Chapter Text
Being a ball boy wouldn’t have been Shouyou’s first choice – duh – but at least he gets to be here at the camp. Watching, listening. He aches to try out the moves himself, but that’ll have to wait until he gets home. Man, did he ever get an earful from Coach Ukai and Takeda-sensei. Still, he thinks, grinning as he watches the play and listens eagerly to the instructions, it was worth it—
The gym door bursts open and someone, looks like a teacher, scurries in and heads straight for Coach Washijou. A time-out is called and the teacher talks urgently with the coach. When they’re done, Washijou stands up and calls, “Gather round, everyone!”
Shouyou isn’t sure he’s invited, but the coach looks him and the assistants straight in the eye. “You, too. All of you.” Shouyou steps up behind the semicircle of players, facing the coach. “We’ve just received some serious news. There’s been an explosion at two sporting locations in Tokyo, the Metropolitan Gymnasium and the Ajinomoto Training Center. Since some of you have family and classmates in Tokyo, we’re allowing a half-hour break for you to contact them and reassure yourselves that you’re okay. I expect to see you back here at…”
Shouyou can’t breathe.
Cold washes through him. The Ajinomoto Training Center. That’s where the All-Japan is being held. Where Kageyama is. “Are there any—Are…” he calls out, voice high and unsteady. “Do they know if…” He keeps choking on his words, and his voice is lost in the hubbub of all the camp members talking at once. An explosion, an explosion, an explosion, runs through his head. For some reason, all he can see is the explosions in films. He’s blinking rapidly and he’s so, so cold. He knows he should do something, but he can’t move.
“Come on,” a voice says sternly. Hands on his shoulders. Tsukishima. “Where’s your stuff? Where’s your phone?”
Shouyou stares up at Tsukishima wordlessly, and gestures vaguely off to the side. “Okay. Go get it out of your stuff. I’ll get my phone and join you…” Tsukishima trails off. Shouyou doesn’t know why he looks so strange. Or why things are moving so slowly. “Dammit. Okay. Okay. Wait here, okay? I’ll grab my phone and then we can go find yours.”
Tsukishima disappears. Shouyou blinks, once, twice, trying to shake himself out of the grip of the cold. He’s fine, he’s fine, he’ll be fine, he keeps repeating to himself, and underneath that in his head is explosion, explosion, explosion…
Tsukki’s back. How did he get back so fast? Shouyou’s dragged off to the side, where the other players are also searching out their phones through the mound of bags and jackets on the benches. “Where’s your stuff?” Tsukki asks and keeps a hand around Shouyou’s upper arm until he fumbles his phone out of a jacket pocket. “Okay,” Tsukki says, kneeling and looking up to meet Shouyou’s eyes. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to call Kuroo-san and Bokuto-san and check that the guys from Nekoma and Fukorodani are okay. You’re going to call Kageyama-kun, okay? Can you do that?”
Shouyou nods. The phone in his hand feels unfamiliar, but he manages to work it on instinct. His heart thuds in his chest as he waits for it to connect.
An automated female voice responds. “Kochira wa NTT Docomo desu. Okake ni natta denwa wa denpa no todokanai basho ni aruka dengen ga haitte inaitame kakarimasen.”
He dials again, and again, but it’s always the same message: out of service or switched off. His heart begins to thunder in his ears and the cold inside him begins to spill over. His phone’s off. His phone’s off. His phone’s off. His phone’s off… “His phone’s off,” he babbles to Tsukki. “His phone’s off.” He can’t seem to stop saying it. “His phone’s off, his phone’s off…”
“Okay. Listen. Hinata. Damn it. Breathe.” Tsukki is frowning in his face and his hands are on Shouyou’s shoulders again. Shouyou tries, but all he can manage is shallow gasps. Around him, there’s the buzz and babble of people talking on their phones, some with one finger in their ears. It’s loud, but no-one’s complaining. “Listen. Hinata. Listen. He might have turned his phone off for the practice and been unable to turn it on again. Okay? Let’s check the news…” He flips to a news app on his phone and taps something in. Shouyou can’t see it.
“Kenma,” Shouyou gasps, remembering who Tsukki was calling. “Kuroo-san…”
“They’re all right,” Tsukki nods. “I got Kuroo and he just checked with Bokuto-san. They were at school, all of them.” School? It’s weird to think this is a school day. “They got a break to call their folks too. It’s a miracle the networks aren’t failing with the pressure they’re under…”
Shouyou’s phone begins to ring. Shouyou jumps, then looks at the caller ID. Nishinoya-Senpai. His shoulders slump. His arm falls to his side.
“Give me that.” Tsukki snatches Shouyou’s phone out of his hand. “Noyassan? …Nope, this is Tsukishima… He’s right here, he’s fine, the news just hit him hard is all. –No, we can’t reach him, his phone’s off. That’s why Hinata’s in such a panic.” Panic? Is he? He feels calm. Distant, even. “…No, I checked the texts on Hinata’s phone. You guys didn’t hear anything from Tokyo? …Not even Takeda-sensei? …Yeah, of course, that’s what I told Hinata, the phones are probably… yeah, down or overloaded… Uh-huh. If you guys hear anything, it would really help if you…” He nods, although Noyassan can’t see him. “Of course, if he does, we’ll call you right away.” He breathes in deeply, then exhales in almost a sigh. “No, I won’t. I’m right here with him.” He pauses, listening soberly. “You don’t need to tell me that! But it won’t come to that.” His voice drops. “Of course. Yeah, promise.”
Tsukki hangs up. Then he clears a jacket off the bench and pats it. “Sit.” Shouyou obeys. “Let me check the news. You,” he hands Shouyou’s phone back, “keep trying to call Kageyama. Send a text, too. So he gets it when his phone’s back on.”
Shouyou takes the phone and stares at the blank screen. I’m going on ahead, Kageyama told him, gloating. If you want to be the last one standing, become strong. No, that wasn’t this year… that was… that was… His phone is getting shaky. He can’t see the screen properly. He raises his other hand to the phone and holds it tight. He’s got to do this right. Send a text. He pulls up Kageyama’s name. His phone’s off. His phone’s off. His phone’s off. He stares at his name. The last text is still up there, from before the training camp: meet ½ hour early @morn practice. His vision is blurring. His eyes are hot. The explosion was in the Ajinomoto Center itself. It could be a small-scale blast, nothing to worry about, or it could be like the films, the entire building collapsing into a pile of rubble, burying everyone inside…
There’s a sound from Tsukishima, and Shouyou leans into him. He’s warm. Tall. His arm goes around Shouyou’s shoulders. It feels weird. Good weird. But weird. “No fatalities,” Tsukishima says, enunciating clearly. “There’s not much news yet, but it says the…”
Shouyou reaches for the phone, blinking hard enough to clear the haze from his eyes. The entire news item is only a few lines long. No terrorist organizations have claimed responsibility for the blast. No fatalities are reported to have resulted from the bombing. Cleaning staff at the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium and administrators and athletes at the Ajinomoto Training Center injured in the blast have been taken to the University of Tokyo Hospital.
Athletes injured in the blast. Athletes injured in the blast. Athletes injured in the blast.
“Hinata,” Tsukki says sternly. “They’re alive. They’re all alive. That’s good news.”
