#physicalaffection

The rain continued its steady drum against the window, but inside the kitchen, the atmosphere shifted.

Kageyama stood by the stove, the spatula held loosely in his hand as he stared down at the sizzling rice. Despite his focus on the food, his broad shoulders were visibly tense, slumped with a heavy, exhausting weight that went far beyond physical fatigue.

He hadn't just been pushed to his limits at camp; he was carrying a quiet, frustrating guilt that had been eating at him all the way on the train ride home.

"Tobio?" you asked softly, leaning forward on the barstool. "What's wrong?"

He didn't answer right away. He turned off the burner, slid the pan onto a cool grate, and stood there for a second, staring at the floor. When he finally turned to face you, his dark blue eyes were clouded with an intense, troubled look.

"The training camp," he said, his voice lower and rougher than usual. "They extended the final scrimmage block by four hours. We didn't get dismissed until late evening." He stepped closer to the island, his hands clenching into loose fists at his sides. "I missed the dinner. I missed the whole date. We planned it for three weeks."

He looked incredibly frustrated—not at the coaches, but at himself, as if his dedication to volleyball had somehow let you down. He was braced for you to be disappointed, or at least a little lonely.

Instead, you just smiled, reaching across the counter to grab his hand.

"Tobio, I'm not upset at all," you said gently, squeezing his calloused fingers. "I was watching the live updates from the scrimmage. You played incredibly well. I'm so proud of you."

Kageyama blinked, momentarily stunned. The intense, worried line between his brows began to soften. "You... you aren't mad?"

"Of course not," you laughed softly, sliding off your stool. "In fact, I figured you'd be starving when you got back. So..."

You walked over to the counter and pulled a small towel off a large, covered ceramic dish, revealing a beautiful, freshly prepared spread of hamburg steak—his absolute favorite—complete with a rich glaze and perfectly cut vegetables. "I made this for you so we could still have our dinner together, even if it's late."

Kageyama stood entirely still.

He didn't move, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the kitchen floor. He stared down at the beautifully glazed meal you had painstakingly prepared for him, and then his eyes slowly drifted up to meet yours.

He didn't speak. He just looked at you—intently, quietly, with an intensity that made the rest of the room fade away. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his mouth opening slightly as if to say something, but no words came out. He was completely stuck, overwhelmed by the sheer warmth of finding you here, waiting for him, entirely unbothered by his mistake.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached across the kitchen island. His large, calloused hand slid over the counter, his knuckles brushing against yours before his fingers spread and closed tightly around your hand. He squeezed—firm and grounding, a silent apology and an immense thank you wrapped into a single physical pressure.

"Tobio?" you murmured.

He finally moved, stepping around the island until he was standing directly in front of you. He didn't immediately lean in. Instead, he slowly bent his knees, lowering himself until he could gently rest his forehead right against yours.

His eyes closed. He just stayed there like that for a long, quiet moment, his cool skin warming against yours, his deep, shaky breath fanning across your cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice incredibly raw. "And... thank you."

Before you could reply, his arms wrapped around you. He pulled you in with a desperate, unyielding strength, burying his face in the crook of your neck. It was a long, heavy hug—the kind where he let his entire weight relax against you, holding you so tight that you could feel the rapid, steady thud of his heart against your chest. He held you as if he were memorizing the exact feeling of having you in his arms after three long days apart.

Only after a long, silent minute did he slowly pull back. His hands slid up to gently cup your cheeks, his thumbs tracing your cheekbones, his gaze locked onto your lips.

And then, finally, he leaned down and kissed you.

It wasn't his usual quick, shy peck. This kiss was warm, heavy with gratitude, and sweet enough to make your knees go slightly weak. His lips were soft against yours, parting slightly as he poured every ounce of his relief and love into the kiss. His hands pressed firmly into your lower back, holding you close as if he couldn't believe how lucky he was.

When he finally pulled back just a fraction, his forehead rested against yours again, his breathing shallow. He leaned down and kissed you again, a quick, lingering press of his lips, then another on your cheek, and one more on the crown of your head.

"Let me help," he murmured, refusing to let go of your waist entirely.

What followed was a chaotic, sweet blur of kitchen fluff. Kageyama, still clinging to your side, insisted on holding the plates while you scooped the rice. Every time you reached for a serving spoon, he would lean down to press a soft kiss to your shoulder, his damp hair brushing against your neck.

"Tobio, I can't scoop the gravy if you keep kissing my cheek," you laughed, though you didn't make any move to stop him.

"Just one more," he mumbled, his voice sleepy but stubborn as he pressed his lips to the corner of your mouth, lingering there until you let out a quiet sigh of defeat.

Eventually, you managed to get the food to the table. You ate together in the quiet, warm glow of the kitchen, Kageyama practically beaming with every bite of the meal you had prepared. The guilt that had weighed his shoulders down was completely gone, replaced by a relaxed, content comfort.

Once the plates were cleared—which Kageyama insisted on washing himself, though he let you dry them just so you could stay close—he carried you, quite literally, down the hallway to the bedroom.

The moment you both hit the mattress, Kageyama pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair. He wrapped his long legs around yours, completely anchoring you to his side.

In the dim light of the bedroom, he looked down at you, his eyes heavy with a deep, peaceful sleepiness. He reached up, his large hand gently cupping your face, his thumb sweeping over your bottom lip.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice a soft, raspy murmur. "So much."

"I love you too, Tobio," you replied.

He leaned down, kissing you one last time—a slow, tender, sleepy kiss that tasted like home and quiet rainy nights. He tucked the heavy blankets securely around your shoulders, pulled you close against his warm chest, and let his eyes finally drift closed, his heart beating a steady, comforting rhythm against your cheek as you both drifted off to sleep.