ignore you if he tried. Not if you paid him.”

It sounds so simple, spoken into being like that. A fact of nature, written into universal law. Hinata Shouyou does not, could not, ignore Kageyama Tobio. If it’s something Oikawa knows to be true, then it’s something that doesn’t solely exist beneath Kageyama’s bedsheets, under their roof, between the walls of their bedroom, of their home. It’s a truth so much bigger, so much more expansive, that Kageyama feels kind of silly, knowing that he ever believed otherwise.

“Okay. He wasn’t ignoring me,” Kageyama says slowly. “But I didn’t know what else to call it. He would tell me that he’d remember to put his shoes away neatly, and then he wouldn’t. Or he’d offer to buy milk, and he wouldn’t.”

“You’re mad at him because he forgets things?”

You think I’m running around purposefully forgetting things? I’m trying my best!

Kageyama wraps his arms around himself. Holds himself together. “I’m mad because it feels like he loves me less when he does.”

And perhaps that’s indicative of a much deeper problem. Perhaps the problem isn’t that Kageyama gets annoyed easily, or that he felt like Hinata was ignoring him.

When Hinata forgets things, Kageyama feels unloved. It’s too commonplace an occurrence for it to cut Kageyama so profoundly.

This doesn’t happen to mature people. To people who know how to handle love, that big, weird thing. Mature people work through shit like this on their own so they don’t have to take out the shortcomings on the people they love.

Maybe, simply, Kageyama isn’t ready to live with someone he loves this much. That’s fine. He’s not so emotionally stunted that he can’t realise he’s allowed that, he’s allowed to not be ready. Sorta wishes he’d figured that out before they’d moved in together…

But then, he likes living with Hinata. He loves it. He loves waking up to him, and falling asleep to him. He loves the sunrise-nightfall of their rhythms, how they don’t match up perfectly, because when they do, it’s perfect. Perfect. He loves kissing Hinata’s sweet mouth in their kitchen and pulling Hinata onto his lap in their living room and rinsing down his hair in their bathroom and fucking him to sleep in their bedroom. Does he not deserve all of that, any of that, just because he’s not ready to have it?

“You’d better be having an epiphany over there because it doesn’t look like you’re listening to me.”

“Am I not supposed to be living with Hinata yet?”

Oikawa stops short, the bitchy irritation wiped clean from his face. Kageyama might have missed Oikawa’s contribution, but Oikawa is equally as deaf to the conversation Kageyama was having with himself, and it shows. His confusion, in any other circumstance, would be kinda funny.

“Huh?”

“Everything started going wrong when we started living together,” Kageyama explains. “Should we not?”

Oikawa chews on that for a while, almost literally; his mouth twists side to side, left cheek then right cheek bulging in turn. Kageyama watches the wind fluff his hair left to right too.

“I don’t think it’s a question of should we/shouldn’t we. Not for you,” he finally settles on. His brows are low over his eyes, thinking deeply. Kageyama has to appreciate him; he’s trying really hard. “I call you one but you’re not actually an idiot. If you didn’t think you were ready to live with Hinata, you wouldn’t be.”

Kageyama wants to call that into question. He’s been wrong about things before. Hell, this conversation alone is proving that. Hindsight is 20/20 or whatever.

“Besides, this is the very first fight you and Hinata are having in this context. You aren’t special for having growing pains, every couple does. Get over yourself.”

Like every iteration of Oikawa’s advice, it stings just enough to clear Kageyama’s head. Pain that he can use as a focal point, a vantage point. An epicenter to orient everything else around, to make everything make sense around.

“If you want to move out, you can, that’s none of my business. But if the only time you’re gonna get off your ass and do something about this is to move out, then I might have to rethink the idiot thing I just said. Don’t actually be stupid about this, Tobio-chan. Don’t make me regret rooting for you. You make it hard enough.”

Ew, fuck, is Kageyama going to cry?

“Ew, are you going to cry?”

“No.” God, this is dumb. He hates crying.