“Y-yes,” Shouyou nods. “Yes, it’s good news.” He rubs a hand over his face. “I… I gotta use the bathroom. I need to wash my face.”
Thankfully, Tsukki doesn’t offer to go with him, not like Noya would have. Shouyou hands Tsukki’s phone back and shoulders his bag, shuffling off to the bathroom with a slow, unsteady gait.
It gets steadier when he turns the corner into the corridor. As he reaches the end of the hallways and pushes open the school doors, he breaks into a run.
“What do you mean gone?!”
“I’m not his goddamn keeper, Daichi!” Kei yells down the phone, forgetting his honorifics in frustration. “He said he was going to the bathroom! What, I’m supposed to go take a piss with him?”
“What am I supposed to tell Ukai-san and Takeda-sensei when they ask?!”
“You’re not supposed to tell them anything! You’re not his keeper either! You and I both know where he’s going, so just send someone on to the hospital in Tokyo to find him!”
Daichi falls silent. “And if… you know?”
Kei pushes up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’ve just about had enough of all this doomsaying. Why not assume that Kageyama’s alive and well? It’s just as easy to assume as the other thing, and a damn sight less pessimistic.”
“Because,” Daichi responds, “I can’t guarantee that Hinata will stay safe in a strange city if something happens to Kageyama while he’s there alone.”
A whistle blows and the coach calls everyone together again. Has it been half an hour already? Kei wasn’t aware of the passage of time. It’s a blur as they’re called on to get ready. Can’t guarantee Hinata will stay safe in a strange city. Hinata can take care of himself. His phone’s off, his phone’s off, his phone’s off. He excuses himself to use his phone before they start and makes a call to Tokyo. “Yeah,” Kuroo-san answers on the first ring. “Any news?”
“No,” Kei says shortly, “unless you count that Hinata’s skipped out on the training camp and is probably on a bus or, knowing him, already on the Shinkansen right now. Look, Kuroo, can somebody go out and wait for him at the University Hospital? I’d say at the railway station but who knows which train. He’s headed to the hospital for sure, and nobody has a clue what the hell’s going on.”
“I can get out there after school,” Kuroo-san says evenly, his voice steady. “Maybe before if I can excuse myself. The train takes two hours, and I’ll give him another hour to catch the bus and whatnot. Kenma’ll probably come.”
Kei finds himself needing to take a deep breath. “There’s no news yet, huh?”
Kuroo-san lets out a sigh. Kei can imagine him shaking his head. “I’ll call you when there is. You work on your training and we’ll text you if there’s any news.”
“Okay.”
“Tsukishima-kun?”
“Yeah?”
“Take care of yourself. It’ll be okay.”
Kei squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose against the sudden burn in his eyes. “It’s fine, Kuroo-san. It’s fine.”
“It’s gonna be okay.”
“That’s what I said!”
“I know.” There’s a smile in Kuroo’s voice. “Just, you don’t have to be strong all the time, yeah? It’s a national emergency. Plenty of room for you to be a bit off your game.”
“Okay.” Kei can’t help how clipped his tone sounds. “Thanks.”
He can hear Kuroo’s voice, tinny in the speaker, saying something, but he’s already tapping to end the call.
“Back to practice,” Washijou-san says. His assistant is beside him with a clipboard. “Seven downball drill, here’s how we’ll set up with the wing spikers passing, serve recieve, with Koganegawa-kun setting...” he looks at the clipboard, “Tsukishima-kun hitting and Kindaichi-kun serving to start. My assistant will initiate the downballs."
Everyone moves into place with Washijou-san’s orders and they all listen to him explain the drill, how it’s supposed to flow and work. Kei is half listening, absorbing just enough information to understand where he’s supposed to go and what he’s supposed to do. “--remember,” Washijou-san says, “this drill is about control and maximizing on opportunity as well as perhaps forcing you to make a play that you normally wouldn’t because the hitter is always supposed to hit. Tsukishima-kun,” Kei snaps his attention to the coach, “keep your hits out of six or they don’t count. Only hits to one, two, four, and five will count, regardless of where you hit them from. Be sure to change it up, adapt to the pass. I’d like to see some variety from you and to see if you can work well with any setter.”
Kei nods wordlessly. Washijou-san nods in return then turns to Koganegawa and talks to him about what he expects from the setter, but Kei doesn’t listen too closely. For some reason his attention is focused on the absence of a certain annoying ball boy, and the reason why he’s absent. Very few things could draw Hinata away from this camp, since he snuck here in the first place.
“Let’s begin!” Washijou-san says. “Oh! Tsukishima-kun, I expect you to try and block my assistant’s hits, okay?”
“Yes, sir,” he says with a nod.
They set up. Kindaichi is at the back line on the other side of the net, going through his routine before he serves. Kei isn’t part of the serve recieve, so he crouches by the net to stay out of the passers’ way. There’s a ball boy next to him with a ball in each arm. The assistant is standing in one on the other side, his own ball boy with him and a ball in his hands.
Kei hears someone contact the ball and his attention is snapped back to Kindaichi, who is already in his follow through. Shit. He’s already late in moving. He scrambles off the net and tries to track the ball, feeling awkward as he stands at the three-meter line. The ball goes straight to Kunimi in six and Washijou-san is already barking about Kindaichi needing to serve tough.
The pass is mostly perfect, Koganegawa-kun having to take a few steps to get under it, and Kei feels frozen. He has no idea where he’s supposed to go. He can see Koganegawa-kun’s eyes dart to him before he has to set, but Kei doesn’t know where to go. The set goes high, a perfect 53 in the middle. It gives Kei enough time to get an approach and hit it, although the hit goes wide, landing just outside the lines in 5.
“If you hit high balls, you’re going to get triple blocked!” Washijou snaps. “Speed it up and talk with each other!”
“Yes, sir,” they say almost in unison.
“Ball here,” the assistant says, slapping the ball. Kei watches the ball, standing close to the net and waiting.
“Hands UP, Tsukishima!” Washijou-san yells. Kei flinches and puts his hands up. The assistant tosses the ball into the air with a tight pin and pulls his arm back. Kei watches it, sees the ball coming, but he can’t figure out what he has to do. He has to do something.
Then he remembers a second too late that he’s supposed to block. He jumps but the ball is already over his head and he’s late getting off the net. “Thirty!” Kei calls, doing a quick two-step approach to try and compensate for his crappy timing. Somehow it makes the timing perfect and Koganegawa sets it into his hand and Kei gets good contact.
It lands hard in one, almost hitting the coach's assistant, who jumps out of the way just in time. “Eyes open!” Washijou-san says. The other players giggle, especially the Shiratorizawa player.
KIndaichi does his routine again. This time Kei pays attention properly. He goes through the motions, calling out for steps and quicks and sixties, sometimes hitting them out, sometimes hitting them in, sometimes hitting them straight to six, with Washijou-san snapping “Blocked” every time he does hit to six. The only thing is, he keeps on forgetting he’s supposed to be blocking and Washijou-san is getting angrier and angrier with him the more times he forgets.
Downball 5 just came over the net again without a block and the passers are left scrambling. “Stop, stop!” Washijou-san commands, stomping over to Kei. “What the hell is wrong with you, Tsukishima? Get your head in the game!”
