okay so i had the most horrible idea for a kagehina scene so now you all have to suffer with me - 2.4k, rated t, :( but then :)
Hinata found him behind their gym. His uniform jacket was stuck to the prickly cinderblocks half-way up his back like he’d leaned and slid down into the grass instead of sitting on the ground in the first place, like he couldn’t bother with normal human actions and just melted down the side of the wall out of spite or something. His messenger bag lay upturned and half-way gutted over the green ground in front of him, with his shoe dangerously close to the crime scene. It looked like he’d kicked it himself in anger.
Hinata bit his lip, wringing his hands as he stepped around the corner and approached Kageyama.
He’d planned it all out, researched the best ways to go about it and the best poems–even read some in Japanese and English to see which language would sound cooler in the moment–and the best day in the week to do it. He’d talked to Yachi about it, and then Noya, who were both more in touch with this kind of stuff (especially compared to him). He’d thought about how tired they would be just after lunch versus at the end of the day (he couldn’t do it in the morning, because what if it went terribly wrong and Hinata would have to go to school with him all day instead of being able to escape at any point–best to avoid unnecessary embarrassment if he was rejected). He hadn’t anticipated this, though.
Just before last period, he’d pulled the piece of paper out of his trouser pocket–the one that he’d nearly scribbled and erased and scribbled down to pulpy nothing, the one he’d read and reread so much that the blue lines across it were fading at the edges from his restless thumbs (the one that he’d nearly thrown in the wash the other night)–and held it in his hands as he walked up to Kageyama in front of the sciences building. As usual, the volleyball team tended to gravitate toward each other during any sort of between-class downtime, so Tanaka, Ennoshita, Yamaguchi, Yachi and a couple of the first-years were all sprawled or leaning or loitering on the lawn with Kageyama, who sipped at his box of milk through a straw and slouched in the shade of a scraggly tree, listening to another one of Tanaka’s stories.