“Okay, I’m leaving,” Oikawa says, hurrying to pick up his coat and stand from the bench. “This is fucking weird. I’m moving my flight up a day. Jesus.”

“Thank you, Oikawa-san,” Kageyama says. His voice breaks.

“Oh, my god, whatever. Show all this emotion to Hinata, for fuck’s sake, he’s the one that needs it!”

Kageyama doesn’t wait another second. He’s wasted too many.

The apartment is quiet when he returns, but the air still moves. It hasn’t settled on the furniture yet, still swimming in the shafts of light from the windows, swirling in silvery motes, restless. Recently disturbed. Hinata only just left.

Good. That gives Kageyama some time.

He blitzes through each room, dusting and sweeping and wiping and cleaning. In the mire of their fight, he hadn’t realised how gone-to-shit they’d left everything. Stained plates that somehow missed the most recent wash are dotted all over the place. Kageyama can tell how long they’ve lingered just by looking at the colours smeared behind on the porcelain, can determine which dinners they once held. He’s quick to scoop them up, throwing them into the sink and scrubbing them down.

The stains don’t stop with the plates either. All manner of them have found their way to the couches, the carpets, the kotatsu. Kageyama doesn’t let himself grimace at them for long; he’s as much to blame for this neglect as Hinata is. He sets to work cleaning them, spraying the house full of freshener and furniture-cleaner until he has to open the window to stop the apartment smelling like a fucking orchard.

Another nightmare in and of itself, the bathroom takes a little longer, as does the bedroom. Clothes everywhere, towels long since in need of changing, soap circles dried onto the counter and the shelves. Kageyama throws everything he can into the washing machine, forgetting to separate lights and darks until after he’s already started a cycle. He’s trying.

He doesn’t rest. The clothes won’t take too long in the washing machine, so Kageyama starts to cook. He’s fucking hopeless in the kitchen but he’s got a few choice recipes on hand, survival 101 type shit. He figures the what doesn’t matter as much as the why. He finds things in the fridge, throws them into pans or pots or plates, stirring and stewing and absolutely not forgetting to take the clothes out of the washing machine, screw you. Then the dark clothes go in, the light ones hang to dry, and he’s slicing and dicing, he’s chopping and stamping and his hands are fucking cramping but he’s trying.

Kageyama finishes everything in one last push. The final clothes come out of the washing machine, and he hangs them up once the first batch are dried and folded, tucked into spare spaces in drawers or wardrobes. He plates the food in Hinata’s coral bowl: tamago kake gohan. Breakfast food at nearly 6pm. He’s trying.

Too nervous to wait, Kageyama plates his own food up, covers Hinata’s, and eats. He doesn’t have much faith in his ability to digest anything, stomach in as many knots as it is, but it gives him something to do with his hands. He has no idea when Hinata will be back, and that just gives him too much time to worry about if he even will be. Surely it’s not a far cry to assume that Hinata has had enough of him. He already walked out once this week. Entirely possible that today is a no-return sort of day.

6pm becomes 7pm becomes 8pm. Kageyama watches the sun dip down, turn the sky fire-coloured, then fire-coloured again. Blazing orange then burning blue. Coral to cobalt. When all Kageyama can see from the kitchen window is a sheet of ink-indigo, he clears his empty plate. Washes it in the sink, sets it to dry in the rack, then starts to leave the kitchen. On a whim, he turns to the bowl he’s left next to Hinata’s usual seat. It’s leaving a familiar grease stain on the napkin above it. Kageyama rips off another napkin, snatches a pen from the wire holder they keep on the table, and scribbles something scrawly and sad.

im sorry. can we talk?

He leaves it atop Hinata’s bowl and goes to take a shower.

Kageyama is in bed. He has a book in his hands. He doesn’t fucking read, he never reads. He’s not even reading now. Seeing words for sure but fuck if he knows what they’re saying, his brain’s not up to the task of deciphering them. Apparently, his brain only wants to imagine the worst possible reasons for why Hinata isn’t home yet.

