Ship: kindaichi yuutarou/kageyama tobio Fandom: haikyuu!! Major Tags: none Other Tags: none Original Work:link by gogoshiki Word Count: ~1k
***
Every model has their own signature look. Sugawara has his particular brand of innocent sultriness, Oikawa has his signature pout, Akaashi always has a kind of dreamy, far-off look on his face. As a photographer, Kindaichi learns to work with them all, adapt his angles and approaches to suit their needs. He’s remarkably adaptive on set, letting the model take the lead, even if most other photographers demand obedience and acquiescence from their subjects. But, over time, Kindaichi becomes quite good at what he does.
At least until he meets Kageyama Tobio.
“He’s just so…” Kindaichi makes a move with his hands like he’s trying to strangle someone, “He’s just so! You know!”
“Yes, you’ve articulated your point perfectly,” Kunimi deadpans, reaching across the table to steal one of Kindaichi’s gyoza, “He does have a bit of a reputation, doesn’t he?”
Kindaichi nods firmly. What he means to say is the Kageyama is unlike anyone he’s ever met. He doesn’t have a look, per se, unless being startlingly beautiful is a look. His eyes are always searching, always sweeping his surroundings, like he’s cataloguing everything he sees. He’s quick on set, moving from pose to pose almost faster than Kindaichi can shutter his camera. It’s hard to keep up with him, and Kageyama never seems keen to take orders from the set directors.
Which is probably just as well. Kageyama has a better eye than any of them, after all.
The photos come out beautifully, and Kindaichi wishes he could take credit for them. But it’s all due to Kageyama’s sharp eye, his almost mathematical awareness of his angles at all times. It burns Kindaichi up, frankly, in much the same way that every time he looks at Kageyama he gets a tight, burning feeling in his throat, like he’s witnessing something beyond his comprehension.
To his chagrin, or maybe to his delight – he’s still sorting out his feelings, frankly – Kindaichi finds himself on set with Kageyama again and again. Catalogue shoots, editorials, even a profile on Kageyama for Vogue Japan.
That last shoot is the most involved yet, five different outfits and three separate locations. Kageyama is particularly on edge, and Kindaichi is the only one besides Kageyama’s manager who has actually worked with him before, so everyone keeps turning to him for advice. But Kindaichi doesn’t have any actual insight into Kageyama, as much as he wishes he did.
“Slow down,” he murmurs, and Kindaichi isn’t even sure that Kageyama can hear him, but he does slow slightly, holding in a half-profile shot, neck extended, hand resting on a prop vanity.
“Let go a bit,” Kindaichi says again, and he can physically feel the mood on set simmer. Kageyama’s movements become more fluid, and Kindaichi follows him, crouching around him like a predator stalking his prey.
Although, in this case, Kindaichi is pretty sure he’s the prey.
When it finally clicks, the movements between them, it’s effortless. And when the spell is broken, the creative director clapping his hands together a couple times to indicate they have the shots they need, Kindaichi realizes he’s been staring at Kageyama with more warmth than he really thought possible.
Oh, he thinks, Oh no.
Kindaichi checks his phone, busying himself as Kageyama goes around set to politely thank everyone for their hard work. There’s a text from his mom checking in, and one from Kunimi congratulating him on his big day. An editorial in Vogue is big. I’m proud of you.
Kunimi’s uncharacteristically sappy text aside, Kindaichi has to admit that this shoot is way above his pay grade. And, he thinks, watching Kageyama head across the room toward him, Kageyama is way, way out of his league.
But his voice is unusually soft when he approaches Kindaichi, bowing slightly, “Thank you for your hard work today. I appreciate it.”
“You’re…” Kindaichi laughs under his breath, “You’re welcome. I feel like I should be thanking you. A guy my age usually doesn’t get to photograph an upcoming supermodel for Vogue.”
“Well… I requested you,” Kageyama mumbles, so low Kindaichi has to stoop down to hear him.
“You—“ he chokes on air, “You what?”
Kageyama clears his throat, pulling at the collar of his two-thousand-yen sweater, “I requested you as the photographer. You are the only one who can keep up with me, and I like having you on set.” He says it all in one breath, like he’s practiced it in front of a mirror or something.
“You mean that?” Kindaichi feels a kind of light, dizzy feeling coming on, the same as when he’s had a few too many glasses of fizzy champagne at some boring and star-studded rooftop party.
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t really mean it,” Kageyama says, pouting slightly, like he really can’t imagine someone ever saying something they don’t mean, as if trading compliments and favors wasn’t par for the course in this industry. The sheer earnestness with which Kageyama operates is as startling and refreshing as a bucket of ice water drenched over Kindaichi’s head.
“Well, uh,” Kindaichi clears his throat, “Thank you, in any case. I’ll pick out some shots tonight, probably, so they’ll be done soon.”
And then, because the image of Kageyama nodding stiffly and walking away causes a sharp, pinching sensation in the center of Kindaichi’s chest, “Did you… um. Do you wanna grab a bite to eat? And go through the photos together?”
Kageyama goes wide-eyed, frozen in place, half-turned away from Kindaichi, “I… would like that.” He speaks slowly, as if he’s afraid Kindaichi will change his mind any second.
But Kindaichi just beams at him, brighter than any spotlight Kageyama has ever seen, “Good! I’m gonna pack up and I’ll meet you outside? Think of a place to go, I don’t know this area at all.”
Kageyama doesn’t know this area either, but he doesn’t say as much. They’ll figure it out, together.