Everything is suddenly very clear around Kei. There are tiny fibers floating in the shafts of sunlight coming in from the windows. His chest is expanding and contracting with air. Around him, his teammates’ chests are also rising and falling. Breathing. They’re sweating. He runs a hand over his forehead. It’s damp. His heart is beating in his chest, in the center of all the air he’s breathing in and out. With his lungs. His intact lungs. “With all due respect, Coach,” Tsukishima hears himself saying, “do you seriously not know what’s wrong with me?”
“No,” Washijou-san says, eyes glinting hard. “I don’t. Tell me.”
Something hot rises in Kei’s throat, but he swallows it down. It is possible the man really doesn’t know. “Kageyama Tobio was at the All-Japan,” he says, feeling like his words are pebbles, clattering too loud onto the synthetic flooring. “We haven’t been able to reach him by phone yet. There’s no news.”
The air in the gym is still. There’s no sound except the other players’ breathing. From the way some of them have paled, Kei can see that they weren’t aware. But the coach… Washijou-san’s calm face shows that he knew, that this is not news to him. And he’s still staring Kei down. “I still,” he says, biting, “don’t know why you can’t focus on your work.”
Kei straightens up, his shoulders falling so he’s standing in a relaxed ‘at ease.’ He opens his mouth and words fall out. “An explosion’s main danger is a disruption in air pressure,” he says clinically. “Changes of up to 400 psi are survivable, gradually. Suddenly, on the other hand, we’re talking much lower levels. Anywhere from 20 to 40 added pounds per square inch can be fatal, depending on the time it takes to wash over the body.”
“What the hell are you talking—” The rest of the team are watching him, mouths open. Kindaichi is pale.
Kei is preternaturally aware of everything, everything he’s read about sci-fi and disaster movies just surging to the front of his mind. He’s never had trouble studying: he’s always had good retention. He opens his mouth and the words just tumble out. “At high pressure shifts, the body just comes apart. There's only so much trauma that flesh and bone can take.” He’s still in his relaxed-alert stance, shoulders back, head high, ignoring Washijou’s spluttering. “Lower-level explosions can be survivable, but they cause serious internal injuries. Eardrums first. Lungs next. They rupture and bleed when too much pressure is applied too quickly.” I could not say this if Hinata was here, his mind supplies for no reason. “The bowels are also destroyed. They’re full of liquid and gas, so changes in pressure can cause them to expand and shrink and just… tear open.”
“I don’t know what you hope to achieve by this—”
“Finally, and this is not getting into flying debris, pressure changes cause high winds. Changes of twenty psi can cause winds of 470 miles per hour. That kind of wind doesn't knock you over, it lifts you through the air, or drags you over the ground like a car or a train. It can slam you into walls hard enough to kill you. So even if you do survive being near the epicenter of a blast, you’ll most likely be killed by being knocked into the things around you.”
“What was the purpose of all this?” Washijou asks, unimpressed. The players around them are various shades of pale. Washijou’s assistant looks like he’s going to be sick.
Kei takes a deep breath. “You asked what was wrong with me, Coach Washijou.” He adds belatedly, “-San.”
“Yes, well. We’ll have news of that in good time.” Washijou clenches his fists. “Get back in there and get your head in the game, Tsukishima.”
Kei feels a sudden flash of heat – anger? – gone before he can clutch at it. “With respect, I will ask permission to be excused today.” He doesn’t bow.
Washijou-san breathes in through his nose. “If you walk out that door,” he says, “your invitation to the camp is rescinded. You will not be allowed back.”
Kei struggles with the disrespect of saying ‘Whatever’ and decides against it. He bows just his head, the barest fraction to retain a veneer of politeness. Then he turns to go.
“Tsukishima!”
Kei stops mid-stride. He holds still for a long moment, then turns back to face Washijou. He does not ask, ‘Yes, sir?’ He doesn’t say anything at all.
“This is the issue with your priorities,” Washijou says. “You can’t let sentimentality stand in the way of a game. If you walk away, you’ll never be a winner.”
He wants me to stay, Kei thinks, shocked. Why does he want me to stay? “It’s hardly sentimentality when my teammate might be—” For all he’s mocked people who can’t say ‘dead’, he can’t get the word out now, not with all the information about blast victims surging through his dendrites. “Fighting for his life,” he finishes.
Washijou looks around. “Ball boy’s gone already, I see. Couldn’t hack it.”
“Kageyama is his best friend,” Kei hears himself blurt.
“Pah.” Washijou looks at Kei with open scorn. “I’d expect it from the useless little shrimp, hiding his weakness behind labels like that. Only good for a ball-boy. If that. But you. Tall, smart… and then I find out you’re like the rest of Karasuno. Weak. Sentimental. Can’t keep your mind on the game.” He shakes his head. “What use are all those facts and figures if you can’t concentrate on what needs to be done, eh?”
Kei doesn’t move a muscle, back in his relaxed-alert pose, standing straight, arms at his sides. “If I remember correctly, our weakness and sentimentality and our ball-boy beat your Shiratorizawa.” He waits a beat. “Sir.”
It’s not the first time Kei’s seen things in slow-motion, but it’s happening again. He has plenty of time to see Coach Washijou’s eyes flash, to see his shoulder draw back, his arm swing into position to slap Kei across the face.
A good middle blocker can stop a moving object going hundreds of kilometers per hour. Kei is a very good middle blocker.
His hand snaps around Washijou’s wrist, hard. His body jerks with the force of blocking the blow. “Don’t you dare,” he says, arctic. “I’ll have the law on you.”
Their eyes meet for a furious instant before Kei turns, collects his stuff, and leaves, his fast, loud footfalls on the floor the only sound in the stunned gym.
The bus lets Shouyou out outside the big double doors to the University of Tokyo Hospital, and he breaks into a run as a signpost helpfully points out the Critical Care and Emergency Medical Center. Relief washes over him at finally being here. It feels like the train ride took forever, and every time he fell asleep, he had dreams of jumping up high to hit a quick, only to look down and see Kageyama fading away, dropping down into a bottomless pit of blackness. And waking up was worse. It’s like a nightmare he can’t wake up from.
The last time he checked his phone for updates was on the bus: still no news. But now, at last, he’s going to find out how Bakageyama is. “Sensei!” he calls out, approaching the reception desk and bowing low. He doesn’t know if the lady in white behind the desk is actually a doctor, but in these situations it’s better to be more respectful than less. Then he opens his mouth again, and what comes out is, “Kageyama-kun?”
What the hell! Shouyou clamps a hand over his mouth. He’s such a dumbass!!! What kind of question is that? He could have said anything… anything! But instead, he’s standing there like an idiot.
“Oh, sweetie-pie,” the woman says. She’s older than she looked at first glance, kind and motherly. “I’m so sorry about what happened. It’s so terrible. Are you family?”
“I’m his teammate,” Shouyou says. “We heard about the—the bombing. How is he? Is he okay?”
“I’m sorry, but we’re not allowed to give details about the condition of any of the underage bombing victims unless it’s to a parent or guardian, or someone expressly given permission by a parent or guardian.” Her face is full of sympathy. “I’m really sorry, sweetheart. I know you’re no danger to him, but rules are rules.”