It shuts off immediately, though, when Kageyama hears the front door open.

He throws the book to the side. Then he picks it back up. Puts it back down. Picks it up. Flips to a new page like that will make him actually start reading. He needs to get a grip.

Listening out for Hinata doesn’t soothe the nerves. Still, Kageyama hears Hinata slip out of his shoes and catches the little extra shuffle as Hinata pushes them together. Neat, parallel, tucked against the wall. Kageyama’s chest swells fit to bursting.

Hinata’s softer, socked footsteps step further into the apartment, heading to the kitchen. They stop briefly, probably because Hinata has seen the bowl Kageyama left for him. And now he’s probably looking around the kitchen, seeing how clean it is. Taking in deep breaths, nose wrinkling once it gets a whiff of apple-scented freshener that Kageyama still wasn’t able to get out through the windows (he left them open too long and he got cold).

Hinata will know what this means, what it all means. What it’s all the start of; a truce. Kageyama just hopes it’s enough to get Hinata to stay.

Still staring blankly at his book, Kageyama listens while Hinata sets the bowl in the microwave. Counts down with it until it beeps: 90 seconds. Hinata takes the bowl out. Kageyama smiles imagining Hinata gasping under his breath because they’re so similar that if Kageyama burns his fingers on overheated bowls, Hinata does too.

The scrape of Hinata’s chair in and out (Kageyama knows it’s his because one of the legs creaks louder than any other chair at the table) as he sits. Kageyama doesn’t hear much after that; Hinata’s eating doesn’t carry to the bedroom. Putting his book down for good, Kageyama crosses his legs, running his hands over his thighs. They’re overly warm by the time Hinata’s squeaky chair leg sounds again. The hairs on Kageyama’s legs, previously flattened down by his rubbing hands, spike right up when Kageyama hears it. For all his impatience, nerves are still nerves.

And the wait’s still not over, god. Hinata heads to the bathroom after he’s washed his bowl. Kageyama’s breathing mocks his attempts to stay calm, shuddering in and out of his chest while Hinata brushes his teeth, washes his face. He stays in the bathroom after he shuts the water off. Longer than he’d need to to dry his face, his hands. Nerves are still nerves.

But Hinata gets over them faster. Those softer footsteps are suddenly right outside the bedroom door, and Hinata’s knock follows soon after.

Jesus. When was the last time either of them had to knock?

“Come in.” Kageyama clears his throat.

Hinata opens the door. Kageyama’s chest does burst then, or it feels like it. Is this the first time he’s actually looked at Hinata since he fucked him over their kitchen table? He’s so pretty. How could Kageyama do this to him, to them?

Hinata shuffles foot to foot. His hands are in the pockets of his joggers, his shirt has a newly-acquired toothpaste stain on the loose collar. He sucks his lips in, then jerks his head in the direction of Kageyama’s book.

“Were you actually reading that?”

Kageyama blinks. “No.”

Hinata chuckles, wry. “Yeah, didn’t think so. You never read.”

Kageyama smiles, shy. “I didn’t know what else to do while you were gone.”

Hinata’s eyes go soft. Not a lot, not super visibly, but Kageyama makes a habit of looking into Hinata’s eyes so he’d know. Hinata shuts the bedroom door and makes his way over to the bed, almost bashful in his derision. “Need me around that badly, do you?”

“Yes, Hinata.” Kageyama can’t even front on that. “Really badly.”

Finally, Hinata sits on the bed. On the end of it. As far away from Kageyama as he can. Right. This is still a stalemate.

“Could have fooled me,” Hinata mumbles.

“I’m sorry,” Kageyama rushes. He says it harder than he’s ever said anything in his life, means it more than anything too. More than you can fly even higher, or as long as I’m here, you’re invincible. And he’d thought he’d been sincere then. Nothing like time to show you just how much you can mean something, just how much something means. “I’m really sorry.”

Even Hinata seems startled by the weight of Kageyama’s words, eyes widening. But he shifts further up the bed, closer to Kageyama. Good, Kageyama hasn’t scared him off yet.

