Archive of Our Own

Something changed at the end of first year. Tobio would never admit it, but for a moment he had been thinking about Hinata instead of the game on that fateful last day at nationals. They had worked so hard, the whole team had, and he found himself lulled into a false sense of security. He had thought nothing could stop them from climbing the ranks together. Hinata was the least likely candidate to let him run ahead. Still, sickness cannot be quelled by trust, determination, or hope. Hinata’s body was overworked, probably underfed from the nervous nausea that always set in before games, and it buckled beneath the unwavering pressure of a fever. 

When Hinata fell, it was not a single emotion that Tobio felt in response. At first it was just numbness. The kind of nonfeeling that comes with already expecting something to go wrong. He had known Hinata wasn’t at his best from the start of the game, so why hadn’t he said anything? Deep down maybe he had wanted to be wrong. Because Hinata’s hands did not smack the ground like skin. They sounded like the smooth material of the ball falling in the middle of an empty court. When Hinata fell, just for a second, it sounded like being alone again. He was not shocked, or sad, or worried. Rather he was a resigned mix of all and none of these things, twisted by his own youthful misunderstandings of his mind. It felt like anger.

Tobio made sure Hinata felt it too. Before they could take him away, he broke through, skin thrumming with an inexplicable need to push, to prod. Irrationally, he thought that if he did not burn through the haze of the crowd, the heat of illness, that Hinata would never fight again. Of course it wasn’t true, but maybe it was always more about his need to be chased than Hinata’s desire to run after him. 

“I win again.” He cut through the chaos, eyes cold as steel.

To an outsider it would seem cruel. He always had a different language. Somehow Hinata understood it. 

Get back up. He urged into the air between them. I won’t accept anything less than the very best. I couldn’t if I tried.

Hinata’s eyes, already red with frustrated tears, widened. His brows furrowed, nose pinched as if to snarl. Wide bitten lips, usually split by a smile, pressed so hard together they almost disappeared. They wobbled, barely contained despair boiling beneath Hinata’s expression. Tobio heard the message loud and clear.

Of course. 

He did not see Hinata for the rest of the night. Karasuno High School Volleyball Club lost, sent home just short of the top. It would be wrong to say Hinata was the only reason. Tobio is always the first to call out his shortcomings and shoddy technique. But Hinata cared so deeply, fought so loudly, that seeing him cut short had clipped everyone’s wings. They did not play their best. 

Tobio could barely sleep that night. He fumed, hands bunched tight in the thin fabric of his blanket. They lost, and the one person he wanted to be with was locked in a separate room, sick and alone. Mom and Dad would not be waiting at home to cheer him up, Miwa would not know he had even gotten to the tournament. When the team separated, Tobio would be left to pick up the mess. Hinata wouldn’t be there to ask for a toss, or race to the gym. 

When the morning came, Tobio felt wired from his restless night. It made him reckless, open. He fidgeted with his overnight bags, eyes shifty and sharp. He scanned the drawn out faces of his teammates with a sense of animalistic purpose. The street was quiet and cold, few cars were out in front of the hotel so early. It was glaringly obvious when the little van trundled up.

Tobio had never seen Hinata’s mom, let alone her car, but he instantly knew. It was an old van, probably barely made the trip on such short notice, with dirt stains embedded so deep in the tires they could only possibly be from the highest mountain roads. He watched it roll to a stop next to their bus, fixated. Through the tinted windows he could just barely see the frantic tapping of Mrs. Hinata’s fingers on the steering wheel. He couldn’t blame her, not with his pulse thundering at the same anxious pace. 

He lagged behind the others, Noya and Tanaka heading the charge for claiming seats. Their voices blended to mush in his ears as he stood on the edges of his feet, frozen in anticipation. First to follow the team through the front doors of the hotel was Yachi. She ducked around him to help Takeda settle the boys onto the bus. Then came Kiyoko, clipboard in hand, and Hinata’s bag under one arm. She walked right to where Mrs. Hinata had parked. Her hand tapped once, twice, gently on the glass of the window. 

It rolled down, slow and squeaky. Tobio couldn’t hear what they said, but he still lacked the strength to look away. The brightly patterned fabric of the bag slipped out of view, passed through the open window into small tanned hands. Then he heard it. The door of the hotel opened again, Coach Ukai’s voice cutting the air with its usual overly loud tone.

“-us you gotta take some medicine when you get home, the stuff we gave you is gonna wear off by the end of the drive.”

Tobio snapped to attention, watched as Ukai guided Hinata towards the sidewalk. He was hard to see, shrouded by the Coach’s protective arm around his shoulders, but his hair caught the light, wild curls visible around the puff of Coach’s coat. The sight of it brought up every ugly feeling from the court, the taste sour and pressing in the back of his mouth. Tobio had to know. Had to know what? He wasn’t sure, but he did. 

He stepped forward without thinking, mouth curled in anger and hands shaking. Somewhere behind Yachi called for him to get on the bus, but he paid her no mind. He stumbled forward, locked on the sight of Ukai leaning through the window to talk to Mrs. Hinata. Of a fiery head of hair bobbing as its owner moved to walk around the other side. As he got close, Kiyoko reached a hand nervously towards him, Ukai glanced  back with his brows furrowed in question. Hinata got farther and farther away, almost behind the van.

“Hey, why are y-”

“Hinata!” 

Tobio flinched at the volume of his own shout, surprised at himself. Hinata froze, looking back over his shoulder for the first time. Wide brown eyes, rimmed with purple and puffy from crying peeked from over top of the mask tied tight around Hinata’s nose and mouth. A furious string of swears grumbled from under Tobio’s breath at the sight. 

He plowed onwards, not really sure what his goal was, until he came to an abrupt stop right in front of the other boy. Hinata looked up at him, stubborn as ever beneath the exhaustion. His chest puffed up as though he expected a fight, thick ginger eyebrows a hard line above his eyes. 

“Kageyama?” He croaked, the defensiveness doing nothing to hide his boyish vulnerability. 

Tobio’s fingers twitched at the sound, jerking out to brush Hinata’s sleeve. His heart was beating faster than it should’ve, his mind a swirling mess of regrets and grief at going home so soon. They would never play on this team again, these were their final hours as a group, and Hinata wasn’t going to be there. Something crumpled in Tobio’s chest at the thought. The idea of his seat on the bus, solitary where two should sit, made him feel tiny, childish. 

“Don’t just glare at me.” Hinata whispered, his voice thick.

Tobio isn’t sure how, isn’t sure why, doesn’t know who started it, but all at once they were hugging. The desperate grasp lasted less than a second, Tobio’s hands clinging to Hinata’s shoulders as he shoved away, but it felt like much longer. Because, as familiar as Hinata’s touch had become, they never crossed the line into affectionate touch. He wasn’t dumb, he knew Hinata could be handsy, but he had put effort into maintaining a healthy competitive distance. The aggressive, yet careful way he tucked Hinata’s head beneath his chin was anything but distant, however brief it might have been. The line was crossed, and they could not pretend to be just teammates anymore. So something changed at the end of first year. 

Coming back to school in April feels less like a fresh start and more like a setback. Ennoshita was going to be a great captain, taking charge with the sudden influx of first years after Karasuno’s infamous return to glory, but Tobio still found himself searching for the old third years at the first practice despite this. Change wasn’t inherently bad, but Tobio had grown to associate it with losing people, so it was definitely frightening. 

Perhaps worst of all was seeing Hinata again. They did not meet up over the break, Hinata busy teaching Natsu how to play and Tobio too prideful to reach out. He felt a shift between them that he could not tell the nature of. Uncertainty mixed with time apart into an ugly nervous cramp in his temple. How were they supposed to talk now? Hinata had not even gotten to school at the same time as last term. Tobio walked through the front gate, checking left and right for a challenger that never showed. 

He shuffles at the edge of the huddle between him, Narita, and Noya, gaze fixed on the clock by the door to the gym. Hinata was never once this late before. 

“Ey, what do you think Kageyama?” Noya asks, clapping a hand jovially onto his shoulder. 

Tobio flushes, embarrassed at his rudeness. He looks from Noya’s expectant face to where Narita cringes over his head, floundering for an answer. All the while his mind stays stuck on Hinata’s absence. Hinata's time apart from him. Hinata's eyes wet with tears, his hands wrapped in Tobio’s shirt, his tiny body producing the heat of ten men from its fever. 

Stubby calloused fingers snap impatiently in front of Tobio’s face. He blinks, focusing in on the picture of his teammates peering at him quizzically. 

“Were you even listening?” Noya squawks, affronted.

“Uhhh…”

A loud clatter draws everyone’s eyes to the back of the gym, where Yachi wrings her hands as she watches some sort of commotion through the half-open doors of the storage room. The initial noise, and the concerning clangs that follow, even grab the attention of the hopeful newbies who had been flocked around Ennoshita and Tanaka in awe. 

From behind the door comes the end of a metal pole; one of the ones that makes up their net. Then, with jerky movements that imply a sideways shuffle, comes the curve of a tanned elbow, a square hand. Tobio doesn’t fully recognize him until shaggy auburn waves are poking out alongside a sheepish grin, but when he does his heart does a kick and a funny choked off sound escapes his lips. 

Hinata scoots out of the storage room, both poles and the tangled heep of the net piled comically in his arms. His skin is a little darker, probably from mucking about outdoors with the volleyball season over, and his hair has grown out just long enough to curl beneath his ears and the top of his eyes. Each little difference feels like a punch to the gut, a personal offense, though the sight of him still soothes Tobio. Which is funny, because it’s almost like he missed Hinata, and he can’t remember ever doing that before. That unsettling thought hangs heavy over Tobio’s shoulders- all the way from watching Hinata’s cheek dimple, as he giggles at something Yachi says as she takes the net from his questionable grasp, to when Tobio lays in bed that night, homework untouched in his new backpack. 

             Mini-change-induced-panic aside, Tobio adjusts to his second year of high school fairly quickly. Classes are as boring as ever, but he can always count on being placed in the same rooms as Hinata and Yachi helping when he gets too behind. Coach expects Date Tech to step up their game this season, so he’s been drilling them in aerial combat and receiving blocked spikes. One of the first years is good enough at receives that Noya has taken him under his wing. It’s different and uncomfortable in the way that growth always is, but it’s the team. 

              For the first couple weeks he actually starts to think that he’ll settle in seamlessly. The weird feelings about Hinata become closer to normal each day that goes by, and he finds he actually missed having underclassmen to whip into shape. Tobio should have known it wouldn’t last. 

              The first incident is subtle. So subtle in fact that he convinces himself he’s imagining things until it keeps happening. He makes his way to the side of the gym, chest heaving and nostrils flared. Ukai decided to try out new high intensity drills on a cycle to build up their endurance gradually. Ten minutes of sprints and flying receives for one group while the other gets a water break and some final stretches at the end of warmups. Then they swap. If nothing else it helps amp up the more shy members.

                He has a light sweat, pulse pleasantly raised and plenty of energy left over for the rest of practice. Not to say that running around at full power doesn’t wear Tobio out at all. He grabs his water bottle, flicks his bangs away from his brow to get some cool air on the covered spot. That was getting irritating, the way his hair could trap heat with the thinnest of layers. 

              It happens as he’s contemplating getting a haircut, hip jutted out to lean against the wall before he moves into some stretches. Warm fingers, burning like a brand, wrap softly around his wrist. The tips of them take over Tobio’s senses. He cannot feel the condensation on his water bottle, the light soreness in his legs, the flow of his blood. Everything zeros in on the featherlight touch over his pulse point. 

             He startles, looking to where Hinata peers up at him with an unreadable expression. His hair is frizzy from running around, a tangerine tumbleweed with its new length. Where his hand holds Tobio’s, it looks bigger than it had been the year before, less like a grade schooler’s and more like a young man’s. 

            Not breaking eye contact for a second, Hinata tugs at his wrist, pulling his hand down until the water bottle is directly in front of Hinata’s mouth. Lips twitching in a grateful smirk between shallow pants of breath, Hinata leans forward and bites the mouthpiece, pulls it open with his teeth, and takes a sip from the bottle. The bottle that is very much not his. That had very much just been in Tobio’s mouth a second ago. 

           “Thanks!” Hinata chirps, casually letting go of his hold on Tobio. “I forgot mine this morning!” 

           With that he jogs to a clear spot, dropping into a lunge as though nothing had happened at all. Tobio stays rigidly in one place, mind racing. They don’t touch like that; unprompted, gentle, friendly. Apparently Hinata took the hug from Nationals as an invitation, a new standard set. Tobio’s wrist tingles for the rest of the night. 

           After that first time, it seems to happen all the time. Hinata will find any excuse to crowd, to reach out, and Tobio will be so caught off guard he cannot even properly retaliate. Sometimes it’s silly, small, something that could be accidental. Like their hands brushing when Tobio borrows a pencil in class, or Hinata’s foot pressed ever so slightly against his when they sit on the bench. Other times though, it’s much more obvious. 

           They’re on a jog. At some point they started doing that, though Tobio isn’t sure when. He had gone to great lengths to avoid outside of school or volleyball hang outs all of first year, afraid of disrupting the careful balance of his loneliness, but Hinata Shoyo can only be held off for so long. They took to going on friendly runs during overnight training camps, and without Tobio’s permission they continued into life at home. 

