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Hinata closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath in.
When he exhales, his senses flood with heat, humidity, sticky-sweet against his skin and clinging tight to his body. The air here is thick with passion, with a foreign language that sits clunky and heavy on his tongue. But itâs lighter, tooâless formality, less tradition, more room to fly, perhaps.
Brazil. Brazil breaks him down, tears at his skin, builds him up for a split second, and then utterly shatters him all at once. Beach volleyball is nothing and everything he expected it to be, pushing him to his limits, letting him make a fool of himself, exciting and foreign like the food, the people, the customs around him.
âGwah!â Hinata squeaks embarrassingly, when his footing fails and he goes careening face-first into an expanse of sand.
Spluttering indignantly, half at the loud laughter Oikawa is aiming at him, and half to get the grains out his mouth, he manages to get most of the sand cleared from his taste buds before hopping up in determination and widening his stance, a fire thrumming under his blood.
A set and a failed spike later, Oikawa stumbles backwards and falls so hard a cloud of sand forms around him on impact.
Hinata laughs his butt off. Itâs the whole-body shaking, tummy-clutching, tear-jerking kind of laughter that hasnât graced his small frame since he watched Kageyama walk into a tree during their graduation ceremony rehearsal ten months ago. Oikawaâs fall isnât even that funny, but Hinata finds himself shaking nevertheless. Maybe it reminds him of something, someone.
Oikawa glares at him. âShut it, chibi-chan,â he snaps. Thereâs still sand in his hair. âWeâre both new to this.â
Heâs right. Beach volleyball is nothing and everything he expected it to be. It makes him reconsider everything heâs learned, while also drawing out the depths of his knowledge. He hears Ukaiâs voice, firm and clear, and he uses the familiarity to ground himself in the sand, adjusting his techniques and fixing his stumbles as he struggles to keep up with the kind, middle-aged man who plays around with the ball like itâs putty. Barely a trace of tension in his body, compared to him and Oikawa.
In a way, Brazil grabs him by the front of his shirt and shakes him around until his head spins and his heart rattles in his ribcage, and it screams in his face, what have you been doing for the past three years?
It echoes the same words thrown at him what feels like a century ago, punching him in the gut. And all the same, it leaves Hinata feeling restless, flighty, and wanting more, moreâalways more.
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Things pick up.
He bonds with Pedro. He befriends more of the locals. He starts practicing with Heitor. He laughs more, trains harder, runs faster. The slippery, foreign feel of Portuguese on his tongue starts to grip tighter, grow more familiar, as does the warm sand beneath his feet and the brush of wind against his skin as the volleyball slaps his arms.Â
People call him ninja Shouyou now, and it leaves him feeling warm and tingly and just a little off. Heâs not Karasunoâs Number Ten, orâin his third yearâKarasunoâs Number Five. Heâs not a middle blocker? With that height? Heâs not one half of that crazy second-year duo! And they take the first set againstâ
Heâs just him. Shouyou. Stripped of a position, of a school, of a team, stripped of a moody, dark-haired, grumpy setter. Itâs liberating, and itâs terrifying, all at once. He feels alone, but free, but different, but better, too. He isnât sure what to make of it.
âIf we win the next match,â Heitor says casually. âIâm gonna propose to Nice.â
Hinata practically squawks in surprise. Heitor laughs his typical warm, rumbling laugh, brushing it off as more of a reason to push himself, but Hinataâs nerves still crackle with electricity under his skin, thrumming with the knowledge that thereâs something tangible riding on the game.
They lose, but then Nice proposes, and then Heitor says yes, and Hinata gets invited to the wedding, and a cousin of Heitorâs even offers to lend him a suitâlend, for freeâand itâs funny, Hinata thinks stupidly, how a defeat goes hand in hand with so much victory.
Hinata has never been to a wedding before. He claps his hands so much they turn red, sings along with the crowd until his voice is hoarse, and ends up dancing with so many people whoâve heard about ninja Shouyou that heâs breaking a sweat by the end of it all, feet just slightly sore.
The state of disarray is eerily similar to the end of a volleyball match, and the thought ignites something warm in his chest that shoots down to his feet and makes his toes curl.
Nice corners him towards the end of the wedding, cheeks flushed with alcohol. âShouyou,â she saysâdemands, really. She reminds him of Saeko-neesan. Loud and firm and reassuring, and beautiful in that tall, intimidating way. âSo when are you gonna get married? Do you have a girlfriend back home? You should invite us all!â
Hinataâs mind blanks. âNo!â He splutters, hands waving out in front of him. âNo girlfriend! No marriage!â He flusters, words spilling out all over the place.
Nice just laughs at him, long eyelashes fluttering dark and bold against her skin, long used to his clumsy language when he gets embarrassed. âCâmon!â She slaps him heartily on the back. âThereâs got to be someone.â
Hinata shakes his head fervently, a blush inexplicably painting his cheeks. âNo one!â He thinks to the only girls he had really talked to all through high schoolâKiyoko, and then to Yachi, even, but he steers that thought away violently, a sense of unease catching in his stomach. âReally.â
God must hear his silent plea for help, because a distant relative of Niceâs calls her over, and she leaves him with a playful click of the tongue and a shake of a head and Hinata watches helplessly as she walks away, her back arching gracefully in her dress.
Heitor finds him a few moments later, looking rather run-down himself. He offers a slight, weary smile, before plopping down next to him with a sigh. âWas she asking you about a girlfriend?â He asks, a playful gleam dancing in his eyes.
Hinata nods his head dumbly, and Heitor laughs. The sound slips comfortingly under his skin, easing his nerves a little, before Heitor says, âSo you really donât have one?â
With a groan, Hinata drops his face into his hands. He doesnât really want to explain that all his time had been devoted to volleyball and, well, volleyball, and that he hasnât even held someoneâs hand in that way, or had his first kiss.
A dangerous train of thought. Hinata slaps his palms hard against his cheeks and Heitor jumps, blinking at him, before he laughs gently. âIâm sure youâll find someone,â he says, almost wistful. âWho comes along and changes your life.â
Hinata stares at him.
Heitorâs eyes slides towards his, amused. âNice was a storm, you know. Took me by surprise. Really changed my life, helped me out of the gutter when I was in a bad place, and before I knew it,â he pauses, shrugging. âI was in love.â
Storm, Hinata thinks. Surprise, changed, and then inexplicablyâKageyama.
His eyes bug out of his head. âWait, wait,â he splutters, looking up at Heitor. âItâsât-thatâsââ he bites down on his tongue. âHuh?â He manages.
Heitor laughs at him again, louder this time, but seems to understand despite the lack of clarity. âWell,â he admits, âItâs not like youâre going to fall in love with everyone who changes your life. Some people change your life once, and you move on and become a different person. Some people change your life once, and then, for some strange reason, you want them to keep changing your life, you know? You want them to keep catching you by surprise, to keep you on your toes, to keep pushing you.â
A long moment passes between them, and Hinata watches, starstruck, as Heitorâs eyes linger on Niceâs silhouette from across the venue. His voice is deep, rich, all encompassing. âSome people change your life just by being in it, and you donât want to let that go.â
Huh, Hinata thinks grandly.
Needless to say, sleep that night is an ordeal.
He lays awake staring blankly at the ceiling, mind running over the grooves and dips of Heitorâs voice, trying to grasp onto words that are floating beyond the limits of his understanding.
Welcoming Natsu into the world has changed his life. Seeing the Little Giant play on TV had changed his life. Starting volleyball had changed his life. And meeting Kageyama, playing with him, spiking his sets, practicing with himâ
Hinata gnaws on the inside of his cheek angrily. Mad atâsomething. Himself, maybe. Kageyama, for being such a stupidly good setter. For coming to Karasuno. For being all broody and dumb and talented and awkward and as long as Iâm here, youâre invincible.
Shoot, he thinks grumpily. Kageyama definitely changed his life.
He turns over restlessly on his bed, cheeks flaring in heat. Love? Kageyama? The same person who failed Japanese literature and who pulls his hair and kicks his shins? Doesnât-really-know-how-to-smile-yama? The idea is so strange it sits odd and wrong on his body, like the first breath of Brazil air at the airport, stuffy and weird and unrecognizable.
Then, because his mind doesnât know how to shut up, another question strikes into his brain and this one is far heavier, far more important, he thinks, because his back goes ramrod straight and the buzzing in his head narrows down to the single questionâdid I change Kageyamaâs life?
Hinata blinks once, twice at the ceiling. Kageyama couldâve set to anyone, someone else, at a different school. Made them a good player, yell at them, bring the team to nationals, probably pull off the same quick attack. His mind flits briefly to Hoshiumi, and he wonders if they could pull the same thing off.
His stomach feels all squishy, all of a sudden. Unpleasantly tight, soppy, weird.
Hinata grabs his phone impulsively, the bright 12:02 am flashing in his eyes like a warning. He ignores it, of course he does, and opens his Line chat from three days ago, muscles moving before he can think like heâs diving desperately for a receive.
hey, he texts Kageyama. did i change ur life
His stomach is doing that weird, squishy thing again. Hinata looks at the words on his screen, and the foreign feeling of what must be regret seeps into his blood.