She’s talking to him so kindly, so sweetly, like he’s some kid in elementary school, and Shouyou should be mad but he’s just frantic. “Is he alive?” he chokes. “At least tell me if he’s alive until his parents get here.” Before she can speak, he says in a rush, “It was on the news that nobody died! It was right there on the news in front of everyone! It won’t get you into trouble if you tell me he’s alive, will it?!”
Her face softens further. “It’s against the rules, but yes. He is alive.”
Shouyou suddenly feels like all his joints have been replaced with silly putty, like he’s going to fall down where he stands. But he pulls himself together. He can’t let the nurse lady think he’s some kid who’ll break down or make a scene. “I can wait for his parents to get here, sensei,” he tells her. “I won’t be any trouble. I just want to see him.” He catches himself. “Or, or make sure that he’s okay! Whatever. I won’t break any rules, I won’t be any trouble, just tell me where to wait for his parents.”
There’s something soft in her face, almost like pity. “There’s a waiting area over there,” she gestures. “It might be a while, though.” She opens her mouth, then closes it again. “You’re welcome to wait there if you wish.”
“Thank you, sensei.” He bows deeply, almost hitting his forehead against the raised desk, then turns and heads in the direction she indicated.
The waiting room is a revolving door of friends and family of the Tokyo players, from what Shouyou can gather, with more people gradually arriving to see the players from other prefectures. There’s a bunch of guys he doesn’t know who look like they’re there for their teammates, talking amongst themselves, and a few adults who look like they might be relatives. He smiles weakly at them, mainly because they’re probably worried like him and they don’t deserve to be scowled at, but he can’t speak to them. He does try, but he bows and opens his mouth to say something and nothing comes out. So he sits in a chair off to the side. Facing him is the corner where the corridor branches off, a bonsai on a plinth and a fire extinguisher in a carved wooden holder. There’s a reproduction of some kind of ancient artwork on the wall, line art of people doing something. His eyes trace the lines of the figures in the drawing without forming any kind of image in his mind. He’s not really seeing much outside of the picture. Then he moves his eyes to the bonsai and focuses on that.
He’s alive, they’re all alive, he reminds himself. They have to be. Bakageyama can’t be dead. Bakageyama, with that dumb bowl cut of his and his stupid sullen face, the way he’s always drinking milk from the vending machine, the way he snaps at everyone like they’re his sworn enemies. The way he tosses. The way he’s always there. He can’t not be there, it’s not natural. Shouyou feels his chest go swoop at the thought of Kageyama being hurt, not being his annoying, stupid self. But it said that athletes were injured in the blast... If he’s hurt, I’ll help him get better, he resolves. If he needs training or… or physical therapy or anything. Anything! Whatever he needs to do, he has to be fine! Kageyama has to be okay, he has to. Shouyou won’t let him be hurt bad. You hear me, Bakayama? You’re not allowed to be seriously hurt! That’s not our deal!
Shouyou can’t think of how he usually talks to Kageyama, that he, Shouyou, is going to become the best and beat him and how Kageyama can’t give up before then and the pep talk Shouyou gave him one time that feels like it was a million years ago now. Yeah, he wants to play volleyball with Kageyama, sure he does, but right now he can’t think of playing against him. He can’t concentrate on anything but the swoop inside him at the thought of Bakayama hurt… of not knowing if he’s going to be okay. And the bonsai. He’s concentrating pretty hard on the bonsai, too.
He’s been concentrating on the bonsai for he doesn’t know how long when a figure steps into his line of sight. Tall guy, Kuroo-san, he blinks with sudden realization. How did he not recognize him? He shifts in his seat, meaning to get up and bow, but Kuroo-san’s already on his knees in front of him. Shouyou blinks. In the seat next to his is Kenma, not touching, just looking at him with wide eyes. When did he even sit down? How did Shouyou not notice him? “How are you doing?” Kuroo-san asks. “Any news?”
Shouyou opens his mouth to say something, and he’s shocked when a sob comes out instead. Kuroo-san leans forward and puts his arms around his waist, and Kenma half-turns in his seat and wraps his own arms around Shouyou’s shoulders.
They stay like that for what feels like hours, but could be minutes. He can’t tell. “No,” Shouyou finally manages to choke out, burrowing into their hold. “They won’t tell me anything.”
“They may tell me.”
“Huh?” Shouyou’s head jerks up, along with the other two. Between him and the bonsai are Takeda-sensei and Coach Ukai. “We should have known you’d be here,” Ukai says, shaking his head.
“Do your parents even know you’re in Tokyo?” asks Takeda.
Shouyou blinks. “Uh…” He almost says I was going to call them, but it’s a lie. He wasn’t thinking of anything from the moment he ran out of the gym until he wound up here in the hospital.
Takeda-sensei shakes his head. “Never mind.” With a reassuring smile, he turns away and heads for the reception desk.
Ukai kneels next to Kuroo-san. “Thank you for coming,” he says, his glance including Kenma. “Hinata-kun…” He inhales deeply, holds the breath inside, and looks hard at Shouyou’s face. Then he lets the breath out in a long huff. “I’m not going to lecture you. I did enough of that this morning and I know how much Kageyama-kun means to you.”
Shouyou opens his mouth to maybe deny it, being said out loud like that, but instead he finds himself starting to cry again. This time, Kuroo-san moves aside to let Ukai-san hold Shouyou, Kenma still giving him a side-hug. Shouyou’s never hugged their coach before, but it doesn’t feel weird. It feels nice. He clings on tight, sniffling a bit, but managing to mostly keep it in. “I’m sorry I caused trouble,” he says into Ukai-san’s shoulder, his voice sounding small to his own ears.
“No, shh, it’s okay.” Ukai-san’s big hand strokes Shouyou’s hair. “Nobody’s perfect. Now how about we call your parents? I can tell them we’re together and Takeda-sensei’s here so they won’t be worried. I think we’ve all had enough worry for one day.”
Shouyou looks up at where Takeda-sensei is still talking to the lady at the reception desk. It doesn’t look like they’ll be done talking anytime soon. “Okay.”
They’ve been done talking to Shouyou’s parents for some time before Takeda-sensei finally comes up to them, looking grim. Shouyou’s terrified for a moment, and Takeda-sensei must have seen it because he says, “Don’t worry. It’s not bad news.”
“Then why are you scowling and scaring the kids?” Ukai-san’s trying to sound light and cheerful, but it falls flat.
“It’s just…” Takeda-sensei sighs. “You know how with minors, you can’t allow visitors unless a parent or person of authority is present?”
Shouyou nods, seeing the others’ heads bob as well. “His parents aren’t here yet, are they?” Ukai-san asks.
“Not yet,” Shouyou says, at the same time as Takeda-sensei says, “They’re not coming.”
The others stare at him. “What?” Kuroo-san says.
“Apparently, they’re both out of town on business,” says Takeda-sensei. His voice is mild as ever, but his fists are clenched at his sides. “They both called the hospital and when they were told he’s out of immediate danger, they agreed with the doctors to check on his progress by phone.”
The others are saying things, but all Shouyou can hear is out of immediate danger, out of immediate danger, out of immediate danger. “Can I see him?” he blurts.
