Work Text:
Tobio adjusts his face mask, making sure it’s on properly before he approaches the door.
He’s not nervous. He’s perfectly calm, his face neutral in that way that creeps his teammates out. He flexes his fingers as he prepares to knock on the door; they’re sore from the strain of the many sets he’d played that day. A good kind of sore, he thinks.
The soreness in his chest, however, is not the good kind.
Ever Hinata’s stumble, since he was swept off the court and out of the game, Tobio has been aching.
The game had distracted him from the feeling, of course. But since that final point was scored and Karasuno’s fate was sealed, Tobio has been unable to get Hinata out of his head.
It’s ridiculous, how Hinata can annoy him so much without being anywhere near him.
Tobio knocks on the door and lets himself in without waiting for a response.
The room is dark, with no source of light but the moon shining through the window. Tobio closes the door behind him. Without light coming through the doorway, it’s difficult to make out much. He shuffles forward to the occupied futon, eyes on the lump under the covers. A mess of dull orange peeks out the top.
Hinata must be sweltering under there.
The lump remains still, even when Tobio’s toes touch the futon. He’s too far away to see Hinata properly, so he sits down on the edge. From there, he can see the redness of the bits of skin that haven't been tucked under a blanket. Hinata’s face is covered by a blanket, too. Can he even breathe?
Careful and precise, Tobio plucks up the end of the blanket and pulls it back to reveal Hinata’s face. He tucks it down so it won’t fall back out of place, leans closer to inspect the sleeping boy. Hinata’s breathes deep and even, barely disturbing the empty room’s silence. His neck and cheeks are flushed, but Tobio can’t make out the full extent of it. Still, he looks peaceful. Definitely more calm than he ever is when he’s awake.
Tobio wonders, does he feel the ache, too? Did he burn, when he was pulled off court, when he realised he couldn’t play any more? Did he feel the same way Tobio does, the way they both despise?
It’s a stupid thing to wonder; Tobio saw the pain in his eyes. He saw the way he shook—not from illness, but from frustration. He heard the guttural refusal in his tone.
At least, as Hinata sleeps, he can’t remember to ache.
Tobio sighs. It seems to echo through the quiet air. “Hinata, you dumbass.”
To his shock, Hinata opens his eyes and looks at him. ‘Ah, crap.’ He didn’t mean to wake him up.
Hinata blinks at him. “Kageyama-kun?” he says, like he can’t believe Tobio is really there.
“Who else would it be, idiot?” Tobio responds, gruff.
Another blink, and then Hinata’s face relaxes into a little smile. “Ah, it really is you. Hey, Kageyama-kun! Are you here to take care of me?”
Tobio isn’t entirely sure that he’s joking. If Hinata starts trying to boss him around, he’s out of here.
When Tobio doesn’t respond, Hinata stares for a moment. Then his eyes widen. “You have a mask on.”
“Yeah?” He must be really sick if he’s this dumb right now.
“I don’t have one on! And I’m sick! You gotta stay away from me, or I could get you sick!”
It’s a struggle not to smile at the concern, and Tobio is suddenly grateful for his mask. Of course, Hinata is concerned about Tobio instead of himself. Of freaking course he is. He’s such an idiot.
Tobio tells him as much. “Besides, I’ve got this mask on for a reason. After this I’m going to bathe, anyway.”
“You could still get sick, though! You’re our setter, idiot-Kageyama! If you fall ill, then we’re-”
Tobio flips the blankets back over Hinata’s face.
“Shut up, it’s fine,” he says once Hinata resurfaces.
Hinata pouts at him and looks away. (‘Victory!’ an instinctive part of Tobio’s mind crows.)
“Anyway,” Tobio looks away, now feeling awkward, “I didn’t mean to wake you. I’ll let you sleep.”
Tobio starts to turn away, to get up and out of the stifling air. He stops when Hinata’s sweaty hand catches his wrist.
The hand squeezes him, and despite the warm dampness, it isn’t all that unpleasant. “You... don’t have to leave. Even if you are getting yourself sick.”
Tobio sits back down, but the grip on his wrist doesn’t let up. Hinata is sitting up now, revealing sleep-rumpled clothes and clammy red skin. He kind of smells. Did he get to have a shower after the match? Or has he been in bed since he got back here?
“Alright,” Tobio says simply.
So for a while, they sit together and talk. Hinata isn’t as talkative as usual, using actual words instead of his usual mix of indecipherable noises and sound effects. Tobio is forced to keep the conversation going himself.
Eventually, as Hinata’s consciousness slips away, his hold on Tobio’s wrist slackens and the hand begins to fall away. But something compels Tobio to keep that hand in his grasp. He catches it before it falls back to the futon, holding it firm; sweaty palm to sweaty palm.
Hinata barely reacts, blinking sleepily as he lays back down to go back to sleep. They don’t let go.
Hinata yawns, and his blinking slows. His hand holds Tobio’s tight. “Go bathe, stupid. You’re gonna.. stink if y’don’t.”
Tobio rolls his eyes. “Says you. You reek, y’know.”
“I’m sick. ‘Least I’ve got ‘nescuse.”
Tobio will let Hinata have that one. Just because he’s sick.
(He can kick his ass for it tomorrow, when he’s back in top form.)
Hinata’s eyes close, and he’s asleep once more.
So Tobio leaves, bathes, and falls asleep thinking about the weight of Hinata’s hand in his.