You thought walking home from practice would be a lot easier than this: your feet dragging along the sidewalk and your back slump, your head dangling towards the ground and your arms dead, unmoving, trying to carry the weight of your bags while you sluggishly make your way to your house. You could fall to the ground any second and just take a giant nap right then and there. But, you couldn't.
He could see the struggle, and it's not that he wanted to help, of course, but he needed you in good shape for practice tomorrow. He didn't have to, and he surely didn't want to, but his body acted before his mind did. Jogging towards your slow figure, he bends and quickly grabs the straps of your volleyball bag, lifting them out of your grasp before you could whip your head around to see him, carrying it effortlessly beside you.
"Kageyama?" You stop in your tracks, looking up to his unbothered face as he halts himself for you. "What are you doing? Do you live around here or something?"
"Yeah. I guess." You can barely hear his mumble when he picks his feet up once again, leaving you behind him.
"Hey, wait! Do you even know where you're going?" He stops, sighing before turning towards you, waiting for your legs to match up with his before continuing.
The walk is silent, awkward. You don't know what to say and he doesn't care to speak up. He's oblivious to the tense atmosphere, like the air is clear as he follows you to your home. Did he live next to you? That would be convenient, you thought.
He stared at your front door as you struggled to grasp your keys, his eyes catching every detail in the paint, the the shine of the doorknob before his pupils wandered, the threads of your skirt catching his attention. It shouldn't be a normal feeling, watching the flowy fabric run along with the wind. He shouldn't feel content watching looking at the way it hugs your legs and your hips so nicely. He shouldn't like that.
So he tells himself he doesn't.
He walks over beside you once he hears the click of the door being unlocked, your hand turning the knob and opening the door while he drops the bag on the floor. He faces away, about to leave when you pick up the bag yourself, moaning in exhaustion trying to get through the doorway. He wanted to go- he didn't need you to distract him any longer, but you looked like you were going to collapse any second. Screwing his eyes closed in contemplation, he places his hand on your shoulder, stopping any motions that you were making, freezing in place. He grumbles an incoherent sound, one that your fogged mind couldn't care to decipher. And just before you start to lean on the wall just to rest for a minute, your limbs going soft and your bags falling from your hands, he grabs them both, your school and your volleyball bag not weighing on you any longer. You sigh in relief, forgetting another person was with you before heading down the hall to your room.
He didn't want to follow you to your room, but he couldn't just stand there waiting for you to come back. He knew you were most likely about to let your body fall on your bed, allowing yourself to finally get some sleep. With that in mind, he cautiously takes a couple steps forward, leading himself to the room he saw you disappear in before releasing your volleyball bag on the floor, keeping your school bag in his other hand as he walks toward the bed you lay on, placing it on top of your pillow carefully. He knows not to just throw your school stuff around.
There. He's done. He can go back to his house finally. Why he even helped you out in the first place, he didn't know. Why he noticed the way your skirt was a little too high on your thighs, he didn't know either, but the urge to pull it down just so no one can peek crawled into his brain. It rattled him, the consideration of this- he didn't want to make you uncomfortable, but the shortage of length your skirt was feeding off bothered him- he didn't want anyone to see anything you didn't let them. So, carefully moving towards you, he looks up at the ceiling awkwardly, using his forefinger and his thumb to softly grab your skirt and pull it down, letting it fall on a lower part of your thigh. He did it, right? He felt weird about checking again, so he didn't, instead letting his eyes fall on your face. He never noticed how interesting your lips were. They seemed flawless, perfect, even when drool drizzled from the side of your mouth. They looked healthy, too. You must take care of them. Your cheeks as well, looked perfectly shaped and soft, he almost wanted to graze them with the tips of his fingers. Your eyes, even though they were closed, looked peaceful. Your eyelashes were unique, he thought. Although he's seen a million other people with the same length, all of a sudden yours looked different from the rest.
He blinks, shaking his head. He needed to leave. No more staring at your skirt and your face for no reason. Idiot. He quickly removes himself from your room, not bothering to take another glimpse of you as he walks out, shutting the front door behind him.
~.~.~.~
The pinging of your phone annoyed you, especially since you didn't need five notifications at the same time, interrupting your sleep. You raise your arms to stretch, groaning as your muscles relax before grabbing your phone, yawning. You press on the notification, reading the message.
7:43 A.M.
Kageyama🏐: Get ready and meet me outside in 10 minutes.
What? You had no idea why he was texting you, let alone why he was telling you to get ready. Get ready for what?
You: Get ready for what?What are we doing?
He starts to type, the typing bubble popping up, then disappears. You tilt your head in confusion, deciding to just wait him out. Once it reappears, you watch it almost in impatience, waiting for his message. It was like he was deciding on what to say.
7:45 A.M.
Kageyama🏐: We're going to practice for a bit. So get hurry up and get ready.
Jeez, okay, fine.
You: Where are we going? The school gym is closed on weekends-Kageyama🏐: I got a place. Don't worry about it.
