Chapter 1: 1
Kageyama’s driving the truck, wind whipping their hair, hot mid-spring air burning their skin and whipping sea salt against their eyes. The breeze is hot and the whole earth is boiling with blue in the distance, rimmed by Kageyama’s horizon of a window, rolled down, stupid fucking window bringing in mosquitoes. Hinata told him what would happen, but Tobio disapproved, something about it being hot enough to-he didn’t listen- the windows were already rolled down too much to goddamn hear anything. They both surrendered to the tantrum of debris that flung itself into the front of the car as the truck zoomed down the highway.
It’s about time that the sky is darkening that they slow the truck down, park it under a tree, and start to roll up all the windows. The crickets are coming out and it seems like every bug alive is trying to exist in this exact moment as they quickly struggle over each other trying to close every open part of the car in time.
Sweat on their brows, huffing with a seatbelt still strained into his collarbone, Hinata smacks at his face, relieved for the day to be over and for the shop to be closed, so to speak. Tobio is staring off into the distance, until he jerks towards the glove compartment, scrambling his hand over Hinata’s sweaty knee, not bothering to apologize as he reaches for the flashlight inside.
Hinata’s attention goes to the other at the sound of rustling and clicking, watching Kageyama flatten a map with red sharpie and blue pens lines on it on his knee.
He draws a mark with one hand but the contrast prevents Hinata from seeing where. He doesn’t mind though, and instead views their surroundings: the dusty dashboard, silty with random bits of sand and a piece of restaurant candy, the blurred view outside the window. He kicks at used pop bottles ruffling against each other in the bottom of the seat where Hinata lays.
“How far away are we now?” he asks.
“Does it matter? I’m taking us there.” Tobio doesn’t turn his head when he answers, just flicks his eyes angrily in one line straight towards Hinata.
Hinata puffs up his cheeks in response, pretending to scowl, pretending not to trust Kageyama.
His friend reaches up instead to take off the other’s seatbelt, still cinching into his neck in a almost painful way, the former leisurely taking his off almost as soon as the keys left the ignition. Hinata didn’t know why he didn’t bother to leave them in, but some battles weren’t worth the energy. Or the glaring.
Kageyama offers to keep watch when its dark enough they start to worry people are around them. Nobody was around when they parked, in some side-by forest with an opening big enough to drive through, but who knows if they’re in somebodies backyard. Whatever. They have no choice.
Hinata doesn’t want to sleep first, but it’s only when Kageyama is nearly forcibly ripping his binder off that Hinata coincides, making sure to even the tables by evenly lecturing Kageyama the same about binder safety. Kageyama huffs when Hinata thinks he believes the other’s not looking, and switches out for a sports bra. The orange haired boy has his faced pressed against the glass, his shoes still on, watching his old setter stare out of the windowshield with his head in his hand. He falls asleep.
Chapter 2: 2
more weird nonsensical aesthetic kagehinata basially
no theyre not romantic
im turning being depressed n abused into an aesthetic
also kageyama canon has neglectful parents im |SCREgsfdg
and kage stole a car I DONT KNOW
theyre in japan this time
They’re paddling their feet in the lake, car parked behind them, pants scruffy and molded with sand and dirt and fingers grubby with a day of hanging out around in wilderness. It’s sunset. There are geese in the distance, large honks baying into the horizon and adding to the murk of the atmosphere. The lake is quiet and rippling.
Hinata’s on the right, Tobio the left, they’re sharinga blue headphone split into two. The song is quiet and thrumming, sketchy japanese pop matching in a weird vibrating hum next to the lyrics of the water lapping against their ankles. They have their pants rolled up, the insides of the cuffs probably the only clean part of their clothes.
“Kageyaaaamaaaaa”. Hinata breaks the silence.
Tobio turns his head, asks “what?”
“Do you want to go back home yet?”
Hinata stares at him too long, Kageyama can’t get mad this time. Hinata came with him all the way out here, on a school night, to spend an evening during a day when he just didn’t want to be alone and didn’t want to go home. There was no one waiting there anyway.
Tobio knows he wants Hinata to stay with him. Hinata knows he want to stay with Kageyama.
They end up going back in the car, and they drive to Hinata’s house. Hinata’s mother welcomes Kageyama with a warm smile and open arms, and Hinata comfortably leads his friend to a place they can sit together.
Kageyama doesn’t call his home back. His mother doesn’t call Hinata’s house either. She doesn’t know Tobio has friends. They fall asleep together, on the couches in the living room, blankets muddled halfway on the floor and on their sleeping bodies, dim dusty light through their blinds of the window colouring the room. Hinata’s sister and mother clean up supper around them quietly, go to bed without bothering them. The lights are turned off and the house is silent.
Chapter 3: 3
kagehina haikyuu trans au part 3
warning for dysphoria and gender talk
based off my current feelings i guess
Hinata isn’t having a very good day. He’s fifteen, still young and fresh and still baby-faced and short. Still short.
He tries not to think of the looks he gets when he jogs alone, in his own clothes, tries not to think that the athletic shorts hug place on his body that’re too fat and too chubby and too soft without Kageyama there pacing along with him, making the whole duo seem alot more masculine. Guys stick together, right? It’s easy to catcall girls jogging on a highway with earphones in, eyes glazed, barely paying attention.
But he’s not one, he’s not one, he’s not one.
He tries to ignore the fear he feels when he rests under a bridge, the feel of wet grass tempering the hot vibrations of his blood trying to sort itself back together; send itself through his body fast enough while his binder stretches and pulls and gives him another thing to try to forget about.
He’s normally smiling, he’s normally happy, he really is, but sometimes it feels like he can’t yell loud enough and can’t stand tall enough and can’t suck in his butt tightly enough against his back like he wishes he could until he was as flat as all the guys were in the changing room when he peeks out after whipping his jersey off. He wishes.
Hinata tries his best to move on from the moments while they stretch and he can f e e l every soft part of him pushing against the cold floor-and he’s too hyperaware- and his stomach fights against a coldness he doesn’t want to believe his other teammates will look at him with if they ever learn he’s o t h e r.
Because he is normal, his brain is normal, it’s normal to want to be a boy, and be one, and live as one, because he is one, but there’s a fear nobody else will see it like he sees it. That he’s a boy like the other’s aren’t a boy. (HE’S A BOY!) His mind screams. But instead he can feel the cellulite and pale fat of his thighs so different from everyone else’s bodies that have muscles and hair and width and he feels like a baby chick while everyone else is sporting feathers and growing wings.
He wants to fly too.
He tries not to think of the moment under the bridge where he swore the man thought he was a girl and he nearly said yes because he i s but not like that, not in the way everyone means, but he means it too. He doesn’t want to have to mean it.
It’s hard to argue with strangers.
It’s worse when they’re people you know.
He thinks of the pictures of himself his mother still has up in the house, how sometimes his little sister still calls him onee-chan, uses his old name. He can’t bring Kageyama over.
He walks past a pile of sports bras he keeps in his closet and closes the door, wearing his binder, wearing his male shoes, his briefs, everything not-so-casually picked out. he tries to act casual.
He just wants to be casual.
It’s a liberty to forget.