Chapter Text
Kageyama got the parka in the winter, the first time he visited Tokyo with his family. He’d needed a break from the bickering, the loud swallowing of yakitori around muttered “so how’s volleyball?”.
When the sun finally went down and the glass fogged up like clouds around their hotel window he dismissed himself with a nod and a gesture to his running shoes.
The fresh air and the frigid spiked flush across his face was welcomed, he ran so fast up the hills he felt like he was flying. Each step seemed to cut sharper through the frosty wind than the last and he became so lost in the adrenaline. When he reached the last small town on his route, and collapsed into a huff against his knees, he finally realized just how red his hands were, his fingers stiff.
He’d admit he was a little paranoid, his hands were his weapons, so he shouldered his swaying, heaving self into the closest tourist shop and picked up the first thing that wasn’t some bright-colored nauseous-paraphenilic item–a light grey parka.
He threw it on over his running jacket and stuffed his hands into the pockets, making sure that when he returned, his overly-tailored hands were still as strong as ever. Fluid and fast, how he needed them to be; how his team needed them to be.
He supposes that since then, it was always the first thing he grabbed when he left the house for practice or a food-run. Not because it was anything special, but because it was comfy and– well expensive.
It kept his body warm, the blood under his skin electric and his perfected nerves steady. Well, so that he could always be at his best when he showed up and showed out. He wouldn’t ever under-perform; it wasn’t even a thought in his head.
It was the day after the intensive when he wore it into practice in his school gym, the first time in a while, the neckline too low to hide his unfortunate sneer he’d gathered sometime after meeting Atsumu. It was winter, he ran cold, and his parka helped his heart pump his conglomerate of anxieties about his setting performances through the rest of his body.
He threw it into his bag at the bleachers when he entered, distracted by Hinata’s droning.
When practice ended promptly by Diachi’s scolding he was rushed out into the cold, a step behind Hinata who was already jumping onto his bike and riding away. It was a long walk home, but he let the cold wrap him up, like thunder over his overthinking; he couldn’t stop replaying the practice match in his mind.
How he’d yelled.
When he returned home and collapsed into bed, he rolled over to open his bag, usually using that same parka to rest his head on while he stared up at the ceiling until his mind fell blank—but it wasn’t there.
He rolled back onto his forearms, deciding he must have left it at the gym.
-
The jealousy that Kageyama got to go to the All-Japan Youth Intensive Training Camp and he didn’t, oh it made Hinata more starved for skill than ever.
He carved out a spot in his chest and stuffed in the idea that his time at the first-year selection training camp was productive and that he made a lot of progress in his receives–but it wasn’t enough. Not when he returned back to Karsuno, and Kagayema spoke about the tiny giant he met. Not when he back on the bench watching Nishinoya receive like it was second nature.
That spot in his chest, it had cracks, and the cold made it that much worse.
It just wasn’t fair, and it made him feel like he was losing this all-encompassing…stretching…and never-ending feud he had with Kageyama. Made him feel like he might get left behind.
He could ignore it when he was on the court, because volleyball made emotions easy. But once practice was over and a time limit was put on the only thing ever made him feel free, he was reminded that emotions…they’re messy and–a lot of time–too much.
In the moment he’d grabbed Kageyama’s parka because he was tired, flushed, and feeling a little puckish(after his last set being too close outside). He’d wanted Kageyama to walk home and realize he was missing something, a small inconvenience for him and prideful win for the red-head.
But now, as the darkness swallowed him whole in the flickering light of a vending machine on the border of the Miyagi Prefecture, it was the softest and warmest thing in his bag so he threw it on to protect him from the wind.
Kageyama’s scent hit him immediately, rushing, synapses of familiarity. His deodorant that he puts on in the locker room. His musky cologne he wears, that's only really noticeable in the early hours of school before it's washed away by the day. Underneath that was his sweat, wrapped around him in a way that would usually be gross if it was his own, but he didn’t really feel that way now, if its his.