You weren't, but you feel like you should be now that he said that.
You quickly put on your clothes and went to brush your teeth, rushing out of the door with your bag and tennis shoes in hand. You rush outside, your mentor's figure standing outside your gate, waiting for you. He doesn't look your way, staring at the ground as you close the gate door, almost like he was avoiding looking at you.
It seems a little obvious when you try and scoot your way in front of him, watching him flush in frustration as he frantically looks away from you, constantly turning his head in the opposite direction whenever you move in front of him.
"Stop it! Just walk!"
"I don't know where we're going, Kageyama-kun! Stop looking awa- Kageyama!" You stick your head up towards his, trying to beat his game of getting away from you.
"I'm not! Just go!" His flush turns into a red tint on his face, body moving away from yours as soon as possible. You laugh, his attempt at dodging you being too funny.
"Kag-" you breathe out, giggles falling from your lips, "Kageyama, stop, I'm serious," you laugh out, knowing that won't convince him.
"Hey! Why are you laughing!" He yells at you, though instead of taking the situation seriously, you only laugh harder, a wheeze breaking through. "Wh-"
You put your hands on your knees, cackling at the ground while you think of his past movements, trying so hard to get away from you. Did he always move that awkwardly? "I'm sorry! It's just too good, I'm sorry."
"What's too good?" He finally looks at you, catching your fingers wiping your tears, your arm going to grip your stomach. He was confused. He really didn't know why you were laughing at him. "Why was that funny?" He almost sounded concerned, his tone no longer of irritation but of curiosity and worry, as if he was seeking some problem with himself.
You look up at him, your smile fading when you see his face, your eyes bleeding of guilt. "No, no, Kageyama, that's not- I promise you didn't do anything wrong," you wave your hands at him reassuringly, walking towards him. His head sits up, like he was expecting you to come closer to his face, but looks as you face his chest, your eyes moving everywhere, faltering to stick somewhere for more than a second. "I didn't mean to make you feel upset, I'm sorry," you apologize, forcing your eyes to stay on the ground beneath your feet.
Your hands start to shake, anxiously. You totally crossed a line or something. You didn't mean to, you swear. You promise you didn't want to make him uncomfortable. Shit.
"Oh," he pauses, "it's okay." He chants in monotone. "I guess," he adds, trying to lighten the mood. It didn't work. The way your hands shake on your sides was an obvious sign of that. This again, he thinks, remembering the times you've done that during your practices. He opens his mouth, then closes it in hesitation, afraid he might make matters worse. He wants your hands to stop shaking. It's less annoying as it was now that it's a little worrying. He just wants it gone. The negative thoughts floating around in your brain, that is. He wants them gone for the practice so you don't mess up. Yeah. That's it.
"Stop," he breaks the heavy silence, bending a little to reach your wrists, "stop doing that." He grasps them gently, his head stopping beside yours as he lifts your hands, sliding his fingers to hold your palms, your fingers involuntarily curling around his. You were surprised, your shock appearing in your wide eyes- no one has ever done this before. Your head lifts slowly, his following, until your noses are inches apart, your slow breath colliding with one another, the light of each other's iris' conveying to your pupils, the wild blush on both of your cheeks apparent as ever. You wanted to scoot closer, just a little bit. You wanted to know how it would feel if the inches turned into centimeters, into millimeters, into...
But! There was no reason for it, you won't know each other for long, so there's no point. It would also be bad, right? Yeah. It would.
"Um, thank you. I needed that," you say under your breath, rotating your head away. He clears his throat, standing back up with a hum in reply. You gently, awkwardly, took your hands back from his, the warmth of his long, nimble fingers still lingering after they slipped away.
You walk, he walks, no one says a word. You aren't shaking your hands anymore, they stay away from each other, one holding your volleyball bag as the other stays in the pocket of your jacket. The silence was loud, deafening, even. God, this was so awkward.
"So, uh, Kageyama," you call, "when did you start playing volleyball?"
His eyes light up. Nice job. You pat yourself on the back, preparing yourself for what you know is gonna be a long conversation.
His voice is nice, you conclude. You knew he didn't talk much, but you find that when there's a topic he's passionate about, he won't shut up. You didn't mind it, though. His past is interesting, you note. His relationship with his grandfather and what happened in middle school interested you. You wish you knew him longer, so that he could practice with you longer, and help you improve even more than you already have. You wished you knew him longer so you could connect with him more, know more about him. You wish you were a good friend of his. You were sad to think that you wouldn't talk after your big game. You knew it wasn't likely at all.
"Oh, this is the place," he says, interrupting himself. You were outdoors still, a grassy area going for yards across a small meadow. The grass was long, unkept, little flowers and weeds popping out of place here and there. You looked to the net, which was surprisingly nice for an outdoor net in a meadow in the middle of nowhere.