He slams the phone down on the side of his bed and pulls the covers up higher, heart thudding in his chest. Sleep, he chants. Sleep sleep sleep sleep sleepâ
His phone pings. Hinata smushes his face into the pillow.
What? is all Kageyama responds with. Because heâs boring and stupid and bad at texting.
Hinata stares at his phone for a long while, heart stuttering uncertainly in his chest as the question stares back at him. It was his fault for getting the ball up in the air in the first place, and now Kageyama has set it to him.
Is he supposed to spike?
Hinata squints at the screen for a moment. Nothing makes sense anymore. This isnât a match, it isnât a game. Kageyama isnât Shiratorizawa, or Inarizaki, or Dateko, or even Karasuno, anymore. Heâs just Kagaeyama. Hinata doesnât know how to win this one.
So instead, he swallows down his skyrocketing pulse and browses through his sticker library to find the cute collection of dancing bird stickers he likes and Kageyama hates and spams ten of them in a row, before he turns his phone off and slams it again, more forcefully, face-down.
Stupidyama, he thinks. Uslessyama.
He knows Kageyama is playing in the Olympics in Rio, wonders briefly how far away from each they areâbefore he shuts down he train of thought harshly.
He drifts off eventually, telling himself itâll pass and that heâll probably forget about it tomorrow, and that his Portuguese isnât even that good, and maybe he misheard Heitor or something. Sleep whisks him away, into a pleasant dream about flying volleyballs and dancing pork buns and comfort and ease.
Because with Hinata, bursts of emotion and fiery, split-second thoughts are far too common. And so, with enough sunburn, spiking, running until his feet ache and sand wedges deep between his toesâthe fledgling idea follows the tide at the beach and rolls away with the water, kissing the coast goodbye and sinking back into the depths of the ocean, forgotten.
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A year and a half later, the MSBY Black Jackals defeat the Schweiden Adlers in one of the most anticipated matches of 2018.
It takes place at home, in Miyagi, in a grand big stadium that makes Hinataâs head spin and his heart swell with pride, but itâs still hard to wrap his mind around the setting because Miyagi has always been small, comfortable, warmânot big with flashing lights and screaming spectators.
Miyagi is the smell of his momâs cooking and Natsuâs exasperated nii-chan, shut up. Itâs the city of seeing someone fly on TV and itâs the city where he first spread his wings, and Miyagi is the race to school, the rattle of his bike, and Miyagi is irrevocably, unforgettably: Kageyama.
âYEAHH!!â Bokuto cheers loudly, as he and Inunaki hoist Hinata and parade him around like a trophy. Hinata just laughs and yells and screams until his voice is hoarse. Â
He shakes Kageyamaâs hand under the net again, and when he raises his eyes to hold a familiar gaze, his blood frazzles with electricity.
Heâs sure it wonât be the last time they play each other, and somehow the prospect of playing again fills his body with so much adrenaline the feeling almost trumps the victory itself. As if the real prize isnât beating Kageyama, but being able to play again and again, infinite and limitless, like afterschool practice that doesnât end when the sun goes down and the air frosts and Daichi yells at them to please go home.
âYou made it,â Kageyama says, voice all serious and deep and brooding but the corners of his lips are lifted, and now, now it feels like Miyagi again.
"Yeah." Hinata tightens his grip, and grins back. âI'm here now.â
The words taste like a promise.
He gets swept away by the rest of his team, hair ruffles and slaps on the back and promises to go out for dinner later, and Hinata is thrown into impromptu interviews. Flashing lights. The warm, welcoming arms of his teammates.
Kageyamaâs not as sharp, not as prickly, anymore. Like Hinataâs worn-out eraser used over and over again on their English homework, rounded and softer around the edges. With less angry exclamation marks, more slight smiles, a cluster of punctuation that Hinata canât quite put a name to.
And itâs only later, hours after the match, as he lays in bed in his apartment, that Hinata traces the edge of his fingers, traces the seams of his memory, and wonder why Atsumuâs fist bumps and Bokutoâs high fives and Meianâs slaps on the back all feel good, yes, but not right. Hands a bit too smooth, fingers just slightly short, too hot, too cold. Â
Hands heâs unused to, and hands heâll never forget.
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âDonât forget about us!â Hinata chirps loudly, raising his voice to be heard among the frenzy of people.
âMore important,â Yamaguchi cuts in, exasperated. âDonât forget your gate number.â
âOh, he definitely will.â
Kageyama bristles. âShut up. I wonât.â
He and Tsukishima glare at each other for a short moment, and Hinata feels an odd, silly smile make its way onto his face at the sight. Yamaguchi just sighs in response, and hustles them along, moving past the crowd of people near the airport entrance and towards the check-in kiosks. Â
Tsukishimaâs voice snakes up again. âI still canât believe the king is going to America when he barely passed English third year.â
âOi,â Kageyama snaps, tapping the screen of the kiosk rather aggressively. âMy English is great.â
Hinata snickers at that, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet as he watches Kageyamaâs boarding pass print out of the machine.
âYou shouldnât be laughing,â Tsukishima says drily. âYouâre not much better.â
Hinata splutters immediately. âI got better!! Yachi-san helped me!!â Â
âI think the two of you overworked her.â
âWhat?â Hinata pauses, ice and dread spiking into his veins. He turns towards Kageyama cautiously. âNo we didnât. Kageyama, we didnât right?â
Thereâs a long pause, as Kageyama stops in folding his boarding pass and furrows his brow, looking deep in thought. âNo?â
âYouâre not helpful at all,â Hinata mutters.
He dodges when Kageyama tries to swipe at his head, ignoring the familiar tinkling sound of Tsukishima snickering. Hinata jumps behind Yamaguchi, clinging onto his soft winter coat and sticking his tongue out at Kageyama. Childish. Warm.
âYou know,â Yamaguchi starts forlornly. âI was gonna say itâs so nice to see everyone again, but I take it back.â
âAh!â Comes a small, tinny voice. âItâs Kageyama-san!!â
The four of them turn in unison to a small boy, no more than ten years old, looking up at Kageyama like heâs holding the world on his shoulders. He flounders a bit at the sudden attention, but his eyes sparkle in determination and he bows profusely, before holding out a piece of hastily torn notebook paper. âC-can I get an autograph! Kageyama-san!!â
Kageyama stares at the child, back at them, then at the child, and back at them again, eyes uncertain as if he doesnât know how to proceed.
Tsukishima is very visibly holding back laughter. âKageyama,â Yamaguchi whispers. âI think youâre scaring him.â
âOh,â Kageyama says stiffly. He bends down awkwardly and takes the pen and paper from the childâs hand. âYes. I can sign this.â
Hinata does his best not to giggle, exchanging amused glances with Yamaguchi as they watch the little boy brighten in response and practically sparkle, small hands clenched in excitement as Kageyama patiently signs the scrap of paper on his thigh.
âDo,â Kageyamaâs voice is painfully strained. âDo you want to play volleyball too?â
Tsukishima wheezes.
âYeah!!â The boy exclaims, holding his freshly signed souvenir like itâs gold. âI play with my grandpa everyday and once I get to junior high Iâm gonna join a team and Iâm going to play volleyball forever and ever!!â
Kageyama seems to freeze in place, bent down on one knee in the middle of the day in the Tokyo International Airport, and a slow moment passes before he raises his hand and presses it awkwardly on the boyâs head, patting it twice before drawing his hand back like heâs been burned.
âPractice hard,â he says, quietly.
The boy lights up. âI will!!â He answers happily, hand going into a little salute. âThank you, Kageyama-san!!â And then heâs off, running back into the crowd of people, an already fading memory.
Hinata gapes.
When Kageyama pushes himself back up on his feet and turns to face the three of them again, the calm, relaxed wash of his face immediately tightens and his brows draw together. âWhat,â he snaps loudly.
âI never knew Kageyama could even talk to kids,â Yamaguchi whispers dramatically, far too staged.
Kageyama flushes angrily, and then the three of them are bursting out into laughter, snickering and giggling uncontrollably and ignoring Kageyamaâs grumpy shut upâs and be quietâs. Warmth curls in Hinataâs stomach, the same shape of Kageyamaâs uncharacteristically encouraging voice, his hand in a little boyâs hair.
âHey, hey,â Hinata chimes in, still holding back laughter. âKageyama-san, can I get your autograph? Pleeeeaase? Kageyama-saaaan, Kageyama, Kaââ
He dodges another attack, shuffling to place himself behind Yamaguchi again, shaking with giggles as Kageyama fumes at them, and glares at Hinata with the familiar angled brows, downturned lips, his expression dark and murderous and not scary in the slightest.
âYou two havenât changed at all,â Tsukishima mutters, voice flat as they walk towards the security entrance.
Hinata hides a smile as he trails behind Yamaguchi, the four of them attracting a bit of attention courtesy of Tsukishima and Kageyamaâs heights as they make their way over to the jumble of scanners and officers and passengers fumbling with their shoes. And itâs only when Kageyama comes to a stop right in front of the entrance line, lips pressed tight together in the awkward tell Hinata has grown so used to, that it hits him that Kageyama is flying to America, for a year, to go train with some fancy schmancy foreign league miles away.
They all pause.