“Yes,” is all he hears before he surges up out of his chair, only to be stopped by Takeda-sensei’s hand on his shoulder. Kuroo-san shuffles out of the way on his knees, and Shouyou should apologize to him but he can’t get the words out. “Hinata-kun. This is a hospital. Please move slowly.”
“Sorry,” Shouyou half-bows to his teacher, not feeling sorry at all. He’s going to see Kageyama he’s going to see Kageyama he’s going to see Kageyama! All he can think of is seeing his stupid bowl cut and his dumb long setter’s hands and his stupid face. “Where’s his room? Where is he?”
“We have to go in together. The only reason they let me permit visitors is I’m his teacher, and thus responsible for him in the absence of his parents…”
Shouyou lets Takeda-sensei lead him down the corridor. He’s not hearing much of anything. The corridors are white. Long. They don’t make that much sense, but then he’s only paying attention to Takeda-sensei and the doors. One of those is Kageyama’s. He can feel himself vibrating like he’s about to go on the court, but he can also feel his stomach knotting up like it does before a match. He can barely keep his attention on Takeda-sensei’s shoulder, bobbing before him as he walks.
They stop at a door and use hand sanitizer from a dispenser. Takeda-sensei pushes the door open, then steps to one side, letting them in. There’s a room with a bed. He can only see the foot of it from here, but Shouyou hurtles in, fetching up against the side.
Kageyama’s stupid bowl cut is half shaved away, leaving part of his scalp bald. It’s so scary to see him without hair, like someone cut a piece of him off. There’s a white bandage covering the top and right side of his head that makes Shouyou’s stomach flip and his chest ache. His face is dead-white, his eyes closed like he’s asleep. One cheekbone is bruised blue, stark against his pale face. His long, graceful arms, lying still on the sheet, are bruised too, black and blue and purple underneath the skin. He’s so quiet. So still. He looks so small.
“Ba…kageyama?” Shouyou whispers. The bed is so high that Kageyama’s face is higher than Shouyou’s, his chest barely reaching the top of the mattress. Shouyou reaches out, hesitant, but doesn’t touch, his hand pausing above the bed.
“He’s sleeping,” Takeda-sensei says from behind him, “but he woke up earlier. It’s not a concussion, he just had a cut that needed stitches. Aside from the bruising, he should be…”
“Hinata?”
Kageyama’s voice is gravelly and slurred and it’s like warmth pushing through Shouyou’s veins. He moves closer, as close as he can get. “Yeah, Bakayama,” Shouyou whispers.
Kageyama’s eyes slit open, a flash of dark blue. Then they fill with tears. “Hinata,” he whimpers, tears slipping down his pale, bruised cheeks. He lifts both his arms and holds them out, like a little kid.
The bed’s high and it’s between them, but Shouyou lunges forward to hold him, remembering at the last moment to be gentle. “Shh, it’s okay,” he whispers and puts his arms around as much of Kageyama as he can reach. His elbows are bent awkwardly and he can’t reach much of him at all, the bed’s so darn high.
“Hinata,” Kageyama sobs, his voice breaking. “Hinata.” It’s like he can’t say anything else. He’s shuddering under Shouyou’s arm, and Shouyou hangs on, standing on tiptoe, trying desperately to reach him. Kageyama’s clutching on to Shouyou like he’ll drown if he lets go. Shouyou thinks of what the poor guy’s been through: explosions, maybe a building falling down. Blood. Screaming. He holds him tighter.
Suddenly he realizes it’s getting easier to hold Kageyama. There’s a squeaking sound. Shouyou looks up, still bent over the bed. Ukai-san is working the bed controls to crank it down, so it’s closer to the height of a futon and not like some kind of sky-high stage. It keeps moving down, thank goodness. Shouyou makes use of the new lower height to lean all the way over and take Kageyama fully into his arms. “Hush,” he murmurs. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re safe, everyone’s safe. Everyone’s alive. You’re all okay.”
“I— It— Hinata,” Kageyama chokes, burrowing into Shouyou’s neck.
“Hush.” Shouyou shucks his hospital slippers and clambers up onto the huge, white expanse of bedsheet next to Kageyama. Did they get him a bed that was too big or is he just that small off the court? Why is Shouyou’s heart aching?
“Hinata-kun,” he hears Takeda-sensei saying, “maybe that’s not the best idea…”
“Let him.” That’s Ukai-san. “I’ll handle the doctors.”
But the teachers behind him aren’t what he’s focused on. Carefully, he slips into the space next to small, crying Bakayama and lets him wrap both his arms around him. Shouyou’s careful not to lie down fully so as not to squish Kageyama’s bruised right arm; he props himself up on one elbow and puts his other arm around him, pressing as close as he can and letting Kageyama burrow his face into his neck.
They rest like that. Shouyou’s finally where he belongs and he wouldn’t mind spending the night here, if it would make Kageyama feel better and stop crying. “Hinata,” Kageyama keeps choking out, shaking and crying silently. Sometimes a whimper will come out, muffled in Shouyou’s shirt. “It… It was…” He shudders. “Hinata.”
“Hush. Hush. Don’t talk, Bakayama.” Shouyou finally manages to find words. “Rest, okay? I’m here. I’m not gonna leave you.” He feels Kageyama’s hands clutch at his shirt and his heart aches again. “I’m here. Gonna be right there till you get outa here.”
Kageyama just shudders and clings tighter. “I didn’t mean it,” he rasps. “When I said I was moving on ahead. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t… I don’t…”
“Shh, shh,” Shouyou says, the way he comforts Natsu when she’s crying. “Don’t worry about it. I snuck into Washijou-san’s camp.”
“You what?” Kageyama stops crying for a moment, shocked into a short laugh. “Dumbass, you—you what?”
“Snuck into the camp.” Dismissing the dressing-down he had this morning from the two teachers right behind him, Shouyou pulls away just a little, so Kageyama can see his face, and offers him his biggest smug grin.
“I can’t believe it…” Kageyama’s smiling. And he’s stopped crying.
Shouyou makes a point of letting Kageyama see his grin. “I’d never let you move on ahead, Bakayama.”
“Wait…” Kageyama blinks. “Why aren’t you in the camp now? Did they throw you out?”
“No, they let me stay.” He’ll tell Kageyama about his shiny new ball-boy position which he held for all of half an hour, but not right now. He will tell him, he will. Later.
“They let you stay?” Kageyama’s eyes widen. “But then why are you here?”
Shouyou stares. “…Because you were in the hospital, idiot!”
“…you left the camp to come…” Kageyama says in a small voice, “here?”
“Uh, duh? Yeah?!”
Kageyama blinks. “But why?”
“You really are an idiot.” Shouyou meets his eyes. “Because you’re in. the. Hospital!” No response. Is he honestly that dumb? “Because I needed to see you and make sure you weren’t dead, dumbass!”
Kageyama’s face crumples and he’s crying again. “Sorry—I…”
“No, no, shh, shh. I’ve got you. I’m here.” It may be weird, but what the heck – he gives Kageyama’s shaved temple a little smooch. “I’m here.”
Kageyama chokes on a sob. “Did you just…?” His voice is wondering.
“Yeah,” Shouyou says easily. “Your mom’s not here, so I’ve gotta kiss it better till she gets…” A cold pit opens up in his stomach. He’d forgotten.