"This is pretty," you say, half squinting from the brightness of the sun, setting your bag down on the ground. You take a ball from your bag, tossing it in the air a couple times and spinning it in your palms to get a good feel for it before turning to your teacher, holding the ball excitedly while watching his figure in anticipation. "Let's do this."
~.~.~.~
Wow. Wow. Wow. You were amazing. Were you always this good? You weren't, you knew that. You had hope, but surely your skills before didn't compare. Every toss you've made was accurate and your form was very well, only needing a couple corrections. Your limbs felt better from yesterday, refreshed, free.
"That was good," he compliments; your smile turning wide in excitement. His comments have become less harsh, you mark. It was like you had actually earned them.
"Okay, wait, Kageyama," you call, pausing your actions and standing towards the net, shifting your legs in place.
He hums a "huh?" as he turns to you, setting the ball on the ground and making his way towards you.
"So if the ball is coming from over there," you point to the back row, "and I'm over here, what do the others do?" He ducks under the net, planting his feet on the ground and watching your hand gestures, listening to the curiosity of your tone. You ask a lot of questions. Usually he hates that. You should already know what you're doing, shouldn't you? But, he's here to help you. He can't get too annoyed with your words.
He chuckles, just a little bit, like a playful scoff as he comes closer to you, putting his hands firmly on your hips, a little tingle traveling to where his skin meets yours. You question why he drags you to the side a couple steps, towards the right-front a tiny bit before letting go. It was almost ticklish in the way he grazes your skin as his hands leave your body. It felt warm.
"You wouldn't usually be over there," he answers you, referring to your previous position on the court, "since you have hands you stay in this position until the ball is sent over to your side and when one of the back row players can receive the ball. The other players need to make room for you." You make an "o" with your mouth in realization. Wow, you were dumb. "The rotation your coach puts you in depends too, you could always start from the back row and make your way up after the ball is sent," he continues.
"Oh, okay, I see. So If I start from the back row and the ball is sent over, what do I do then?" You ask. You wanted to cover all the bases.
"It depends on where you are from the back row, but unless you are back row setting you are almost always in this position." You hum, nodding your head in understanding. Thank the lord he was here with you helping. You didn't know if you could do this without him.
Knowing this new information, you use it to your advantage. He can see exactly what's going through your head, the strategies, the calculations, the improvisations, the technique. He feels...proud. He feels as if he helped you get this far. He didn't want to brag, or be cocky about it, but he didn't fight the corners of his lips from tilting upwards in a smile of delight and satisfaction.
~.~.~.~
Your ankles were a little strained, your calves a tiny bit sore, your biceps were tired, too. You needed to keep going if you wanted to succeed, though. Even though it was almost dark out, and you knew Kageyama had dinner to get to, you needed to keep going.
"We should head back before it gets dark, your parents might worry, right?" His tone stays dead, like he wasn't even asking a question when he looks towards you for your answer.
"Uh, it's okay, I'm gonna stay here." You avoid eye contact, spinning the ball in your hands.
"It's getting dark, you know."
"It's okay, seriously. Don't worry about it, I do it all the time."
Shit. You weren't supposed to let that slip. Your eyes widen in realization, screwing shut as you brace yourself for his loud lecture.
Huh? Kageyama thought, his head falling to the side in confusion. Are you not taking care of yourself? "How long do you usually stay after practice in the gym?"
Your feet shift in place as you turn away from him, pretending to be distracted by the boring patterns of the volleyball.
"Y/n." You can feel his presence change, a darker demeanor overturning his previous monotone attitude. You can hear the grass crunch as he takes a step towards you. Was he- no. He couldn't care enough to be worried.
"A couple hours," you mumble, almost uninterruptible. He sighs, taking another step.
"You need to stay healthy. Playing volleyball injured or sick isn't going to help you so eat and rest when you need. It could be dangerous out here, so go home." He's quiet, but his words are clear. You knew you needed to listen to him, you knew he was right, but you just couldn't help but feel like you weren't good enough. Practice makes perfect right? What if you don't get enough practice? You won't be perfect and all you'll end up doing is embarrassing yourself at your game next week.
You start shaking your hands.
You don't do it on purpose, it's something that just...happens. After some time, he realizes this. Now, he knows you can't really control it. He wanted to just take care of it so it doesn't happen. That's why he grabs your hands and wraps his rough fingers around yours.
This again.
Looking up at him, you see determination in his dark blue eyes, his hair drooping off his forehead, his lips pressed together in a thin line. His eyebrows were furrowed together, in...what? Concentration? Attentiveness? He looked at you like he was concerned, like he knew something was wrong. For being such a heedless man, you were surprised by how much attention he's been paying.
He only sighs, a long breath dragging out, shutting his eyes in thought. He lets go of only one hand, starting to drag you with the other.
He guessed he needed to haul you home.
~.~.~.~
fun facts:
kageyama skipped practice w hinata to do it w you
a/n: eeee sorry for the long update ive been on vacation so hopefully this long chapter will suffice!! go follow my tumblr @tobi-momo for a lot more works in bnha and haikyuu!!