Yamaguchi laughs quietly, the first to break the silence. âSend us pictures, Kageyama. None of us have been to America before.â He shoots Hinata a grin. âYouâll have to top Hinataâs Rio pictures.â
âYou canât beat those,â Hinata brags. âTheyâre the coolest.â
âIâll beat them,â Kageyama mutters immediately.
Tsukishimaâs sigh likely travels all the way to the other side of the airport. âTheyâre pictures.â
Hinata just joins Kageyama in shooting a glare at him, because the four of them donât do awkward goodbyes or sentimental farewells; they just exist, as usual, with the scatterings of a laugh and the playful lilt of a teasing voice and they ebbâslow, gentle, constant with whatever life presents to them.
âThanks,â Kageyama grunts finally. He hesitates for a moment, before his eyes drop downwards and he mutters, so quiet Hinata has to strain his ears, âFor⌠sending me off.â
âHoly shit,â Yamaguchi murmurs. âIâm dreaming.â
They dissolve into laughter again, loud snickers blanketing their little spot in the airport and Kageyamaâs red face a blazing emblem before them. With another grumble, Kageyama just turns around and makes his way over to the security entrance, nothing else to be said.
Hinataâs entire body feels like itâs vibrating. Hands itching to reach out, throat attempting to force words out. He stares at Kageyamaâs back and something doesnât quite feel rightâdoesnât feel complete. His fingers twitch.
âHey,â Hinata says loudly, bounding forward to catch up with him. His fingers slip into his bag, and before his mind syncs up with his arm heâs already spiked the ball, and heâs pushing his hands into Kageyamaâs, buzzing with something akin to comfort at the feel of familiar callouses, fading heat. âHere.â
Kageyama stares down at their hands, then blinks back at him, expression flat. âWhy the hell are you giving me sunscreen?â
Hinata pulls his hands away abruptly, skin sunburnt by the heat of Kageyamaâs words. âI bought too much sunscreen in Rio,â he explains. âSo I had extra.â He swallows his pulse, straightening up and looking Kageyama square in the eye. âYouâll probably need it, Kageyama. I bet you forgot!â
Kageyama looks at him blankly for a moment, blinking a few times. Hinata's heart swims in the waves of blue and his footing feels a little off, and heâs about to add in another playful tease before Kageyama just mutters, âThanks,â and turns back around again.
Maybe Yamaguchiâs right. Maybe they really are dreaming.
He walks back over to where Yamaguchi and Tsukishima are standing, ignoring Tsukishimaâs raised brows and Yamaguchiâs incredulous sunscreen? Really? and just watches as Kageyama shuffles through the mostly empty security line.
It feels incomplete, somehow, the send-off. Like clumsy, awkward Portuguese on the tip of his tongue. Like too many bottles of sunscreen. Like victory slipping between his fingertips, so close, and infinitely far away.
âIâll be surprised if he doesnât get lost on the first day,â Tsukishima says wryly, dragging Hinata out of his thoughts.
âOh no,â Yamaguchi groans all of a sudden. âYou think he knows his gate number?â Â
They laugh again, soft and familiar and Hinata lets the sound wash under his skin and over his strange, fizzling nerves as they head out of the Tokyo Airport together, stepping into the comfortable heat of the afternoon sun with one less person in tow.
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âSo howâs Tobio-kun been doinâ, lately?â
Hinata blinks up at Atsumu, the older coming to sit down next to him with loud sigh, kicking his legs out as he grabs a towel to wipe away the sweat rolling down his neck. Atsumu tilts his head, and Hinata stares sightlessly at the setter for a moment, mind still stuck on the last dig he had missed before the words register in his mind and he sits up a little straighter. âKageyama?â
Atsumu grins at him. âYeah, ainât he in some bigshot American league, now?â
Hinata pulls a face despite himself, and Atsumu laughs. âI guess,â Hinata just mumbles sullenly. He flips through his memories and texts and perks up a bit. âOh, I think he said their new jerseys are pretty cool!â
Atsumu grimaces, before slapping Hinata firm on the back. âTell âim ours are cooler!â
âI did,â Hinata says earnestly, nodding his head up and down. Atsumu bobs his head along with him, looking immensely satisfied, before another loud voice joins them.
âOurs are the coolest!!â Bokuto declares, plopping down on the bench with a flourish. âNo one can ever beat ours.â
âBokkun,â Atsumu says drily, âYesterday all we heard was yer complaining about how ya wanted a different number.â
Hinata giggles a little at the memory, while Bokuto just shoots the two of them a betrayed look, bottom lip sticking out in a comical pout. âItâs not a bad number,â the man mumbles, sulking. âItâs just, you know, it wouldâve been cooler ifââ
âShouyou-kun,â Atsumu cuts in, turning to look at him curiously. âDidâja stay number ten yer third year too?â
Hinata blinks, memories washing in waves over his mind. âOh, I was number five my third year.â He puffs his chest out proudly.
âI was number four!â Bokuto chimes, but the statement goes ignored.
âHmm,â Atsumu tilts his head back, taking another sip of water. âAnd what âbout Tobio-kun?â
âNumber two,â Hinata answers immediately, feeling a little confused. Â
âMmm,â Atsumu just hums. He shoots Hinata a grin. âSo yer always behind him, huh?â
Hinata blinks at him, lips parting in surprise.
Nine and ten, two and five. Twenty with the Adlers, twenty-one with the Black Jackals. Hinataâs face pinches up as he registers Atsumuâs words, before his lips pull into a pout and he curses Kageyama from miles away. âWe beat him, though!â
âKiddinâ, kiddinâ,â Atsumu sings, and Hinata flusters in response.
âHmmmm,â comes Bokutoâs voice. Hinata turns to him in surprise, watching as the older squints his eyes and strokes his chin with what appears to be immense concentration. âDoesnât it depend on which way you count, though?â
He shoots Hinata a wide smile. âTechnically, youâre like, greater than him, ya know!â Bokuto shrugs before giving a signature double-thumbs-up. âAlso, your numbers are always near each other, so isnât it like you guys are partners? Thatâs so cool!â
Hinata stares at him in stunned silence for a moment, the words seeping into his senses.
âBokuto-sanâŚ.â he starts in awe.
âBokuto,â comes another scratchy, low voice from afar. Bokuto jumps.
âEep,â he says, and hops off the bench immediately, already bounding back towards where Sakusa is shooting him a murderous glare. âSorry, Omi-san!â
Hinata blinks down at his hands, red from practice, and mulls over Bokutoâs words in his head. The sound of shoes squeaking gets drowned out for a quiet moment, as his eyes trace the faraway curve of a number 10 on the back of a shirt a lifetime ago, of slowly broadening shoulders, of Kageyama standing beside him, bowing his head to receive their medal.
All of a sudden, sticky-sweet contentment whirls beneath his skin, thin and wispy and cotton-candy plush, and the thought of Kageyama by his side, despite being miles away, pumps an odd, renewed energy straight into his blood.
âShouyou-kun,â Atsumu whispers next to him. âI think Bokkun failed math, donâtâcha think?â
Hinata startles, and blinks up at him, uncomprehending.
âNeâer mind,â the setter sighs. âYa probably failed math too.â
âYou two!â Comes Meianâs loud, booming voice. âBreaktimeâs over!â
Hinata squeaks, jumping to his feet immediately, while Atsumu just laughs next to him.
âCominggg,â Atsumu sings lazily, and the two of them step back onto the court, thrown back into tosses and spikes and dig after dig. And as they lose themselves in the tresses of practice again, Hinataâs eyes linger a little too long on the numbers on his teammatesâ practice jerseysâremembering, wondering, thinking.
He didnât fail math, he realizes later. And neither did Kageyama.
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âHinata!â Yamaguchi yells loudly, waving his arm vigorously up and down.
Hinata breaks out into a wide grin, energy bouncing in his feet as he zips down the sidewalk towards the smiling, freckle-faced boy.
âYaaaamaguchi!â he shouts, voice bouncing around the night air. A few people turn their heads but he ignores them, opting to jump up into the air and tackle Yamaguchi to the ground.
âHinata!â Yamaguchi wheezes from under him, chest shaking with laughter. âYouâre crazy.â
Hinata grins down at him, the two of them tangled in a pile of limbs outside the izakaya and attracting a few disgruntled looks. Yamaguchi just laughs again, the sound bright and clear and achingly familiar, before he shoves Hinata off lightly and pushes himself up, holding out a hand.
Hinata takes his hand easily, springing up with a flourish and landing square on his feet again. He follows Yamaguchi into the izakaya, nose already perking with interest as he takes in the warm, hazy scent of freshly fried chicken. He gulps down an instinctive drool.
âI think you got a little heavier,â Yamaguchi says absentmindedly, as they take their seats at the bar.
Puffing out his chest, Hinata straightens up immediately. âI changed my diet! Bokuto-san gave me some tips.â
Yamaguchi scrunches up his nose, squinting at him a little as he scans Hinata up and down. âGetting fat,â he declares loudly, lips pulling upwards.
âAm not!â Hinata protests, jabbing his fingers into Yamaguchiâs side. The other shrieks in response, the two of them make a ruckus again, laughing and giggling like theyâre fifteen again, before one of the chefs shoots them an unamused look and they shut up.