“Okay,” Hinata starts. He’s still sceptical, but Kageyama can tell he wants to believe. “Okay, yeah. Sorry for what?”

Kageyama exhales heavily from his nose. “How long have you got?”

Hinata frowns. “Long.”

Didn’t appreciate the joke, then. That’s okay. Now’s not the time for it, and Kageyama isn’t the best at jokes anyway.

“There’s a lot,” Kageyama answers Hinata’s question properly, hands back on his thighs. Up and down, self-soothing. He wants to close their gap but he’s the one that put it there. He’ll leave it to Hinata to cross; Kageyama can only set up his white flag and hope Hinata will accept it. “I’ve been really awful to you. I love you very much and that’s made me put very unfair expectations on you. It’s no excuse, but that’s what I’ve done.”

This week marks the most words Kageyama has spoken in such a short space of time, in years. This is a level of articulation he’s wholly unaccustomed to. Its necessity is terrifying. Nothing good surrounds difference like this. This is the difference of desperation.

And damn if he isn’t desperate for Hinata down to his DNA. He has been all his life, ever since his grandfather promised him somebody even better will come and find you. Kageyama has spent his existence fighting to be somebody better, for that somebody better. He will spend the rest of it, from this moment to his last, doing the very same. Better articulation is as good a start as any.

“I know you would never ignore me. You’re always trying your best with everything you do, with me. I’ve been upset because you put me to shame. You make me feel like I haven’t been trying hard enough, and I didn’t like that, because I worried it was true. So I looked for anything I could that you were doing wrong. It made me feel better. If you weren’t measuring up then it didn’t matter that I wasn’t either.

“I measure my self-worth through you, I think, and it’s very easy for me to feel like I’m falling short because you’re always doing so well. I don’t know how I convinced myself that that was a bad thing. You’re not a bad thing. You’re a good thing. You’re the best thing.”

Kageyama stops. His fucking voice is breaking again, breaths shuddering again.

“It’s okay,” Hinata soothes. When Kageyama looks up, Hinata is even closer. His eyes are kind, his voice kinder. “You’re doing great, baby. Doing so well.”

“I want to do well,” Kageyama vows. “I will. It’s difficult with our schedules. I put so much pressure on us to make the moments that we are together perfect. And I don’t think I’m that good at being perfect outside of volleyball. But I can be better. I’m sorry. I love you. I’ll try harder now, I promise. Sorry.”

There are lips on Kageyama’s forehead. His brow bone, his cheekbones. The cartilage in his nose, his ears. Hinata kisses Kageyama’s mouth and it lasts about as long as their first ever kiss, which is to say, not that long. But there’s at least a decade behind this kiss now. A decade of distances, of words, of firsts, of lasts. Kageyama cannot believe it of himself, the fact that giving them all up had ever crossed his mind even for a second. Better. He must do and be better.

“Thank you,” Hinata whispers onto Kageyama’s mouth. “I love you.”

“Do you forgive me?” Kageyama dares to ask, hoping it doesn’t sound like he’s wanting too much, wanting more than he deserves.

“Of course, always,” Hinata sighs into a smile. “But like, don’t get complacent with that because oh, my god, I thought you were gonna make me hate you.”

Grimacing, Kageyama hisses from between his teeth.

“No, not really, I could never actually hate you. But maybe warn a guy before you ruin his life.”

Kageyama kisses Hinata’s lips. Now that the gap is closed, he’s hard-pressed not to touch.

“Tell me how it was for you,” he mumbles, kissing the corner of Hinata’s mouth. “Please. I want to know so I don’t do this again.”

Hinata falters. Kageyama gives him space, backing away just enough for breathing room, just enough to keep Hinata filling his vision. He never wants anything else in it ever again.

“It was real lonely, Kageyama,” Hinata admits. He keeps eye contact but it feels like he doesn’t want to, like it’s hard to. “Kind of felt like we weren’t even living together, not really. You were here but you weren’t here. I didn’t know what to do.”