           It begins peacefully, as they always do. Tobio wears his favorite blue windbreaker around his hips, some thin sweatpants and a t-shirt underneath. It’s practical in the warm weather, with an emergency layer in case it rains. Hinata shows up, hands waving ridiculously over his head as he turns the block onto Tobio’s street, with no more than some old gym shorts and a graphic tee for a franchise Tobio has never heard of. The cartoonish smile of the character across Hinata’s chest bounces with each step, folding as the fabric sags on his stout frame. He looks like an ill-proportioned bobble head. For some reason it suits him. 

          They fall into step, going at a light pace to prioritize distance over speed. This comes naturally to them, Tobio’s strict training and long legs a worthy match for the raw athleticism biking over the mountains affords Hinata. Before long though, the rhythm is inevitably disturbed. 

           Hinata makes an offhand comment, slipped between his usual word vomit, and Tobio can’t help but correct him. Not one to be one upped Hinata snaps back, already on the offense, and they go round and round like they always do. One minute they’re going at a leisurely pace through suburban streets while trading barbs about the correct amount of protein in one’s diet, the next they’re on the other side of town with elbows flying and ankles thrown out in half-assed attempts at tripping each other. 

           “Obviously Seijoh will struggle the most with it! They just lost the great king! ” Hinata whines, forcing his way in front to try running ahead. 

           Tobio doesn’t let him get far, latching onto the back of Hinata’s collar and yanking so hard he lets out a startled yelp. 

           “Oh please!” He snarls, “Shiratorizawa was way more reliant on their third years, you idiot!” 

           They continue to fight for the lead, the debate less for real conversation and more to give their mouths a way to release excess energy. Taking advantage of his better balance and heavier body, Tobio plants his feet, letting Hinata stumble sideways in a failed attempt to push past. He uses the falter to dash forward, sending them back into a proper race. 

           Hinata’s shoes slap the pavement behind him, shrill complaints about foul play and breathless laughter floating above them. Tobio pushes on, legs pumping as hard as he can make them, jaw set in stubborn pride. He runs blind, weaving around a woman walking her dog, and snickers when he hears Hinata yelling an apology from behind. They’re close by the sound of it, Hinata’s feet probably touching down in the spaces his own fill the moment they move. 

           Then the norm is disrupted. It should be the part where Hinata loses his patience and just tackles Tobio, or finds a burst of desperate speed and evens out the race. Instead Tobio hears the laughter and affronted screaming over his shoulder cut off. He worries that Hinata broke off onto a shortcut, glancing over his shoulder to check. 

             Hinata is right there, face inches from his own and tense with panic. In an instant there are arms clamped firmly around Tobio’s waist, his steps cut short as Hinata drops all of his weight backwards, yanking Tobio with him. They land in a heap on the sidewalk, Tobio’s arms propped up where Hinata’s legs frame his sides and shirt twisted in the other boy’s trembling grasp. 

            “What the he-“ he goes to scold, only to have the sound choked off when a delivery truck speeds past them, right on the corner Tobio was about to cross. 

             His teeth click together, eyes blown wide as he stares unseeing where he had surely just been about to be hit. What’s funny is, he can’t focus on it. Not with Hinata’s chest rapidly pushing in and out against his back, and hot puffs of air ghosting along the back of his neck. He freezes, feet numb and muscles going slack against his will. 

             “Kageyama!” Hinata squeezes him, hands shifting like he can’t believe that Tobio is real. 

             He shuffles to the side, coming around to look at Tobio’s face. 

             “Why didn’t you stop! Are you okay? You could have gotten squished!” 

            Tobio’s mouth stays dumbly closed, running dry. He can’t formulate a response, can barely think, because every part of him is itching to melt under Hinata’s touch in a way he is absolutely not okay with. The skin of his arms feels buzzy and energized, like the limbs had been asleep for years and he hadn’t noticed. His chest aches, a nasty blend of relief and disgust bubbling up his throat to choke him. 

             Hinata notices his strange mood, the skin between his eyebrows creasing in worry. His hands steady themselves, firm on Tobio’s biceps, and an uncharacteristic calm takes over Hinata’s face. The pondering kind that he gets during difficult games or after fights with his mom. 

             “Hey,” he starts, “what’s up with you?” 

            Tobio’s heart beats so hard the pattern is probably visible in the arteries in his neck. He swallows, prying the overwhelming feeling away from his brain and clearing his throat sternly. 

           “Nothing, dumbass,” he grunts, pushing onto his knees to stand. “I almost got run over by a fucking truck.” 

            Hinata huffs, coming to stand next to him. Tobio makes sure to keep a few feet between them, scared of what he might do if Hinata touches him again. 

           “I’m going to ignore that language since you almost died. You owe me lunch for saving your life though, Kageyama, you should be groveling right now.” 

           “Yeah right.” Tobio snips, turning away to stretch his arms. 

           Tobio is careful to avoid touching Hinata after that day. He keeps distance between them, setting his bag on the seat when they bus to practice matches and getting to class early to scoot his desk a few inches farther apart. It’s obvious that Hinata picks up on his tense mood, but he doesn’t get the chance to ask about it. 

            “Hey, Kageyama.” Hinata calls in faux nonchalance one night during their after-practice practice. “I wanted to ask about something.”

           Tobio goes stiff, jerking so hard he nearly drops the ball he had just picked up. 

            “Quit chit chatting,” he cuts him off, “or I won’t toss to you.” 

            It goes on for a whole week, until the entire team starts to notice. Tobio can’t stop though, not yet. Not when that creeping, weak feeling from before only grows the longer he fights it. It’s like every time he sees Hinata his whole nervous system sings in excitement. As though his body is addicted to the other boy’s attention, a lizard lounging on a sun heated rock. 

            Ennoshita doesn’t bug them about it, though he gives Tobio side eyes in the club room every day. He just quietly moves them apart for warm ups and continues encouraging the rest of the team. Tanaka however seems to take the tension as a personal offense. Tobio catches him glaring every time he speeds away from Hinata, shoulders squared as if to say, ‘ watch it little man.’ 

More scared than anyone else though, are the first years. They weren’t around the year before to see how far he and Hinata had come. They gawk at every stilted interaction, clumped together to whisper behind their hands. Tobio didn’t realize how impossible it would seem to outsiders that they could be anything other than inseparable. He finds it hard to care about their bafflement though. The offense in Hinata’s eyes is much more pressing.

             Tobio isn’t sure how long he can handle the kicked puppy looks from Hinata and silent judgement from their friends. All he does know is that he is far too affected by Hinata, and it could ruin their whole friendship if he doesn’t stamp it out soon. 

              He lays in bed that weekend, eyes wide open despite the late hour. A foreign heaviness sits in his chest, like his blanket is made of lead. A week of correcting the boundaries between himself and Hinata, and he feels miserable. To make matters worse, the overwhelming burn that he has been trying to quell has not gone away at all. Now that he knows what it feels like to be held by Hinata in a non-aggressive context, the phantom memories are enough to send him spiraling. It makes no sense at all. 

            Rolling to his side, Tobio wraps his arms around himself, squeezing hard. It helps, lessens the weight on his heart, but does not get rid of the feeling. Like he’s antsy, waiting for something, colder than he should be and shivering in the dark. He rubs his fingers in soothing circles, and it pulls a gasp from his throat.

           With a start Tobio realizes that he’s crying. Not the thick ugly tears that come with true loss, but thin hot tears. The kind that slip out when your feelings can’t find enough of an outlet. They’re like fingertips, blazing and feverish and rough, trailing down his cheeks in a caress. He can’t remember the last time someone held his face. Now that he thinks of it, other than the other day on his jog with Hinata, he can’t remember being held at all. 

            Clearly avoiding Hinata didn’t get rid of the problem. Not even close. Tobio closes his eyes, burrows into his pillow. The illusion of being held is the only thing that has helped. Maybe he should try a different tactic. Worn out and curious, Tobio falls into a deep cold sleep.  

He agrees when Hinata asks him to come over to study. The text is obnoxious. Full of emojis and exclamation marks; the exact sort of thing he would usually ignore. Today however, it represents an opportunity to test the patterns of his new Hinata-related affliction. So he sends back a simple, ‘k,’ and packs up his backpack. He has never been to the Hinata household before, but the instructions Hinata sends are fairly simple and he isn’t turned off by the long walk. The distance will give him time to brace himself, to put on a brave face and fix their friendship. 

The sky is dull, but warm. Sitting high in the middle of the mountains, the sun bleaches the colors of everything around to something powdery and pastel. His shirt drags on his shoulders with every step, the cottony fabric quickly rendered damp in the humid spring air. Good thing he left his jacket at home. 

As he walks he watches things that make up his world become fewer and far between. The two story concrete family homes that line his neighborhood in lines of cookie cutter perfection are gradually split. Yards stretch wider, flower boxes and tailored green grass replaced with the gnarled yellow fields and chicken wire fences of the more rural village houses. Canals line the streets, giant water bugs skittering along the banks. It feels wide open and free as he follows the haphazard lines of telephone wires up the slope of the mountain. 

He used to run around places like this all the time. Tobio got a kick of climbing hills with Kazuyo, chasing a volleyball down a steep slope after the old man “accidentally” dropped it down. It’s fitting that Hinata would live somewhere like this. Somewhere lined with trees and thrumming with life. He kicks a rock along as he trudges higher and higher through the hills. The clumpy thing jumps a pebble, clanging against the rusty guardrail on the side of the road before tumbling into the underbrush. 

Hinata’s house sits on a short street with only a handful of little houses on it. The shingles of the roof glow in the sun, highlighting the honey hues of the wooden walls. Stubby bushes and lush trees surround it, leaving the screens and fenced in yard obscured from view. As he crunches up the gravel drive, he spots Hinata’s bike propped up on the little front deck. Mrs. Hinata’s van is nowhere to be seen. 

It hits Tobio all at once where he is, what he’s doing. He frowns, as if glaring at the house would make it any less frightening. Why had Hinata invited him over like this? Usually he asked to go out to town with a group or to meet at the gym, not all the way out at his house what with the distance. A slithering chill creeps up Tobio’s spine. This was probably a trap. Some sort of overdramatic confrontation about his recent discomfort that only Hinata could conceive. 

It’s as he continues giving the front door the stink eye that the door bursts open. At first, with the speed it happens at, he thinks Hinata has decided to physically attack him instead of verbally and squares up at the sight of a ginger blur. Then he realises that Hinata is nowhere near that short, and lets his shoulders drop in confusion. 

A tiny girl, identical to Hinata in every way other than size and her frilly little dress, stands at the edge of the porch pointing an accusatory finger right at Tobio. Her stubby legs are spread wide in what she must think is a very intimidating manner, but really just makes her look like she’s riding an invisible horse… poorly. 

“See!” She shouts in a squeaky little voice. “There's a creeper!”

From inside the house an unmistakable voice calls back. 

“Natsu come back inside! There are no creepers out there!” 

Tobio’s brain goes static for a second. There’s no doubt that it was Hinata, but he had never sounded so calm before. Like the idiot was mature and stable and knew what to do. It’s so at odds with the Hinata from school that Tobio actually laughs out loud. Not out of humor, but out of shock. 

“Just look!” Natsu demands.

Footsteps carry closer from inside the house, muffled by fuzzy socks. Then Hinata is leaning through the doorway, hair rumpled and unbrushed with a bowl in one hand and a towel in the other. He’s wearing some sort of pajamas, soft hoodie and loose shorts.

“I said there a-” 

He stops mid-lecture when he sees Tobio, eyebrows flying up beneath his bangs. Tobio cringes at the seemingly unaware reaction. Was he mistaken? Did Hinata not mean to invite him? 

“ See! ” Natsu repeats, even more childish than before if that’s possible. 

It shakes Hinata from whatever perplexed stupor he had been in. He turns a stern look on the little girl, gesturing with the towel. 

“He’s not a creeper!” 

Stepping out on the porch he grabs her arm, dragging her back towards the house. She doesn’t struggle, but keeps her head turned awkwardly backwards to keep throwing suspicious squints Tobio’s way. 

“That’s Kageyama. I said he could come over, so be nice.” 

It takes those words, coupled with the way Hinata glances back apologetically before slipping back inside to spur Tobio into action. He walks with fast clipped steps to catch up, hoisting the strap of his school bag further on and blowing out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

When he gets inside, Hinata is crouched at the end of the hall whispering something to his sister. Tobio quickly looks away to give them privacy, scanning the entryway. It’s a small room, only space for a doormat and shoe rack in the lowered area. He slips off his tennis shoes, placing them neatly on an empty spot. They look out of place next to the colorful stack of shoes next to them. Old volleyball shoes, sneakers, sandals, tiny glittery flats, and little rainboots. They fall over each other haphazardly. There are no house slippers to be seen, so Tobio is left shuffling nervously in his dusty, sweaty, compression socks. 

“Go get your bag.” Hinata says louder than before.

Tobio glances over to see him standing up, pointing off around a corner Tobio can’t see for Natsu. With a melodramatic groan, she stomps the indicated direction, head hung back and mouth open. The sound of her angry little voice grows quieter as she gets farther away into the house. Hinata pokes his tongue into the side of his mouth, obviously fighting off an exasperated laugh, and taps the bowl against his forehead in a gentle mimicry of slamming it against a wall.

Clearing his throat, Tobio hovers, waiting to be welcomed in. It makes Hinata jump, turning back to him with tired eyes. 

“Sorry!” He chuckles, nodding his head for Tobio to follow as he walks into another room. “She thinks she’s really tough cause she just grew another adult tooth.”