Hinataâs hands creep up again silently, as he mentally runs through the successful tickle attacks he had pulled on Yamaguchi in third year, before Yamaguchi hums and says, âIâll treat.â
Hinata drops his hands and cheers a little, grabbing a menu to see the options.
They order a lotâwell, Hinata orders a lot: tofu and chicken and yakisoba and even sashimi, and he grins cheerfully at Yamaguchi as the other stares mournfully at his wallet sitting to the side.
The stretch of three months crumbles to dust between them as they talk, eat, laugh, talk some more, make a lot of noiseâthe usual. It feels strange to take a day off from practice, though their coach had practically yelled at him to, so Hinata channels the restless energy into his words, into the conversation, waving his hands around animatedly and chattering nonstop.
âHave you talked to Kageyama recently?â Yamaguchi asks him eventually, eyes curious.
Hinata pulls a face and Yamaguchi laughs immediately. Hinata huffs. âYesterday I told him to get me a cool souvenir and all he replied with was no. Period.âÂ
The fondness is palpable in Yamaguchiâs voice. âHe still reads all the messages in the group chat, though. Heâs surprisingly good at responding.â
âYeah,â Hinata mutters, âBut theyâre not good responses.â
Yamaguchi snorts at that, likely unable to disagree, and Hinata swipes another piece of tofu off of his plate. He watches as the other tilts his head a little, blinking a few times like an idea has crossed his mind.
"You know," Yamaguchi starts thoughtfully, eyes bright. "Even though you guys are on different teams now, maybe you should try it again."
Hinata chews on his rice, so caught up in the warmth and comfort of the taste that he barely registers Yamaguchi's words. It takes a blank stare and the tap of wood against a bowl to bring his focus back to the statement and he manages to let out a confused "Huh?"
Yamaguchi stretches an arm over to pick up a piece of chicken with his chopsticks, lips twitching like he's trying not to laugh. "Spiking one of Kageyama's sets. Doing the quick again."
The rice in his mouth slips a little, and sits soggy, damp, not quite right on his tongue.
"No," he blurts out before he can think, tiny bits of food spewing out in front of him. Yamaguchi dodges immediately, but a mother and her daughter nearby send him a barely-disguised look of disgust and he flushes, off-balance and scattered like the grains of rice splayed out on the table.
Hinata opens his mouth again, heart stirring in his chest, but Yamaguchi beats him to speaking with a bewildered, "What? Why not?"
The words of protest die abruptly in his throat. "Um," he tries. "Hm."
Yamaguchi squints at him. "Is this one of your guys' weird fights again? Like when you got mad at him for not wanting to be captain?"
Hinata stares steadfastly down at the table as he wipes the rice away. The memory has his stomach squeezing in all the wrong ways. "Kageyama's stupid," he mumbles finally, scowling at the napkin in his hands. His head whips up. "And it wasn't weird!"
"Uh-huh," Yamaguchi says, snickering. He takes a sip of water. "And you're not short."
Hinata wilts dramatically in his seat. "Yaaamaguchi! Mean! Iâm tall now!â
âAverage,â The other says, eyes twinkling.
They smile at each other for a moment, identical grins stretched across their faces. The moment suspends pleasantly in time, comfort and familiarity bleeding warm into the air before Yamaguchi breaks it with a huff and another reach to snatch an egg off Hinata's plate.
"So," Yamaguchi says again, slowly, and Hinata's whole body tenses before the words even break the air. "Why not?"
Hinata blinks. Looks down at his plate. Something lodges itself in his throat, like unspoken sentiment, unswallowed food.
âDunno,â he replies, shrugging. âJust donât think we should.â
Yamaguchi goes quiet for a moment. The chatter of people around them presses down omnipresent against his skin, abruptly heavy, immeasurably loud.
âWonder what Kageyama would say,â Yamaguchi wonders aloud.
âDonât care!â Hinata declares immediately, though curiosity burns red hot in the back of his throat. He stuffs a piece of tofu in his mouth, before mumbling noisily around his food, âDidâa know Kenma goh a noo âame?â
âReally?â Yamaguchi perks up, interested. âA new game? What is it?â
Hinata swallows, and launches into a vivid retelling as he tries to remembers all the details Kenma had thrown at him, head bobbing as he recounts fishing and animals and villagers. Yamaguchi nods along, asking questions and smiling and teasing him occasionally, and Hinata lets his mind float purposefully, maybe for the first time, away from volleyball. Away from a set and a spike, away from Kageyama, away from foreign, uncharted sea that rattles his heart and tries to swallow it whole.
Familiar territory is Yamaguchiâs cheerful smile, food warm in his stomach, mind not caught in the thorns of old memories.
Familiar territory is hugging Yamaguchi so hard the other boy starts to wheeze and slap him half-heartedly on the back, until Hinata pulls back with a grin and Yamaguchi promises to drag Tsukishima out with him next time, though Hinata just scoffs airily in response and ignores the fond little edges of Yamaguchiâs smile.
They part with another hug and Yamaguchi ruffles his hair like theyâre sixteen again, and Hinata smiles, soaking up the sun and throwing it back at his friend with all he has to offer and resolutely keeps his thoughts from slipping into something foreign. Â
Heâs already done Brazil. Thatâs enough travelling for a while.
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Hinata wrinkles his nose.
The familiar, overplayed, ridiculous ad of Kageyama eating curry has popped up again, and itâs just slightly ironic that the ad has showed up on Kenmaâs video, of all places. Hinata bites back a smile despite himself.
He flops back on his couch, limbs buzzing with the strain of a good dayâs worth of practice and high fives and slaps on the back as he burrows into his sweater and lets his legs dangle over the armrest. Thereâs a small flame of pride that burns through his blood, however silly, that he can take up the space of his whole couch. Â
He exits the video and taps into his last conversation with Kageyama, some argument over which flavor of Miya onigiri is the best.
Tuna, obviously, he thinks in annoyance.
Hinata stares at the little phone icon next to Kageyama's name, and then, inexplicably, presses down on it.
The loud, tinkling melody of an outgoing call makes him jump, squeaking slightly in surprise at the volume of his ringer, and his thoughts are bouncing around in his brain at a mile a minute, fingers scrambling to lower the sound and cancel the call because he doesn't even know what time it is there, doesn't know where Kageyama is, doesn't know why he even called in the firstâ
"Huh?" Comes Kageyama's voice, clear and loud. Plainly annoyed and achingly, painfully, familiar. "What do you want?"
Defensiveness and a sliver of irritation rise to his throat, before he realizes it's almost 7 p.m. on a Friday night and he's just called Kageyama for the first time since that one instance in second year where the team had thought they'd lost him.
"Hi," Hinata says dumbly, stupidly.
There's a pause. "What," Kageyama grumbles, and Hinata can almost see his brows draw together, his lips pull down into a frown. "Why did youâ"
"Bored," Hinata answers immediately, heart stuttering. "What are you doing? Did I wake you up? Are you training with all the cool American players?"
There's a grunt at the other end, and Hinata grins instinctively.
"I was working out," Kageyama mutters. "It's almost noon here." There's another grunt, and then, haughtily. "I got some of their autographs."
"What," Hinata demands, lips twitching. "Really?"
"Yeah," Kageyama brags back. A slight stretch of silence, and then, a confused, "Why did you call?"
"Because," Hinata says, stretching the word out and letting it fray, worn and thin like his nerves, "That's what normal people do, Kageyama-kun! Don't you ever call your parents? I call Kenma all the time!"
He's rambling, he realizes, biting down on his tongue in embarrassment.
"Right," Kageyama just says stiffly, quietly. Hinata swallows with some difficulty.Â
"I met up with Yamaguchi last week," he says, even though Kageyama already knows, and wait, wait his brain is yelling, but his mouth is already moving. "And he saidâ"
The words tangle in his throat, suddenly, running fire hot down his lungs and scorching his chest.
"Said what?"
"He said," Hinata exhales slowly. "That we should try doing the quick again."
There's a length of silence, suspended in broken, watered-down time, and thenâ
"No," Kageyama says quickly, so loud and sharp it makes Hinata jump.
"That's what I said too!" Hinata chirps, and he waits for the relief, the satisfaction, for the affirmation that his own response hadn't been strange to settle in, but it doesn't, not at all. When he takes a breath in again the air wraps around his ribs and cages his heart in place. "Also," he says, trying to ignore the strain in his chest "You suck at texting."
"No I don't," Kageyama snaps, and his voice goes right into Hinata's ear.
This is safe, Hinata thinks. "Yeah you do," he argues back.
âDo not.â
âDo too.â
But instead of a do not, a foreign silence greets him, and panic flares abruptly in his stomach, like it never has around Kageyama.
"What?" Hinata says defensively into the void of quiet. "You totally suck."
"What did," Kageyama starts, almost awkwardly. "What did that one message mean?"
His voice folds oddly around the word message, like he's never said it aloud before, and Hinata loses himself in the rough dips of Kageyama's voice for a moment before he blinks and says, "What message?"
"You asked⌠if you changed my life."
