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“Everything is ruined.” Oikawa falls onto the bed, buries his face in a pillow and whines dramatically before curling into a pitiful ball of shivers. 

Hajime sighs. This is a tough one. He sits down besides Oikawa and runs a hand through his hair. “Hey, it’s okay. The pain will pass. What are you so worried about? It’s just – “ 

“Because I look hideous and it hurts, and I have to wear an ugly teeth protector when I play volleyball!” Oikawa drops himself into Hajime’s lap, arms wrapping around his waist. His cheeks are swollen, mouth red and chapped from the hour-long procedure of metal wire and plates being framed onto his teeth. 

“It’s just braces,” Hajime says and runs his fingers through Oikawa’s soft, soft hair. He’s still pretty even when he’s whiny, when he curls around Hajime like a love-craving puppy and looks at him with round, dark eyes. But there’s real worry in Oikawa’s glance, and he licks his bruised lips before he asks: 

“They’re ugly. And – maybe you won’t kiss me anymore, with all that metal…” 

Hajime rolls his eyes. That’s so typical. “Hey, look at me.” He’s gentle when he lifts Oikawa’s chin, and then his fingertips trace the softness of Oikawa’s lips, thumb resting against the heart-shaped bow below his nose. “You’re really fuckin’ beautiful, okay? And I’d even kiss you if I cut my tongue on all that metal in your mouth. So stop crying. You’ll be fine.” 

Oikawa blinks. His eyes are wide, dark and blown-out from wonder, and he slowly touches Hajime’s chest where his heart beats wild and nervous. “You,” Oikawa says. He smiles. “You… really love me, don’t you.” 

Yes, Hajime thinks. Yes, god yes. More than I could ever tell you, more than you should ever know, with all you have and are and will be. 

“Yo, ace. I heard that your star setter is a fuckin’ fag. ’s that true? You let a gay dude play by your side?”

The game hasn’t even started and Hajime is already pissed off. The other team’s setter grins at him when they line up before the net, throwing Oikawa a disgusted look.

Hajime takes a deep breath and shakes his head at Kunimi who looks like he’s ready to climb over the net and commit murder. “Wait. Hey, Oikawa. C’mere for a sec before you serve.”

“What is it, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa jogs over, volleyball under his arm, giving the referee a short gesture to wait for a moment. As soon as he’s reached the net, Hajime grabs him by the collar and pulls Oikawa right against his chest.

“I sure hope he’s gay,” Hajime tells the other setter whose face is going bloodless and pale. “Because if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be my boyfriend and I couldn’t do this.”

The entire gym breaks into chaos when Hajime presses his lips against Oikawa’s, and the other setter looks ready to faint when Hajime’s tongue slips over Oikawa’s soft mouth for a split second.

It doesn’t matter that the referee has to give a loud warning whistle and threatens to throw Hajime off the court if he does it again. The other team looks uncomfortable, and their expressions quickly change to terrified when Hajime lets go of Oikawa, grins, and says loud enough for everyone to hear:

“Let’s destroy them.”

And Oikawa stands at the back line, smiles, fingers gently rotating the ball before he throws it up in the air. “With fucking pleasure.”

“So,” Hinata suddenly says on the way home after practice, “did you know that everyone thinks we’re bonded?”

Kageyama merely raises a brow at him. “Why? ‘cause I’m the poor alpha who has to put up with your shitty spikes and receives – “ 

“Hey! I’ve gotten better, but you’re still a shitty guy!” Hinata jabs his elbow into Kageyama ribs and earns himself a warm hand on his head, squeezing his skull. “Ow – no, ouch! Alright, fine, sorry. No, because – well, Yachi said that I smell like you. That my scent’s kinda… Hinata-omega-plus-Kageyama now.” 

Kageyama stops in his tracks. “Oh.” – “Yeah.” There’s a moment of silence before Hinata takes a deep breath. “I mean… we – we are kinda touching all the time, y’know. Even if it’s just you pulling at my hair. I like it better when you ruffle it, by the way – “ 

“Would anything change?” Kageyama reaches out and takes Hinata’s hand. His cheeks are red, glowing in the light of the lazy afternoon sun. “I mean. Bonding’s just… wearing each other’s scent. And you already steal my jackets, and I take your scarf all the time. We wouldn’t really be anything else – “ 

A radiant, warm smile spreads over Hinata’s face. “Well, one thing would be different. I could do this.” Kageyama wants to ask what he means, but then Hinata’s already kissing him, right on the lips, soft and shy and with a tint of candy that he ate earlier. 

And then he’s running off, jumping onto his bike with a cry of “see you tomorrow!”, before his silhouette vanishes on the road up the mountain. Kageyama stands there, dumbfounded, and tries not to grin like an idiot. If bonding means that he can keep wearing Hinata’s scarf and staying by his side, then he’s hold his hand all day so their scents melt together, and Hinata kisses him like that again. 

“Really, Kageyama,” Hinata says during a training break, glancing up at his setter. “I don’t understand why you hate ‘King of the Court’ so much. You’re not even a tyrant anymore, right? It’s such a cool name.”

Kageyama looks at his small ace, and says without hesitation: “I wouldn’t mind being a King if you were my Queen.”

The gym of Karasuno has never been that quiet. That is, until Hinata’s face has finished changing from a pale ash-grey to a brilliant crimson, and he mumbles something about ‘stupid royalty’ before darting back onto the court. 
Kageyama’s blush rivals Hinata’s when he follows, the tiniest smile on his lips.

“I broke up with him.” 

Hajime’s fingers still on Oikawa’s mouth. The cut on his lip is fresh and blooms dark-red, a drop of blood running down Hajime’s fingertip. He’s shaking when he wipes it off and smears white, innocent ointment onto it. “Finally,” he says. His chest aches, heart burning like steel and war and fucking liquid darkness. Oikawa smiles. His mouth is bruised, neck full of bite marks. Hajime knows that he likes it gentle, because he’s told him, and that man has never treated him like he deserves. 

“It’s good that you broke up,” Hajime says and carefully takes Oikawa’s chin, turning his head to look at his bruised eye. “He wasn’t good enough. You could have anyone, you know. Not that fucking asshole. I could beat him up – “ 

“You have no idea, Hajime.” And Oikawa’s voice… cracks. Tears spill over his cheeks, silent, salt and blood, and his fists crash into Hajime’s chest to grip his shirt. 

“You think I could – you’re an idiot. God, you’re so dumb. There’s only one stupid thing that I want, but you know what? I won’t get it, because it’s me who’s not good enough! You’re – always here, and shit, you’re so good at heart, and I’ve always just wanted – you. You treat me like I’m a goddamn jewel or something, like I’m precious and bright and you call me things like brilliant, but I could never be enough, never be yours – “ 

Hajime kisses his forehead. Tooru stares, eyes wide, his fingers clenched into angry fists – and then, a dark sob breaks out of his throat. He falls into Hajime’s arms, rips him so close that their chests collide and Hajime can hear his warm heart beat. 

“Idiot,” Hajime whispers. His lips are soft on Tooru’s forehead, his hair, and then finally, his shivering crying mouth. “Idiot. You idiot. You – you can have the world at your feet, and you’ve always had me there as well.” His fingers find the cut on Tooru’s lip, tracing it through their kiss, and Hajime hopes that he can heal it.