“I don’t care.” Tobio grumbles.

They move into a modest living space. Most of it is taken up by a den. A cushy couch and matching loveseat sit facing a box tv on a large entertainment center. The shelves on either side are lined with DVDS, video games, books, and manga in a variety of genres. In the far corner a large archway leads into a vintage kitchen so small it might as well all be one room. Hinata beelines for it, reaching up to place the bowl inside one of the cabinets and tuck the towel over the handle of the oven. 

On the back wall a screen door must lead to the backyard, letting some sunlight in through the semi-transparent material. It makes everything look impossibly warmer. 

            On every free surface, wall or shelf, there are dozens of framed photos. School pictures and family portraits, childhood drawings and birthdays. Tobio finds himself drawn to one of the bookshelves of the entertainment center, where a lone photograph sits in its cheap wooden frame. It’s taken outside of a gym, boys in green jerseys bunched together to all fit. They’re scrawny, many of them wincing, but they smile anyway with their arms slung around each other’s shoulders. Crammed between two other boys, Hinata shines proudly in the middle. He looks downright elated, oversized ears tinged pink and face round both from baby fat and smiling so wide. 

“That’s like… two hours before you kicked our butts.” Hinata says, coming to stand by Tobio’s shoulder. “We only got real jerseys that morning so Mom insisted on a picture before we left. Said it was important since she was gonna miss the game.” 

Tobio snorts, a fuzzy sort of affection bubbling up at the thought of Hinata forcing such a ragtag team together. He really was stupid sometimes. 

“I have no clue how they let you in.” He murmurs. 

Hinata bumps him with his elbow in warning, but they both know he doesn’t mean to be rude. They shouldn’t have let Hinata’s team in. The resources they needed at the time just weren’t available, it wasn’t fair. It turned out okay giving him that chip on his shoulder though. 

The air gets warmer, and Tobio goes stiff when he realizes Hinata is leaning closer. 

“You’re horrible at texting.” He whispers in a teasing tone. 

Tobio sends him a withering look, arms crossed. Hinata’s eyes are sparkling with mischief, but they lack their usual levity. He glances back and forth between Tobio’s eyes as though uncertain. 

“I wasn’t even sure you were coming over.” Hinata continues when Tobio just scoffs at the critical comment. 

Now that he’s so close, his skin looks pale. Being back in an indoor sport had quickly stripped his tan back down to its usual ghostly hue, as is typical with gingers, but now it doesn’t even have any pink blotches. Just the smooth slate of near white skin. Combined with the flyaway strands of his hair and the bags under his eyes, Hinata looks like a zombie. 

“Not my fault you can’t read.” Tobio mumbles back, voice soft enough to betray his concern. 

“Shut up.” Hinata huffs. 

Just then, little feet go thunking down the hall. Natsu runs into the room, slipping on the hardwood as she abruptly stops. In her clutch is a familiar yellow drawstring bag. So they really do share possessions. 

“Thank you Natsu, let me see.” Hinata says, making his way over to her. 

She puffs out her cheeks angrily, and Tobio has to bite back a strangled noise when he recognizes the face from his many arguments with her brother. Thrusting the bag into Hinata’s chest, Natsu cocks her hip in annoyance.

“I know how to pack…” she whines.

“Uh-huh.” Hinata hums, sarcastic as he begins to dig through the bag.

“I do!” Natsu insists. “I grabbed my toothbrush, and undies, and Kiki, and a house key, and-”

“You need the number paper, remember?” Hinata interrupts her rant.

Natsu stares at him blankly, head slowly tilting to the side. 

“What?”

“So you can call me or mom if you get lost.” Hinata clarifies.

At that Nastu shoots to attention with a loud gasp, turning tail to sprint back down the hall. Hinata sets the bag on the couch, calling after her.

“Good job! When you’ve got it you can play in the yard until Grandma gets here!” 

He turns back to Tobio, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. 

“Wanna sit in my room? I’ve got this board I use as a table in bed.” 

Tobio shrugs, mostly just wanting to get away from all the smiley family photos surrounding him. Between them, Hinata’s ruffled appearance, and the very personal sibling antics, he feels like an intruder. 

“Sure.” 

If he thought the main house was alien, then Hinata’s room is a totally different reality. He’s never been in another boy’s room before, and somehow Hinata’s is both everything and nothing he had expected. There are posters all over the walls like in movies, and a dirty pair of pants that Hinata shoves into the closet with his foot when he thinks Tobio isn’t looking. But, there is something so distinctly Hinata about the space that he can’t quite pass it off as a teenage cliche. 

Volleyballs in various degrees of disrepair lay around, on the ground and under furniture. Alongside them are a patched together collection of weights. None of them are from the same set, presumably bought over a long period of time as Hinata got stronger. Floating shelves hold an impressive collection of manga. He had thought there were a lot downstairs, but this is beyond anything he could imagine. Action, comedy, drama and horror; Hinata’s only consistent taste seems to be flashy cover art. It’s flooring just how many volumes there are, especially considering the sports magazine collection Tobio hadn’t even seen yet. He didn’t realize Hinata liked to read anything at all. 

The boy himself sits by his bed, shoulder deep underneath it. His tongue pokes out in concentration, free hand braced on the low bed frame. After a few moments of searching, he pulls out a decent sized wooden board with a victorious smile. Tobio watches as he lays it down the middle of his mattress, turning to drag his backpack up into his lap as he sits criss-cross next to the makeshift desk. 

“Ta-dah!” He gestures with both hands. “Pretty neat, huh?” 

Tobio drops his bag at the foot of the bed, crawling across to sit down.

“Yeah. Whatever.” 

They sit in relative quiet, only talking occasionally to bemoan their lack of understanding. It’s nice, doing this without Tsukishima breathing down their necks or Yachi freaking out that she isn’t helping enough. Not that Tobio isn’t grateful for help from time to time, he just doesn’t appreciate being told what to do. He’d much rather figure out things on his own now that he’s gotten better at school enough to do so. 

Literary classes like Japanese and English are some of his worst subjects, though his vocabulary has gotten much broader than the year before. Math is okay. He can keep a steady passing score on his own as long as they’re doing things like geometry or graphing instead of algebra. Science and history he scrapes by barely. They aren’t as difficult as language, but aren’t as easy to get through on memorization alone. He has to ‘ask questions,’ and ‘analyze’ things. Luckily Hinata is better with them and sucks enough at math that he thinks Tobio is good at it. They trade answers whenever they get too stuck. 

Tobio relaxes ever so slowly, lulled by the warm bedding beneath him and peaceful atmosphere. Things haven’t felt this natural with Hinata since last school year, and he had felt the absence like a missing limb. People had always been hard to read, hard to handle. He doesn’t need a lot of interaction to feel okay, and he doesn’t mind not having many friends. Still, the bond that their shared passion of volleyball had given them was unlike anything he’d experienced before. Hinata likes talking to him, and actually prefers when he’s blunt. Even his other new friends from Karasuno can get off put when he forgets to watch his tongue from time to time. Hinata just tells him to shut up when he pisses him off. It’s really nice.

Maybe that’s why he’s been so freaked out by Hinata being touchy. It’s just like the third years leaving and new first years joining the team. Things are changing fast, high school is short. It’s an inescapable truth of growing up, and after how middle school ended, it's threatening to feel his connections with people shifting. 

Tobio glances to where Hinata sits beside him. He’s chewing on the end of his pencil- not as gross as it should be -and staring blankly down at a question on his worksheet. They both do that a lot. Rereading the instructions over and over because the words turn to mush somewhere between their eyes and brains. 

Hinata doesn’t seem to care that they hugged at Nationals. He didn’t start treating Tobio all that differently, and certainly not worse. Hell, he’d invited him over for the first time today! Maybe it didn’t have to be a big deal. Maybe Tobio wasn’t being reasonable. Maybe the burning feeling is just what people feel like. It’s like Noya’s new favorite underclassman. Underpracticed, new and uncertain, but a step in a natural direction. 

Tobio glances down to where Hinata’s bare knee hovers just next to his own. There are patches of shiny skin from old healed scabs, faint purple outlines from bruises. Thin light hairs dot his leg like peach fuzz, bright white when they catch the light. His pajama shorts, loose and soft, droop around his mid-thigh and pool on the sheets next to him. He looks warm. 

Taking a sharp breath to steady himself, Tobio lets the muscles of his legs unclench, dropping his knee slowly towards Hinata’s. Careful, almost ghost-like, he lets himself rest on that tiny point of contact, eyes resolutely glued to his textbook to avoid seeing Hinata’s reaction. 

It’s like flowers blooming on his skin when he finally fully relaxes into it. Subtle heat radiates from Hinata’s body, which Tobio is starting to associate with a furnace. Goosebumps race up his leg, leaving the hairs on it standing up like anxious antennae. His breath stays trapped in his chest, heart pounding in time with his doubtful thoughts. Then the blankets rustle, and Hinata presses back firmer, scooting closer ever so slightly. 

He lets out a shaky sigh, going back to actually working instead of pretending to work. With his attention divided not much sinks in, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not with the weird weight on his chest chased away and a sugar rush in his veins. It’s dangerous how much pressure just brushing knees with Hinata lifts from his shoulders, but he’ll let it be to get rid of the constant loneliness. 

They don’t talk about it, content to share a silent moment. When they move to the kitchen though, Hinata heating up some leftovers as lunch while discussing the best use of his yard for spike practice, he finds opportunities to touch Tobio again. Against every alarm bell trilling in his head, he doesn’t pull back anymore. It’ll be a problem for future Tobio. He’ll never know if the change is good if he doesn’t let it happen.

They lay in the grass of Hinata’s backyard, catching their breath after hours of practice. If he stays too much longer, Tobio will end up walking home in the dark. The time always seems to get away from them when they practice. Like an ice cube on a driveway in the summer. 

He doesn’t want to pry, not with finally getting comfortable with Hinata’s affectionate tendencies- if you can call what he is comfortable -but something has been off all day. It’s like Hinata kept looking for excuses to keep him around. The second Tobio finished working Hinata scrambled to offer food. Then when they finished he practically shoved Tobio into the yard, even though he’d already agreed to stick around longer and made no move to resist. He decides to test it.

“It’s getting late.” He says, sitting up to watch Hinata’s response.

The other boy rolls onto his knees. His face flashes with fear for just a second, before settling into a cheerful mask. 

“You’re right! I’ll start prepping dinner!”

With that, Hinata dashes to the back door, leaving a confused and annoyed Tobio in the grass. The tone he used wasn’t abnormal, and clearly was meant to sound lighthearted. Tobio isn’t so sure though. It was too quick of a response, and running away implies Hinata was avoiding any discussion. Something is off. 

Tobio wanders inside to find Hinata practically ripping the kitchen apart in his hurry. A scarily old looking rice cooker hums on the counter as Hinata lines up some spices, curry sauce, and meat on the counter next to the stove. His bird-like shoulders move in sharp jerks, visible even through the thick fabric of his hoodie. Three cabinets sit open, a burner already on despite the pan Hinata grabs for the curry not being ready yet. 

It isn’t out of character for Hinata to be freaked out. He can be a big catastrophizer when he wants to be, and even drives himself to puking sometimes. What Tobio doesn’t understand is what could have caused it. Hinata had been tired, even worse for wear when he arrived, but all things considered in a fantastic mood. They had a good day together, school doesn’t start for one more day, and all of their homework is done. There isn’t any good reason to be upset. Unless Hinata hadn’t invited him over to get past their rough patch or complete school work at all. 

“Why did you invite me over?” Tobio asks, perched in the entry to the room. 

Hinata pauses, nearly dropping a salt shaker. He seems twitchy, cornered. Grin plastered far too wide, Hinata turns to face him, hands fumbling with each other. 

“I had to do homework and I didn’t want to do it alone, duh.”

Tobio’s face screws up, offended that Hinata would lie to his face like that. Especially after he took such efforts to trust him just a few hours ago. His hands twitch, begging to grab at Hinata’s hair or shoulders and shake some sense into the moron. Tobio pinches the seams of his shorts to keep them from darting out.

“That’s bullshit.” 

Hinata’s eyes narrow stubbornly and he turns back to the stove, mixing in ingredients a bit rougher than before. 

“You like curry, right?” he chirps in a sickeningly sweet voice.

Fury builds in Tobio’s body, pushing to stretch out his bones like a geyser on the edge of eruption. He stalks forward, stopping just short of where Hinata attempts to ignore him.

“You’re being annoying.” Tobio pushes. 

Hinata goes tense, hand frozen where it had been stirring the simmering food. He breathes deep slow breaths, knuckles white on the handle of the spoon. Slow like a tiger stalking its prey, Hinata turns the knob on the stove to ‘low’ and pivots to meet Tobio’s eye. His face is cold, eyes big and manic. A thin smile sits on his mouth. He looks like a judge, or a shark maybe, or an executioner. Who knows? Tobio definitely doesn’t.

“Why did you come over?” Hinata asks, and Tobio realises the defensiveness is just that- defensiveness. 

Hinata is worried. Perhaps even scared. Tobio has to be careful with this. He can’t afford to screw up when he just got Hinata back.

“You invited me.” He says dumbly, flinching slightly at his own stupidity. 

Hinata studies him, gaze searching. 

“That wasn’t good enough before.” Hinata mutters, bitter but not accusing. 

Tobio rocks from foot to foot, a tight swelling sensation spreading along his body. It’s like he’s allergic to vulnerability. 

