The gym smells like varnish and sweat and something electric you can’t name.
Hinata is still breathing hard, hands on his knees, orange hair damp and sticking to his forehead. Practice ended ten minutes ago. Everyone else left. Somehow, you didn’t.
You’re sitting on the wooden bench by the wall, legs swinging, pretending you’re not watching the way his shoulders rise and fall. Pretending your heart isn’t doing the same thing.
“Um,” he says, straightening too fast. “You waited.”
You nod. “You said you wanted to try that jump again.”
His eyes light up instantly. Too bright. Too open. Hinata always wears his feelings where anyone can see them, and that’s the problem. That’s why this feels dangerous.
He grabs the ball. Misses the first toss. Laughs, embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Sorry! I get nervous when… when you’re watching.”
That lands harder than any spike.
You stand. The distance between you is suddenly small. Too small. You can see the faint scar on his chin, the way his fingers tighten around the ball like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.
“Hinata,” you say, softly. His name feels different in your mouth. “Why do you get nervous?”
For a moment, you think he won’t answer. Hinata isn’t subtle, but feelings, real ones, still scare him. Then he exhales, quick and shaky.
“Because,” he says, staring at the floor, “when you’re here, I want to do everything right.”
You reach out before you can overthink it, fingers brushing his wrist. He looks up, startled, like he didn’t expect you to touch him. Like he didn’t expect to be wanted.
“I don’t need perfect,” you say. “I just need you.”
The silence that follows is loud.
Hinata steps closer. Slowly. Like he’s afraid the moment might shatter if he moves too fast. His hand comes up, hovering near your cheek, hesitating.
You don’t answer with words.
The kiss is clumsy. Soft. His lips brush yours, miss slightly, try again. He makes a small sound( surprised, almost disbelieving) and then he’s kissing you for real, warm and earnest and completely Hinata. Like he’s giving you something precious without knowing how to hold it yet.
When you pull back, he’s smiling so wide it almost hurts to look at.
“Wow,” he breathes. “So that’s what that’s like.”
You laugh, forehead resting against his. “You liked it?”
He nods immediately. Too fast. “Yeah. I mean—yes. A lot. Did you?”
You kiss him again, quick and sure this time.
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