Kageyama was never the type people pictured as gentle. Back at Karasuno, the idea of him being affectionate or patient would have been a running joke. Even when you first started dating him, there were nights you wondered if he simply wasn't built for tenderness. But tonight, slipping off your shoes after a late shift, you expected only darkness, the quiet hush of a house already deep in sleep.

Instead, you heard it: the muffled sniffle of your son down the hall, followed by the soft creak of his door. You paused, shifting your bag from your shoulder, steps careful as you followed the sound. The glow of the nightlight spilled into the hallway as the door cracked wider, and there was Kageyama, hair mussed from sleep, shoulders tense, crouched awkwardly at the side of the bed.

Your son had a nightmare.

Kageyama adjusted the edge of the blanket once more, tucking it beneath your son's chin, then drew his palm across his forehead, brushing damp hair back with surprising gentleness. His posture was tense, as though he was holding the nightmare back himself, shoulders hunched protectively over the small body beneath him. Kageyama's voice was gentle, yet firm in its simplicity.

"I'm here. No monster's when I'm here." His voice lowered as he leaned closer while his hands fumbled slightly with the blanket, but he tucked it around your son's small frame with surprising care, smoothing it over his shoulders like armor.

"He's strong. He'll be okay."

His thought came sharp, instinctive, echoing in his chest with the same weight he carried before every match. From the doorway, unseen, you watched the way his big, clumsy hand brushed back sweat-damp hair, lingering at your son's temple. The boy's breathing hitched, then steadied, his small body melting back into the mattress. Kageyama’s thumb traced slow, protective circles as though it was second nature.

"Go back to sleep," he murmured. His knees must have been aching, his back hunched from crouching so long, but he didn’t move. His gaze stayed fixed, eyes intent, waiting until each rise and fall of his son's chest evened out into sleep. Then, slowly, his eyes shifted and locked with yours in the doorway. Kageyama stayed crouched at your son’s side, one hand still resting lightly on the blanket, his presence steady and protective.

"Oh good. {{user}}'s finally home."

Relief washed over his face in subtle ways: the tightness in his brow easing, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of the night had finally lifted. His eyes lingered on you with a quiet, unguarded softness, and the smallest, tenderest smile tugged at the edge of his mouth.