“I wasn’t ready before.” He grits out, looking anywhere but at Hinata’s face.

They sit in silence for a few seconds. It makes Tobio want to run away screaming, or maybe go apeshit and bite the wall or something. Apparently it’s enough though, because before too long Hinata speaks up.

“I’ve never been home alone.” Hinata whispers. 

Tobio blinks, looking back at Hinata for any signs of trickery.

“What?”

Hinata is flushed an embarrassed red, a hand pawing at the back of his neck. 

“That’s why I invited you over. Mom had to go out of town for a client, and Natsu is staying with our grandparents for a couple days for her doctor’s appointment since they live closer to town. I didn’t want to be alone.” 

Tobio doesn’t know what to say, and cannot form a response. It’s such a silly thing to be upset by, but Hinata clearly cares a lot. His parents are almost never home and Miwa moved out years ago. If anything it bothers Tobio when he has to share the house for too many days in a row. People are loud, intense, and stark after being alone for so long. 

Hinata peers up at him, clearly waiting for some sort of reaction. Tobio hates it. He hates comforting people, and he sucks at it. Still, he can’t just pretend Hinata didn’t say anything. Shuffling closer tentatively, he reaches one shaky hand out to pinch Hinata’s sleeve in what he hopes is a supportive gesture. The feeling, small as it is, grounds him, and he gathers his thoughts anew. 

“Okay.” he says lamely. 

Hinata snorts, making him go bright red in humiliation. 

“What?” he demands, grabbing Hinata’s sleeve more firmly.

It only serves to amuse the idiot further. He bursts out laughing, clutching at his stomach and stumbling into the counter. Tobio fumbles, half-hearted demands that Hinata stop it babbling out mindlessly. His own huffs of amusement undercut them though. Hinata just keeps giggling, folding over himself until his head bumps onto Tobio’s shoulder.

Going still, Tobio watches in amazement as Hinata grins into the sleeve of his t-shirt, flashes a quick look from so close. Tobio’s skin purrs, blooming patterns of cosy warmth racing up and down it. He doesn’t shove Hinata off. If he ends up staying for dinner and walking home shivering in the dark, well that’s nobody’s business but his own. 

There’s an unspoken agreement not to talk about what’s happening, and Tobio doesn’t mind one bit. When Hinata texts him at weird times, or asks to hang out too often, or acts all clingy when the others aren’t looking, Tobio just lets him and doesn’t ask again. It means he doesn’t have to admit how badly he needs Hinata sometimes. He doesn’t have to think about the way he craves Hinata’s touch, practically goes through withdrawals on the weekends they don’t meet up. Which have become fewer as of late. Hinata lets Tobio keep his secret and Tobio pretends not to notice Hinata’s home life getting worse. Most importantly, they hide the tenderness between them from the team as much as possible. It’s a symbiotic relationship. 

They have a practice match against Seijoh in preparation for the later tournament qualifiers at the start of second semester. It goes poorly, though the scores are close enough not to wound their prides too severely. It isn’t easy to get into a good rhythm with new teammates, and these hiccups are to be expected as they try things out. That doesn’t mean it isn’t frustrating though, particularly for the more competitive players. 

On the drive home, Hinata holds his hand. Tobio doesn’t know who reached out first, but he doesn’t care. It’s like a lifeline, sweat mixing between their palms and blood coursing through their fingers as one. When Hinata brushes a thumb over Tobio’s knuckles, he almost faints. It makes him feel like a Victorian lady fanning herself over a duel. He makes damn sure Hinata can’t see his reaction by leaning into the window. Things never affect Hinata like they do him, and he’s starting to worry something is wrong with him. 

He tries googling it to mixed results. Some articles describe frightening disorders and diseases that he isn’t even sure are real. Others say he has sensitive skin, or nerve damage, or sensory issues. None of the symptoms quite match up, or explain why someone touching him would be the only trigger and only solution. Staring at his search history on the family laptop, Tobio wracks his brain for what he’s doing wrong. 

Skin burns when touched

Can’t breathe when touched

Skin burn lonely

Allergic to friend

Addicted to friend

Why does skin feel different than everything else?

Rubbing his temples, Tobio sighs. Maybe there wasn’t a cause, and he’s just the first person to have a really specific genetic malfunction. He shuts the computer, standing to get ready for bed. 

Every step echoes in the empty house, regardless of wearing slippers. Outside of the bathroom where he brushes his teeth and washes his face, only the microwave makes any light. Tobio spits out his toothpaste, rinsing with the thoroughness of a perfectionist and the impatience of a slob. He walks like a zombie up the stairs to his room, feet and arms chilled by the time he’s tucked under the covers. Tobio pulls his pillow to his chest in a hug, wrapping the blanket tight enough to hold his limbs in place. 

They go on in this fragile limbo for almost the rest of the first term. When they get a combo right Hinata slaps his back, hand lingering longer than on anyone else. During arguments Tobio’s hand cards through Hinata’s hair in a way he cannot strictly claim as harsh. In class they cross ankles, when they walk their knuckles brush. Their shoulders lean against each other, their legs tap. If the others notice they don’t say anything. The one constant is they never hug, never hold each other. 

Once Tobio gets close. Hinata brings cupcakes for after practice on his birthday, and the whole team sits around in the clubroom to eat them. Tobio doesn’t take one, the sugar would give him insomnia, but he sticks around anyway. 

Hinata is at his most bothersome all night. He preens under the attention, lording being seventeen over Tobio’s head as if it’s some sort of award. At one point he even tries to add it to the tally, though Tobio shuts that down immediately. 

It’s afterwards, when they get to the part of the walk where they part ways, that Tobio almost gives in. His body is drawn to Hinata like a magnet, shivery and clammy and cold. And Hinata is so bright that night, laughing and poking his arm and leaning too close. It hits Tobio then that asking for a hug would be selfish. It was Hinata’s birthday, and he clearly didn’t need it like Tobio did. So he just watched Hinata bike away for a minute longer than normal, before turning to head home. 

The problem starts when Hinata gets curious. Here’s the thing about Hinata Shoyo. If you asked Tobio to create a good friend, and a tolerable teammate, he would probably come up with Hinata. Now if you asked him to create the human embodiment of ravenous unending greed? That would also probably be Hinata. 

Hinata does not stay still in one place for long. He always has to be tapping his foot, working on five different things, talking someone’s ear off, getting better at volleyball. He’s the same way about people. Really, Tobio was deluding himself to think Hinata would never try to talk about it. Would never ask any questions. 

As final exams for the semester rapidly approach, and the first Tokyo training camp of the year looms at the end of his calendar, Tobio finds himself on the end of an experiment. He doesn’t realize right away. Hinata is smart enough to not test Tobio’s temper. Inevitably though, the dumbass gets too obvious. 

First he starts changing the frequency of their touches, all too aware of Tobio’s resistance of initiation. One week he’ll barely touch Tobio at all, until he’s left him wired and irritable with denial. Then in a single day he’ll seldom let go of Tobio’s arm. 

It makes it nearly impossible to hide his reactions, and Tobio finds himself more often than not sweating under Hinata’s scrutiny as his entire body vibrates with over or under stimulation. He hopes most of it goes unnoticed under his poker face, but some of it definitely slips by. Because Hinata begins to switch tactics based on Tobio’s patterns. 

The next attack is intensity based. Hinata pushes the boundaries, gently testing what Tobio will allow. Afraid to expose his sensitivity, and in a bit of denial about how much he likes it, Tobio doesn’t resist. 

They finish packing up the ball cart after an especially long stay past practice time. Tobio’s arms feel deliciously worn out, heavy at his sides. He can’t wait to collapse into his bed and pass the fuck out. 

Hinata waits for him by the doors to the gym, both their water bottles in hand. He grins when Tobio gets close, reaching up to press the cold exterior of one bottle to his sweat-slicked brow. Tobio grunts appreciatively and takes it from Hinata’s grasp. He’s careful to avoid brushing fingers, the desperate build up of want just beneath the surface of his skin. Hinata had been distant for the past couple days, eyes sharp and observant to every move Tobio makes. 

They climb the stairs to the club room to change, key jangling as Hinata spins it on one finger. The perks of being upperclassmen. Or rather the perks of Tanaka trusting them too much and going behind Ennoshita’s back about the owners of the spare key. 

“Suga was going to try to visit for the first day of qualifiers.” Hinata starts, holding the door to let Tobio through first. 

Tobio hums, interest peaked at the mention of his favorite upperclassman. Don’t tell Daichi. He makes his way to his locker, dropping his water bottle into the open pocket of his gym duffle. Hinata moves around behind him, clicking his locker open and tossing his practice clothes carelessly around the room with a soft, ‘thwump.’  

“Yeah! He said he’ll have to make sure it doesn’t conflict with his university classes too much, but that the drive isn’t too long and the tickets are affordable.” 

“Did he get a car?” Tobio muses, shucking off his shorts and pulling his pants on with his usual roughness. 

“Nah, his roommate drives.” 

“Oh. Cool.” 

They fall into amicable silence, going about getting ready. Tobio plops down on the folding chair in the corner, half dressed and zoned out from being tired. He probably looks a mess in his wrinkled slacks, trying to pull on shoes shirtless while sweaty and smelling like a locker room. 

Tobio doesn’t hear when Hinata shuts his locker, or walks up behind his chair. Not with his attention fully taken trying to rip open the triple knots in his uniform shoe laces. He doesn’t realize what Hinata is up to until it’s too late. 

Slow, hesitant enough to let him pull away if he would want to, a hand settles at the base of Tobio’s neck, where the bump at the top of his spine pokes out. He doesn’t have time to brace for it, or put up any protective walls. When hot fingertips, covered in calluses from spiking balls over the net and biking around town, trail a line down between his shoulder blades, his entire body shakes with a violent tremor. 

The hand pauses, assessing. Tobio can’t look. He can’t face the disgust on Hinata’s face when he realizes how pathetic he is. Biting the inside of his cheek, Tobio does his best to swallow the hurricane of emotions threatening to boil over as he waits for Hinata to pull away, or to mock him. 

To his utter bafflement, neither happens. Instead, Hinata’s fingers press down anew, five points spreading out like a star until his palm is flush with Tobio’s spine. He barely stops himself from falling back against Hinata’s touch. Swirling mixtures of nausea, relief, panic, and comfort thrash in Tobio’s belly like hot irons. He folds forward, heart racing, and braces himself against his own open locker, face against the metal. 

Hinata takes this as permission. He rubs his hand in slow circles, never straying too far from the upper middle of Tobio’s back. The touch is exploratory, fingers folding and prodding into every groove and bump of Tobio’s spine and shoulders. It draws deep quivering breaths from Tobio’s chest as he shakes in the chair. 

Bringing his hand up, Hinata cups the back of his neck. He curls his thumb into the short hairs there, index finger tapping over Tobio’s pulse. Humiliatingly, and thankfully out of Hinata’s sight, it makes tears prick in the corners of his eyes. He swallows hard, hands clenched so tight his nails dig into his palms as he fights the urge to go limp under Hinata’s hand. 

“Hinata.” He croaks, an admission, a plea. 

The hand on his neck stops moving, but doesn’t pull away. 

“Your skin is really soft.” Hinata whispers. 

Tobio feels his cheeks light on fire. The blush spreads up to his ears, then down his neck and chest, until it is no doubt obvious to both of them. 

“I get really lonely when my mom leaves.” Hinata says, so soft Tobio wonders if he imagined it. “It makes me think about when Dad left.” 

Something twists in Tobio’s gut. It isn’t quite empathy, but it’s similar. Guilt, concern, understanding. He knows all at once that in the same way Tobio is so used to being alone that company burns, Hinata is so used to another presence that solitude eats him alive. 

“What’s your reason?” Hinata continues. “Why do you let me do this?” 

This is what Tobio had been afraid of. Truth be told he isn’t fully sure. The want he feels to be held is physical, carnal, not logical. It’s like he’s sick, has been sick for years, and never even noticed. 

“I don’t know.” He mutters, voice guarded and petulant like it always seems to be. 

Hinata hums, squeezing ever so slightly. Slowly, just as slowly as he’d started, he pulls his hand away. The spot where it had been is plunged into frigid air, painfully empty. Tobio nearly sobs, sick with the control it takes not to beg Hinata to hold on longer. 

He listens as Hinata zips up his bag, shuts the door behind himself. The key sits on the floor next to him, sparkling brass. Tobio doesn’t move for a very long time. His bed is cool as death by the time he crawls into it. 

Whatever illness is plaguing him, Tobio decides he cannot be reliant on Hinata for relief any longer. After the night in the club room Hinata is far bolder than before, clearly aware of his sway over Tobio. Whenever they argue a little too much, or Tobio shows up in too much of a mood, or Hinata wants more tosses than usual, he makes a point to slide his hand along Tobio’s shoulders. Under the edge of his collar to trace his clavicle for a mere moment, or along the sleeves of his t-shirt to tease at his shoulder blades. 

It’s clearly meant to be sweet, employed as a comforting tactic more often than not. In reality it is torture. Every graze of heat, every morsel of affection makes the metal in Tobio’s chest roar even louder. Some nights he finds himself tossing and turning, haunted by the fleeting moments when they’re alone. It isn’t enough for him. It isn’t what he wants. 

The thing he really wants he has known for some time, but it takes shape in a new way. Tobio wants to be held. Fully and all encompassing. He wants to be able to bury his face in Hinata’s chest, to touch him back, without tears and without shame. He wants to make up for all the lost time without love from his family, without friends to supplement it. 