The air knocks out of his lungs abruptly. Kageyama's voice wrenches him off his feet and hurdles him back to sleepy, too-hot nights in Brazil, pulse restless under his skin and Heitor's words, distorted and faded and a lifetime away.
"Um," he says elegantly, as the memory dumps over him like a bucket of ice water. "Nothing."
And then, because Kageyama is truly, honestly, unchangeably stupid, he replies, "Oh. Okay."
A silence settles over them. Hinata listens to the steady ins and outs of Kageyama's breath, the whir of what must be a fan nearby, and takes a quiet breath in.
The air tastes like Brazil. He breaks.
"Okay," Hinata says, too fast, too loud. "I lied. It's not nothing."
"Hah?" comes Kageyama's annoyed voice. Hinata doesn't even feel his lips quirk in amusement because his stomach is too busy tying and untying itself.
"Why do you even remember that?" He groans out. "That was like, forever ago." Kageyama makes a noise like he's about to respond but Hinata pushes forward, rambling. "I just meant, like, umâone of my friends there was talking about howâwellâ"
He pauses. Kageyama stays silent.
"Uh," he tries again. "I was just thinking thatâthat you changed my life," he says, voice ripe with embarrassment, hopelessly glad Kageyama can't see his face. "I mean, I think you already know that, but then I was like, did I change Kageyama's life, you know? Because, you were likeâI mean you're likeâ" he hesitates, "An amazing setter, so you probably could've, done just as well at like, another school, or, like, with someone else. And you probably would've still ended up playing pro."
âOr something," he finishes lamely.Â
The silence is terrifying. It feelsâfor a shaky, unsteady momentâlike the ball is going to be blocked and slammed back in his face.
Except there's no ball, and no net, and no blockers, and it's just Kageyama over the phone, miles away, quiet. Â
"You did," Kageyama mutters.
Hinata blinks. "Huh?"
"You did," Kageyama repeats, voice almost snapping. "Change m-myâ" His tone goes clumsy, muted, awkward. âMy life.â
âRight,â Hinata parrots, brain short-circuiting. âOkay. Cool.â
His heart is beating out his chest. How, he wants to ask. How, how, tell me how. Youâre lying.
âWell!â He announces, bright and fake. âYou can go back to your stupid exerâ"
âMy grandpa,â Kageyama says suddenly, cutting him off. âDied in my last year of junior high.â
Hinataâs mouth snaps shut and he stills, hands gripping tight against his phone. âOh,â he murmurs quietly. âIâm sorry, Kageyama-kun.â He tries to tamper down the bewilderment because itâs sad, it is, even if he has no idea why Kageyama is telling him.
âI lived with my sister,â Kageyama adds on stiffly.
Hinataâs heart drops into his stomach. And abruptly, all at once, a tidal wave of realization floods into his senses, crashing harsh against his skin, as he registersâeverything. The unspoken no parents, the muted twist of Kageyamaâs voice, stilted and choppy like the words are foreign on his tongue, the flickering image of Kageyema at fifteen, face morphing into something ridiculous in an effort to smile.
Hinataâs legs feel wobbly. âWhat,â he manages. âWhat the hell.â
Kageyemaâs voice turns angry immediately âWhat the fuck do you meanâ"
âWhy didnât you tell me?!â He demands angrily. His vision is blurring. âWhat the hâKageyama, why didnât you tell any of us?!â Hinataâs hands are shaking so bad he almost drops his phone. âYouâI didnâtâ" He swallows thickly. âWe couldâve hung out more, or, or you couldâve slept over sometimes, you know Natsu likes you, or, weâ"
âWhy didnât you tell me?â Hinata mumbles, energy deflating.
âAre you crying?â Kageyama asks incredulously, sounding confused and angry and exactly how Hinata feels.
âMaybe,â Hinata snaps back loudly into the phone. He wipes at his eyes gracelessly, uncaring of way it soaks into the sleeves of his sleep shirt, the way he sniffles straight into the receiver. His heart stretches over his skin and tears apart, bit by bit. âWhy didnât you tell me, stupid?â He bites on the inside of his cheek. âWhy are you telling me, now, and over the freaking phone?â
âHuh? You called me, though.â
Hinata stops himself from throwing his phone across the room. âThatâs not what I meant!â He screeches. âWhy are youâthis feels likeâlike something you should say in person,â he finishes dumbly. âI donât know. Why didnât you tell me?â He tries again. âWhy are you telling me now?â
âI didnât want anyone to pity me,â Kageyama says stiffly.
âNo one wouldâve pitied you,â Hinata mutters immediately, angry. At Kageyama, at himself, at the world. âNo one wouldâve looked down on you, idiot. We couldâveâ"
âItâs fine.â Kageyama cuts in, voice going awkward and stilted again, like heâs trying to compliment someone for the first time. âThere was volleyball.â A pause. âAndâ"
He stops.
Did I change Kageyamaâs life? Hinata remembers wondering, reckless and curious and nervous, chest tight with the image of Heitorâs lingering, fond gaze directed at Nice burned into his skin.
His heart is doing that weird, squishy thing again. Twisting and puddling and rolling around like putty, somewhere undefinable between solid and liquid. Emotion spikes fire hot in his blood, on his skin, in his face, everywhere.
âKageyama,â he says, before he can think. âTurn your video on.â
âHuh?â
âTurn your video on, dumbass,â Hinata repeats, louder. His heart cuts into his skin, and he bleeds memoriesâof Kageyamaâs face, hair, eyes, like a worn photograph, fading at the edges.
A pause. âWhy? How do I do that?â Kageyama asks, bewildered. His voice sounds further away, as if heâs pulled his phone away to stare at the screen in confusion, at the options. He definitely has.
Hinata groans. âYouâre so stupid. You just click on the littleâ"
âIâm notâoh,â Kageyama says. There are noises on the other end. âI have to leave.âÂ
âOh, okay,â Hinata mumbles. Quiet trickles over them, soaking the line between, drenching it in unnamed emotion. âThanks for telling me,â he adds on, voice tiny.
âYeah,â Kageyama just answers, after a moment.
The line cuts out. Â
Hinata pulls the phone away from his ear and stares numbly at the screen for a long moment, eyes glued to the tiny call ended on their chat and heart hammering in his chest. His mind races and his chest tightens as words spill over in his throat and he wants to tell someone, wants to rant to Kenma or Yamaguchi or Yachi or even Bokuto about how much of an absolute fucking idiot Kageyama isâ
But he canât.
Because despite what Kageyama (and Tsukishima) like to claim, Hinata is, in fact, not entirely an idiot. Because the moment Kageyamaâs voice, pulled threadbare and thin with raw honesty, filtered through the phone and wove into his ears, he knew the words werenât something to share, maybe not ever.
The knowledge makes him restless, makes him want to go out on the court and spike and hit and receive and run until his hands are stinging and his legs are aching and his muscles are worked to the point of over-exhaustion and he collapses in a painful, hopeless fever.
He bounces up on the balls of his feet, over and out to his small, not very well-cleaned balcony, and utterly fails to justify to himself why he bothered to call Kageyama in the first place. His mouth opens, his diaphragm swells.
âAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!â Hinata yells out into the city of Tokyo.
He listens to the sound bounce around a little, chest heaving with exertion.
âSHUT THE FUCK UP!!â Someone bellows back.
âSORRY!â Hinata throws back loudly, before shutting up immediately.
He looks back down at his phone, screen still open to his chat with Kageyama. Robotically, he opens his sticker library and scrolls through, looking for something, anything.
He settles on some animated cat stickers that Kenma sends him sometimes.
There was volleyball, he hears Kageyama say, nothing but dizzy, fumbling truth. Andâ
Hinata pushes down on the warmth bubbling up in his chest, pushes down on the screen instead, and proceeds to spam Kageyama with twenty-one cat stickers in a row.
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âHinata,â Bokuto is chortling. âYour face is soooo red!â
Hinata squawks, and feels himself color as their entire table promptly bursts into laughter, the abrupt weight of countless eyes on him prickling into his skin. âBokuto-san!â
Atsumu leans over and peers at him, a grin breaking out over his expression. âYer a lightweight?â
âNo!â He protests immediately, and then pauses. âMaybe, I donât know.â When Atsumu stares at him blankly, Hinata presses his lips together and mumbles, âIâve never really drinken before.â
Atsumuâs expression falls slack. âNever?â He asks, incredulous, before mischief twinkles all over his eyes and his lips twitch. âNot even once, Shouyou-kun?â
Bokuto makes a noise that sounds somewhere between a shout and a hoot, and he declares loudly, âLetâs get âim drunk, Tsum-Tsum!!â
Meian chuckles heartily next to him, and offers Hinata a warm pat on the back. âGood luck, Hinata-kun. These two are crazy.â
Hinata makes a noise of protest, head already buzzing oddly with the slightest sip of alcohol he had taken in, but curiosity manages to grab a hold of his senses again, and he blinks up at his captain. âMeian-senpai, are you not going to drink?â
Meian laughs quietly. âAh, no. I donât really drink much, and my wife doesnât like it when I do, either.â
Atsumu pauses abruptly in trying to wheedle Sakusa into drinking an unidentifiable cocktail, jaw dropping. âMei-san, yer married?â
Bokuto pushes himself into their space, eyes bright. âWoah, woah, really?â
Inunaki grins, clearing his throat. âOh, you guys should have seen him last year, when he was planning the proposal.â
Meian rolls his eyes. âShion.â
Inunaki just smiles, eyes twinkling. Meian looks away from their libero and instead fiddles with something around his neck, before fingers grasp onto a thin chain and he pulls out a necklace from under his shirt, a silver ring dangling from it. âI donât usually wear it because it gets in the way of practice,â he just explains, shrugging, and Hinata joins Atsumu and Bokuto in gaping openly at their captain.
