He hated Hinata's bike. As they walked home together, Kageyama glared at the offending item as it remained between them, squeaking impudently as the front wheel's lopsided chain rounded the loop. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.
"Hinata?" He cursed his inability to say the boy's name without an edge (better an edge than a shake).
"Hmm?" Hinata interrupted himself in the middle of whatever ridiculous story he'd been telling.
"Your bike squeaks too much." Just like you. But the difference, the large difference, was that Hinata's squeaking was sunshiney (if that was even a word), and Kageyama secretly admitted to himself that he could listen to Hinata's squeaking for days, weeks, years.
"Oh. The chain's lopsided! Anyways…"
I already knew that. But Kageyama was terrible at breaking silences, and that was the only thing he could think of to say besides something stupid like "your squeaking is cute" or "your hair reminds me of the sun" because those things were way to romantic and cheesy and he wasn't used to thinking things like this because oh god, this little, goddamned energetic spiker was going to be the death of him.
So he listened to Hinata's story, taking very little in, and chose instead to stare at the freckle on the left side of Hinata's nose and ignore the stirring somewhere in his gut that wondered what it would be like to press his lips to it.
All too soon (blessedly soon!) they reached the fork in the road. Kageyama hesitated, like he always did, and drew in a breath as if to speak, like he always did, and Hinata Shouyou did not notice and turned down the fork in the road, an orange-and-blue disappearing speck. Just like he always did.
A/N: I'm becoming obsessed with the volleyboys. send help.