The force of it is terrible, threatening to destroy Hinata entirely in an overly attached supernova. He wants to be close to Hinata, but first he has to get better. This has to be done right. Hinata deserves a friend that does things right. 

He starts by reciprocating. It’s small things, inconsequential in the long run, but he can see the difference it makes. When they study for final exams he scoots as close as he dares. Before long they spend most homework nights pressed side to side, the hot seal of their bodies like a balm. 

He tries to be more present. When Hinata is spacing out, he does his best to check in. Sometimes they talk like normal. Other times Hinata tells him about his family. It feels good to know him. 

The next thing Tobio does is work on himself. He does everything he can think of; googling with newfound determination, trying to be casually affectionate with more people on the team, taking warm showers when the cold of the house sneaks up on him. It feels good to know himself. 

One night, when his mom is home, he feels it. The aching, yawning, burning loneliness that coiled against every inch of his body for as long as he can remember. He’s sitting at the dinner table with her, eating warm food and listening to her talk after weeks apart, and he feels the exact same as if there was no one else around. 

He volunteers to help with the dishes when they’re done eating. It’s part of his routine when no one else is home, and he finds it calming. Standing side by side with his mother, he rinses while she washes. 

The smooth porcelain of plates and bowls passes beneath water so hot it steams. His hands prune just slightly, tingly and awake from the repetitive motions and stream of the facet. Every so often he glances at his mom. At the bridge of her nose so similar to his, the angry pout they share as well. 

She’s a nice person, he thinks. Not the best mom, and not close to him at all, but nice. She always makes sure his favorite foods are stocked when he’s left on his own, and she never judges him for being antisocial. They don’t necessarily love each other, but maybe that’s okay now. More okay than when he was a kid. He has other people now, and at least she is nice. 

When Kazuyo died he stopped hugging her. Or maybe she stopped hugging him. It’s hard to know these things. What he does know is that it made him feel gross. It was a burn, sort of like the one from Hinata, but not the same. He always felt dirty and flighty when they hugged back then. Like if he didn’t let go right away he might throw up. He stopped trying to be close to anyone for a long time because of that. 

Tobio watches the water flow over top of the plate in his hands. How the liquid is so clear that it doesn’t look like anything, but rather warps everything around it. The soap is pushed aside, bubbles swirling and sinking into the drain, and his hands are made to look puffy through the foggy sheen. 

He looks where his mom’s hands curl in and around a cup. One holds a sponge, bright green between the rosey shield of her fingers. They’re covered in thick suds that make details like knuckles hard to fully see. Her skin is just slightly wrinkled, pale and blushy. Tobio wonders if his skin will look like that eventually. Lose its youthful tan and dewy plumpness, and turn into something more like linen sheets. 

When she finishes scrubbing down the cup, he darts his hand out without thinking. Before she can set it in his side of the sink, he covers her hand with his own, the glass heavy and solid underneath them. 

She pauses to send him a quizzical glance. He is too scared to make eye contact, hold gentle and thumb rubbing just slightly up and down along the back of her hand. With one last trembling squeeze, he pulls the cup away from her and goes back to the task at hand. 

She smiles, near invisible on her stoic face. Just slightly, she juts her arm out, and taps his elbow with her own. When he goes to sleep that night he still feels anxious that no one is there, that nothing is grounding him, but it doesn’t keep him up. 

Exams come with the self importance of a cherished holiday, leaving the team scrambling to catch up on schoolwork neglected in favor of practice. The third years gather together their old study group, always rushing home after practice in Saeko’s delivery van with music blaring. Yachi, Yamaguchi, and Tsukishima are fine of course. Tsuki actually makes quite a bit of cash checking people’s homework before they turn it in. The new first years are apparently more academically inclined, seemingly unbothered by the tense atmosphere, though one or two of them sneak off to beg Yachi for tips a few times. 

As always, Hinata is the only one on the same page as Tobio about it. They studied hard, and crammed harder, but at the end of the day they have absolutely no control over their own stupidity. They walk through the school gates with the somber steps of a funeral procession. 

For the most part they’re in all the same classes, but this year their fourth periods are in different rooms. This is not because one of them has gotten into more advanced classes, but rather the sheer number of kids that hate English class. It isn’t even their language! Sure, learning multiple languages was rewarding, and many of them found it fulfilling deep down, but that doesn’t make an extra literary based exam any less annoying. 

During the break between third and fourth, he and Hinata step behind the building to have a moment of reprieve. Tobio sips at his water bottle, then unslings his bag from his shoulder, dropping it unceremoniously on the ground. His whole body is tensed up, the stress of taking so many tests weighing on him. He groans, leaning forcefully against the wall. 

“Exactly.” Hinata drawls, hair sticking up in every direction from him nervously pulling at it. 

He kicks the dirt before flopping against the wall next to Tobio. 

“You think you’ve failed any?” Hinata asks, bumping into him with his shoulder.

An excited spark kicks up in Tobio’s gut. It’s not as panicked as the usual feeling, though it is no less demanding. He slides along the wall until his shoulder is propped up by Hinata’s, uncaring to how heavy he must be to support. 

“Don’t ask me that,” he grumbles, chin ducked down towards his chest. 

Hinata laughs, turning in towards him. It makes his face almost slip against Tobio’s throat, hot air puffing beneath his collar. Fluffy orange hair tickles Tobio’s jaw, unbelievably soft despite the split ends. Hinata really shouldn’t have grown his hair out, he’s got no idea how to take care of it. 

They stay like that until the bell to get to class rings. Not quite cuddling, but sharing air all the same. Tobio leaves feeling more recharged than he cares to admit. He doesn’t let the tremor in his hands scare him, or the flip in his stomach. It would take time and patience, but he’s determined to build up a tolerance. 

Exams pass, and so do they. Their ticket to the Tokyo training camp secured, the boys head into summer break happy and victorious. The thought of spending the first four days of break alone leaves a pit in Tobio’s stomach that he isn’t used to, but he brushes it off. He’s done this a million times before, why should it be any different this time?

He has his meals in his room. The table is too long for one person. It just looks sad. He keeps a towel folded under his bedside table to protect his sheets while eating. It should probably be swapped for a clean one soon. There’s an old stain that he’s scared to investigate in the corner. 

To kill time during the day he busies himself with training. In the morning he runs, taking a shorter loop and going faster than normal. Then he has breakfast, showers, and dresses himself in proper clothes. 

By the time he finishes all of this it is nearly noon. To cool off from running he does yoga, following old instructional tapes passed down from an aunt. He follows this up with a light lunch, and watches a game recording. Then he does weight training in the living room. 

For the afternoon he alternates between reading volleyball monthly, running drills in the yard or his room, and watching tapes as his body dictates. Wouldn’t want to overwork and strain something. 

It’s a schedule that leaves lots of room to think. He reminisces on his childhood, how he got to where he is. In some ways Tobio has always been solidly himself, but in many others he has grown beyond recognition.

If someone had recommended a few years ago to practice placing his hand on his friends’ shoulders, he probably would have sneered and ran away. Now it’s a self-imposed skill. The other day he was able to give Yachi a friendly hair ruffle without making her cry or accidentally tugging! Baby steps until the marathon. 

What’s funny about trying to fix his own social issues, is all the stuff he never knew about himself because of people just not being around. For example, he really likes sharing food. It takes the pressure off of him when he picks around the unhealthy or icky foods to get to the good stuff. The most obvious thing however is his love of physical contact.

Clearly it’s an important point of underdevelopment, if the past few months are anything to go by, but hindsight is twenty twenty. Tobio is starting to see that he has always been exceptionally tactile. He constantly initiates rough housing, and falls back on physical cues to tell people what he’s thinking since so few understand his words. Knowing this about himself makes him feel more in control. Like maybe he can harness his traits to become a high level interact-or as well as setter. 

He works hard to stay in a good mindset during the four days before seeing the team again. It helps, but does not eliminate his problems. By the fourth and final day he finds himself thinking sluggishly, mind straying on negative memories and possible awful futures. The flooring feels like sandpaper on his feet, and he is rendered unable to do anything without his house slippers, lest he curl up on the couch and sleep the day away. Of course, his chest feels heavy again. 

His skin is numb, jelly-like. He daydreams about warmth, smooth skin, the motions of lungs within another set of ribs. By the time he’s tucked into bed, alarm set for the early bus ride to Tokyo, his heart is weary and his hands cling to the sheets. 

They meet outside the gym, yawning and rubbing their eyes in the pre-dawn light. It’s grey and chilly, and the bus rumbles up like a cranky old beast. The first years especially are flagging, this being their first training camp after all. Yamaguchi nervously eyes them, hands in front of himself to catch any that fall. 

Tobio glances to his left. Hinata is as bright and bushy tailed as ever. His eyes glitter with excitement as he bounces ever so slightly on the balls of his feet. It makes a very tired, very cranky part of Tobio rear its ugly head. He seriously considers smacking Hinata. Show him what an early morning is supposed to feel like. He doesn’t though, content in the knowledge that the second his adrenaline rush wears off, Hinata will be the first one out. 

They file onto the bus one by one, the canvas sides of bags and pillows making hissing noises against the door. As always, Tobio shuffles into a seat near the back, and Hinata follows. Behind them sit Noya and Tanaka. It’s just like last year, and the familiarity is refreshing. 

This time though, Tobio is conscious of Hinata’s presence to a crazed degree. After getting used to a certain level of attention, four days without feels like a lot. He practically goes cross eyed tracking Hinata’s every move in his peripheral. When would he reach out? Would he reach out? Should Tobio reach out? He doesn’t really feel up to it right now, though his fingers rattle in their joints in restraint. 

He spends the first chunk of the drive on a loop of those and other questions along those lines. After fifteen minutes of hushed blathering, Hinata is out like a baby. So then Tobio sits for a good couple hours just creepily watching his friend drool while fantasizing about holding his hand. Very normal, not out of control thoughts. 

Thankfully, some higher power takes mercy on him, and Tobio spends most of the journey passed out against the seat in front of them. If he had had to wake up only to find himself asleep on Hinata’s shoulder, he probably would have flung himself from the window while the bus was still moving. 

Nekoma is waiting to greet them when they arrive. Lev is a beacon of over exuberance, immediately sweeping forward to throw a kicking Hinata over his shoulder. Tobio watches on in mild horror, slightly curious what would happen if their thick skulls collided. 

Yamamoto greets Ennoshita with a toothy grin, making sure to punch Tanaka on the shoulder on his way. The captains shake hands, one more eager than the other, and it unofficially kicks off the camp. Tobio spots Ennoshita shaking out his wrist while they walk to their temporary room. If it weren’t for Kozume, the Nekoma line up this year would be even more boisterous than them. 

They only went to the third semester training camps last year, not as friendly with other schools as they are now. Last year Shinzen hosted, but this time they’ll be guests at the prestigious Fukurodani. 

The campus is huge; easily the size of Shiratorizawa or more. Though, in the less rural prefecture there aren’t as many horses. As they make their way through the front entrance, where the Fukurodani coach waits to greet both teams, Tobio has to stop himself from gawking at the numerous trophies lined in glass cases around the offices. 

They’re led to a building of dorms near the gymnasium. There are a handful of extra rooms anyway, but with the break well underway there are plenty of empty spaces for visitors. Takeda is given a set of keys, and a list of where they’ll all be going. 

He stops them in one of the hallways, cramped between rows and rows of identical doors. The only distinctive qualities are silver numbers at the middle top, and marks from where stickers had been scraped off of a few of them. Tobio finds himself getting claustrophobic, shoulder to shoulder with Tsuki and Hinata at the back as they wait to be handed their room assignments. 

“Kageyama,” Takeda calls, scanning the miniature crowd with kind eyes. “You and Hinata will be in room twenty seven, just around the corner that way.” 

He points, the stack of papers in his hand crumpling and flapping, then turns his attention to the next students. Tobio doesn’t listen any longer, distracted by the sudden wave of energy from his side. Dread pools in his gut as he sneaks a peek at Hinata. 

The other boy is practically vibrating. He shoots Tobio a shit eating grin, hands wiggling where they hold onto his overnight pack. If people could give off light, Hinata would be one of those scary interrogation lamps right then. 

Tobio’s shoulders creep upwards. He pushes back to head the direction Takeda had indicated, a still hyper Hinata hot on his heels. 

“What’s got you so excited?” Tobio mutters, distracting himself by looking for the right door. 

“Oh, I don’t know…” Hinata says in a sing-song tone as he bobs around the hallway. “Maybe it’s just the season, roomie.” 

Tobio squints, sparing Hinata a concerned glance as they approach their room. It’s one of the ones with stickers scratched off it, the pale wood covered in clumps of white fibers. He’s looking at Tobio expectantly, head tilted in cue and hands splayed. Tobio has no clue what he wants, shrugging. 

“Oh come on!” Hinata slumps. “This is cool! Admit it! Freak duo sleepover!” 

As he talks his hands gesticulate wildly. It makes Tobio dizzy just watching. So he pushes open the door, hoping the break in eye contact will provide some relief. 

“We’ve gone to overnight camps together before.” He points out, scanning their cramped quarters. “This isn’t special.” 

The dorm is pitiful, but he should have expected as much from the sheer amount of units. There’s a dresser on one side next to a bare desk. On the other side is a precarious looking bunk bed. About three feet of floor separate them, and most of the light filters in from a window at the back no wider than Tobio’s face. He sighs, throwing his bag onto the thin grey mattress of the bottom bunk to claim it. 