Sweaty Kageyama was the one he knew best, the one who was next to him in every race. His shoulder was against his in line-ups, in team-meetings, on the court. They flew together in blocks, birds of a feather, dripping in their favorite game. The sweaty flip of his bangs was something Hinata counted on. He knew he’d be getting the best sets when Kageyama was warmed, knew his blood was on fire, and he’d give it all to Hinata if he only put in the same effort. So he always did.
The smell of his teammate brought the same achy feeling he had whenever he was around the boy himself. Made him feel like he was still playing volleyball.
The vending machine neon sign flickered off. Hinata lifted the neckline over his nose and took a deep breath in, warmth spreading over the bottom of his face.
The parka was extra baggy over his arms and torso, hugging around him as he lounged around the house and he realized why Kageyama always wore it. Setting to himself outside, he rehearsed scenarios in his head where he got to keep it instead of the probably outcome: Kayegama yelling at him for stealing it and ripping it from his hands.
But…he’d also be angry if Kageyama had stolen one of his prized clothing items.
When Natsu came outside to play with him he grinned to himself as he setted almost flawlessly, letting himself sink into Kageyama’s scent as he laid out on the ground, staring into the clear night sky.
He wondered if he could ever be this comfortable with the real Kageyama laying next to him, he frowned, and thought about this until his head began to hurt.
The next morning his mother gave him a puzzled look as he laced up his shoes, about to leave for school.
“That parka is two times your size Shoyo, surely you’re not wearing that to school,” She tapped her foot.
Hinata looked down at himself, folding the cuffs over his hands, “I’m bringing it back to a teammate,”
She gave him a look like she didn’t believe him but nodded anyway, “Okay, but make sure to tell him thank you for letting you borrow it,”
He replied with a smiled charged with chagrin.
-
“Oh-Ho! You’re gonna get it now Sho!” Nishinoya gurgled around a laugh as he sped into Hinata’s first period, rounding around his desk like he was using it as a shield.
Behind him, a pointed step later was Kageyama, his eyebrows pinched furiously as he stepped up to the redhead.
He gripped him fiercely by the tufts of his hair to pull his frazzled and trembling expression towards him.
“Hinata. You’re wearing my Parka,”
His teammates face was flushed down to his neck, wrapped up in his light grey parka. His teeth bared a trepidated and, annoyingly, devilish smile.
“You shithead!” He shook him characteristically, like he could comically lift him straight out of his seat and throw him across the room, but obviously…he couldn’t quite do that.
Somewhere behind him Tanaka walked in to watch beside Nishinoya.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Hinata seized Kageyama hand at his roots, whining in pain. “It was on top of my bag!”
“You just take things that don’t belong to you?!” He replied, unbeknownst to the racket they were causing and the stares that were gathering.
“You two!” Diachi’s voice boomed over the two of them statically. “Let eachother go and quiet down!”
Kageyama let go in an instant, spotting his captain in the doorway, Suga and Asahi by his side and giggling into their hands.
Hinata dropped his head into his arms, eyes flicking up to the teacher who closed his open mouth as if he was previously trying to get them to stop before Diachi stepped in.
Kageyama sat down into the seat next to Hinata, and as the lecture began his stare never left the shorter boy.
He almost looked, for a lack of a better word, because he was never good at words, cute in Kageyama’s parka. It was big around his shoulders, giving his posture a slightly softer look–that was the word. Hinata looked soft. Which didn’t have any other connotation.
He looked comfortable under the weight of his parka, his hair looking like free-flowing flames against the light grey, and then there was the fact that he was wearing it at all.
He’d smelled like him when Kageyama was closer, it was all over him, he wonders if Hinata noticed that.
Kageyama leaned his chin on his palm and turned his eyes back to the teacher.
Hinata spoke up a moment later, under his breath, “I’ll give it back after class, just wanted to see you get mad,”
Kageyama’s jaw clenched, knowing he fell right into his trap. But what he replied was; “You can keep it, for a little bit,” and then, “If you want,”
Hinata didn’t say anything for a minute, the lack of response had Kageyama look over to see Hinata smiling into his palm.
He kicked him hard at the back of his leg and Hinata’s face crumpled into the same vexxed expression he always wears when he looks at him.
“Idiot”.