âWoah,â Bokuto whispers loudly into Hinataâs ear, making him giggle reflexively. âMeian-san is so cool.â
Meianâs lips twitch. âDonât look at me like that, you guys. A lot of people your age are starting to get married, too.â
Atsumu makes a scandalized noise, raising a hand to place dramatically over his heart. âMe? Never.â
âYeah!â Bokuto cheers, though he seems far too gone. He downs another drink. âNever!!â
Hinata nods stalwartly, mind hazy. âNever,â he echoes thoughtlessly.
Bokuto pushes something towards him, an unidentifiable blend of clear liquids in a cup, and Hinata gulps as he stares down at it, the unfamiliar scent uprooting his mind. Atsumu grins and tips the cup towards him invitingly, as Hinata just squirms away.
Inunaki laughs, loud across the table. âTheyâre a bit young, Meian-san. And I think girls tend to fawn over the Adlers more than us, anyways.â He shoots a wide grin at Atsumu. âEspecially after Atsumu fell on his butt during that fan meeting.â
âStop!â Atsumu cries dramatically, wilting in his seat and stretching a hand out. âWe donât speak of that!â
Hinata laughs along with the rest of the team, having long heard the stories and watched the videos, and a warm, fuzzy feeling of contentment trickles into his veins at the comfort, the familiarity of having a team again, of being able to go out to eat, to laugh, to play around.
âThe Adlers!â Bokuto exclaims, pumping his fists. âWeâll beat Ushiwaka next time!â
âTheyâre not more popular than us, Naki-san.â Atsumuâs mouth pulls into something close to a pout. âHave ya seen Tobio-kunâs ads? Theyâre stupid!â Hinata holds back a giggle.
âTobio-kun?â Meian asks curiously. He pauses, eyes ticking upwards. âAh, the Adlersâ setter, right? I do tend to see him in a lot of commercials.â
And then, eerily, the entire tableâs attention seems to swivel around to focus on Hinata, sitting sandwiched between the captain and the wall. The full force of his whole teamâs eyes on him makes him blink.
âHuh?â Hinata says blankly, mind still muddled.
âThereâs no way Tobio-kun has a girlfriend, right?â Atsumu prods, peering over at him.
Hinata shakes his head fervently, the idea of Kageyama and a girlfriend so ridiculous he almost laughs. âNo way,â he declares honestly.
But then he pauses, closes his mouth, remembers that Kageyama is off in America a billion miles away and they donât exactly talk about things like dating and girls. âUm,â Hinata tacks on weakly. âAt least I donât think so.â
âHe doesnât really seem like the type,â Meian says absentmindedly. âAh, sorry Hinata-kun,â he does a slight bow that has Hinata scrambling and waving his hands. âYou know him much better than me, Iâm just guessing based off of what Iâve seen, but he seems very focused on volleyball.â
Atsumu barks out a laugh. âTrue that! Iâll bet in high school, all he did was volleyball, volleyball, volleyball, huh, Shouyou-kun?â
âWhats wrong with that?â Bokuto pipes up, tilting his head. âThatâs how I was like, too!â
âYer still like that,â Atsumu grumbles. He leans over to stare at Hinata. âActually, I bet you were like that too!â
âI like volleyball,â Hinata says defensively, feeling oddly off-balance, and the whole table promptly bursts into laughter. He flushes.
âYeah!â Bokuto cheers, holding out a hand. âVolleyball!!â Hinata high-fives him and grins.Â
Inunaki chuckles. âI donât think those two thought about things like dating at all.â
Meian offers a small smile, and reaches over to ruffle Hinataâs hair. âItâs not like itâs a bad thing,â he says to Inunaki, shrugging before he turns back to look at Hinata. âThat just means they were determined kids. High school was probably just volleyball and Kageyama for you, huh?â
Atsumu huffs, eyes sparkling in amusement. âAnd it was prolly just volleyball and Shouyou for him, too.â
The words of his teammates dig into his skin and pull at the seams of a memory, of Kageyamaâs voice, of acknowledgement and raw, unfiltered honesty, and Hinata squirms in his seat at the attention on him as his mind is suddenly wrenched back into a fifteen-year-old frenzy, into the feeling of spiking a ball with his eyes closed, into taking off and flying.
âI guess,â Hinata finally mumbles, embarrassment flowing thick and heavy into his blood and voice coming out small.
âHey, Tsum-Tsum, whatâs in here?â Bokuto asks, pointing to another suspicious mixture of liquids.
And like that, the table erupts into chaos again, and Hinata gets swept into trying tequila while Atsumu howls in laughter, and Inunaki just shakes his head in response.
But despite the alcohol pulling at his mind, the haze that settles over him, Hinataâs thoughts drift towards dark hair and blue eyes, towards the ring worn around Meianâs neck, towards Heitorâs soft, slow gaze on Niceâs back, and he wonders whyâeven though Meian and Atsumuâs teasing words had basically been trueâwhy the words sit funny in his stomach and taste just barely, ever-so-slightly bitter on the tip of his tongue.
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âShouyou,â Kenma murmurs. âYou look like youâre thinking about something.â
The statement pulls him back down to earth, and Hinata feels his mouth twist into a frown. âYouâre not even looking at me!â
Kenma pointedly does not look up from his console, seemingly deeply invested in the game as his fingers press steadfast against the buttons, tone never wavering. âYou look like youâre thinking about something,â he repeats, voice low.
Hinata bends over to stare at the screen, watching as Kenma somehow manages to be good at even Animal Crossing, going around and shaking little virtual trees and collecting little pixelated peaches. He looks on sightlessly for a long moment, tempted to settle his chin on Kenmaâs shoulder before remembering the last time he did, he had gotten a scathing look in response. He sighs.
Kenmaâs face turns, ever so slightly, and their eyes lock.
âOh,â he just says, and then returns to the game.
Hinata squints. âWhaâKenma, what do you mean, oh? I didnât even say anything.â
Kenma leans away from him a little, as if to escape the possibly of a shoulder on his chin, and says placidly, âKageyama.â
Hinata stares at him blankly, gaping a little.
A ghost of a smile flickers over Kenmaâs lips, lightning fast, before it drops immediately back into a flat line. Quiet trickles down over them, peaceful and ebbing gently like it always does, but Hinata battles with the rush of blood in his ears as he continues to blink rapidly at his friend, mind static.
âBuh?â He manages.
âDonât,â Kenma starts, almost awkwardly. âDonât ask me for advice. You know Iâm not good at that kind of stuff.â
âWhat kind of stuff,â Hinata says robotically. âHuh.â
Kenma just goes silent again, the gentle push of his fingers the only sound in the room along with the whir of his computers. âYouâre thinking about Kageyama,â he says quietly. His nose scrunches. âOr, well, something relating to him.â
âAm I?â Hinata asks dumbly.
Kenma graces him with an unimpressed stare, and Hinata withers immediately.
âOkay,â he admits glumly. âMaybe I kinda was.â
When Kenma doesnât bother responding, Hinata pushes forward, unease tipping over in his lungs. âI just think itâs weird, you know? That everyone always asks me about him. Like, Meian-san, and Atsumu-sanâŚâ He trails off, lips pursed. âI mean, itâs not like weâre in high school, anymore.â He puffs out his chest. âWeâre not attached. I donât need him to play volleyball.â
Kenma shrugs. âNo one thinks you need him. They probably ask because they think youâre best friends.â
Hinata frowns, and leans over to stare at him. âKenma, youâre my best friend, though.â
âYou can have more than one best friend, Shouyou.â
âHmm.â
Hinata lays his head back against the couch, staring up at the high rise of Kenmaâs ceiling and grappling with the storm in his stomach. âIâm not best friends with Kageyama,â he declares aloud.
The statement rings out into the air, and hooks onto the silence of the room in all the wrong ways. Instantly, Hinataâs skin crawls, because heâs not lying, but maybe heâs not telling the truth either, and his brows furrow together as he tries to make sense of the jumble of memories, emotions, thoughts, tangling in his stomach.
âHuh,â he wonders. âKenma, are me and Kageyama best friends?â
Kenma doesnât respond immediately, which isnât unusual, so Hinata waits and kicks his legs restlessly up in the air as he tries to rid his body of the weird, tingling feeling snaking up his skin. Odd, because heâd already had practice today. He wiggles his fingers, pretends to hit a few imaginary spikes.
The silence drags on for too long.
âKenma,â Hinata says loudly. âKenma, Kenma, my bestest-estest friend forever in the whole wide world.â
âShouyou,â Kenma just mutters, face impassive but lips drawn tight in what Hinata smartly categorizes as the intersection between exasperation and fondness. âShut up.â
Hinata watches as he returns to his game, and tries not to press him or egg him on, even as his nerves crackle under his skin and he inexplicably feels like bouncing up and down and all across the walls of Kenmaâs house.