“Yeah but those were in big rooms for the whole team, like camping. This is our first sleepover! We’re like… officially best friends now!” 

Hinata chatters mindlessly as he clambers up the ladder to check out his spot. Tobio blinks incredulously at the swing of his bag against his back, throat dried up. Best friends? 

“So we have to do all the cool stuff!” Hinata continues on clueless to Tobio’s plight. 

As he speaks, he hops down from the ladder, speeding past a gobsmacked Tobio to begin shoving his things in the dresser. 

“We have to swap snacks, and make bets, and play video games, and tell secrets!” 

Hinata pauses, looking up at the door from where he crouched with a scrunched up nose. If he had dog ears they would be cocked. 

“Well maybe only a little…” he muses, “we have to sleep really well or we won’t play the best.” 

At that he rocks back onto his feet, the crumpled form of his now empty bag abandoned on the floor. He spins to look at Tobio, hands planted on his hips and mouth open wide to keep rambling. When he spots him however, he stops short, brows furrowing. 

“What’s wrong?” 

It’s only then that Tobio realizes how he must look. His shoulders and neck feel tight, hunched around his ears. A funny wobble tickles at his lips, eyebrows locked down and eyes wide. His hands shake a little bit, as he shuffles from foot to foot. 

Hinata’s hand twitches. It raises between them as though to reach out, but hovers halfway to let Tobio decide. He doesn’t flinch away, but he holds back. It’s too much. 

“Nothing!” He blurts, whirling around to start unpacking. “Let’s just get changed and head down to the gym.” 

Hinata lets him get away with it. He’s been gentle like that lately. Or maybe he always was. Maybe they’re just like that. 

The first day is marginally less terrible than last year’s. Instead of losing every single set, they lose all but four. Two wins on Shinzen and one on Nekoma and Fukurodani respectively. Their receives are a bit weaker than last year after losing Daichi, and it leaves them especially vulnerable to Ubugawa’s serves. 

The punishment for losing teams this time is burpees. He isn’t particularly better at them than the other upperclassmen, but Hinata’s jumps are as insane as ever. It has mixed effects. Some of the first years are discouraged by the display, panting and glaring from the floor. Others look like it lights a fire beneath them, jumping harder and higher to keep up. 

One of them even starts turning bright red. His name is Kota and he’s obsessed with being the “ace” one day. So the cycle of overeager freshmen continues. Tobio swaps a judgmental smirk with Tsukishima over his head, snickering lowly.

The kid better count his prayers if he wants to be another Hinata. That was like wanting to be the world champion sign spinner. Or a mildly talented spotlight. Not a spotlight operator mind you, just the big metal thing that blinds people. 

It’s only at the end of the night that trouble begins to brew. They stay late practicing. The whole team does on trips like this. Though it’s not for as long as the others, even Tsukishima stays to practice with Yamaguchi. So by the time that Tobio is trudging back to the dorms for the night, a towel slung around his shoulders, it is already dark enough for owls to be cooing in the distance. 

He walks through the open courtyard of the school, mouth split wide in a yawn as he steps beneath the entry to the towering dorm building. The hallways are quiet. He beelines for the showers, where he had already deposited his toiletries earlier, with only the sound of his shoes squeaking to accompany him. 

It’s sort of haunting to be there at night. The windows at the end of the halls let pale blue moonlight filter in, and the matching doors seem to roll on for infinity in front of him. 

When he gets to the showers he keeps it quick. After staying up so late he shouldn’t dawdle. They’ve got just as much work to do tomorrow, and the players of Karasuno know better than most the costs of improper rest. So Tobio’s skin only slightly softens, puffy and pink from the harsh pivot from hot water to crisp air. His hair hangs like damp weeds on his upper face, curled in stringy veins down his temples and nose bridge. It really needs to be cut. 

He feels dazed stumbling into the room, the shirt and shorts he packed to sleep in already tangled on his body. Scratching absentmindedly at his stomach, Tobio plops onto his mattress to sit backwards. A drowsy headache threatens to form at the front of his skull. He shifts his legs subconsciously across the sheets, as if he could rub a good texture into them. 

Something obnoxiously bright pops into his sight line, forcing him to squint to refocus his bleary eyes. The outline of crooked teeth is the first thing that comes into full definition. Hinata hangs upside down over the edge of the upper bunk. His hair is nicer than earlier, less frizzy. Sometime while he got ready for bed he must have washed it. Now that he thinks of it, Tobio can smell a bit of something sharp in the air. Vaguely clean and generally masculine, it must be one of those made up scents for shampoo. It makes his headache slow down. 

“What do you want?” He asks when Hinata just keeps staring excitedly. 

“We should do something.” Hinata whispers back. 

It’s not necessary. They’re in their own room, and the walls aren’t so thin a reasonable talking volume could be problematic. Still, Tobio finds his own voice hushing to match, as though possessed by pointless nocturnal ambiance. 

“Yeah…” he feels almost bad when Hinata’s eyes begin to sparkle. “Like sleeping.” 

With that he reaches out, flicking off the light and rolling to hide under his blanket. It doesn’t take long for Hinata to retaliate, groaning unhappily over and over. Tobio stubbornly ignores the display of immaturity. The sleepiness no doubt weighing on Hinata’s shoulders is on his side. 

Like clockwork, the spiteful whining trails off into soft snuffling snores over the course of five or so minutes. Tobio smiles to himself. The moron can be so predictable sometimes. 

Peace is a fickle thing. Balance inherently implies the opportunity for imbalance. A good, simple day with Hinata Shoyo inevitably beckons a day with him pushing every possible button. 

Tobio wakes up to a silky soft pillow smashing against his face like a ton of bricks. Cold air rushes as it’s pulled up and away by hidden hands. He flails blindly, fight or flight kicking in. Something warm connects with his knee to the side of the bed, and he hears a soft ‘oof’ along with mischievous laughter. 

Locking on to the direction, he takes another disorienting blow from the pillow. He jabs his hand out, taking a generous fistful of Hinata’s shirt as he shoots up. The other boy is cackling, face crinkled both in mirth and from laying smooshed against his blanket. Tobio pulls himself up, shaking him by the grip on his clothes. 

“You wanna die you little shit?” 

Hinata laughs harder, but a wild edge creeps in. He blossoms under threat of challenge, tugging at Tobio’s wrists to try wriggling away. The pillow drops by their feet, cool on Tobio’s ankle. 

“What? Did you need your beauty sleep, your highness?” Hinata goads, smile turning sharp and daring. 

Tobio feels his own malicious grin begin to grow. As much as the ‘king’ moniker doesn’t hurt as much as it used to, it still sets Tobio off like nothing else. Hinata was treading a dangerous line. 

Tobio ducks down so his shoulder pokes at Hinata’s stomach and arms lock around his middle. With a quick heave, he throws the other boy over his shoulder. It’s easy with how small Hinata is, but as he tries to turn around a struggle ensues. 

Hinata pounds at his back, wrapping his legs around Tobio’s chest and squeezing until he wheezes from the force on his ribs. They wobble precariously, going in a circle bit by bit until they face the bed. All the while Hinata squawks. 

“That’s cheating! Put me down! I’ll beat you up you stupid brute!” 

Tobio ignores this, giddy at his surefied win. He snickers, teeth grit with the difficulty of controlling a thrashing Hinata. Finally he shuffles the last step around. With a huff of strained breath, he dumps Hinata on the bunk unceremoniously. It will be easy to throw the pillow at him and dash for the showers that way. Or it would be, if Hinata didn’t pick that exact moment to cross his ankles behind Tobio, dragging him down too. 

They go down in a tumble. Tobio clips his head on the upper bunk, socks sliding on the floor beneath him. He lands on his arms, one leg hanging off the side of the mattress. It should hurt more from hitting the frame, or he should bounce on the cushy bedding. Instead he sinks solidly into Hinata’s lower chest. 

He freezes, stomach dropping in terror as his nervous system goes into overdrive. It screams at him that this is it. This is what he has been craving. All he needs is to do let go.

Hinata seems to be oblivious, cackling about how he, ‘won’t be defeated so easily.’ Tobio can’t listen. Not when his right ear is close enough to hear the gentle drum of Hinata’s heart. He feels his own pulse skyrocket, air coming in shallow panicked puffs. 

Settling from Tobio’s sudden stop, Hinata shifts beneath him. The fabric of his shirt is worn thin. It slides against Tobio’s face, a subtle heat beneath it. Hinata’s ribs expand with a flutter. It makes Tobio’s breath stop entirely. A hand taps at his shoulders, shaking him in place. 

“What’s up?” Hinata asks, the last dredges of laughter still clinging to his voice. 

Tobio almost dies right there. He's an idiot. He’s such a fucking idiot. It’s too much, far too much, and he has no way of explaining. Not when the first tears are already forming on his blown wide eyes. When his hands are quivering violently between them. 

“Seriously,” Hinata urges, concern slipping in. “Are you good?” 

Tobio lurches back, falling hard onto the floor and scrambling on hands and feet. He crashes against the dresser, too scared to look up. Hinata’s foot hangs over the bed, toes brushing the floor. His socks are plain white, bunched at the ankle. The tiny hairs there are stuck up in every direction, most likely from the sock dragging over them. Tobio can’t look at his face. He can’t think, can’t breathe. 

When Hinata moves to get up, toes pressing onto the floor to stand, Tobio sees white. Before he can process what he’s doing, he runs all the way out of the dorm building. 

He doesn’t know where he’s going, ducking behind one of the school buildings into a corridor they hadn’t been shown yet. It’s open air, the rising sun painting it yellow. 

He collapses against the stone wall of the building, gasping for air. No matter how hard he breathes, how fast, the air can’t seem to get through. He drowns on dry land, humiliated and exhausted. 

Tobio isn’t sure how long he stays there, choking on nothing with his mind a storm. It could be hours, but feels like seconds. Everything comes in short clips. Like each blink of his eyes spans for minutes, and his sightline is shuddered. 

All the while he can’t stop thinking how pathetic this is. How Hinata knows now. There could be no more plausible deniability anymore. He was weak. Terribly, terribly weak in a way that wasn’t mutual. 

Why do you let me do this? 

That’s what Hinata asked weeks ago in the clubroom. It’s the question Tobio had been running from all along. He knows why he’s lonely, why he pushes people away, why he’s bad at handling his emotions. And yet he kept avoiding the big truth. Why did he let Hinata do this? What is this? What are they ? 

He focuses on the cold sting of concrete beneath him. How every crack and pebble poke his skin. Sliding a hand beneath his bare thigh, Tobio feels along the imprints. He comes back to himself in tiny pieces. It happens so gradually that he doesn’t feel any better for most of it. Until one blink opens his eyes to a regular world and a regular body. 

There are green patches of grass in what looks like a courtyard in front of him. On the other side is a building he hasn’t seen before, though the style matches the architecture of the school. The sun is up, and his ass is sore, and his throat is burning. A brutal headache grows behind his eyes. 

Oh fuck, he thinks. I probably missed breakfast. 

He’s wrung dry. Every thought comes in a sluggish blur, melting away before he can pin them down. The only thing that sticks is that this is camp. He’s miserable, but this is camp. More than anything in the world right now he wants to play. Just the other day he and Tanaka had gotten so close to perfecting their new back row attack. So Tobio does what he always does when he’s scared; he looks for the gym. 

By the time he makes it back to familiar ground, the fatigue has gotten worse. His steps are clumsy, one on top of the other, and his stomach growls. It doesn’t matter though. Not when the gym is in sight. 

“Hey!” A gruff voice calls out. 

Tobio turns, brain doing a poor job of keeping up with his eyes. By the time he recognizes the man as Nekoma’s assistant coach, he already has a hand on Tobio’s shoulder, face tense. It's scary to see. Adults rarely let this much frustration show so plainly at school. It takes all of Tobio’s strength not to rip from his grasp.

“You’re Kageyama, right?” The coach asks, hand too heavy on Tobio’s shoulder. “From Karasuno?” 

They’re questions, but he asks like he already knows. Like all he needs is confirmation. Tobio nods dully, unable to form words. The coach blows out a sigh, squeezing Tobio even harder before letting go. 

“Cmon, let’s get you to Takeda.” 

As they walk, approaching the very gym Tobio had been about to take himself to, his mind is tangled. He can’t help but feel like the hand is still there, pressing his shoulder until it threatens to pop from the joint. It burns, but not like Hinata. As the coach stops him at the side door, ducking in alone, Tobio realizes it burns like his parents. 

There are voices inside. They echo and warp on the floors of the court. Squeaking shoes and smacked balls muffle them, until Tobio cannot make out what they’re saying. What they’re saying about him.  

His better thinking restrained by the haziness of his mind, Tobio creeps up to the door. All he needs is one peek. He just needs to know what is happening, why they haven’t let him in to play. 

It’s a mistake. The door opens up to the sideline of one of the courts. Karasuno’s bench sits mere feet away. Ukai and Takeda speak with the Nekoma coach in hushed tones, mouths pinched. Takeda has his phone out. It isn’t them that Tobio pays attention to. No, unlike his original plan, he finds himself staring at the bench, completely paralyzed.

Because there’s Hinata. Hair scrunched up painfully, eyes red, lips chewed raw Hinata. He’s looking back already, as if he had sensed that Tobio was coming. The face he makes is inscrutable. He just keeps staring, boring a hole in Tobio’s chest. 