By the way Kageyama stills in his hold, he knows, too. He falls completely silent, chest rising and falling rapidly under Shouyou’s arm. Shouyou once held someone’s pet bird when he was a little kid, and he’s taken back to the feeling of that soft, rapid breathing in his cupped hands. His eyes sting. “It’s okay,” he says. “I’m here.” He says it fiercely, a vow. Maybe Bakayama’s parents don’t care enough to be here (how could they not??? How could anyone have a kid as awesome as Kageyama and not be there for him???) but Shouyou does, and he’s going to be here. He won’t leave Kageyama alone.
It feels like a while he’s been holding Bakayama, whose eyes are closed. He’s not sure if he’s sleeping, but one way or another, he’s not letting go anytime soon.
It’s quiet. Takeda-sensei is out in the corridor making some phone calls, Shouyou doesn’t know what, and Ukai-san is at the door like a guard. Shouyou fills with warmth. He’s so glad they’re here. Oh, man—Kenma and Kuroo-san! How long has it been since they came in here? They should… somebody should check on them, let them know things are okay! They came all the way here and they were such good friends to him. “Coach Ukai—”
He’s barely raised his head and started to speak when the door swings open and Kenma and Tsukishima Akiteru crowd in, followed by Kuroo-san and their own Tsukki. Tsukki is holding a big, shapeless package wrapped in orange crepe paper and a volleyball magazine. “Sorry for intruding,” says Akiteru-san.
“Huh?” Shouyou blinks. Under his arm, Kageyama opens his eyes and startles, wincing as he tries to straighten up. “No, no, Bakayama, don’t move yet, you’re hurt…”
“Hey, stay where you are, we don’t want to disturb you…” Kuroo-san starts.
“Yeah, we just came to see how you were…” adds Akiteru-san.
Kageyama tries again to move. “Thank you for com—ah…”
“Hold still, Kageyama-kun!” Ukai-san’s commanding voice cuts through the chatter. “Boys, if you can’t quiet down and stop exciting him I’m going to have to ask you to leave, okay?”
There’s a confused mess of bows and murmurs of apology. Ukai-san cranks up the head of the bed – Shouyou can feel himself being straightened into a sitting position. He sees the Tsukishima brothers’ eyes widen as they register that Shouyou’s in the bed with Kageyama, and he scowls straight at them and wraps his arm around Kageyama tighter. The first one to say a word is going to get something thrown at them.
But the first one to speak is Kuroo-san, and his tone is gentle. “Glad to see you’re okay, Kageyama-kun. You had us all worried.”
“Thank you, Kuroo-san,” Kageyama says. He’s sitting up, eyes fixed on where his fingers are playing with the bedsheet. Shouyou straightens up more in the bed and slips an arm around his back. Kenma takes a soft step inside and lays his fingertips on the foot of the bed, looking up at them with big eyes. “I’m…” Shouyou can feel the hitch in Kageyama’s breathing. “I’m honored that you took the trouble to visit.”
“It’s really good to see that you’re okay,” Akiteru-san smiles.
“I don’t know…” Kageyama looks up at Shouyou, then at Ukai-san. His eyes are very wide. “They didn’t tell me… what’s wrong with me?”
“Oh, Kageyama-kun.” Ukai-san’s face softens. “You were very lucky. You have a cut on your scalp, as you can see, that needed stitches and bled a lot, but no concussion, thank goodness. Some assorted bruises, mostly ribs and hips, again, nothing broken.”
“So… I’ll be able to play?”
“Yes,” Ukai-san reassures him. “Not immediately – you’ll need at least a few days of rest – but there’s nothing that could affect your play.” He takes a breath. “The explosion was on the other side of the gymnasium from where the training camp was being held. It was very fortunate. There haven’t been any fatalities,” Shouyou feels Kageyama slump under his arm at that, “and the injuries have been relatively minor. The best outcome that could have been hoped for, all things considered.”
Kageyama’s face crumples and he starts to cry. He twists to the side, burying his face in Shouyou’s shoulder, and Shouyou puts his arms around him. “I don’t blame you,” Ukai-san says matter-of-factly. “You’ve had a shock.”
“Everyone at Karasuno thought you were dead,” Tsukki blurts. “I was the one who kept telling them you weren’t. And they call me the pessimist.”
“Can’t you say anything nice?” Kuroo-san half-smiles, elbowing him.
“Hey, they did! –Oh crap, I need to call Noyassan. I promised them I’d let them know when I knew something.”
“Okay, give me those,” says Akiteru-san and takes the package and the magazine from Tsukki’s stiff arms. Under Shouyou’s arm, Kageyama’s taking deep breaths and trying to control himself, and Shouyou’s grateful everyone’s here but right now it would be awesome if they made themselves scarce and quit embarrassing Kageyama, and his train of thought is cut short by Akiteru-san putting the package down on the bed. “This is a trifling thing, but please accept it,” he says formally.
“Oh, thank you, I couldn’t,” Kageyama says politely, holding up his hands.
“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Tsukki explodes. “You nearly died, is this any time for formalities? Just take the fucking gift, will you?”
Ukai-san bursts out laughing and even Shouyou has to giggle. Kenma looks up, eyes shining.
“Thank you,” Kageyama says formally, taking the gift with both hands.
“Fucking unwrap it!” Tsukki snaps.
“Hey, some of us have manners,” Kuroo-san smiles gently. “The guy doesn’t want to open his gift in front of a group of—”
“This isn’t fucking Ochugen! This is a hospital! They nearly blew the guy up! Open the damn thing!”
Kageyama is now looking up at Tsukki as if he, personally, might blow up, and with fumbling fingers unwraps it. A pair of yellow ears pop out before the rest of the wrapping falls away, revealing a stuffed Pikachu as big as a bag of volleyballs. Instead of making any smart remarks, Kageyama inhales deeply and pulls it into his lap, burying his face in the ears like he’s Natsu. “Thank you,” he says, his voice muffled in the Pikachu’s fur. “Thank you, Tsukishima-san.”
The Tsukishima brothers look at each other. “The team insisted I lug this thing over here to give to you,” Tsukki mutters.
“Says the guy who frantically bought something at the hospital gift shop because the magazine wasn’t a good enough gift,” drawls Akiteru-san. Kuroo snorts. The others can’t see it, but Kageyama’s eyes go wide behind the Pikachu.
“Hey!” Tsukki glares at his brother. “How do you know the team didn’t ask me to get him something? Over the phone? Huh? How do you know that?” He scowls at Kageyama, still wide-eyed in Shouyou’s arms, holding onto the Pikachu, reminding Shouyou more of Natsu with every passing moment. “This doesn’t mean anything.”
“Yeah.” Kuroo-san, with a wide grin, slings an arm around Tsukki’s shoulders, snagging his neck in the crook of his elbow. Akiteru-san looks at them with an almost-identical grin. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Excuse me?” Takeda-sensei’s voice sounds from behind them and they jump out of the way from where they’re blocking the doorway. He meets Shouyou’s eyes. “I have your mother on the phone, Hinata-kun. She wants to speak to you and then to Kageyama-kun.”