âYouâre thinking too hard,â Kenma says quietly, at last.
âWoah,â Hinata whispers. âNo oneâs ever said that to me before.â
Kenma lets out a snort at that, one of his small, genuine laughs, and Hinata beams a little at the curve of his friendâs mouth. Â
âYouâre thinking too hard,â Kenma just repeats. He places his console down to the side, twists up to look at him, and oh, that means heâs being really, very, a hundred percent serious and focused on the conversation, directing all of his focus onto a singular point, like when he plays setter, like when heâs figuring out how to clear the next boss, like when heâs setting up a stream. Â
âReally?â Hinata asks back in response, trying not to squirm under his gaze.
âYeah,â Kenma says, shrugging. âYou donât have to try so hard to define your relationship. He means something to you. Thatâs all.â
Hinata stares at him, unblinking. Kenma holds his gaze for a moment before ducking his head and picking up his console again, and now Hinata is left with nothing to focus on except the fuzzy edges of Kageyamaâs smile, the glint of his eyes, the familiar, determined expressionâunchanged from fifteen to eighteen to twenty-one.
Hinata calls his parents when he gets sick of failed dinners and sad little bowls of cup noodles. He calls Natsu when he sees a little girl running around recklessly at the mall, brave and unbothered by the world around her. He calls Kenma when he sees long lines outside a store as teenagers chatter excitedly about how they plan to beat the game.
Hinata calls people when he misses them dearly, and he had called Kageyama Tobio six days ago at 7 p.m. on a Friday night after seeing his stupid little curry ad.
âOh,â Hinata just says, dumbly.
âIâm not good at this kind of stuff,â Kenma mutters, replaying his words from earlier.
Hinata doesnât exactly know what kind of stuff Kenma is talking about, but he canât bring himself to ask, because a fledgling idea is already taking root in his mind and his stomach churns and his head buzzes and he hears Heitorâs voice, rich and ripe and too-sweet, some people change your life just by being in itâ
âShouyou,â Kenma murmurs, eyes glued to his screen. âDonât think too hard. Just do what you always do.â
âWhat do I always do?â Hinata manages to force out, breathless.
Kenma shrugs. âSomething interesting.â
âand you donât want to let that go.
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Hinata stares at the door in front of him, heart flying around in his chest.
âRight,â he says aloud. âYeah. Iâm so cool. This is fine. Iâm Hinata Shouyou! Iâm cool and Iâm awesome and Iâm a wing spiker for the MSBY Blaâ
The door swings open abruptly.
âThe hell?â Kageyama says loudly, face scrunched up. âI can hear your stupid voice from inside, dumbass.â
Hinata blinks up at him, and his mind turns to static.
Because Kageyama is so real and solid before him, eyes so much bluer than any picture, and voice so much more irritated, familiar, rough, than any phone call could ever do him justice. Jaw sharp, lips relaxed. Tall. Heâs real and heâs solid and heâs standing in front of Hinata in the doorway of his apartment in Chiba, wearing a loose cotton shirt and sweats with his hair still damp, and Hinata wants to lean in and do something incredibly, terrifyingly stupid, like never let go.
âWoah,â he mumbles under his breath, heart jumping into his throat and heat splashing into his veins. âNevermind. Not cool.â
Kageyama pauses, brows drawing together. âHuh?â
âKageyama-kuuun!â Hinata chirps instead, squishing down the puddle of mush in his brain. The air between them drips slow like honey, a year melting away in the distance. âDid you miss me?â
âNo,â Kageyama just says shortly, before turning around.
Hinata grins and accepts the silent invitation, toeing his shoes off and following Kageyama into the apartment. His eyes flit around rapidly, taking in, digesting, making sense of his surroundings, as he clings onto tiny details with dear life: the Adlers jacket draped over the back of a chair, the lack of decorations, the unlived atmosphere.
âYour place is kinda ugly,â he says elegantly.
âShut it.â
âMean, Yamayama-kun, mean.â
Kageyama bristles, turning around briefly, and Hinata prepares himself to dodge a hair grab, a swipe, a kick, but instead Kageyama seems to reconsider, just blinking at him a few times before turning his back to him again, walking further into his apartment. âDonât call me that,â he mutters grumpily.
Right, Hinata thinks, and tries not to miss the phantom touch of Kageyamaâs hand in his hair.
âOoh,â he whispers instead. âYou have a balcony, too.â
Kageyamaâs eyes slant towards the sliding door. âI donât use it.â
Hinata balks. âWhat! Really? Kageyama, thatâs such a waste!â
He thinks Kageyama turns to glare at him, but Hinata is already bouncing over to the stream of afternoon sunlight, prying the door open and stepping outside, uncaring of his bare feet as he faces the city and pretends his heart isnât seconds away from spilling all over Kageyamaâs clean hardwood floor. He closes his eyes for a short moment, breathes in, lets the heat wash over his nerves.
The door slides shut behind him, and he feels Kageyamaâs presence like the sun.
The silence between them is comfortable, oven-hot but baked in familiarityâand yet the rush of blood in his own ears grows deafening and Hinata caves, letting his eyes slide open, soaking in the sight of Kageyama standing next to him, comfortable.
How was America, he thinks. Except thatâs so bland, so dry, so dull and utterly, completely unlike them. Saying that would be like a toss thrown too short, too low.
âAre you and Ushiwaka friends, now?â He prods instead.
Kageyama blinks, mouth does something funny. âNo,â he says stiffly.
Hinata laughs, and lets the familiar action swallow up the steady, rising rate of his pulse. âYou just donât want to admit it. What about Hoshiumi-san?â
Thereâs a long pause, quiet oozing between them, and Hinata is looking out at the tiny outline of cars stuck on the highway, trapped and unmoving, when Kageyama mutters, âI guess so.â
Hinata stares blankly at the cars, tiny little dots miles away. âOh,â he just says, breath kicked out of his lungs and chest so tight the fine lines of his heart feel as if theyâre about to snap. Somehow, he thinks, he would have rather heard Kageyama say he thought Ushijima was a friend, rather than Hoshiumi, and a dark, ugly poison trickles into his blood because this isnât right, he likes Hoshiumi, admires him, even.
âWhâ
âI mean!â Hinata says loudly, turning around to smile at Kageyama. âThatâs so cool. Hoshiumi-san is really cool.â
âYeah,â Kageyama just answers, after a moment.
Silence again. Hinata scrambles for something to say, even though he knows he doesnât need to, really. But they canât just bring out a volleyball and fill the gap, the distance, between them with practiceâthey canât.
âAdriah-san is getting married next week,â he blurts out. âAnd he invited all of us. Itâs going to be in Hokkaido, isnât that cool?â
Kageyama blinks, turns to look at him, and Hinata holds his gaze. âWho is Adriah-san?â He asks, perplexed.
Hinata bites back a laugh. âOne of the Black Jackalsâ middle blockers. You played against him! Do you even pay attention at all?â
âI donât need to remember their names to play against them,â Kageyama grumbles.
Hinata rests an elbow against the balcony ledge, sets his cheek against his palm, and stares at Kageyama. He doesnât look away, just stares back as if in challenge, and Hinata grins, eyes running over the furrow in Kageyamaâs brow and the curve of his mouth. âYou never change, Kageyama-kun.â
Kageyama blinks again at that, lips parting, and Hinata looks away immediately.
His heart clenches. âDid you ever get lonely?â He asks abruptly, the words out of his mouth before he can take them back. Diving off and into the deep end. âLiving alone with your sister?â
He feels Kageyama stiffen hard and fast beside him. âI already told you,â Kageyama snaps, voice pinched and strained and diluted into clean, angry lines. âI donât need people to pityââ
âBut you were okay, right?â Hinata cuts in, pushing straight ahead with reckless abandon. âBecause you had volleyball.â
A long pause. âYeah.â
âAnd,â Hinata adds on, staring sightlessly out at the view from Kageyamaâs apartment. âYou had me.â
The moment of silence stretches longer this time, elastic, and it snaps back to strike him clean across the face when Kageyama says quietly, âYeah.â
Strongest opponent, he hears in Sugaâs voice. Strongest ally.
There are no more objective, justifiable reasons for Hinata to want to reach out and take Kageyamaâs hand. They arenât teammates, Hinata raising his palms to teach Kageyama what a double high-five is. They arenât opponents, at least not right now, Hinata grabbing Kageyamaâs hand to shake it steady and firm under the net before a math.
Right now, Kageyama isnât an opponent he wants to defeat, nor an ally he wants to work with. Right now, he doesnât need Kageyama, to set a ball to him, to make him feel powerful, invincible. Right now, the only reason his fingers itch to grab Kageyamaâs hand and his palms burn with the desire to slip under his shirt is because Kageyama is just Kageyama, and Hinata wantsâplain and simple.Â
Hinata takes a quiet breath in. âKageyama. If I do something stupid are you gonna kill me?â
Kageyama stares at him, unimpressed. âYouâre always stupid.â
âShut up,â he says reflexively, then swallows down the burning nerves, molten lava under his skin, hot Brazil air. âYou have something on your eyelash.â
Kageyama squints at him for a moment, before raising his hand towards his eye. âWhereââ
Hinata slaps his arm away, heart thundering. âIâll do it. Itâs in a weird place. Close your eyes.âÂ
Thereâs a pause, where Kageyama just frowns at him, but Hinata keeps his best serious expression on, mouth relaxed and eyes blinking unmovingly as he stares straight back at Kageyama, innocent and relaxed and fighting the fear spiking in his chest.