It makes Tobio want to puke. His stomach cramps up funnily as if to try, but there’s nothing to come up. All the while his skin fizzles to life. Even his scalp starts tingling. Every wave of fuzzy stimulus screams in his ears that Hinata is right there, go get him. But he can’t. Not when Hinata knows what a parasite he’s been all these months. 

“Kageyama?” Ukai calls. 

It wrenches Tobio back to the present. Where a gaggle of very upset looking teachers stare him down. He steps forward sheepishly, tucking around the door to properly enter the room. When he gets near enough for their voices to be hushed, Ukai starts speaking again. 

“Do you understand the trouble you caused this morning?” 

Tobio feels his face go pale, shakes his head no. 

“What was that?” Ukai prods, angry but calm. 

Tobio swallows, only to find his throat shredded. When had that happened? He tries to speak anyhow, horrified by the thin croak that comes out. 

“No, sir.” 

Ukai hums, hands on his hips and mouth screwed up in a scowl. He seems to ponder what to do. Seeing the coach falter, Takeda steps in. 

“Have you eaten, Kageyama?” He says, voice soothingly steady. 

“No.” Tobio whispers. 

“Alright then,” Takeda carries on. “We cannot let you play on an empty stomach. So why don’t you come with me, and we can apologize to the managers for the trouble once you’re full.” 

It isn’t really a choice. Takeda already has a hand hovering over Tobio’s back, the other gesturing for him to move before the offer is even fully out. It still feels like an option though, unfurling the knot of tension from Tobio’s shoulders. He can’t bring himself to look at Hinata as they leave. 

Takeda brings him to a small cafeteria-esque room. It’s completely empty except for two of the managers, who seem to have just finished packing up food, and are washing dishes in a tiny run down sink. Tobio is steered to sit down at one of the tables while Takeda approaches them with a friendly wave. 

The managers don’t seem to mind getting out a plate for Tobio, but they do send him curious glances every few seconds. Takeda makes his way back, sliding onto the bench across from Tobio. For a while they just stay there, quiet enough to hear the wrapping of the put away foods crinkle as it is opened back up. 

It is only when a reheated breakfast has been brought over, and Tobio has begun devouring it, that Takeda speaks. 

“You gave everyone quite the scare.” He starts. 

It isn’t an accusatory tone, but somehow Tobio stills feels stripped completely bare. His chewing slows down as his stomach twists with guilt. 

“When we go on school trips like this,” Takeda continues. “It is my responsibility to keep all of you boys safe. So that your families know they can trust the volleyball club, and so that our hosts feel good inviting us again in the future. Under no circumstances are you permitted to run off alone.” 

Tobio swallows his bite of food, nodding. Takeda just watches him, eyes cutting through to see every little piece of Tobio’s heart. 

“Do you know how we found out you were missing?” Takeda murmurs. 

Tobio shakes his head ‘no.’ The teacher seems to have expected this, little to no reaction. Still, something swirls behind his gaze. It’s like he has something he wants to ask, but won’t. 

“Hinata.” Takeda states plainly. 

It should have been obvious, but Tobio’s blood seizes all the same. Just the name has his body shivering, a sick sense of disgust for himself rising from his toes to his neck. 

“Is…” he forces his numb lips to stutter out, Takeda as patient as ever. “Is he… mad?” 

Something flickers in Takeda’s expression, then disappears. 

“Quite the opposite.” Takeda says tenderly. “He was beside himself when he told us you were lost. He showed up late to breakfast looking like he’d run through hell and back. For ten minutes all he did was apologize.” 

Tobio frowns disbelieving. That didn’t make any sense at all. 

“Why would he be sorry?” He rasps. 

“I don’t know, Kageyama.” Takeda replies, that odd, knowing look back again. “You tell me.” 

By the time Tobio is allowed to join the team, he has lost a good chunk of the day. It weighs on him, making it impossible to focus and play his best. Ukai seems to pick up on this, frequently subbing in a first year to practice playing setter even though Tobio is leagues ahead of the kid in skill. Everyone on the team picks up on the change, most likely already thrown off by his late entrance, and gives him space between rallies.

To make matters worse, Tobio is painfully aware of another presence on the court. Hinata shoots daggers at the back of his head, bobs in his peripheral. He seems dead set on getting Tobio’s attention, eyes so wide Tobio can see the whites of them without even looking over. It throws off everyone’s rhythm. Hinata becomes a decoy for their own team, constantly distracting everyone with his overbearing energy. Him and Tobio both end up benched far more than they ever are on a normal day. It’s just another reason to feel shitty. 

Tobio manages to avoid talking to him until dinner, running away when the Nekoma players come to snatch Hinata for lunch. As much as it pushes back the confrontation, it also serves to ramp Hinata up. 

He acts like a livewire all afternoon, jumping as high as he can in place with deadly eyes. The first years give him a wide berth, and though Tobio can easily toss Hinata like a tissue, he finds himself tempted to do the same. The violent boom that each one of Hinata’s spikes makes after lunch sends a clear message; he’s pissed. 

It’s as Tobio makes his way to the kitchen from before, the halls empty from the other players packing up earlier in the night, that Hinata catches him. An orange blur swoops past, skidding to a stop right in front of him to cut off the hall. Hinata’s eyes are wild, ablaze with anger, and a determined sort of desperation. Before Tobio can push past, he’s already shouted. 

“What did I do wrong?” 

Hinata’s chest stills, breath held. Tobio feels like he’s been slapped, jaw hung open and nose scrunched. 

“What the hell?” 

“Don’t play dumb!” Hinata yells, finger jabbed into Tobio’s chest. 

That little spark has him stumbling back a few steps. What kind of asshole is Hinata to corner him like this? Asking nonsensical questions and mocking him when they both know how horrible he feels?

“This isn’t funny.” He mutters, a warning. 

“No!” Hinata cries, throwing his hands wide. “It isn’t!”

He steps closer, barging into Tobio’s space like a stubborn bull. With a pang of panic in his chest, Tobio realizes that Hinata’s chin is wobbling dangerously. As if he were about to cry. 

“It’s not funny at all!” Hinata pushes, voice thick and wavering. “You just ran off!”

With each sentence, Hinata steps closer, forcing Tobio back.

“I didn’t know what to do!”

Tobio scoots nervously backwards, completely baffled by Hinata’s outburst. 

“I didn’t know if you were safe!”

Hinata’s face starts to go red, blending into his fiery hairline. 

“I thought we were getting closer! I thought it was good again!” 

Finally Tobio snaps, as his back is pressed lightly into a wall. 

“We are getting closer, you idiot!” He yells back. “What do you even want me to say!” 

“Say why! ” Hinata gasps. 

And Tobio prays for mercy, because holy shit, Hinata is really crying. Sure, Hinata was never one to hide his feelings, but Tobio hasn’t seen him cry over anyone before, especially not him. 

“Tell me why you keep changing your mind.” Hinata whispers, his voice so small and fragile it can only be heard because of how empty the hallway is. “Am I doing something wrong? I have to know.” 

It’s all so flipped, so lopsided. For a moment Tobio thinks he might be having a heart attack. Why would Hinata think he did something wrong? Couldn’t he see that Tobio was the wrong one? That Tobio is broken somewhere deep inside, and that it might never go away. 

“Kageyama? Please say something.” 

Tobio looks at him then, really looks. Hinata isn’t crying anymore, but his face has ugly red blotches all over it. He shouldn’t look like that. Like Tobio has to go easy on him. He should be blazing and bright and insufferable. 

Hinata doesn’t deserve to feel at fault for this. Keeping all the gross parts of Tobio away was supposed to help. It was supposed to make things easier between them. 

“I don’t…” Tobio feels his face contort, his emotions running too fast for him to read them. “Not… here.” 

Hinata glances around as if it hadn’t yet occurred to him that they’re standing in the middle of a public area. His eyes are less glassy, his breathing steady. 

“Oh…” he sighs, almost to himself. “Yeah- yeah! Lets just, uh… yeah…”

With a lame gesture that Tobio translates to mean, ‘ dinner in the dorms?’ Hinata sends a halfhearted smile his way. It doesn’t reach his eyes. Tobio does his best to send one back, but it probably comes out as more of a grimace. 

They walk in silence the whole way, bundled up plates balanced in their hands. It isn’t how things are with them. They should be racing, shoveling food in their faces to see who is better at eating while running, kicking and scraping to get to the door ahead of one another. Instead they exchange wide eyed stares, each waiting for the other to enter the dorm room first. 

Hinata ends up caving, head low as he sits down on the cramped floor space. It's almost comical. Even criss-crossed, his short legs somehow manage to be too long in the ridiculous room. 

Tobio opts for the bed. He doesn’t care all that much if he gets crumbs on these sheets. They aren’t even his. Plus it reminds him of home and his suspiciously stained food towel, so it comforts him. 

They don’t talk while they eat. As off-kilter as things are, he and Hinara have always had an intuitive bond. They both know it isn’t time. Maybe the troubling conversation would make Hinata too queasy, or Tobio would blow up in a fit of rage if they go too fast. Whatever the cause, their plates lay clean before a single sound is uttered. 

Hinata puts his plate on the dresser, peering up at Tobio impatiently. He squirms under the scrutiny, scared to upset Hinata again. 

“I-” he coughs, throat spasming. “It isn’t you. Well it is, but- what I mean is- Ugh!” 

Tobio throws his head into his hands with a growl, tugging at his bangs until his scalp stings. 

“Can you…” he tries to start over. “Can you ask questions again? Just… slower.” 

Hinata blinks, all searching eyes down on the ground. He looks a bit guarded, with his shoulders hunched, but his expression is as trusting and open as ever. Nodding, he tilts his head in consideration. 

“Do I bother you?” He starts, gaze sharp and something oddly vulnerable in his tone

“Well,” Tobio racks his brain for a good answer. “You’re really annoying.” 

Hinata’s eyes flash with poorly veiled hurt, and all at once Tobio is panicking. 

“But if you mean just your presence then no!” He tacks on. “You have a lot of redeeming qualities!” 

Hinata nods, digesting this. He squints at Tobio, hands toying at the hem of his shirt. 

“So we’re… best friends?” 

“Uh.”

Tobio’s brain turns to mush, drawing a blank. Hinata was kind of his first friend. The guys from middle school don’t count anymore. His other friends are all just teammates that Hinata helped him get to know.  So his best friend has to be Hinata. Were they each other's best friends? How is Tobio supposed to know? He can feel his frown getting deeper by the second. 

“You’re the only candidate.” He finally lands on. 

Hinata perks up at that. Some of the horrible wariness that had been curving his spine and screwing up his face goes away. He looks like he does in Tobio’s head again. 

“Okay!” Hinata chirps. 

Then something else bubbles up, and Tobio’s heart clenches. Because Hinata looks like he’s second guessing something. He fidgets with his hands more urgently than before, avoiding Tobio’s eye. When he asks the next question it barely squeaks out. 

“Why did you run off earlier?” 

And he’s looking at Tobio with big uncertain eyes, warm and sweet and too good. It makes Tobio flinch, eyes flicking as if he could find a solution painted on the wall. What can he say? He doesn’t even fully grasp what has been happening to him. But Hinata is still looking, hopeful and upset. He has to try. Better start with what he knows. 

“I think I have a disease or something.” Tobio blurts, eyes squeezed shut. 

For a few seconds a silence hangs heavy over his head, filled only by the faint whooshing of air conditioning.

“What?” 

Tobio cracks open one eye to find Hinata’s eyebrows dropped in confusion. Okay so, that wasn’t the right explanation. 

“Uh… I get like- I get sick when you touch me sometimes.” 

Now Hinata’s interest is definitely peaked. His eyes bug out, head tilting almost a full ninety degrees to the side. He opens his mouth to speak a few times, only to shut it once more. All the while Tobio sweats, knuckles white from holding his hands in tight fists. 

A flicker of recognition crosses Hinata’s face, a hushed gasp escaping his lips. 

“Hold on!” He says, scurrying up to sit on the bed next to a very uncomfortable Tobio. 

He folds his legs beneath him, leaning forward on his knees until Tobio feels the need to tilt back, though he is careful not to touch. 

“Sick how?” Hinata muses, face bunched in concentration as he scans every inch of Tobio’s expression. “And what exactly sets it off?” 

Tobio can’t help from very obviously swallowing the lump in his throat, core beginning to ache from the awkward position. Hinata’s eyes track the movement, and it sends his stupid heart into a frenzy. His blood rushes like race cars on a track, making his face feel hot and itchy. 

“Why are you asking, dumbass?” He can’t help but grouch. 

Hinata groans sarcastically, rolling his eyes, along with the rest of his mop of a head. 

“Just- just tell me.” He scoffs, waggling his fingers dismissively. 

Begrudgingly Tobio obliges. He coughs nervously; a sad attempt at giving himself more time to find the right words. 

“Well… I usually don’t touch people. So sometimes when you touch me it’s… it’s too much or something. Like my skin starts burning, and my stomach feels weird.” 

“Like in the clubroom!” Hinata declares, far too proud and far too blunt. 

“Huh?” Tobio reels back, bumping his head into the top of the bunk. 

Hinata doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care, an excited glitter growing behind his eyes. 

“That night! Back in the clubroom! I touched your shoulders and you got all…” 

Hinata struggles to verbalise, settling on shimmying his arms around wildly. It looks like he’s having a seizure. He looks dumb. Tobio knows for a fact he has never looked like that ever in his life. 

