Chapter Text

Ding.

The bell above the door chimes, and Kageyama Tobio doesn't bother looking up. The only people who ever came into his grandfather's bookstore were old people or kids with their parents, neither of which interested him. He was too focused on writing out his notes for an assignment that was due two nights ago.

"Uh, Hi?"

He sees something orange from the corner of his eye. Closing his notebook and retreating his pencil to its case, Kageyama lifts his eyes to see a guy who couldn't have been much older—or younger than him. He looks from the right to the left, over the long bookshelves before landing back on Kageyama. His bored expression fades and his eyes widen slightly, lingering on the cover of one of the books he's carrying and the black polish on his fingernails. He raises a brow and sits up a little straighter in his stool.

"Right so, my friends told me this bookstore does trade-ins? Like, you accept used books in exchange for some store credit to shop around, is that true?" Despite his expensive looking clothes, he looked scruffy, his orange hair a bit too long and jutting out at different angles. His shirt, a forest green with some kind of pattern and—were those tiny cats? It was only half tucked into a pair of baggy jeans that looked worn and could've been several sizes too big, but he pulled it off. Effortlessly.

Kageyama blinks. Once.

Twice.

"Oh. Yeah, we do. Let me see what you have and I'll give you a price." He tries his best to give a polite smile, but with more time to study his face it was hard not to let his jaw drop to the floor and stare at his glossy lips and gold piercings and oh my god, Kageyama thinks, I might have to die, right here.

The guy sets his books down and his bracelets clink against the counter. At a closer distance, he can see multiple charms and chains hanging from his ears and Kageyama tries to count them, giving up after he hits ten. He reluctantly gets up from his stool, trying his best not to stare too much at his really, pretty face, or the gold jewelry in his nose which is easier once he can clearly see the books in front of him.

"Dude," he says a little too loudly, then coughs.

"Sorry. But these books are old, and they're signed. You'd get some real money taking them literally anywhere else. We're not a collector's shop or anything so I can't give you much for them," he raises his hands a little, sliding the books back towards the guy.

As much as Kageyama could use the praise from his grandfather for successfully making a sale for the first time in days (even if it was for store credit), he couldn't swindle this guy. He wasn't that much of a jerk. The guy—he didn't offer his name so that's what Kageyama dubs him—touches a finger to his lips and looks up thoughtfully.

"Oh," his finger presses into his upper lip. "Well, how much could you give me then? I don't really care about getting a whole lot of money off them."

Kageyama is pensive for a moment. "Like I said, they're signed and from authors that are…dead, so realistically speaking they can each go for a hundred or three hundred dollars at most. I can give you eighty bucks, store credit, for both of them. But if it was me personally, I'd take them elsewhere, like that fancy bookstore down a couple blocks, to get my money's worth. Here, people won't even realize their worth and they'll just collect dust, or they'll go in my personal collection which," he knows he's blabbering on and adding unnecessary details, but the guy with pretty gold piercings makes him nervous and he can't help the light flush that creeps onto his face.

The guy fights a smile and shakes his head. "No, no, really. I st- I mean, they were a gift, so," he shrugs, sliding the books back. "And eighty dollars to spend here sounds way better than haggling with some old guy who's just gonna sell them at a higher price later. At least you're cute. I don't mind them being in your personal collection," he says. His eyelashes were a shade of auburn, different from his hair, and Kageyama swore the guy just batted them to tease him.

He hates that it works.

Kageyama thinks his brain might've short-circuited just then. He stammers out what he hopes sounds like a thank you but he can't hear himself over the sound of the guy's bubbling laughter, the way his hand reaches up to cover his mouth in embarrassment and nearly throws his head back in a fit of giggles. He's pretty sure his mouth hung open in awe a little too long, but he didn't think the guy noticed in between sniffles and using his shirt sleeve to pat the tears at his eyes.