FILL: TEAM GRANDSTAND, G
Fandom: haikyuu!!
Major Tags: none
Other Tags: none
Original Work: link by
Word Count: ~1k
***
Every model has their own signature look. Sugawara has his particular brand of innocent sultriness, Oikawa has his signature pout, Akaashi always has a kind of dreamy, far-off look on his face. As a photographer, Kindaichi learns to work with them all, adapt his angles and approaches to suit their needs. He’s remarkably adaptive on set, letting the model take the lead, even if most other photographers demand obedience and acquiescence from their subjects. But, over time, Kindaichi becomes quite good at what he does.
At least until he meets Kageyama Tobio.
“He’s just so…” Kindaichi makes a move with his hands like he’s trying to strangle someone, “He’s just so! You know!”
“Yes, you’ve articulated your point perfectly,” Kunimi deadpans, reaching across the table to steal one of Kindaichi’s gyoza, “He does have a bit of a reputation, doesn’t he?”
Kindaichi nods firmly. What he means to say is the Kageyama is unlike anyone he’s ever met. He doesn’t have a look, per se, unless being startlingly beautiful is a look. His eyes are always searching, always sweeping his surroundings, like he’s cataloguing everything he sees. He’s quick on set, moving from pose to pose almost faster than Kindaichi can shutter his camera. It’s hard to keep up with him, and Kageyama never seems keen to take orders from the set directors.
Which is probably just as well. Kageyama has a better eye than any of them, after all.
The photos come out beautifully, and Kindaichi wishes he could take credit for them. But it’s all due to Kageyama’s sharp eye, his almost mathematical awareness of his angles at all times. It burns Kindaichi up, frankly, in much the same way that every time he looks at Kageyama he gets a tight, burning feeling in his throat, like he’s witnessing something beyond his comprehension.
To his chagrin, or maybe to his delight – he’s still sorting out his feelings, frankly – Kindaichi finds himself on set with Kageyama again and again. Catalogue shoots, editorials, even a profile on Kageyama for Vogue Japan.
That last shoot is the most involved yet, five different outfits and three separate locations. Kageyama is particularly on edge, and Kindaichi is the only one besides Kageyama’s manager who has actually worked with him before, so everyone keeps turning to him for advice. But Kindaichi doesn’t have any actual insight into Kageyama, as much as he wishes he did.
“Slow down,” he murmurs, and Kindaichi isn’t even sure that Kageyama can hear him, but he does slow slightly, holding in a half-profile shot, neck extended, hand resting on a prop vanity.
“Let go a bit,” Kindaichi says again, and he can physically feel the mood on set simmer. Kageyama’s movements become more fluid, and Kindaichi follows him, crouching around him like a predator stalking his prey.
Although, in this case, Kindaichi is pretty sure he’s the prey.
When it finally clicks, the movements between them, it’s effortless. And when the spell is broken, the creative director clapping his hands together a couple times to indicate they have the shots they need, Kindaichi realizes he’s been staring at Kageyama with more warmth than he really thought possible.
Oh, he thinks, Oh no.
Kindaichi checks his phone, busying himself as Kageyama goes around set to politely thank everyone for their hard work. There’s a text from his mom checking in, and one from Kunimi congratulating him on his big day. An editorial in Vogue is big. I’m proud of you.
Kunimi’s uncharacteristically sappy text aside, Kindaichi has to admit that this shoot is way above his pay grade. And, he thinks, watching Kageyama head across the room toward him, Kageyama is way, way out of his league.
But his voice is unusually soft when he approaches Kindaichi, bowing slightly, “Thank you for your hard work today. I appreciate it.”
“You’re…” Kindaichi laughs under his breath, “You’re welcome. I feel like I should be thanking you. A guy my age usually doesn’t get to photograph an upcoming supermodel for Vogue.”
“Well… I requested you,” Kageyama mumbles, so low Kindaichi has to stoop down to hear him.
“You—“ he chokes on air, “You what?”
Kageyama clears his throat, pulling at the collar of his two-thousand-yen sweater, “I requested you as the photographer. You are the only one who can keep up with me, and I like having you on set.” He says it all in one breath, like he’s practiced it in front of a mirror or something.
“You mean that?” Kindaichi feels a kind of light, dizzy feeling coming on, the same as when he’s had a few too many glasses of fizzy champagne at some boring and star-studded rooftop party.
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t really mean it,” Kageyama says, pouting slightly, like he really can’t imagine someone ever saying something they don’t mean, as if trading compliments and favors wasn’t par for the course in this industry. The sheer earnestness with which Kageyama operates is as startling and refreshing as a bucket of ice water drenched over Kindaichi’s head.
“Well, uh,” Kindaichi clears his throat, “Thank you, in any case. I’ll pick out some shots tonight, probably, so they’ll be done soon.”
And then, because the image of Kageyama nodding stiffly and walking away causes a sharp, pinching sensation in the center of Kindaichi’s chest, “Did you… um. Do you wanna grab a bite to eat? And go through the photos together?”
Kageyama goes wide-eyed, frozen in place, half-turned away from Kindaichi, “I… would like that.” He speaks slowly, as if he’s afraid Kindaichi will change his mind any second.
But Kindaichi just beams at him, brighter than any spotlight Kageyama has ever seen, “Good! I’m gonna pack up and I’ll meet you outside? Think of a place to go, I don’t know this area at all.”
Kageyama doesn’t know this area either, but he doesn’t say as much. They’ll figure it out, together.