Kageyamaâs arm falls back down to his side, and he closes his eyes.
Hinata lets himself stare for a split second, before adrenaline and want and Kenmaâs calm, knowing voice tips him over the edge and he pushes himself up on his tiptoes and leans in to kiss Kageyama square on the mouth on his cramped Chiba balcony in the middle of the day.
He barely presses his lips against the taller before Kageyama jolts under him, mouth stiff, and Hinata pulls back so fast he swears his brain knocks against the back of his skull.
âOkay,â Hinata squeaks, looking away. He turns and grabs the handle on the sliding door, heart dropping fast and hard and painful and oh, thereâs no one to receive it in time. âIâm gonnaââ
Kageyamaâs reflexes are better, of course they are, and he grabs Hinata firmly by the arm, forcing Hinataâs attention back on him. âWhâŚ.â He trails off, eyes wide. A swallow. âWhat?â
Hinata forces himself to not look away. âSorry,â he says, mouth dry, voice quiet. âItâs fine if you donât like me back. I was just, uh,â He pauses, gathers himself. âWe can just pretendââ
âYouââ Kageyama starts, hand still warm on Hinataâs arm. He stares at Hinata in bleak surprise, lips parted. âYou like me.â
âYeah,â Hinata sighs, shoulders finally sagging in defeat. His ears feel hot. âI do.â
And then abruptly, Kageyamaâs entire face goes bright red. Mouth opening and closing like a fish, and Hinata goes dizzy with embarrassment, with nerves, with the tiniest, choking sliver of hope, and he tears his eyes away to stare resolutely at the skyline and not at Kageyama.
Silence is thrown over them, and now itâs undeniably tense, awkward, hanging by a thread, before Kageyama clears his throat and says, voice hoarse, âDo that again.â
Hinata stills. âDo what again,â he snaps, tone frayed with shame.
Kageyama lets go of him, and Hinataâs arm falls uselessly to his side. âKiss,â Kageyama just mumbles, like the words donât fit in his mouth.
âWhat,â Hinata demands angrily, heat flaring in his blood. âDo you evenââ He falters, voice edging into quiet, childish embarrassment. âDo you even like me,â he says finally, voice tiny.
They stand in silence, and Hinata stares blankly out at the city of Chiba, missing the safety of Miyagi, missing the feel of a ball against his hand, missing the person standing in front of him.
âWe shouldnât,â Kageyama finally says.
Hinataâs heart plummets, but he forces himself to look up at Kageyama anyways, because he refuses to walk away feeling like heâs lost. âRight,â he answers. âIââ
âWe shouldnât try to do the quick again,â Kageyama cuts him off, face unreadable. The heat has faded from his cheeks, and all thatâs left is an odd, familiar shine of certainty in his eyes, that Hinata has only ever seen on the court, that looks out of place. âBecause as we are now, weâd be unstoppable together.â
The breath knocks out of Hinataâs lungs.
âBut youâre an opponent now,â Kageyama continues, brows furrowing and lips drawing tight together as if conflicted. His eyes flit back to Hinataâs. âYouâitââ He pauses. âSo we shouldnât.â
Hinata stares at him, pulse skyrocketing, and then slams his own head against the sliding door, hard.
âOh my god,â he mutters. âOh my god.â
âWhat,â Kageyama snaps, voice rising over the midday heat. âWhy the hell are youââ
Hinata whips his head back up to glare at Kageyama. âYou canât just say that, that was soâsoââ His voice cuts off in frustration.
Kageyama stares back at him blankly. âHuh?â
Hinata throws his hands in the air, hysterical. âYou always say the most embarrassing stuff. In high school you were all if Iâm here, youâre invincible, and now, now youâre, like, weâre unstopââ
âIt was true,â Kageyama says back angrily, blustering heat rising to his cheeks again. âAnd you thought it was cool!â
âIT WAS COOL!â Hinata yells back, before deflating. âIt is. Itâs really cool.â He swallows, eyes tracing the edge of Kageyamaâs eyes, the curve of his mouth. âAnd also embarrassing. Youâre so embarrassing, Kageyama.â
âShut up,â Kageyama mutters. âYouâre so loud and annoying.â
They stare at each other for a moment, breaths loud and filling up the space between them, and Hinata's heart tumbles around stupidly in his chest, floundering like itâs never learned to walk, never learned to stand.
Clumsy, he suddenly remembers Tsukishima teaching him, back in first year when he had struggled with English. Awkward in movement or action; without skill or grace.
Thatâs a little how his heart feels, right now.
âHey,â Hinata whispers. âThereâs something on your eyelash.â
âNo there isnât,â Kageyama shoots back immediately. His voice is hoarse, his ears pink.
âStupidyama,â Hinata says, swallowing. âClose your eyes.â
This time, when Hinata leans up and presses his lips against Kageyamaâs, he kisses back, hesitantly, their mouths moving slow and uncertain like they both donât know what theyâre doingâand maybe they donât, reallyâbut it doesnât make it any less thrilling, any less blood-pumping, and when Hinata pulls back his heart is rattling so hard against his chest it bumps a smile onto his face.
âYouâre so red,â he says, grinning.
Kageyamaâs cheeks color even more, before he grumbles out, âSo are you.â
âHey,â Hinata exhales. And then his mind slides dangerously towards a name heâs heard before, sly and teasing and dripping off someone elseâs tongue, and he fumbles with the taste of something foreign in his mouth. âTobio-kun.â
Kageyamaâs face flames.
âTobio-kun,â Hinata repeats, grin stretching infinitely wide across his warm cheeks. âHey, hey, Tobio-kun. Tobio-chan. Toââ
âShut up,â Kageyama snaps.
âYouâre sooo red, Tobio-kun.â
âShut up,â Kageyama grumbles angrily. Hinata beams at him, then watches curiously as Kageyama clears his throat and says, stiffly, "Ash."
Hinata stares at him. "Ash?" He asks incredulously. "What the heck isâ"
"Lash," Kageyama mutters, staring at his mouth. "There's something on your eyelash."
Hinata's heart jumps into his throat and he swallows, hard.
"Liar," he says, voice barely a whisper.
He closes his eyes anyways.
And when Kageyama leans in and presses his mouth warm against his, Hinata's heart slams against his chest, silly and giddy and clumsy, tumbling and bouncing around with the restless energy of a fifteen-year-old boy wanting to play volleyball all over again.
Karasuno never won nationals, but they beat Shiratorizawa when no one thought they could. Hinata lost to Kageyama in the third year of junior high, and then beat him after six years in a professional, Division 1 match. His first day of high school was marked by an angry voice and a reluctant rival-turned-teammate, and now this, he thinksâKageyama's lips locked on his, hands hovering awkwardly around Hinata's waist, the warmth of a friend, of a teammate, of a rival, of an unforgettable as long as I'm here, you'reâ
This, he thinks, feels like victory.
Hinata pulls away quickly, lips wet, and absolutely does not go dizzy at the sight of Kageyama staring at him, blinking in confusion with an infuriatingly endearing frown of disappointment stretched across his face.
"Hey," Hinata announces loudly, voice at odds with the heat on his face. "I'm gonna beat you again. You better not go easy on me."
Kagayama's expression scrunches up. "Huh? Why the hell would I do that?" He scowls. "And you're not going to beat me."
Hinata grins. "Uh-huh." And then he pokes Kageyama's cheek like they're fifteen again but holds tight onto Kageyama's hand because they're not fifteen, anymore, and he says, haughtily, "Just checking your brain still works."
Kageyama glares at him.
Hinata jabs him in the side, eliciting a grunt of pain, before taking off running through the apartment, laughing loud and free as Kageyama's angry footsteps thunder behind him.
"Race you!" He calls out brightly.
And it starts the way everything with them startsâracing and pushing and shrieking and huffing, out of breath and dizzy with exertion. But they're not running down the worn road to school, they're not standing on the same side of the net, or the opposite, there are no crazy receives or thunderous spikes or looming walls to break through. No kneepads, no jerseys, no shoes.
Instead, Hinata runs barefoot in Kageyama's apartment, hardwood floor cold against his skin and warmth pooling liquid-gold in his stomach and he never, ever wants this match to end.
âThat wasnât even a race, dumbass,â Kageyama mutters, when they both hit the end of his kitchen in a matter of seconds.
âLetâs do it again,â Hinata says immediately, unbothered.
Kageyama blinks, stares down, cheeks still flushed with embarrassment, effort, something sweet and foreign, and Hinata runs his eyes over the image, wrapping it away and hiding it close to his heart.
âDo what again?â Kageyama asks roughly, voice hesitant.
Hinata grins, bright and wide and infinite. âAll of it, stupid.â
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