"I'm sorry, you're just…" He shakes his head again and bites the inside of his cheek. "Anyways, yeah, I'll take the store credit. You said eighty right? Where's the mystery section?"

He tucks a stray hair behind his ear, and Kageyama's eyes follow as his arm drops back down to rest a hand on the straps of his bag. It's a deep shade of brown and clearly seen better days, but his eyes are caught on the assortment of pins covering the front pockets and the key chains attached to a makeshift keyring.

He doesn't know how he survives the rest of the interaction, too lost in between glancing at the guy's brown eyes and shiny lips and pretty freckles as he fiddles with the cards in his wallet. If he hadn't been so entranced, he might've reminded him sooner that he doesn't have to pay anything and that Kageyama would issue him a voucher but his brain wouldn't keep up. He snaps out of it when he sees the guy run his tongue over his bottom lip and he shakes his head, writing a store credit voucher, explaining it and authenticating it faster than even his grandfather on the release day of a popular book.

"Here you go. Take your time, by the way. We don't close till 7pm." He knows his cheeks are still pink because he can feel the heat in his face, but he tries to smile anyway.

"Okay. Thanks," he leans a little closer and his eyes squint, "Tobio."

Kageyama's pulse quickens embarrassingly. Then he's a mess again, because he said my name, my name on those pretty lips, and suddenly he's not closing his grandfather's bookstore on a quiet Sunday. He's running his hands through this guy's hair and swiping a thumb across his lips and pulling him closer and—

"Hey," the guy waves a hand in front of his face, and giggles.

Kill me now. Kageyama thinks, closing his mouth and finally tuning back to reality for the third time. In five minutes. "Sorry. Uh, No. I mean, you're welcome. What's your name?"

The guy smiles, a smile he didn't know could entrance and devastate someone at the same time. Its brightness could shame the sun and then he runs a quick hand through his hair (that does nothing) and Kageyama wishes he could take a picture of his beautiful face to frame it on his wall.

"It's Shoyo. Hinata Shoyo. Nice to meet you,” he says. “I'm gonna go look at some books now,” turning to go browse the section Tobio sputtered out earlier when he asked about mystery novels.

Shoyo, Kagayema repeats. He sinks back into his stool and grabs his notebook to start writing again.

After ten minutes, he hasn't even so much as made a move for his pencil. He stares at Hinata on his tip toes reaching for a book on a high shelf, appreciating the way the muscles in his toned arms flex and how his tongue sticks out just a bit. He watches as his fingers trace over every book on the shelf, pausing when something catches his eye and being so careful when he takes it out.

He's known him less than thirty minutes and already imagines what being pressed up against a stack of books would feel like with his body flush against Hinata's. Sighing deeply, he finally picks up his pencil after five more minutes of watching him lean against the end of a bookshelf to read something he was too far to see the title of.

Kageyama thinks the isolation and loneliness of only having one friend to hang out with here may have started to take control of his emotions and make him delusional, if not crazy. Because why else would he suddenly take an interest in, well, anyone? It's not as if Kageyama was a stranger to love and feelings, he just never saw the appeal of them. He never saw the appeal of having someone cling to your side and call you silly pet names, or whine and soothe and caress.

But looking at Hinata now, he imagines all of those things. It makes him feel a little crazy.

He scribbles down random notes that make no sense, doodling in the margins and tapping his pencil incessantly against the counter. Hinata, oblivious or uncaring of his inner turmoil (most likely the former), has made himself comfortable on the old velvet recliner. He has a leg propped on the foot stool, one arm occasionally turning the page, the other on the armrest.

The domestic sight of him unlocks a new emotion in Kageyama. A yearning, a longing, and okay yeah, the loneliness has definitely gotten to him. He sighs and rests his head against the wall, closing his eyes. He hopes whatever mercy the gods have left is enough to save him from the sure devastation of what would be Hinata Shoyo. And Yachi was definitely going to hear about this later when he asks her to come over.

—

Someone clears their throat loudly.