Once again, Kageyama had been wrong before. This, here. This is penance.

“I already don’t like coming home to an empty house, but I deal with it because I know you’ll always come home to me. And then you would come home, and nothing changed. Having you here didn’t feel any different.”

“Fuck,” Kageyama breathes.

“Oh yeah, speaking of,” Hinata adds. “Maybe don’t fuck me if we’re fighting? Please? It felt so good I thought I was gonna die and I promise I wanted it but it hurt so much, to think you wanted that more than you wanted to fix things. Like all I’d ever be to you again was something to warm your dick in. Like I’d made you that mad.”

“Hinata, no,” Kageyama chokes. “Never, you’d never make me that mad. I could never be that mad at you.”

“I know,” Hinata smiles. “And I knew then too. Kinda hard to be sure of it when you weren’t talking to me though.”

“I’ll never not talk to you again.”

“Kageyama,” Hinata laughs, exasperated. He bridges the gap again, walking his lips across Kageyama’s cheek. “I’m not asking you to change. You wouldn’t be who I love if you did. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. You can get annoyed if I forget to buy you the milk you ask for. You can keep reminding me to set my shoes aside nicely because sometimes, I’m not gonna remember. That’s you, and I love you. All I ask is for a little slack, okay? I promise I’m working at this just as hard as you are, and I don’t make promises I can’t keep either. Yeah?”

God, how could Kageyama ever have accused Hinata otherwise? They’re built on promises. What do they have, if not those?

“Yeah,” Kageyama nods. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Hinata says softly. “C’mere.”

The clocks stop ticking for them. Night and day still, sun and moon still. Maybe a planet or two aligns. The thing is, for an infinitesimal infinity, time pauses, and Kageyama and Hinata are kissing in that paused time, and it still isn’t long enough. But it’s longer than they’ve had in days.

Kageyama cups Hinata’s face, Hinata cups his waist. They slip down the bed, half atop each other, half side-by-side. Their lips move slowly. Softly. A little wetly, from spit mostly, but Kageyama won’t lie his eyes got kinda glassy before they closed. He’s maybe kissing Hinata through a couple tears.

“I missed you,” he mumbles. Hinata’s bottom lip is in his mouth and his spit tastes good.

“I was right here,” Hinata sighs when Kageyama bites him. “You’re so silly, I was right here.”

They kiss so long their lips swell. It tingles to touch each other here, on their bruised mouths, bruising each other’s mouths. Kageyama sighs at every flick of Hinata’s tongue, feeling it beneath skin that might as well have been peeled back to expose his nerves. Hinata’s licking his nerves. Kageyama sucks Hinata’s right back, he wants Hinata in his bloodstream. He slips his hands off Hinata’s face and under Hinata’s arms, up his back, to hold him by the blades of his shoulders. To tug him closer by them. Kageyama fuses Hinata against him, kisses him, is sweet on him, loves on him.

Kageyama’s jaw hurts. Strained sore like he’s overworked it over days, not minutes. He tucks his head into Hinata’s neck and rests his lips there, touching Hinata’s pulse-thrummy skin. Hinata strokes his hair. When his nails make Kageyama shudder, Kageyama purses his mouth as much as his jaw will let him, a kiss to hide every noise his body wants him to make. Appreciation simmers inside him, love bubbles on top of it. It’s enough to instigate more, to take this somewhere that will get them burning brighter, but this is nice too. In fact, it’s perfect. The last time Kageyama fucked him, Hinata had felt like a hole. Kageyama won’t fuck him again until he’s certain that Hinata knows differently, believes differently.

“Love you,” he mutters. Hinata’s heart is beating into Kageyama’s mouth, throbbing in the vein that Kageyama lightly sinks his teeth into.

“Yeah? You love me, ‘yama?” Hinata coos, squeezing the back of Kageyama’s neck.

“Mhm, I love you,” Kageyama hums.

Hinata sighs. “Baby. I love you, too.”

The clocks tick on.