“I’ll call Noyassan,” mutters Tsukki, ducking out of the doorway. Kuroo-san and his brother follow him. Kenma looks after them, but makes no move to go anywhere. He’s leaning on the bed, headphones on, gaming for once on his phone instead of his ubiquitous PSP. At least, Shouyou assumes he’s gaming – he can’t see the screen from where he is.
He reaches across Kageyama for the phone. “Shou-chan,” his mother’s voice comes down the phone. “Why didn’t you tell me when we talked that Kageyama-kun’s parents were out of town? How’s he supposed to take care of himself at home all alone in that state?”
“Uh, I…” Shouyou’s eyes flicker from Takeda-sensei to Kageyama. He hadn’t thought of that. The thought of Kageyama scared and hurt, all alone in a big empty house, makes something go vwoop in his chest. “I, uh…”
“I’m going to make him come and stay with us. You don’t mind, do you, Shou-chan?”
Overwhelming relief floods through Shouyou. Yes, his mind sings, having Bakayama there, where his mom and dad can take care of him and Shouyou can keep an eye on him and make sure he’s not scared. “Yes, no of course I don’t mind, mom, that’s great, but uh…” It occurs to him that Kageyama’s not very social. “He might not be okay with that…?”
“Nonsense! Put him on the phone, there’s a dear.”
Shouyou hands Kageyama the phone, careful as he puts it into his hand. “My mom wants to talk to you.”
“Th-thank you for your call, Hinata-san…?” Kageyama says hesitantly, wrapping his bruised hand around the phone. Shouyou can’t make out his mother’s words, but her tone is brisk and no-nonsense. “Yes, Hinata-san. …No, Hinata-san. No, really, it’s not necess— I’m not saying that, Hinata-san—Yes, Hinata-san. …No, Hinata-san. …Yes, Hinata-san. …Yes, Hinata-san.” Kageyama slumps into the bed, like someone cut his strings. “I’m not sure yet, but probably tomorrow. Oh, you don’t have to come and—Yes, Hinata-san.” A deep breath. “Yes, Hinata-san.” Kageyama’s normal scowl hasn’t changed, but Shouyou knows a relieved Kageyama when he sees one. Kageyama passes the phone to Shouyou. “She wants to talk to you.”
“It’s all settled. I’ll arrange with that nice Takeda-sensei to get the doctors to let you spend the night in the hospital with Kageyama-kun – I figured you’d want to do that?”
How did she know? Shouyou can’t help a grin. “Yes, Mom.”
“He tried to argue, but I put my foot down. I’ll come down tomorrow morning and see you boys, and if he’s released I’ll bring you both home. We can make a stop by Kageyama-kun’s house for clothes and schoolbooks and whatever he needs.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“And at the pharmacy for any medications. Now, about meals. I know he likes pork curry, but if that’s too heavy for him, let me know in a text message what you think he’d like to eat and I’ll check with the doctors. We’ll make sure to have something suitable.”
Shouyou can’t wipe the smile off his face. “Yes, Mom.”
“And if he says anything about being an imposition, be sure to whap him upside the head from me, there’s a darling.”
Shouyou’s heart aches a little. “His head’s hurt. But I’ll save it for when he’s better.”
“You do that.”
He hangs up with his mom and wraps his arms around Kageyama, who’s still looking a little shell-shocked. “You’re coming home with me!” he crows. “You’re coming HOME WITH ME!”
Kenma looks up at the yelling. “Hinata-kun!” Takeda-sensei says sharply. “This is a hospital!”
“Sorry,” Kageyama says instead of Shouyou. “Dumbass, you shouldn’t y—yell in a hospital,” he mutters into the Pikachu. Shouyou can see tears on his face, but he pretends not to notice. He tightens his arms around him more.
“Thank you, Takeda-sensei!” Shouyou beams. “You’re the best!”
Ukai-san nods. “Good work, sensei.”
Their teacher blushes and looks down, smiling softly. “It’s the best arrangement,” he mumbles. “I’ll see about getting them to let you stay overnight with Kageyama-kun. Everyone’s very shocked about the incident, so I don’t imagine they’ll give me much trouble.”
“Shouyou,” Kenma says. Everyone looks at their usually-silent friend. “I’m going to forward something to your phone. I think you want to see this.” Uncharacteristically, he turns to Ukai-san and Takeda-sensei. “I think you’ll probably be seeing it soon anyway. You ought to watch it too.”
Ukai-san frowns. Shouyou can see him thinking that Kenma’s not one of the more rambunctious guys: he wouldn’t be showing the Karasuno teacher and coach some random viral video. “Is it about the bombing?” he asks, standing behind Kenma and leaning a little over his phone.
Kenma pulls the headphone jack out of his phone. “…wrong with you, Tsukishima? Get your head in the game!” Coach Washijou’s voice echoes tinnily out through the room.
“Oh my gods,” Ukai-san whispers. “I wondered why he wasn’t at the camp…”
“With all due respect, Coach,” that’s Tsukki’s voice, “do you seriously not know what’s wrong with me?”
“What the fuck?” Tsukki himself appears at the door. “What the actual fuck?”
“Language, Tsukishima-kun,” Ukai-san says absently, focused completely on Kenma’s phone.
“Kageyama Tobio was at the All-Japan. We haven’t been able to reach him by phone yet. There’s no news.”
“I still don’t know why you can’t focus on your work.”
“I can’t believe this.” The Tsukishima brothers, Kuroo and Takeda-sensei have all gathered around Ukai-san, doing their best to look at the phone screen. Shouyou’s phone dings with Kenma’s forwarded message, but he and Kageyama are listening to the sound from Kenma’s phone along with the others. “Someone recorded it.” Tsukki sounds outraged. “Someone fucking recorded it!”
“Shh, you’ll set a bad example for your kouhais,” grins Kuroo-san, who looks like he’s having the time of his life.
“What kouhais? They’re in the same year as me!”
“Details, details,” says Akiteru-san.
“…explosions can be survivable,” that’s Tsukki’s voice, “but they cause serious internal injuries….”
“Recorded it, and posted it online.” Kenma looks up at Kuroo. “When it first dropped two hours ago, it had like 200 hits. It’s on sixteen thousand now.”
Washijou-san’s voice cuts in. “I don’t know what you hope to achieve by this—”
Tsukki’s phone vibrates. “Yeah?” Tsukki answers softly. He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Noyassan, I’m watching it right now, please don’t let it get around to the team—Who? Oikawa Tooru?!”
“…That kind of wind doesn't knock you over, it lifts you through the air, or drags you over the ground like a car or a train. It can slam you into walls hard enough to kill you.”
Kageyama shudders and Shouyou holds him tighter, massaging his shoulder with his fingertips. “It’s okay. Shh. It’s okay, Kageyama-kun. Shh.”
As the video’s playing, Tsukki’s pacing, still on the phone. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “No, I know we don’t know any other Oikawas, but I—What the fuck? Who? From Johzenji? They don’t even know us—Bokuto-san?” Tsukki rubs a hand over his eyes, inhaling and exhaling deeply. “What do you mean fucking Dateko?!!”
“You asked what was wrong with me, Coach Washijou. San.”
“You tell him, Kei!” Akiteru-san cheers.
Tsukki nudges his shoulder, red-faced. “Shut up.”