Kageyama stiffens. How long had he been thinking of the different places he could sneak a kiss with this guy while on the clock? He inclines his head, carefully opening his eyes to find round, curious brown eyes staring back at him. He thinks that if his back hadn't been pressed to the wall he would've fallen over.

"Hey, did you enjoy your nap? You looked so comfy I almost didn't wanna wake you," he frowns. Tobio wonders if what he feels could be considered an Olympic-level training course on restraint.

He glances down at his watch briefly, and it's fifteen minutes until seven. He sits up immediately and rubs the sleep from his eyes, apology on his tongue and embarrassment burning his cheeks. "Yeah, no, oh my god," he says, smoothing his shirt out. "Sorry. We don't get many customers around this time so I'm usually closed up and napping by now."

"Oh. Do you work here every Sunday?" he asks with a small tilt of his head.

He nods. "I work every Sunday, open till close."

He only pondered his response for a split second before answering. But he's the prettiest guy he's ever seen, which is why Kageyama lies right in his face. His grandfather would never ask him to be here all day, much less on a Sunday. Truthfully Kageyama only helps out during the weekdays after classes for a couple hours, or like today, when he's asked to fill in for a night while Kazuyo is running errands. Any other day he'd be cooped up in his room on the third floor procrastinating on his math homework.

But if there's the slightest chance that he might get to see this face again, Tobio would stand here all day smelling like old books and talking to kids every Sunday. It gave him no excuses not to do work anymore either.

Hinata grins, and he's spilled milk on the floor. "That's cool, I can come here and study then. The couches are super soft and I saw some mini tables too. You wouldn't mind, right? I wouldn't be here all day. Unless you want me to, of course," he leans one arm on the counter. Tobio knows he must be half joking at least, but he's a taker, a receiver.

"You can stay as long as you'd like," he says.

It's the boldest he's ever been for someone with no experience, because it doesn't register right away how it might be interpreted. In fact, it doesn't register at all, because the tip of Hinata's ears are red and he's tucking another strand of hair behind his ear. But he still looks calm, too composed for the subtle blush on his cheeks. It makes Kageyama aware of how close they are. When he breathes in this time, intentionally searching and finding a sweet vanilla, he lets his lungs fill up with the almost woody scent of him.

"Yeah, right," Hinata nods, pulling himself away. "Okay. I'll see you soon, Tobio. I'm saving my voucher for next week."

Right then, Kageyama sends a hundred praises to his grandfather for forcing his first name to be on his name tag, and forcing him to wear one at all. He watches contently as Hinata walks away, bell chiming as he sets one foot out the door.

"Wait!"

Did he just say that? Was that him?

Mortification flashes on his face in seconds before he schools his expression again. Then Hinata turns his face back to him, eyebrows knit together.

"Hmm? What's up?"

He looks so pretty like that, Kageyama thinks, forgetting to take a breath. The sunlight wasn't quite hitting at the right angle to cover his entire body, but it's lighting up his face enough to make the gold jewelry glisten, his warm-toned skin glowing.

"I forgot," he inhales, taking air into his lungs again. But the feeling of being out of breath doesn't go away. "I forgot to ask for your number, I mean."

Hinata laughs, a carefree noise. He retracts the foot he stepped out with and turns his body fully to walk back in the bookstore, towards Tobio.

"Here," he extends a hand out over the counter and makes a grabby gesture with his fingers, and Tobio is too focused on the little specks of white on his dark blue polish to understand what he wants.

"Huh? Oh right," he gives a startled blink, then reaches blindly into his left pocket. Empty. He checks the right. He slips his phone out and hands it over to Hinata, who was sporting an intoxicating lopsided grin.

"I like you, Tobio. I think we'll get along," he winks, then walks towards the door again. Tobio is nodding mindlessly, more entrapped by the wild curiosity in the other man's eyes and the glint of something.

Completely slumping down in his stool, he finally lets himself release the shakiest breath he's ever heard.