“That’s not what happened!” Tobio roars, face completely ablaze. 

“Yeah it is!” Hinata squawks back.

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

“You know what? This isn’t the point!” Tobio snaps, rubbing a hand over his face to cool off.  

Hinata grumbles, picking at the sheets petulantly. Suddenly remembering what they were talking about, he continues his interrogation, albeit a bit more subdued. 

“So… your skin burns? Nothing else?” 

Tobio bites his cheek, head ducked in shame.

“It’s hard to describe…” he mutters. “It’s like drugs or something.” 

“Okay…” Hinata trails off, considering. “Can I try something?” 

Against all of his better judgement, Tobio nods. Hinata sucks in a huge gulp of air, blowing it out dramatically to steal his nerves. Tobio is just about to say something mean about getting on with it, when Hinata does something that makes his jaw snap shut so fast he almost bites his tongue. 

Hand balanced on the blankets next to Tobio’s hip, he leans up and over until their noses are mere inches apart. It makes Tobio’s skin buzz, desperate for contact as Hinata hovers devastatingly close. So close that Tobio can count the faint freckles on his nose. Five. There are five. Golden, near invisible from afar, and the same exact shade as his honey brown eyes. 

It’s like he’s being taunted. Like Hinata is torturing him, hanging him on the line for cheap entertainment. 

“What are you doing?” Tobio manages to rasp between his numb lips. 

Hinata hardly reacts, gaze intense and focused. 

“I’m testing something.”

When the second hand, perfectly hot and just rough enough to not irritate, presses down on the junction of Tobio’s neck and chest, he almost cries. It’s just as gentle as every other time Hinata has reached out in the past, but without any of the uncertainty. Hinata splays his fingers over Tobio’s collar with an appalling amount of reassurance, fingertips just barely grazing the skin at the top of his neckline. 

Tobio is forced to prop his own hands behind himself, shaking so hard it threatens to topple him. It leaves him easy pickings for Hinata to push firmer, easing him back until he’s supported by his elbows and laying almost all the way down. In the space left behind, Hinata slinks forward. He hovers over Tobio, the hand that had been by Tobio’s hip sliding across the mattress to cage his head in. 

The air between them is supercharged, static. It radiates with waves of heat until Tobio swears he can feel Hinata, and not just from the hand that is still imprinting itself into his chest. He stops breathing, going perfectly still. If Hinata keeps going he’ll give in. He’ll melt, greedy for affection and selfish enough to take. 

All at once it clicks. It was never this bad with anyone else. Hinata didn’t just make him realize his own lack of interaction. It wasn’t just the fact that someone was touching him. That part was important, impossible to ignore considering how he still has issues with others, but it wasn’t all of it. Tobio is sensitive, but only Hinata makes him feel quite like this. 

Oh fuck. 

“Hinata,” he shudders out, utterly ashamed. “You don’t know what you’re doing.” 

Hinata glares down at him, shoving his hand forward to knock Tobio flat. He looks angelic from below, his bright orange locks lit from behind and glowing with life. Not like the bringers of peace, the typical angels. No, Hinata looks like an otherworldly being, just as likely to massacre the nearest village as he is to perform a miracle. 

“Kageyama,” he replies, voice scarily calm. “I know exactly what I’m doing.” 

Tobio could pass out right there. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Hinata can’t know what he means. He wouldn’t want that, not like Tobio. 

The alarm bells ringing in Tobio’s mind do nothing to assuage the monster above him. Hinata dips down, hand sliding up Tobio’s shoulder until his forearms rest on either side of Tobio’s head. It leaves a burning trail in its wake, the skin of Tobio’s chest aching and alive. 

He can’t move, can’t think. Hinata’s face ghosts against his neck, thick hair nuzzled into the crook of it. It’s everything and yet Hinata still stays back. He doesn’t relax, keeping tiny air pockets between them. It hurts more than if he just closed the gap, though it's clearly another example of his unendingly considerate nature. Tobio dangles on the edge, completely lost. He’s desperate to grab, to pull Hinata down the rest of the way. That’s the weak part of him, the pathetic part.

“I like this too, Kageyama.” Hinata whispers.

The sound sends another draft of hot air onto Tobio’s bare skin. He can’t help but react. There is no containing it. A tiny whine, more of a precursor to a sob than a proper noise, hisses through his teeth. Gooseflesh races across his entire body. 

“You don’t have to feel bad.” 

Hinata’s voice is so soft. It hasn’t been that soft before, not for Tobio. It could be okay if he listens. If Hinata is telling the truth he wouldn’t get mad. Tobio can feel it when his last bit of restraint breaks. It’s like ice cracking off of his ribs. 

One minute Hinata is looming over him, just close enough and yet a million miles away. Then in an instant Tobio is crashing up, flipping to crush Hinata down as he wraps desperate arms around the other boy. 

It’s like he’s never had fresh air before. Like Tobio spent the first sixteen years of his life submerged in frozen water. He can’t bring himself to be embarrassed, even when tears start to flow, soaking into Hinata’s shirt. 

Cause right there? That’s actually Hinata’s shirt. Beneath the thin layer of fabric is the rapid beating of a human heart, lungs expanding like sails. It isn’t like hugging a pillow, not even close. Tobio sniffles, hands wrapped in the back of the shirt, jammed against the bedding under both of their weight. His fingers have never felt so warm. He could do a million sets if he always felt like this.  

“Oh wow…” Hinata gasps. 

His voice is funny, thin as reeds. He doesn’t move much beneath Tobio, either too surprised or just pinned down too hard. With a shuddering breath, he lets his hands rest once more, settling onto Tobio’s back and into his hair. 

“When's the last time somebody hugged you?” Hinata whispers, rubbing his nose through Tobio’s hair absentmindedly. 

There are no words. Tobio is paralyzed with relief. He feels like a giant tumor got ripped out of him, and now his organs all have to make their way back to the correct spots. Instead of answering, he shakes his head, tiny hiccuping sobs slipping past his defense. 

Hinata goes still, fingers tangled into Tobio’s hair. His body turns slack, curling inwards so that Tobio is cradled against him. 

“I’m sorry,” his voice cracks out. “That must be so lonely.” 

It only makes Tobio cry harder. 

He comes back to himself gradually. Who knows how long they stayed like this; pressed so close that their skin could meld if not for the clothing between. Tobio’s head is heavy from crying. He had done more of that today than in the whole rest of the year combined. 

Hinata doesn’t seem to mind. He’s playing with Tobio’s hair. The tugs, here and there along his scalp, are impossible to track. Hinata could be plucking at it mindlessly, or he could have created a braided monstrosity. Tobio wouldn't know unless he reached up, but he’s content to stay still. 

When the last tears are long dry, and his throat isn’t as ruined as it could be, Tobio speaks up tentatively. 

“Hinata?”

“Hm?”

“This isn’t normal, is it?” Tobio asks. 

“No,” Hinata sighs, sinking down to press his mouth to Tobio’s head, hands clasped over Tobio’s shoulders. 

They stay there, letting it sink in. Tobio has a problem. He isn’t crazy, Hinata sees it too. It doesn’t seem so scary now though. Not now that someone knows, not with how much better it had gotten before break set him back at square one. 

“Kageyama?” Hinata echoes into the dim night. 

“Hm?”

“This might be rude timing but… I really like you.” 

Tobio isn’t shocked, but his pulse quickens all the same. What strange new world were they entering? One where Hinata liked him, and Tobio cried somewhere other than his empty room. It’s a wonder. It’s a one in a million, a shot in the dark, and every other exceptional circumstance at once. 

“Is that okay?” Hinata murmurs, tensing up again. 

Tobio doesn’t know what the right words are, how to say ‘I like you too,’ but he knows this feels good. He is pretty damn done denying himself things that feel good. 

He pushes up, blinking the salt from his eyes to peer blearily down at Hinata. It's a sight he could never have imagined. Sleep clings to Hinata’s eyelids, making his usually startling gaze fuzzy in the corners and easy to meet. His face is washed in pink, and it makes his subtle freckles look like splattered paint across his skin. On the pillow below, his hair is swirling briars in the shape of a crown. 

A thrum of fondness, so strong it makes Tobio feel seasick, blooms from his chest out. Hinata just waits, watching for an answer. He braces for rejection, Tobio can see it in the thin press of his mouth. What a moron. 

Quick, so as to not lose his courage, Tobio swoops down, pressing a clumsy kiss to Hinata’s cheek. The peach fuzz there leaves his lips tingling, and hot humiliation flares up his neck. He buries his face back into Hinata’s chest, shoulders bunched up high and tight like a shield. 

Featherlight, Hinata brushes his mouth against the top of Tobio’s head, a kiss returned. They don’t talk about it, but they don’t have to. Tobio knows that Hinata will ask soon, and this time, he’ll be ready to answer. 

.

.

.

They walk side by side after practice towards the end of second year, bundled in coats to protect their bodies from the winter chill. Hinata started following all the way to Tobio’s house before biking home lately. It's the exact kind of cute bullshit that the idiot is prone to doing. Tobio won’t admit how much he likes it. At least not yet. They both know though. 

“I don’t see why I can’t stay over.” Hinata sing-songs from Tobio’s right.

“My parents would kill me.” Tobio grumbles in reply. “I’m not supposed to have people over.” 

Hinata groans, slumping over his bike in a flamboyant display of his childishness. 

“Dude!” He cries. “They’re literally always gone! Just lie!” 

They step over the curb, going up the little concrete path to Tobio’s door. Stars twinkle high above, insects trilling in the bushes. Tobio turns when he gets up the front steps, giving Hinata his most unimpressed glare. 

“You just want to get in my pants.” He deadpans. 

Hinata’s face goes neon pink, his bike discarded in favor of frantically waving his hands. 

“Don’t say it like that! I’m not a pervert!” 

He comes to stand with Tobio on the front porch, still arguing his plea. 

“There just aren’t any more camps this year, and I miss having sleepovers!” 

The defense isn’t necessarily a lie, but Tobio knows better than to fall for it. His boyfriend is a menace, and it can’t be a coincidence for him to bring this up after a busy weekend apart.

“Uhuh,” Tobio snarks, one eyebrow raised. “And the fact that we both know how sensitive I am today has nothing to do with it. ” 

A sheepish grin splits Hinata’s face. He scratches at his lowered head, embarrassed to be caught. What a stupid combination; ravenous and shy. 

Biting his lip, Hinata thumbs at the sleeve of Tobio’s jacket. He glances up, closing the space between them slow and steady. 

“Is it bad I find it sweet?” Hinata asks, hands sliding up Tobio’s wrists. 

Tobio sucks in a breath, that familiar hypersensitivity kicking in. He isn’t sure if he’d call himself ‘touch starved,’ like Hinata used to say, anymore, but it isn’t exactly a non issue. He can be affectionate with friends now, but adults are too authoritative, and weekends alone leave him pent up. 

When Hinata crawls into his space, hands braced on his arms and face tantalizingly close to Tobio’s neck, it makes his knees go weak. 

“Besides,” Hinata says all too smugly, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of Tobio’s throat. “We both know you’re waaaay more into it than I am, Kageyama .” 

It almost works. It really almost does. Tobio leans into the touch, a quiet sigh sliding free as his hands settle on Hinata’s waist. He really would like to drag Hinata inside and fool around, parents and school and dignity be damned. 

Except that that would mean letting Hinata win. Which, as far as the general public knows, Tobio famously does not do. So, reigning in the happy buzz inside his limbs, Tobio slides a hand behind himself to sneakily unlock the door. 

He leans back, crashing his mouth against Hinata’s in a brutish mockery of a kiss. Hinata doesn’t care one bit, happy to match Tobio’s energy, teeth and aggression included. It rapidly melts Tobio’s brain, his resolve as thin as it can get. 

When he finally finangles the door, Hinata has moved on. Impatient as always, he nips across Tobio’s jaw, soothing the vicious bites with pepperings of his lips. Oh, that poor, poor, predictable dumbass. 

All too happy to ruin the fun, Tobio falls backwards through the now open door, using his long arm to keep Hinata outside. 

“I win.” He snarls, a crazed smile stretched so wide his cheeks ache. 

Then he promptly slams the door in Hinata’s gobsmacked face. 

“Really?” Hinata hollers through the wood, not actually all that upset. 

Tobio can’t help but laugh, stomach fluttering and ego thoroughly stroked. 

“Goodnight Hinata.” He calls, voice thick with a sappiness that used to make him feel disgusting. 

There’s a disbelieving chuckle from outside, more sigh than amusement. He hears Hinata pick up the discarded bike, tap twice against the door. 

“Night, prick!”

Tobio pulls away from the door, still grinning to himself. He has all the time in the world to have Hinata close. Some nights, it feels good to be alone again. He doesn’t hurt like he’s sick anymore, so the independence is unburdened and freeing. 

As he takes his first step towards his room, something silky soft rubs along his ankle, insistent in its motions. He looks down to find a brown tabby fluffball weaving in and out of his legs. She was an impulse adoption, the first stray to not immediately scratch him. Hinata thought it would help with his loneliness. Tobio refuses to admit he was right. 

“Hey shithead,” Tobio sighs, voice tender in contrast to his words. 

He scoops up the purring animal, clutching her close to his chest. A weight, slight enough he hadn’t noticed it before, lifts off of his heart when the cat smears her warm little face against him. 

“Yeah I know. I get lonely too.”