“Why?” Kuroo cuts in. “This is awesome! You’re awesome!”
Tsukki goes even redder, looking back at the screen as Washijou-san speaks again. “Yes, well. We’ll have news of that in good time. Get back in there and get your head in the game, Tsukishima.”
“What an asshole,” Ukai-san murmurs, seemingly forgetting his own admonition about language.
“With respect, I will ask permission to be excused today.”
“If you walk out that door, your invitation to the camp is rescinded. You will not be allowed back.”
Shouyou gasps. He can’t help it. He was never invited to the camp in the first place, but Tsukki-kun… “You walked out?” Kuroo-san says, laughing delightedly. “You fucking walked out?!”
“This is the issue with your priorities. You can’t let sentimentality stand in the way of a game. If you walk away, you’ll never be a winner.”
“What the fuck, asshole?” Ukai-san says again. He starts to say something else, but Tsukki’s voice on the phone cuts him off.
“It’s hardly sentimentality when my teammate might be fighting for his life.”
“This doesn’t mean anything,” Tsukki says warningly to a stunned Kageyama. “I don’t want my teammates to die. Don’t think it’s anything more than that.”
“Ball boy’s gone already, I see. Couldn’t hack it.”
“Fuck you,” Ukai interjects.
“Kageyama is his best friend.” The real Tsukki resolutely ignores Kuroo-san ruffling his hair.
“I’d expect it from the useless little shrimp, hiding his weakness behind labels like that. Only good for a ball-boy. If that.”
That kind of stings, but it’s nothing Shouyou hasn’t heard before. But he starts when Kageyama murmurs next to him, “He’s dumb. Can’t see it.”
“Huh?” Shouyou whispers.
Kageyama swallows. “What you’ve got. He can’t see what you’ve got.”
What the—? Warmth rushes through Shouyou. Kageyama just defended him against Washijou. Kageyama just defended him against Washijou.
Washijou’s still speaking. “…you’re like the rest of Karasuno. Weak. Sentimental.”
Coach Ukai growls, looking like he’s about to burst into flame. “They’re ten times the man you’ll ever be, asshole. You wouldn’t know a good, decent person if they came up and bit you in the—” Shouyou would have liked to know the end of that sentence, but Tsukki’s next words drive all other thoughts from his mind.
“If I remember correctly, our weakness and sentimentality and our ball-boy beat your Shiratorizawa.” A pause. “Sir.”
There’s a chorus of murmurs and muted cheers around the room. Shouyou laughs delightedly. Even Kageyama quirks a half-smile. “You tell him, Tsukishima-kun!” Takeda-sensei bursts out, while Ukai-san pumps his fists. Akiteru-san and Kuroo-san both make a fuss around Tsukki, who’s scowling and looking at the floor, face crimson. Why does Shouyou get the feeling he’s smiling on the inside?
Then Ukai-san gasps. “What th—”
There’s the smack of flesh on flesh. “Whoa!” gasps Kuroo-san.
“What happened?” Shouyou blurts.
“Coach Washijou tried to hit Tsukishima-san. Tsukishima-san blocked him,” says Kenma. Does he sound… smug?
“Don’t you dare,” Tsukki’s voice resounds through the room, and even through the small speaker, Shouyou chills at the cold anger in his tone. “I’ll have the law on you.”
“Fucking asshole! What the fuck! How dare he!” Ukai-san surges up from his seat, running a hand through his hair so hard his hairband slips to the floor. Takeda-sensei scoops it up and hands it to him as he keeps on raging. He takes it and smooshes it up in a fist, hair sticking up in all directions. “How dare he! How dare he!”
“Ukai-kun, please,” Takeda-sensei whispers.
“…have to apologize, Coach,” someone’s voice comes through the tinny speaker.
“Who’s that?” Shouyou asks.
“Sounds like Kindaichi,” Kageyama murmurs, eyes wide.
“Yeah, it’s Kindaichi.” Tsukishima’s tone is muted. He’s staring at the screen now. “What’s he doing?”
“I just remembered that my mother needs me urgently for a family emergency. I’m very sorry, but I’m afraid I will have to excuse myself from the camp.” There’s a moment of silence – presumably a bow? – then footsteps, fading.
“I’m very sorry, Coach…”
Kageyama frowns. “Is that Kunimi?”
“Yeah.” Kuroo-san and Tsukki-kun are both staring at the phone, and even Ukai-san has paused in his pacing to look, though he hasn’t sat back down.
“…I’m afraid I must assist Kindaichi-kun in his family emergency. Please accept my apologies for not being able to stay at the camp.”
Over the squeaking of volleyball shoes in fast, measured footsteps, there’s a gravelly voice that Shouyou recognizes as Koganegawa. “Please accept my deepest and most profuse apologies, Washijou-san. I find that I, too, have a family emergency that I must attend to immediately.” Shouyou can imagine him bowing, and then there are the same rapid footfalls.
“I can’t…” Tsukki croaks, mouth hanging open, Akiteru-san and Kuroo-san are grinning, the latter with an arm slung around Tsukki’s neck, Kenma is wearing that smug expression that Shouyou knows means he’s smiling inside, and Takeda-sensei is grinning from ear to ear. Only Ukai-san is still breathing deeply, fists clenched.
“I apologize, but I must attend to a family emergency as well, Coach, please accept my excuses for my inability to continue with this training camp.”
That was a guy Shouyou doesn’t remember – by name, anyway – which leaves only the Shiratorizawa player. Meekly, the last player remaining says, “It appears that family emergency has ended the camp early. I’ll just wait here on the bench for further developments.”
Shouyou could be imagining the smugness in his tone. But he’s not imagining the ire in Washijou-san’s voice as his footfalls echo on the floor, receding, muttering about spoiled brats with no fortitude. There’s the slamming of the gym door, and then Ukai-san and Takeda-sensei and the others look up from the phone, indicating that the video’s ended.
After the others leave, Shouyou and Kageyama end up watching the video something like a million more times – the clip, tagged #tokyobombing and titled “High Schooler Schools High School Coach” with a subtitle “You Won’t Believe His Teammates’ Reaction!” – has racked up nearly a hundred thousand views by now – and Shouyou could hug whoever posted it in gratitude for the soft, relaxed smile it puts on Kageyama’s face. He doesn’t know how to thank Kenma and Kuroo-san, or all of them, really. Even Tsukki, he thinks wonderingly, watching Kageyama clutch onto the stuffed toy like a kid ten years younger.
Visiting hours are over. Kageyama’s dozing already, and Shouyou’s ready for bed after the day he’s had. The lights are dimmed in the room and they’ve had supper, courtesy of the hospital (and Kuroo-san, who had an impressive cache of sweets and a few meat buns hidden in Kenma’s bag). They’ve made up a futon for Shouyou, but he’s still on the bed, enjoying the extra pillow and blanket and being scrunched into Kageyama’s side. It feels reassuring, like nothing’s going to snatch him away when Shouyou’s guard is down. This way he can watch over him. His eyes latch onto the Pikachu, wrapped tight in Kageyama’s arms. He grins at the stuffed toy: okay, they can watch over him.
He happily watches Kageyama sleeping, guarded by one stuffed Pikachu and one middle blocker, until he drifts off to sleep.